ort that cleanliness and order could
impart, kindness of heart and the determination to be talkative and
agreeable throws a halo round the scene, and as we contemplate it we
cannot but feel that Kit Nubbles attained to the summit of philosophy,
when he discovered "there was nothing in the way in which he was made
that called upon him to be a snivelling, solemn, whispering
chap--sneaking about as if he couldn't help it, and expressing himself
in a most unpleasant snuffle--but that it was as natural for him to
laugh as it was for a sheep to bleat, a pig to grunt, or a bird to
sing."

Or take another example, when wealth is attained, though by different
means and for different purposes. Ralph Nickleby and Arthur Gride are
industrious and successful; like the vulture, they are ever soaring over
the field that they may pounce on the weak and unprotected. Their
constant employment is grinding the poor and preying upon the rich. What
is the result? Their homes are cold and cheerless--the blessing of him
that is ready to perish comes not to them, and they live in wretchedness
to die in misery. What a contrast have we in the glorious old
twins--brother Charles and brother Ned. They have never been to school,
they eat with their knives (as the Yankees are said to do), and yet what
an elucidation do they present of the truth that it is better to give
than to receive! They acquire their wealth in the honorable pursuits of
business. They expend it to promote the happiness of every one within
their sphere, and their cheerful days and tranquil nights show that
wealth is a blessing or a curse, as it ministers to the higher or lower
propensities of our nature.

"He that hath light within his own clear breast,
May sit in the centre and enjoy bright day;
But he that hides a dark soul, and foul thoughts,
Benighted walks under the mid-day sun;
Himself is his own dungeon."

Such men are powerful preachers of the truth that universal benevolence
is the true panacea of life; and, although it was a pleasant fiction of
brother Charles, "that Tim Linkinwater was born a hundred and fifty
years old, and was gradually coming down to five and twenty," yet he who
habitually cultivates such a sentiment will, as years roll by, attain
more and more to the spirit of a little child; and the hour will come
when that principle shall conduct the possessor to immortal happiness
and eternal youth.

If, then, our guest is called upon to state wha