number of
people you meet, and differing from other sermons in the fact that the
longer it is the better. The reason that there are so many sour faces,
so many frowning faces, so many dull faces, is because men consent to be
acrid and petulant, and stupid. The way to improve your face is to
improve your disposition. Attractiveness of physiognomy does not depend
on regularity of features. We know persons whose brows are shaggy, eyes
oblique, noses ominously longitudinal, and mouths straggling along in
unusual and unexpected directions; and yet they are men and women of so
much soul that we love to look upon them, and their faces are sweet
evangels."

It was N. P. Willis, I think, who added to the beatitudes--"Blessed are
the joy-makers." "And this is why all the world loves little children,
who are always ready to have 'a sunshine party,'--little children
bubbling over with fun, as a bobolink with song.

"How well we remember it all!--the long gone years of our own childhood,
and the households of joyous children we have known in later years.
Joy-makers are the children still,--some of them in unending scenes of
light. I saw but yesterday this epitaph at Mount Auburn,--'She was so
pleasant': sunny-hearted in life, and now alive forever more in light
supernal.

"How can we then but rejoice with joy unspeakable, as the children of
immortality; living habitually above the gloom and damps of earth, and
leading lives of ministration; bestowing everywhere sweetness and
light,--radiating upon the earth something of the beauty of the unseen
world."

What is a sunny temper but "a talisman more powerful than wealth, more
precious than rubies"? What is it but "an aroma whose fragrance fills
the air with the odors of Paradise"?

"I am so full of happiness," said a little child, "that I could not be
any happier unless I could grow." And she bade "Good morning" to her
sweet singing bird, and "Good morning" to the sun; then she asked her
mother's permission, and softly, reverently, gladly bade "Good morning
to God,"--and why should she not?

Was it not Goethe who represented a journey that followed the sunshine
round the world, forever bathed in light? And Longfellow sang:

"'T is always morning somewhere; and above
The awakening continents, from shore to shore,
Somewhere the birds are singing evermore."

"The darkness past, we mount the radiant skies,
And changeless day is ours; we hear the songs
Of