It was a large and elegant house at which the sisters stopped next. A beautiful lawn, hedged by hawthorne, sloped to the finely-graded street; while over its surface beds of brilliant flowers were blooming, contrasting finely with the bright green carpet. They ascended the granite steps which led to the portico, and rang the bell. A servant answered the summons, and impatiently awaited their message.
"We would see the mistress of the mansion," said Joy.
They were shown into an elegant drawing-room, so large they could scarcely see the farther end. It was furnished in a most dazzling style, and gave none of that feeling of repose which is so desirable in a home.
After what seemed a long time, the lady of the mansion appeared, looking very much as though her visitors were intruders.
"A lovely day," said Joy.
"Beautiful for youth and health," she answered curtly; "but all days are the same to me."
"You are ill, then," said Joy, sympathetically.
"Ill, and weary of this life. Nothing goes well in this world: there is too much sorrow to enjoy anything. But," she added after a brief silence, "you are young, and cannot enter into my griefs."
"I have come for the purpose of bringing you comfort and hope if you will but accept it," answered Joy, modestly.
"A stranger could scarcely show me what I cannot find. Be a.s.sured, young maiden, if I had the pleasures you suppose I possess, I should not be tardy in seeing them. No, no: my life is a succession of cares and burdens."
Joy was silent a moment, and then said, "But you have health, a home, and plenty to dispense to the needy, which must be a comfort, at least, in a world of so much need."
"My home is large and elegant, I admit; but, believe me, the care of the servants is a burden too great for human flesh."
Joy thought how much better a cottage was, with just enough to meet the wants of life, than a mansion full of hirelings; and she said, hopefully, "Our blessings ever outnumber our woes. If we but look for them, we shall be surprised each day to see how many they are. I am on a visit to earth," continued Joy, "to see how much real happiness I can find, and help, if possible, to remove obstacles that hinder its advancement. This is my sister, Sorrow," she continued, turning to her, "who, like myself, has a mission, though by no means a pleasant one."
The sisters unveiled their faces.
A flush of pleasure stole over the sallow face of the woman as she gazed upon the brightness of Joy"s countenance; but the look quickly faded at the sight of Sorrow"s worn and weary features.
"My sister must tarry here," said Joy, as she rose to leave.
"Here! With me? Why! I can scarcely live now. What can I do with her added to my troubles?"
"It is thus decreed," answered Joy. "You need the discipline which she will bring to you."
And she departed, leaving her sister in the elegant but cheerless mansion.
The mistress of the luxurious home had one fair daughter, whom she was bringing up to lead a listless, indolent, and selfish life,--a life which would result in no good to herself or others.
Sorrow grew sadder each day as she saw the girl walking amid all the beauties with which she was surrounded, careless of her own culture.
She felt, also, that she must at some time, and it might be soon, be removed from her luxuries, or they from her. Each hour the fair girl"s step grew heavier, till at last she was too weak to walk, or even rise from her bed.
"All this comes of having that sad woman here," exclaimed the weeping mother as she bent over her daughter. "I"ll have her sent from the house this day." And she rang for a servant to send Sorrow away.
After delivering her message to her maid, she felt somewhat relieved.
The servant went in search of Sorrow, but could not find her either in the house, garden, on the lawn, or among the dark pines where she often walked.
Whither had she fled?
All the servants of the house were summoned to the search; but Sorrow was not to be found, and they reported to the mistress their failure to find her.
"No matter," she replied, "so long as she is no longer among us. Go to your labors now, keep the house very quiet, and be sure, before dark, to lock all the doors, that she may not enter unperceived."
They need not have bolted nor barred her out; for her work was done, and she had no cause to return.
She was sent to the house of wealth to carry the blight of death. Her mission was over, and she was on her way, seeking Joy.
The young girl faded slowly and died.
The mother mourned without hope, and was soon laid beside her daughter.
The home pa.s.sed into the hands of those who felt that none must live for themselves alone; that sorrows must be borne without murmur; and joys appreciated so well that the angel of sorrow may not have to bear some treasure away to uplift the heart and give the vision a higher range.
Sorrow met Joy on the road that night. There was no moon, even the stars were dim; but for the shining face of her sister, she would have pa.s.sed her. They joined hands, and walked together till morning broke. They came in sight of a low cottage just as the day dawned.
"Oh, dear!" said Sorrow, as they approached the familiar spot, "how often have I been there to carry woe! Do you go now, Joy, and give them gladness!"
"If it is the master"s hour I will most gladly," said Joy, looking tenderly on the weary face of her sister, who sat by the roadside to rest awhile while she lifted her heart to heaven, asking that she might no more carry woe to that humble home; and her prayer was answered.
"I feel to go there," said Joy, as Sorrow wiped her tears away. "Wait here till I return;" and she ran merrily on.
She entered the humble home with gladness in her beaming eyes, and, as she bore no resemblance to her sister, they welcomed her with much greeting; nor did they know but for Sorrow, Joy would not have been among them. She talked with them a long time, and listened patiently to the story of their woes.
Sickness, death, and adversity had been their part for many years.
"But they are pa.s.sing away," said Joy, confidently, "and health and prosperity shall yet be among you."
"We shall know their full value," whispered a voice from the corner of the room which Joy"s eyes had not penetrated. On a low cot lay an invalid, helpless and blind.
The tears fell from her own eyes an instant, and then sparkled with a greater brilliancy than before, as she said, "And this, too, shall pa.s.s away."
The closed eyes, from which all light had been shut out for seven long years, now slowly opened; the palsied limbs relaxed; life leaped through the veins once more; and she arose from her bed, while the household gathered round her.
A son, who was supposed to have been lost at sea, after an absence of many years returned at that moment, laden with gold and other treasures far greater, than the glittering ore,--lessons of life, which, through suffering, he had wrought into his mind.
Joy departed, amid their tumult of rejoicing, and joined her sister.
The happy family did not miss her for a time; yet when their great and sudden happiness subsided into realization they sought her, but in vain.
They needed her not; for the essence of her life was with them, while she was walking over the earth, carrying pleasure and happiness to thousands; yet doing the work of her father no more than her worn and sad-eyed sister.
VII.
UPWARD.