this subject, says that this was the result arrived 
at by Dr. Angus Smith, in his beautiful experiment 
on the air aud water of towns, wherein he showed 
how the lungs and skin gave out organic matter, 
which is, in itself, a deadly poison, producing head¬ 
ache, sickness, disease or epidemic according to 
its strength. Why, if a few drops of the liquid 
matter, obtained by the condensation of the air of 
a foul locality, introduced into the vein of a dog, 
can produce death by the usual phenomena of 
typhus fever, what incalculable evils must it not 
produce on those human beings who breathe it 
again and again, rendered fouler and less capable 
of sustaining life with every breath drawn! Such 
contamination of the air, and consequent hot-bed 
of fever and epidemic, it is easily within the power 
of man to remove. Ventilation and cleanliness 
will do all, so far as the abolition of this evil goes; 
and ventilation and cleanliness are not miracles to 
be prayed for, but certain results of common obe¬ 
dience to the laws of God.” 
Nor can the lungs properly perform their office 
of purification if they have not sufficient space to 
work in. Observe the action of these organs when 
your child is undressed, and consider whether, 
when confined by those tight bands which you have 
been accustomed to pin around it, a sufficient 
amount of air, even if it be purest, can be inhaled 
to change once in two or three minutes all the dark 
blood of the body, laden with waste matter, into 
bright red blood fit for the nourishment of the sys¬ 
tem. To expect such a result under such circum¬ 
stances, is like expecting that a train of cars will 
go at the rate of forty miles an hour, while every 
movement of the locomotive is impeded by some 
obstacle that will allow it to exert but half the 
required amount of power; or like expecting a 
man to do a full day’s work with his hands and feet 
in irons; or the Israelites to deliver the usual tale 
of bricks without straw. Let, then, this truth be 
yet more deeply impressed upon your mind—that 
the lungs must have pure air and plenty of room, or 
the body will be its own destruction. 
We reserve further remarks upon Physical Edu¬ 
cation to a future article. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
THE RAIN THAT COMES IN WINTER. 
all things therein”—making him not only monarch 
in the world terrestrial, but the arbiter of his own 
fortune in tjie land of “The Hereafter.” When 
the love of self has been kept in abeyance to the 
great moral principle comprised in Universal 
Brotherhood — when truth and justice are the in¬ 
centives to action — when proper views and esti¬ 
mates are taken of the immortal in our nature and 
we conform thereto, “ It might have been,” becomes 
the vision —“It is,” the real, and the soul revels 
in the attainment of the end for which it was 
created. 
"Winter’s XAglit and. Shade. 
One of the New York city religious weeklies 
recently stated that “ a perfect furor existed 
throughout the county for mammoth sleigh-rides, 
sumptuous suppers, and brilliant dancing parties. 
One or two hundred couples on a sleighing excur¬ 
sion is an every day affair.” How bright the col¬ 
oring in this picture of “upper ten” cosmopolitan 
life. With those who carry pocket-books possessed 
of negotiable linings, “it snows” is but the syn¬ 
onym of the “good time coming,” and the fleecy 
messengers are bearers of gayety. But what of the 
“ lower million ?” Alas, that there should be those 
who dread the rigors the storm ever bears in its 
train. The same wild blast that wafts the joyous 
laugh and merry song of the fortune-favored, will 
crystallize the tear upon the cheek of poverty — 
will wing the orphan’s sigh and widow’s moan to 
the feet of Him who commanded, “ love thy neigh¬ 
bor as thyself.” While the silver bells 
-“Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, 
In the icy air of night,” 
ringing out a gladsome rhapsody, we should re¬ 
member that no light, no fire, may be tolling the 
death-knell of him who, in the sight of God is our 
brother. John Barleycorn, Jr. 
“Look-Out Farm,” W. N. Y., 1859. 
O, tiie rain that comes in Spring-Time 
A promise brings of flowers, 
And it whispers in its falling 
Of the merry woodland bowers, 
Where the leaves shall quicker open— 
Where the birds shall sooner sing, 
And the buds, for illTfvelcome kisses, 
Shall be less time blossoming. 
O, the rain that comes in Summer, 
Comes with a blessing down, 
And gladsome faces greet it, 
Though the skies may seem to frown; 
For the earth shall bloom the sweeter, 
And faster grow the grain, 
And all beauty be completer, 
For the gentle Summer rain. 
O, the rain that comes in Autumn 
When the leaves are turning red, 
When the shadows are around us, 
And shadows overhead; 
Brings but a touch of sadness— 
Comes as it should come then— 
And seems to sigh for the dying 
A fitting requiem. 
But the rain that comes in Winter— 
O, the cold and dismal rain— 
In its coming, comes like sorrow, 
And it thrills the heart with pain; 
Struggling forth from the ice-clouds— 
Falling on frozen fields— 
To the soul no joy, to the valleys 
No harvest of good it yields. 
Alas! for the ice in bosoms 
Where once beat the heart of love, 
Woe ! for through frozen channels, 
The pulses no longer move. 
Tears, bitter tears of anguish, 
Fall—but they LTrt-in vain— 
Alas! for the rain in Winter— 
The cold, damp, dismal rain. 
Hastings, N. Y., 1859. Eoselia. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
BRING FLOWERS. 
BY SPENCER F. TOOLEY. 
These are they which came out of great tribulation, 
and have washed their robes, and made them white in 
the blood of the Lamb.—Ecv. 7 : 15. f 
White, for heaven’s infant hands! C 
Passed they not spotless from the earth away, B 
Pale blossoms lying in the nerveless hands, 9 
Pure kisses lingering on the precious clay? ~ y 
Earth’s lily-bells transplanted, sweet and lowly, 
White robes for them, for innocence is holy. 
And for the young, pure white! 
They loved the Master much, and for Ilis sake 
Life’s vainer loves and laurels cast from sight; 
Now in the heavenly places they awake 
Celestial music, and palm-branches bparing 
They who are worthy, walk white raiment wearing. 
And they who, gathered in 
From the hot ranks of mid-life’s battle-field, 
Bring trophies of their victories over sin; 
The tried and tempted with their foreheads sealed 
With the Great Name ; the heroes, martyrs, sages— 
White robes for the redeemed of countless ages. 
There venerated bands 
Are bathed in founts of fadeless youth and bloom ; 
Bent form and furrowed brow and trembling hands, 
And silvered hairs pass not beyond the tomb; 
Led by the Master through deep tribulation, 
White robes await them,—garments of salvation. 
Gathered from orient climes, 
And western shores, and tropic forests deep, 
From polar winters,—and from ancient times 
Down to the last fair babe that fell asleep ! 
By suffering purified, perfected, blest, 
And gathered into everlasting rest. 
O, suffering Lord, through Thee 
Whose blood alone can make the crimson white ! 
Looking in pity on our strivings, see 
The weight of sin, and make the burden light. 
Our robes of righteousness are poor and vain! 
Baptise us in that fount that leaves no stain ! 
Our Faith, Hope, Charity, 
Inspire, inform, till they grasp heavenly things, 
Till the whole human brotherhood shall lie 
In the benignant shadow of their wings; 
So purify and bless until there be 
White robes at last for even such as we. 
[Monthly Religious Magazine. 
Bring flowers that bloom when morning’s early light 
Tinges with brightness the blue arch above, 
And place them where an infant flower bright 
Bloomed for an hour in purity and love. 
Though by the wind’s low whisper swept away, 
Yet it will shine throughout eternity. 
Bring flowers to place on childhood’s artless brow, 
And twine with leaves of laurel all around 
That little heart we all do prize so now, 
Since he with an immortal soul is crowed. 
Wishing to ramble where bright rivers flow, 
He left this world, and to yon heaven did go. 
Bring flowers to strew around the grave of youth— 
Flowers that grow in summer by the way— 
For he who plucked the opening buds of truth, 
Has from this field of learning gone away. 
Eager to find where Wisdom’s rubies lie, 
He went to search beyond the distant sky. 
Bring flowers to lay within the narrow grave 
Where manhood’s sturdy frame is sleeping low— 
Fire, storms, and tempests he did nobly brave, 
And conquered every dark and dreaded foe ; 
Well did he battle in this world of strife, 
And he has gone to take the prize of life. 
Bring flowers that bloom when evening shadows fall 
Around the day that is forever past— 
Which covers form and feature with a pall, 
And lays them gently in the grave at last. 
’Tis then the aged calmly take their rest, 
And when the morning comes wake with the blest. 
Marshall, N. Y., 1859. 
THE MIND OF CHILDHOOD. 
The high privilege, the honor of writing for 
children is but little understood. Is it not a beau¬ 
tiful thing to call out the first bloom, to inhale the 
morning fragrance of the immortal soul-flower?— 
Is it not a great thing to trace the first words on 
the soft, white tablets of the mind, where they will 
harden and remain forever? 0, those earliest 
teachings!—how the soul treasures them, aud holds 
them dear and sacred through all the changes and 
labors, distracting cares and more distracting plea¬ 
sures of life! The mind cannot grow proud and 
strong enough to expel them, nor can the heart 
harden and contract till it crushes them. I have 
heard, somewhere, the story of a faithful servant 
of a banished lord, who cut into a young tree on 
the old estate, and hid under the bark some small, 
but precious jewels belonging to liis master. — 
Years went by, and the young exile returned an 
old man. The steward was gone, but his lord 
knew well the secret of his deposit. Where the 
young tree stood, now towered a thrifty oak, with 
bark hardened and roughened by time ; but v-Ml 
had it kept its trust aud its treasures, though the 
tough wood had closed over them, and no eye 
could guess their hiding place. The tree was fell¬ 
ed, and in its very heart its gems were found—not 
a point broken, not a ray wasted, they flashed up 
to the light of the old brightness, and made glad the 
heart of the master. 
Ever so safe an investment is knowledge in the 
mind of a child; truth there lodged is a life-long 
deposit. Though that mind may tower and ex¬ 
pand, and put on rough defences against the world, 
it still has its little unsuspected jewels ; and that 
heart but holds them closer and closer with its 
strengthening fibres, till the hour when the master 
comes to look for them.— Grace Greemvood. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker 
HOOPS.-FEMININE APPAREL. 
BY MRS. M. P. A. CROZIEIt. 
We come now to consider more particularly 
those treasures of affection, those blossoms of 
love, without which a home the most perfect in all 
other respects is as a world without flowers, or a 
Heaven without angels. Fain would we spare 
parents, if possible, the agony of an untimely 
separation from these cherished objects of their 
care, by tryiug to point out some of the principles 
upon which their physical education should be 
conducted. Perhaps we shall say nothing but 
what has been said many times before, but if, by 
a new utterance of old truths, we shall reach any 
minds that have not heretofore been enlightened 
by them, it will not be in vain that we spe;\k. 
With an unnatural course of life, so prevalent 
as it is in our country, who can wonder tkjat. chil¬ 
dren are born ill, and that in every stage of mor¬ 
tal existence, health is the exception, and disease 
the general rule ? Who can wonder that the graves 
of the young form so large a proportion of the 
habitations of the cities of the dead? Mother, 
would you preserve your loved ones to the joys of 
life, see them attain a vigorous maturity, and be- 
blessing to the world? Be true to the 
When you receive from the 
As the merits and demerits of the hooped skirts 
are under discussion, I will give my experience. I 
think the majority of women are apt to follow any 
new fashion to the utmost extreme it can be carried, 
and thus create a disgust among sensible and mod¬ 
erate people, and gradually, howevergood in itself, 
it gets into disrepute. So with hoops. Most ladies 
were not satisfied with a convenient-sized skirt, 
but expanded to such monstrous proportions as 
utterly to disfigure “the human form divine.”— 
Those who have worn small-sized hoops have 
scarcely been noticed, and have realized all the 
benefits such a skirt can possess — lightness and 
e&So in walking. I have fouijd them excellent to; 
walk in, but much in the way, .and very inconveni¬ 
ent when sitting or riding — \iot so much in the 
cars as in a carriage, or wagon of any kind. And 
about the house they are frequently in the way, 
especillayat the table, and often I almost decide to 
abandon them, tho’ I have never worn them large, 
but of sufficient size for beauty or convenience. 
Many ladies have no sort of regard to their 
height in regulating the size of their hoops, and 
we often see a short, plump woman, so expanded 
as to resemble a great pumpkin, with a head set on 
it. But taking all the “^conveniences and dis- 
conveniences” into consideration, it is my opinion 
that so long as we must be burdened with so much, 
shirt, hoops are an advantage, and they never have 
been half so absurd as the sweeping, trailing 
dresses. Why not abuse them? I’ll help with all 
my powers. Any woman knows the terrible, drag¬ 
ging, wearying of these skirts — or no, not any 
woman —for some have never tried them — but we 
can see how they feel as well as look. 
I think we wear too many skirts — too much 
cloth in them — and, finally, I do not like skirts. 
What could a man do, burdened as we are ? How 
could they go up and down stairs, sweep, scrub, 
&c., bound around with yards and yards of cloth ? 
Man wears his clothes thickest and heaviest about 
his chest and vitals ; woman leaves these compara¬ 
tively unprotected, and wears her clothes around 
her heels! If there is any other way that we 
feminines can be decently clothed, without our 
burdening skirts, I, for one, will say amen! 
Mrs. Jane Churndasher. 
AVritten for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
HERE AND THERE JOTTINGS. 
Tlxe Home of* Many Memories. 
“Thirty years old!” Well, well, the sober 
days have come at last, providing the triteness of 
the couplet 
“At Ten a rjhip— Twenty, wild, 
Thirty, tame'7-if ever,” 
will endure a thor qncj te st. How the years move 
on. I be qul> tin iccomls lo 
our dull cars these minimum 
records — months^t^JPawav, and Father Time 
turns his furrows so Tnaudibly, so noiselessly, we 
make no note of his progress, until, starting from 
the revery, the unpleasant truth is realized that we 
are growing old. What a blessed order is that of 
Nature which requires all things in her realm 
shall be performed quietly, serenely — in the calm 
majesty of silence. Says a writer upon this sub¬ 
ject :—“ So day steals into night through the crim¬ 
son curtain of twilight — so the golden gates of 
dawn swing round noiseless as the portals of 
heaven. Even the beat of the heart is muffled, 
that we may not know how fast it struggles out.— 
From the building of the oak to the rolling of the 
world, there is no clink in the machinery. There 
is no noise save of helpless waves, or the rent air 
groaning with the lightning’s bolt, or now and 
then the play of volcano’s valves, or of the puny 
cries of insects or men in all this world of ours.— 
The past is dumb — the future is silent, and the 
present makes but a slight ripple, like the trailing 
of a steamer on a quiet sea.” 
Oft in our boyhood’s day have we stood by the 
knees of the aged listening to their tales of “the 
olden time”—when sunny locks clustered around 
brows whereon winter’s snows had long found a 
resting-place, and wo, involuntarily, queried “shall 
these things be unto us ?” Oft, while gazing upon 
the bent form and tottering step of the eartli-weari- 
ed one—he who was willing to bid the earth good¬ 
night and enter upon his heavenly mission with a 
glad good-morning welling to his lips — have jve 
thought shall “ aged and alone ” be written over 
against us as we approach the Valley? Many 
there be who 
-“ Are only waiting 
Till the shadows arc a little longer grown,” 
and He who “doeth all things well” will soon 
wrap around their tired senses the mantle of for¬ 
getfulness, saying, “ Come Home.” 
“ Thirty years old!” Almost one-half of the 
“three-score and ten” have fled forever, and the 
eye that so fixedly watched the pole-star above the 
horizon of the Future turns lovingly to the Past, 
for fond thoughts are calling, “back! back!” A 
new land is thrown open, and though its portals 
are not golden-hued by the skillful fingers of 
Fancy, still beauteous prospects and harmonious 
sounds may please the eye and gratify the ear, as 
they come forth from the Home of Many Memories. 
“It TMiglit Have Been.!” 
For how many a life may these four simple 
words form a fitting epitaph. “ It may be,” is the 
rallying cry of youth as a rose-tinted sky spreads 
before the vision. “ It will be,” is the chosen 
watchword of maturer years, and manhood’s phys¬ 
ical and mental development are bent to the task. 
“ It might have been,” is the echo of age. Stand¬ 
ing between two eternities — the past and the 
future—hopes buried, aspirations crushed, strength 
departed-, bodily infirmities increasing and weigh¬ 
ing down the spirit, olden memories throng the 
brain, and from the soul’s depths, fraught with bit¬ 
ter anguish, pours forth the life-history—“It 
might have been.” Such, however, is not the ne¬ 
cessity of humanity. Sound social philosophy and 
genuine morality would work out a nobler destiny 
leaving to mankind a purer and holier record. He 
avIio rules the elements “ created man in His own 
image,” giving him “ dominion over the earth and 
AA'ritten for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker, 
TRIUMPH IN DEATH. 
It was morning, bright and beautiful. In a 
small room whose thickly curtained windows ad¬ 
mitted but so much light as was required that his 
friends .might minister to liis wants, upon his 
couch, lay an old, wKlte-hnirea m,.„. Upon the 
once handsome face was traced many a deep fur¬ 
row, plowed by time and care, yet his countenance 
was lighted by a smile, sweet and holy. The fever 
which had for days burned in his frame, taking 
away all power of mind and giving delirium wild 
and powerful, had been subdued, and he lay in all his 
weakness, sleeping calmly. Noiselessly his atten¬ 
dants moved about the room, and by his side, 
almost breathlessly, watched his only relative—a 
much-loved daughter. It was the hour that would 
tell who should be conquerer — life or death.— 
Reader, have yon never witnessed such a scene ? 
Have you never in breathless anxiety gazed upon 
a loved face at such an hour, and prayed, “ spare, 
Lord?” 
The hour was passing swiftly, and no change in 
the aged man. Sweetly he seemed to sleep as an 
infant on its mother’s breast. The daughter grew 
hopeful as she listened to liis regular breathing, so 
like one in health. She pictured to herself the 
recovery of her loved father, and joy once more 
filled her long sorrowing heart. She hears a whis¬ 
per, and comes nearer to catch the first word 
uttered. The emaciated hand falls upon her head, 
and blessing her he murmurs, “ be faithful here— 
meet me in Heaven.” Then, opening the closed 
eyelids, he said, “God calls me home; ‘I have 
fought the good fight, I have kept the faith,’ I shall 
wear the crown,” and, shouting victory, he expired. 
Fond heart, where now are thy hopes so lately 
cherished ?—he, thy earthly counsellor and guide, 
thy only loved one, sleeps in the arms of death — 
sleeps never to waken. 
For many years had this faithful minister of God 
stood on the walls of Zion warning perishing sin¬ 
ners to flee from the wrath to come, and pointing 
them to a crucified and risen Savior. Many, many 
souls had been touched by his eloquent appeals, 
and, seeing their malady, had applied to, and been 
healed, by the Great Physician. His work was 
now done—his labors were ended. 
A Christian’s death-bed! There is something in 
that scene of victory over the last foe,—that sur¬ 
render of the last enemy,—which makes the be¬ 
holder desire the grace which can give a triumph 
so glorious. Death, the conquerer, is there con¬ 
quered. Truly we are deprived of the forms of 
come a 
simplicity of Nature, 
hands of the loving Father the gift of a beautiful 
child, consider that it is a weak, delicate thing, to 
whose organization a single error in management 
may be fatal, and by all your love for the dear one, 
exert yourself to understand and obey the laws 
which govern that organization. If it is born 
healthy, endeavor to preserve its health; if dis¬ 
eased, husband its small vitality with the greatest 
care, lest the spark of life be soon extinguished, 
and your soul mourn because of the succeeding 
darkness. It is so sad a thing to bury the babe of 
one’s affection, that it would seem that every true 
mother’s heart would eagerly seek for information 
as to liow this may be done, and as eagerly apply 
that information when known. Your child is born 
.—what are you to do with it ? 
1. Clothe it properly. Regulate the amount of its 
clothing in such a manner as to secure it sufficient 
warmth, and at the time so dispose it that no 
part shall be denied the access of fresh air, or be 
compressed so as to prevent a free circulation of 
the blood, and the free movement of every muscle 
of the body. 
2. Let the atmosphere which it breathes be uncon¬ 
taminated by poison. The blood cannot be puri¬ 
fied by foul air, and if at every inspiration are 
inhaled elements antagonistic to the system, how 
long, think you, will it take for the little body to 
become laden with disease—how long before your 
heart will be agonized by its cries of pain ? There 
are many sources of atmospheric impurity, and 
one of the most prolific, one most likely to affect 
us, is the human body itself. At every expiration 
of the lungs are thrown off large quantities of 
poison, which, if re-inhaled, become a source of 
disease. This is sure to be done, unless thorough 
ventilation is secured. If you long confine your 
children to rooms to which the fresh air can have 
no access, you are slowly, but as surely, poisoning 
them as though you mingled arsenic or strychnine 
with their food. 
The following, from the Scientific American, so 
forcibly illustrates the subject of “ Air Poison,” 
that although it has, we believe, once appeared in 
the Rural, it would seem proper to call attention 
to it again in this connection : 
“ People have often said that no difference can be 
detected in the analyzation of pure and impure air. 
This is one of the vulgar errors difficult to dislodge 
from the ordinary brain. 
The fact is that the condensed air of a crowded 
room gives a deposit, which, if allowed to remain 
a few days, forms a solid, thick, glutinous mass, 
having a strong odor of animal matter. If exam¬ 
ined by the microscope, it is seen to undergo a 
remarkable change. First of all, it is converted 
into a vegetable growth, and this is followed by the 
production of multitudes of animalcules—a decisive 
proof that it must contain organic matter, other¬ 
wise it could not nourish organic beings. A writer 
in Lichen's Household Words, in remarking upon 
Unconscious Influence.— The very handling of 
the nursery is significant, and the petulance, the 
passion, the gentleness, the tranquillity indicated 
by it, are all re-produced in the child. His soul is 
a purely receptive nature, and that, for a considera¬ 
ble period, without choice or selection. A little 
further on, he begins voluntarily to copy every¬ 
thing he sees. Voice, manner, gait, everything 
which the eye sees, the mimic instinct delights to 
act over. And thus we have a whole generation of 
future men receiving from us their very beginnings, 
and the deepest impulses of their life and immor¬ 
tality. They watch us every moment, in the fam¬ 
ily, before the hearth, and at the table; and when 
we are meaning them no good or evil, when we are 
conscious of exerting no influence over them, they 
are drawing from us impressions and molds of 
habit, which, if wrong, no heavenly discipline can 
wholly remove; or, if right, no bad associations 
utterly dissipate, Now, it may be doubted, I think, 
Avhether, in all the active influence of our lives, we 
do as much to shape the destiny of our fellow-men, 
as we do in this single article of unconscious influ¬ 
ence over children.— Bushnell. 
A beautiful smile is to the female countenance 
what the sunbeam is to the landscape. It em- 
belishes an inferior face, and redeems an ugly 
one. A smile, lioivever, should not become habit¬ 
ual, or insipidity is the result, nor should the 
mouth break into a smile on one side, the other 
remaining passive and unmoved, for this imparts 
an air of deceit and grotesqueness to the face. 
A disagreeable smile distorts the lines of beauty, 
and is more repulsive than a frown. 
There are many kinds of smiles, each having a 
distinctive character — some announce goodness 
and sweetness; others betray sarcasm, bitterness 
and pride; some soften the countenance by their 
languishing tenderness, others brighten it by their 
brilliant and spiritual vivacity. Gazing and por¬ 
ing before a mirror cannot aid in acquiring beau¬ 
tiful smiles half so Avell as to turn the gaze inward 
to watch that the hearts keeps unsullied from re¬ 
flection of evil, and illuminated and beautified by 
all sweet thoughts. 
Then there is a woman’s sweet laugh, than 
which there is not a natural grace more bewitch¬ 
ing. Its sound has been pleasantly compared to 
that of flutes on the water. It leaps from her 
heart in a clear, sparkling rill, and the heart that 
it reaches feels as if bathed in a cool, exhilarating 
spring! It runs the prose of lips into poetry; it 
flings showers of sunshine over this darksome 
world in which we are traveling, and it gilds with 
light and brightsomeness all that it touches.— 
Selected. 
Kindness. —A well-meant act of kindness shown 
towards one who is superior in station, however 
trifling in itself, is always felt to be of real value. 
Such tokens are always Avell received, and tend 
greatly to promote that heartiness of kindly feeling 
which it is so important to maintain between the 
different orders of society. Those in humble life 
should, therefore, consider and cultivate this prac¬ 
tical manifestation of good will towards the more 
elevated. While, on the other hand, the high in 
station may do as much, or more, good, by the 
character of their personal acts of benevolence, as 
by any amount of almsgiving. The feelings, the 
tastes, the circumstances, the position of our hum¬ 
bler brethren, should be respected in every work 
that is undertaken for their benefit.— Rev. F. W. 
Naylor. 
True Joy.— That is the true and chief joy which 
is not conceived from the creature, but received from 
the Creator, which, being once possessed thereof, 
none can take from thee; whereto all pleasure, being 
compared, is torment, all joy is grief, sweet things 
are bitter, all glory is baseness, and all delectable 
things are despicable.— Bernard. 
Those who are faithful in well-doing, need not 
fear those that are spiteful in evil-doiug, for they 
have a God to trust to who has well-doers under 
the hand of His protection, and evil-doers under 
the hand of His restraint. 
Humility ever dwells with men of noble minds. 
It is a flower thqt prospers not in lean and barren 
soils; but in a ground that is rich it flourishes and 
is beautiful. 
When we record our angry feelings, let it be on 
the snow, that the first beam of sunshine may ob¬ 
literate them forever. 
Nothing is further than earth from heaven 
nothing is nearer than heaven to earth. 
