212 THE HEART S-EASE. 



passages of Gray's Inn Lane ; the nests of vice, 

 and dens of misery that display the corruption of 

 our great metropolitan cancer, St Giles'. Oh, 

 when will those cloudy regions become bright be- 

 neath the beam of gospel truth ? When shall we 

 take care, and provide for those of our own na- 

 tional household. — When shall the gorgeous gin- 

 palace, glittering in our own streets, move us to 

 pitying exertion, like the distant temple of Jugger- 

 naut pourtrayed in an album — or the thousands of 

 suicidal, of infanticidal deeds, hourly perpetrated 

 by the wretched females of our own neighbourhood, 

 through the unrestrained use of intoxicating drugs, 

 touch that chord of sympathy in the bosom of 

 Christian ladies, which vibrates to the tale of a 

 suttee, or the description of a Hindoo babe, immo- 

 lated by its heathen parents ? 



April skies are lovely indeed ; but on what spec- 

 tacles do they look down ! — and He who dwelleth 

 above those heavens, He beholds them too, and 

 will require at our hands the blood of the souls of 

 them who perish. Neither may we, if our lot, 

 dear reader, be cast far from the scenes where D. 

 worked while it was day to him, and where his 

 dust now reposes, to cry, as it were, from the 

 ground, and chide the flagging zeal of his survi- 

 vors — neither may we put the lesson from us on 

 the plea that no gin-palace rears its hateful front 

 in our daily path. Satan has a seat in every vil 



