"With so much to hold your thoughts and interests here," said Mr. Allison, "I can hardly understand why you should let them wander off so far from home."
"And I can hardly understand it myself," returned Mr. Markland, in a lower tone of voice, as if the admission were made reluctantly. "But so it is. I am but a man, and man is always dissatisfied with his actual, and always looking forward to some good time coming. Ah, sir, this faculty of imagination that we possess is one of the curses entailed by the fall. It is forever leading us off from a true enjoyment of what we have. It has no faith in to-day—no love for the good and beautiful that really exists."
"I can show you a person whose imagination plays no truant pranks like this," replied Mr. Allison. "And this shall be at least one exception to your rule."
"Name that person," was the half-incredulous response.
"Your excellent wife," said Mr. Allison.
For some moments Mr. Markland stood with his eyes cast down; then, lifting them to the face of the old man, he said:
"The reference is true. But, if she be not the only exception, the number who, like her, can find the best reward in the present, are, alas! but few."
"If not found in the present, Mr. Markland, will it ever be found? Think!"
"Never!" There was an utterance of grief in the deep tone that thus responded-for conviction had come like a quick flash upon his heart.
"But who finds it, Mr. Allison?" he said, shortly after, speaking with stern energy. "Who comprehends the present and the actual? who loves it sufficiently? Ah, sir! is the present ever what a fond, cheating imagination prefigured it?"