Domestic Happiness.
hey had had a hard day's work at "Les Marches," packing tomatoes for the English markets.
It was the month of September. The days were growing short and the nights long.
After the day's occupations were over, the family assembled in the neatly furnished parlour. Frank wrote his letters of advice to his fruit merchants. Then he took a German book, "Hauff's stories," and proceeded to read the diverting history of "Little Mudj," making frequent use of the vocabulary.
Afterwards, to relax his mind, he took a French book. It was one of the works of Blaise Pascal, his "Lettres Provinciales." He admired their originality, the trenchant satire, and the galling blows of this man whom Châteaubriand called a "frightful genius."
As he read the beautiful passages which had issued from this great man's mind, he became imbued with some of the flame that had inspired the author of the book.
He placed the volume on the table, rested his head upon his hand and began to think of his past life.
He thought of his ambition to acquire riches, and of how he had been deceived. Providence had ordered otherwise and baffled him.