MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER,. 
321 
ptudlaiumts. 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
THE COUNTRY. 
BY G. J. CLARKE. 
Adieu, the city’s noise and earel 
We ll seek the tow’l ing hills. 
Where Nature’s music haunts the air, 
And joy each spirit fills! 
Where soft and balmy breezes blow 
And bear the brealh of (lowers; 
Where silver streamlets gently (low 
Through quiet woodland bowers. 
We’ll watch the sun when first he glides, 
From morning's rosy hall, 
Wtien, at his glance, the day-star hides 
llchind heaven’s azure wall. 
When moon’s soft languor fills the sky. 
In wildwood cool and dim, 
Beside some rambling i ill we'll lie, 
And list ils dreamy hymn. 
When sunlight dies along the skies, 
And in the west afar, 
Mild shadows fill the day-god's eyes, 
We’ll rove ’ueatli love’s sweet star. 
Then let us leave the city’s care, 
And seek the tow’ring hills, 
Where Nature’s music haunts the air, 
And joy each spirit fills! 
Oh, gladly there will pass each day 1 
The fairy-footed hours 
Will lightly, gently glide away, 
As zephyrs from the flowers. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
THE FETE NAPOLEON AT STRASBOURG. 
Strasbourg, Aug. 22, 1854. 
Dear Rural :—The fete of the Emperor, 
the loyal Frenchman’s “ Fourth of July," has 
just passed off, and I propose to give yon an 
account of the manner in which it was cele¬ 
brated in this famous city of Strasbourg.— 
Long before the day arrived, preparations 
were in progress. As early as the 4th of the 
month a circular was issued by the minister of 
religion and of public instruction, addressed to 
the Archbishops and Bishops, providing for 
the religious part of the ceremonies, and, at 
the same time, one from the minister of the 
interior to the prefects of the various depart¬ 
ments, respecting other arrangements. Since 
then, hardly a day has passed, without bring¬ 
ing some additional document, a proclamation 
from the Mayor, of particular regulations for 
preserving order during the day, an an¬ 
nouncement of the organization of a pleasure 
train for Paris, or a programme setting forth 
the different modes in which the public joy 
was to be testified. This national fete has 
long existed in France, but the day for its 
celebration has changed with the successive 
sovereigns who have occupied the throne, be¬ 
ing always that of the patron Saint of the 
monarch. For example, under Louis X VUIth 
it was the 25th of August, this being the day 
of St. Ludovicus; under Charles Xth*it was 
the fourth of November, the day in which 
g-ood Catholics venerate the memory of St. 
Charles, &c. Napoleon the 1st, not being 
named after any Saint in the calendar, was 
obliged to make his own selection, and accord¬ 
ingly chose the 15th of Aug., which was his 
birthday, and already set apart by the Catholic 
church to celebrate the assumption of the 
Virgin. Ilis nephew follow in the foot-steps 
of his illustrious uncle in this, as well as many 
other particulars, and his fete is therefore 
placed on the loth of Augusts 
The day was ushog-ed in, if we are to believe 
the papers, by salvos of artillery, and the peal¬ 
ing of all the bells. The bells 1 can vouch for, 
but 1 did not go to see the cannons fired, and 
it would have required a critics ear to hear 
them at any distance. During the morning, 
between four and five thousand loaves of bread 
were distributed to the poor, and at 9 o’clock 
the religious exercises in the different churches 
commenced, and continued till ^poon. They 
consisted of the chanting of Te Deums, of 
prayers for the Emperor and for the country, 
followed, in some instances, by the distribution 
of prizes to the children of the parish-schools. 
At 11 o’clock the official Te Deuni was 
chanted in the Cathedral. Detachments of 
troops were present, and all the dignitaries of 
the city assisted in state dress. The Arch¬ 
bishops and Bishops were glittering in robes 
of crimson and cloth of gold, the members of 
the judiciary in black velvet gowns, bordered 
with ermine, and the Prefect of the Depart¬ 
ment of the Bas-llhin, the Mayor of Strasbourg 
with his adjuncts, and other city officers, 
figured in coats richly adorned with silver em¬ 
broidery. The procession was an imposing 
one, and the majestic strains of the Te Deuni, 
pealing up through the lofty arches of the 
Cathedral, very impressive, but the prepara¬ 
tions, the banners with which the walls were 
decorated, the presence of soldiers under arms, 
and the clang of martial music with which they 
were ushered into the church, seemed strange¬ 
ly out of keeping with the quiet and decorum 
which should characterize a place of worship. 
At 12 o’clock the review commenced on the 
place Kleber, a hue, large square near the 
centre of the city, expressly appropriated to 
military displays, and adorned with the statue 
of the famous General from whom it is named. 
The review lasted about au hour and a halt 
The number of troops upon the ground was 
large, and their appearance fine. They were 
first drawn up in lines around three sides of the 
square, and after the General of the division 
had reviewed them to his satisfaction, riding 
for this purpose leisurely back and forth be¬ 
tween the ranks, attended by his stuff, they 
defiled before him by companies, and marched 
off to their quarters. Several of the compa¬ 
nies were followed by a cantiniere, fancifully 
attired, and having a miniature cask of liquor 
suspended at her side, as a symbol of her pro¬ 
fession. While looking at them a new idea 
suddenly dawned upon my mind, which I hasten, 
dear Rural, to impart to you. The Bloomer 
costume, which has been so long regarded as 
the invention of Mrs Amelia Bloomer, or some 
other “strong-minded woman,’’ is nothing but, 
a copy, more or less accurate, of the dress of a 
French cantiniere. There are the same short 
petticoats, the same full trowsers, and, to crown 
all, the hat, a slight modification of a gentle¬ 
man’s beaver, set jauntily on one side of the 
head. Let Bloomers beware of making their 
appearance in France, for they would be in 
great danger of being regarded as wandering 
cantinieres, and would quite probably be ar¬ 
rested and placed in safe keeping till their reg¬ 
iment should appear to claim them. 
But to return to the review. The troops 
finished defiling, the last company being the 
iS 'uppers, with their heads buried in immense 
bear-skin caps, and an apron of white buck¬ 
skin reaching nearly to their lcet, and the place 
was left clear for the artillery, which plays no 
unimportant part in a town so strongly forti¬ 
fied as Strasbourg. A long train of it soon 
made its appearance, the horses dragging the 
heavy cannon at a brisk trot,— they passed 
once around the square, and the review was 
finished. 
At 3 o’clock feats were performed by the 
boatmen upon a space in the canal enclosed 
for the purpose. The favorite trial of skill and 
strength was this. Two boats, at a given sig 
nal, advanced towards each other from oppo¬ 
site directions, being rowed by an equal number 
of boys, dressed in white, with red sashes. In 
the prow of each stood a boy, holding a small 
banner, and in the stern a man armed with a 
long pole. As the boats passed each other 
these men brought their poles to a horizontal 
position, and each, placing the eud of his 
weapon against the breast of his antagonist, 
sought to push him backwards into the water. 
This was not ordinarily very difficult, for the 
instant the balance was lost the man must fall; 
the swift motion of the boat, and his position 
at the extreme end, preventing- his recovering 
the ground he had lost. Frequently both 
combatants went into the water at once, some¬ 
times one would succeed in throwing his op¬ 
ponent over backwards without falling himself, 
and at other times, by^xterously slipping the 
end of his antagonist’* his breast, he 
would cause him to plunge forward into the 
water by the force of his own impetus. This 
sport continued until all the actors had taken 
at least one cold bath, the person who went 
through this operation last being considered 
the victor; and then followed some comic per¬ 
formances upon the water. 
Later in the afternoon a fair of rural games 
was held at the Robertsuu, a fine pleasure- 
ground, situated about a mile from the city, 
with which it is connected by a delightful 
promenade. Lest any of your readers should 
be misled by the word fair, I must explain 
that fairs in France are totally unlike what 
they are with us. No new inventions, no 
manufacturers or agricultural products are ex¬ 
hibited, but the whole display consists in 
ginger-bread and fruit-stands, in flying-horses 
and miniature railways, for children, aud in 
petty lotteries and mountebank shows of every 
description, for children of a larger growth. 
In addition to the ordinary attractions, this 
fair was provided with two greased poles, 
which displayed a motley array of colored 
handkerchiefs, sausages, pipes, suspenders, and 
withal a watch, the rewards of the adventurous 
youth who should succeed in climbing their 
slippery length. Also, an orchestra, which 
performed at intervals for the peasants to 
duuce, an exercise iu which they engaged with 
right good will, notwithstanding the ground 
was wet aud slippery from recent rains. The 
stout country boys, in their blue blouses, and the 
ruddy-cheeked, broad-shouldered lasses, whirled 
round in the mazes of the polka with an energy 
and evident enjoyment, that amply atoned for 
any lack of grace. 
The ambitious aspirants for the honors of 
the pole were so many practical illustrations of 
the dilliculty of attaining an elevated positiou 
in society, and the facility of the descent to the 
common level of humanity. Most of them, by 
mighty efforts, would succeed in reaching a 
certain height, where they would first become 
stationary, and then, after struggling a moment 
to retain their hold, slide down again with 
marvellous celerity. It was only by a plenti¬ 
ful use of ashes, rubbed upon the hands and 
arms, and also sprinkled upon the pole to re¬ 
move its slippery coating, that one resolute 
boy of about twelve years succeeded in reach¬ 
ing the top of one of them, aud detaching the 
watch as his prize. The ascent was now com¬ 
paratively easy, and this pole was soon stripped 
of all its pendants. Meanwhile the other still 
remained unconquered. It was a little larger, 
or a little more slippery, than its companion, 
and the afternoon had nearly passed before re¬ 
peated efforts, and, above all, a liberal use of 
ashes, finally overcame the difficulties which it 
presented. 
In the evening there was a fine exhibition of 
fire-works, in an open lawn near the ground 
which the fair occupied. One of the most 
graceful pieces represented a serpent pursuing 
a butterfly. The form and undulating motion 
of the reptile, and the zig-zag movement of the 
insect were perfectly imitated. Another fine 
piece was the facade of a chateau, perfectly 
defined in lines of flame, surmounted by a 
medallion portrait of the Emperor, framed in 
jets of light, while underneath the motto, 
“ Vive l’ Empereur ! n was traced in fiery char¬ 
acters. 
All the public buildings in the city were 
decorated during the day, and illuminated at 
night There was a great display of tri-colored 
banners, of eagles and of crowned N.’s. The 
spire of the Cathedral was also illuminated, 
but the effect was not very good, because the 
illumination was only partial, and did not mark 
the taper outline of this wonderful structure 
with sufficient precision. A boat illuminated 
and decorated, traversed the canal betweeu the 
hours of 8 and 10, containing the choir attach¬ 
ed to the theatre, who performed various 
pieces of music, while at intervals fire-works 
were discharged upon the water. A magnifi¬ 
cent boquet, composed of rockets of different 
colors, terminated the fete. 
I could not but observe one point in which 
this national festivity differed from similar an¬ 
niversaries in our own land. Brilliant it un¬ 
doubtedly was, as only the French know how 
to make such an occasion, but it sadly lacked 
spontaneity. Everything down to the minut¬ 
est particular of the arrangements, was regu¬ 
lated and cared for by the government, and 
individual or popular enthusiasm had nothing 
whatever to do with all these costly displays. 
My hostess, a staunch republican, as she point¬ 
ed out to me the various object of interest, 
repeatedly exclaimed, “ Oh ! you should have 
seen a fete in the times of the Republic ! It 
was a different thing from this. Now the only 
houses which are decorated are the public 
buildings, and those occupied by employes of 
the government, or by individuals who have 
received the cross of the Legion of Honor; 
then, every citizen exerted himself to contrib¬ 
ute to the general rejolemg.” Strasbourg is 
eminently republican in its character. Once a 
free and sovereign city of Germany, it still 
finds it difficult to bend its neck to the yoke, 
and many of its citizens religiously cherish the 
memory of the Republic, short-lived aud im¬ 
perfect though it was. M. 
MISERY OF STATESMEN. 
Probably few great philosophic statesmen 
—few men, that is, who had acted intimately 
in public affairs as well as contemplated them 
from the closet—ever quitted the stage with¬ 
out a feeling of profound discouragement— 
Whether successful or unsuccessful, as the 
world would deem them, a seuse of sadness aud 
disappointment seems -to prevail over every 
other sentiment They have attained so few 
of their objects—they have fallen so far short 
of their ideal—they have seen so much more 
than ordiuary men of the dangers and difficul¬ 
ties of nations, and of the vices and meanness 
of public men. Not many Englishmen gov¬ 
erned so long or so successfully as Sir Robert 
Feel, or set in such a halo of blessings and es¬ 
teem ; yet, shortly before his death, he confess¬ 
ed that what he had seen and heard in public 
lile had left upon his mind a prevalent impres¬ 
sion of gloom and grief. Who ever succeed¬ 
ed so splendidly as Washington? Who ever 
enjoyed to such a degree, and to the end, the 
confidence aud gratitude of his country?— 
“ Vet,” says Guizot, “ towards the close of his 
life, in the sweet and dignified retirement of 
Mount Vernon, something of lassitude and 
sadness hung about the mind of a man so se¬ 
renely great—a feeling, indeed, most natural 
at the termination of a life spent in men’s con¬ 
cerns. Power is a heavy burden, and man¬ 
kind a hard task-master to him who struggles 
virtuously against their passions and their er¬ 
rors. Success itself cannot wipe out the sor¬ 
rowful impressions which originate in the con¬ 
flict, and the weariness contracted on the 
scene of action is prolonged even in the bosom 
of repose.”— North British Review. 
Refinement. —Those who rail at poetry and 
refinement as superfluous ingredients in every¬ 
day happiness, little know what main props 
they seek to undermine. These will abide 
when even principles waver. Manly delicacy 
is as necessary in family life as manly rectitude; 
and womanly tact as womanly virtue. There 
is as much happiness wrecked from the ab¬ 
sence of the one as from the absence of the 
other. Those who neglect the varnishes of 
life, commit an insidious siu toward themselves. 
Good manners are the blossom of good 
sense, and it may be added, of good feeling too; 
for, if the law of kindness be written iu the 
heart, it will lead to disinterestedness in little 
as well as in great things—that desire to 
oblige, and attention to the gratification of 
others, which is the foundation of good man¬ 
ners. 
“LOST CIHLD” 
Since our early years, there has always been 
a vast meaning in the vocal proclamation of 
“Lost Child;” and troops of strange and 
mournful fancies have been called up bv the 
accompanying bell-notes of the City Crier’s 
dismal bass. 
We think not so much of the anxious ones 
at home wondering and weeping that the child 
has wandered away, carrying with him many 
hearts; for the absent stroller will be doubtless 
soon restored. 
There are other and many Lost Children in 
the great city, for whom no crier maketh ut¬ 
terance, whom no bell, were its reverberations 
full of thunder, could summon to the deserted 
household. Those Lost Children are indeed 
lost; they will not return with the morn of the 
morrow. The stars shall gleam through the 
dark tresses of Night, aud the Day put on his 
golden crown countless times, and the lost will 
not be found. 
Lost Children have hidden their forms in 
the cold earth; they went singing on their way 
and plucking blossoms, until Death gathered 
them from the sight and love of the bereaved. 
But they are still singing and still culling 
blossoms—singing the songs of angels, and fill¬ 
ing their bosoms with amaranths of blissful¬ 
ness, in the azure fields of Heaven. And yet 
those that are left behind have not learned 
resignation nor the beautiful teachings of faith. 
They look up to the stars with eyes blinded by 
tears, aud behold not the glory of the Apoca¬ 
lypse recorded in their sheen. 
The wrung and riven spirits feel the dismal¬ 
ness of the “Lost Child” more keenly when 
some beloved being is dead and yet alive; when 
destiny has reared a barrier between two dear 
loves, and made sobs and prayers mere bur¬ 
thens of the wind. The sea of circumstance 
roars between them, and they will not take the 
plunge, though they perish on the shore. 
There are other Lost Children, cruelly, fatal¬ 
ly and desperately lost. Gifted sons that have 
drained the Circean cup, and taken the de¬ 
mon-goddess to their arms—fair, pure daugh¬ 
ters, who have hearkened to the tempter’s hon¬ 
ied tongue, and fallen in a simple innocence 
through the strong weakness of woman’s 
love. 
These, 0, these, are poor Lost Children that 
it beseemeth Charity to strengthen and good¬ 
ness to assist. Their toils were firm and their 
errors only human. 
The City Crier’s trade would not serve for 
them who need no brazen throat to call them 
back to the abandoned hearth-stone. The low 
voice of affection and compassion may, 
lead them unto duty here again, and to the 
lost children, the amaranth gatherers, hereafter. 
Cease thy clanging bell, theu publisher of 
woe! There are no lost children; they will re¬ 
turn to us or we to them when the stars shine 
brightest behind the darkest cloud. — Cin. 
Times. 
WIIAT A HOY CAN DO. 
In passing along one of our streets the other 
day, a little fellow fell in with an old salt, who 
was shivering, with three sheets in the wind. 
“Ship ahoy!” hailed the tar—and the little 
chap hauled up alongside. “ Where away may 
be the Seaman’s Mansion?” 
The lad proffered to show him, and they 
held along together—the sailor steering very 
wildly—sometimes hard up, as though he had 
struck a heavy sea, and then yawning off to 
the right or left, as the case might be. 
“ I am not exactly water-logged,” said he, 
“ but have too much of a deck load on—aud 
top hamper is rather heavy for my ballast! 
eh, a little too much of the critter aboard— 
hick, you understand. Shun the rum, the blue 
ruin, my little man, as you’d avoid old Timber- 
toes. Shiver my topsails! but it was the rjuin 
of me. Here have 1 got a wife and little ones, 
one a youngster about the same tonnage as 
yourself, in Boston, aud some property besides, 
but Satan has placed a barrier between us, in 
the shape of a can of grog. Shun the critter, 
my lad, as you’d shun a pesiilence.” 
The lad promised to bear in mind his advice, 
and then asked him why he did not sign the 
temperance pledge. 
“ Where may that temperance pledge be 
found?” he inquired. 
His young comrade informed him that there 
was to be a temperance meeting at the Ex¬ 
change that evening, and offered to go with 
him if he would sign the pledge. 
“What! a child urging me to sign the 
pledge? I’ll go. Come in here, my little one, 
(by this time they had arrived at the Seaman’s 
Mansion) and take some supper with me; as 
soon as we have got the ballast in, we’ll haul 
up for this same temperance meeting. Stave 
iu my bulwarks if we dont.” 
The little fellow ituck by him, and as soon as 
supper was over, went with him to the temper¬ 
ance meeting, where the old salt signed the 
pledge. As he did so he remarked that when¬ 
ever he was tempted to drink, he would think 
of that little boy’s care for his welfare. 
We doubt not that warm hearted tar will 
keep the pledge so long as his timbers hold to¬ 
gether. The next day he went to sea—not 
forgetting to call upon his juvenile friend be¬ 
fore his departure, and he assured him he 
should seek his wife and family on his return. 
So much for the influence of a child.— Life 
Boat. 
A Poor Woman’s Gratitude. —Mr. Gough 
in one of his orations before the British audi¬ 
ence, related the following incident We 
doubt whether from any of the beautiful and 
costly gifts, of which Mr. Gough has been 
made the recipient, from admirers of his geni¬ 
us and philanthophy, any one has more deeply 
touched his heart than this testimonial of the 
poor Edingurgh woman. Said he: 
“ While iu Edinburgh, lately, a woman 
with two children called upon me, and, though 
very poor, insisted that I should accept a pres¬ 
ent of a white handkerchief, saying:—‘ While 
you wipe the sweat from your brow, when you 
are speaking in this cause, let it remind you 
that you have dried the tears of my house.’ > 
CONDUCTED by a-E. 
WILT THOU LOVE HER STILL] 
“ Wilt thou love her still, when the sunny curls 
That over her bosom flow, 
Will be laced with the silver threads of age, 
And her step falls sad and low ? 
Wilt thou love her still, when the summer’s smiles 
On her lips no longer live ?” 
“ I will love her still, 
With right good will.” 
“Thou wilt love her still? then our cherished one 
To thy sheltering arms we give.” 
“ Wilt thou love her still, when her changeful eyes 
Have grown dim with sorrow's rain; 
When the bosom that beats against thine own 
Throbs slow with the weight of pain; 
When her silvery laugh rings out no more, 
And vanished her youthful charms ?” 
“ With free good will 
I shall love her still.” 
“ Thou wilt love her still ? then our dearest one 
We give to thy loving arms.” 
“ Remember, no grief has she ever known, 
Her spirit is light and free; 
None other, with ialterless step, has prest 
Its innermost shades, but tkee! 
Thou wilt love her still, when the tho'ts of youth 
Iu their blushing bloom depait?” 
“ Thiough good and ill 
I will love her still.” 
“ Tliou wilt love her still ? then our darling take 
To the joy of thy noble heart.” 
“ Remember, for thee does she smiling leave 
The friends of her early day s — 
No longer to meet their appioving looks, 
Nor their fond unfeigned praise. 
Forgive her then if the tears fall fast, 
And promise to love her well.” 
“ I will love her still 
With right good will.” 
“ Thou wilt love her still ? then with peaceful trust 
We our sobbing sorrows quell.” 
When her father is dead, and the emerald sod 
Lies still on her mother’s breast; 
When her brother’s voice is no longer heard. 
And her sister’s hushed to rest — 
Wilt thou love her still ? for to thee she looks, 
Her star on life’s troubled sea.” 
“ I will love her still 
Through good and ill.” 
‘‘ With the marriage vow on her youthful lip, 
Then, we give our child to thee.” ( 
GENTLE WORDS. 
When, far from the dear home of our child¬ 
hood, we hear a kind good-night, or a gently 
expressed wish for our welfare, how fast come 
before us the memories of the past—memories 
that have perhaps been long buried in oblivion. 
Uur early trieuds come circling around us like 
the spirits of dream-land, aud the stranger-face 
becomes a talisman for good that none but one 
far from home can realize. 
When sorrow overwhelms the soul—when 
bright hopes and joyous affections have been 
crushed beneath the J uggeruaut car of op¬ 
pression, even then will a pleasant countenance 
be mirrored in the stricken heart, and kind 
words find there an echoing chord. 
Kind words!—they are the bright sunshine 
that through the tears of childhood form a 
bow of promise lovely as the first bow of heav¬ 
en. lliey are a healing balm to the wounded 
spirit—they take from the dregs of life their 
bitterness, and soften the edge of rebuke, that 
its sting does not rankle iu the soul. When 
the heart bus been lacerated by the thorny ills 
met with in the proud world, how gentle words 
will soothe the irritated spirit! They come 
bearing on their wings perfumes from tfie flow¬ 
ers of friendship aud love. 
Give gentle words to the angry—for “ a soft 
answer turueth away wrath.” Gentle words to 
the timid, and the blessing will return to your 
own bosom tenfold. Kind words to the old— 
for surely they have endured enough of life’s 
ill’s. Kind words to the young—cast not the 
shadow of a disconsolate spirit over their path¬ 
way—it will be dark enough at best. Kiud 
words to the erring—the reproaches of guilt 
must be full hard enough to bear, and harsh 
words will never win them to the ways of 
truth. Speak gently to all; a smile is more 
precious than rubies, and costs nothing but 
what it amply repays. Kind words, welling up 
from the heart, like a spring of water on the 
hill-side, spread beauty around, nourishing that 
lovely flower, a meek aud quiet spirit, from 
whose chalice acceptable iuceuse arises to Di¬ 
vinity.— Ladies' Wreath. 
PLEASURE. 
Blessed be the hand that prepares a pleas¬ 
ure for a child! for there is uo saying when 
and where it may again bloom forth. Does 
not almost everybody remember some kind- 
hearted man who showed him a*kiuduessin 
the quiet days of his childhood? The writer 
of this recollects himself at this moment as a 
bare-footed lad, Jstanding at the wooden fence 
of a poor little garden in his native village; 
with longing eyes he gazed on the flowers 
which were blooming there quietly iu the 
brightness of a Sunday morning. The pos¬ 
sessor came forth from his little cottage—he 
was a wood-cutter by trade—aud spent the 
whole week at work in the woods. He had 
come into his garden to gather flowers to put 
iu his coat when he went to church. He saw 
the boy, and breaking off’ the most beautiful of 
his carnations—it was streaked with red and 
white—gave it to him. Neither the giver nor 
the receiver spoke a word; aud with bounding 
steps the boy ran home; and now, here at a 
vast distance from that home, after so many 
eveuts of so many years, the feeliugs of grati¬ 
tude which agitated the breast of that boy ex¬ 
presses itself on paper. The caruatiou has 
loug since withered, but now blooms afresh.— 
Douglas Jerrold. 
Good qualities, like great abilities, are in¬ 
comprehensible and inconceivable to such as 
are deprived of them. 
