realities, and our cherished imaginings fulfilled, 
we should not necessarily he any happier than 
before. No one can be happy who has not the 
source and spring of happiness within himself. 
Lot him have “all that heart can wish,” let the 
whole earth be drainod to meet his wants, and 
it would not be enough; he would thirst and 
hunger still, aud crave a good unfound. 
St. Charles, III., 1864. Martha. 
“ If the ladies will pardon us, we will venture 
a hint on the dimensions of the skirt . Its most 
excellent end is to insure the unrestricted use of 
the limbs in walking; it must, therefore, he of 
sufficient diameter to allow a full step and the 
necessary space for the underclothing; if it re¬ 
strict the step in the least degree, it is too small. 
No woman should he ambitious of a short step; 
the longer the Btep the more breadth required, 
aud the greater development of the thorax and 
lungs; quick and energetic walking, with the 
shoulders thrown hack, wijl do as much for the 
growth of the vital organs as singing. Women 
must dress warmly, keep her feet dry, walk 
more, and eat more, or she will never fulfill the 
great object of her creation.’’ 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
“WHAT I GAVE.” 
Written for Moore’s Rural Now-Yorkor. 
THE SKEPTIC’S DAUGHTER. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
LINES TO AN ABSENT FRIENDS 
BT ALLEN DS LEE. 
BT BK1.L CLINTON. 
Forth into the waving woodland 
Wandered I one summer day; 
Down beside the sun-lit waters 
Where the winsome wavelets play, 
Thinking, oh, so sadly thinking, 
As 1 watched the laughing stream, 
Leaping up to catch the trasses 
Of a golden haired sunbeam; 
Of the life-waves that mnst roll, 
Of the dreaming and the waking, 
Of the gladness and the aching, 
E’er thine hand in mine own taking 
I can greet tbee as of old. 
Long I sat thus sadly musing, 
When upon my dreaming stole 
Softest waves of sweetest mnsic 
Filling, thrilling all my soul; 
And heboid! a shining seraph, 
Clad in robes of radiance bright, 
With a harp heav’n-tuned and golden, 
Stood in clouds of silv’ry light 
Just my ’wilde-red pane above; 
And in tonoa like music floating 
Were these words unto me spoken, 
As she smiled assuring token. 
“ Ask a boon for her yon love.” 
Thought I then of wealth and station, 
Of a proud and qneenly name. 
Of a life of high ambition. 
Of the “laurel-wreath” of fame. 
But as each came up before me 
Banished were they in disgrace, 
All unworthy the pure friendship 
That would lasting blessings place 
Wheresoe'er the feet should roam, 
Thus away from each one turning, 
Ever some defect discerning, 
Game at length the soul's deep yeamiDg, 
“Grant that Heaven may be her home.” 
Lakeville* N. Y., 1864. Geneyra. 
A fair yonpg girl lay dying. On her brow 
Tho pale death shadows played, and from bet eye 
Unearthly brUliaflou gleamed,—niul truly now 
Tt Bpeaks,—tho soul's dread parting must he nigh. 
Breathlessly silent all, save when the sigh 
From stricken hearts goes out upon the air, 
That she, tholr cherished, mnst so early dio, 
When life is beaming o’er hor bright and fair, 
And the glad boart hath known no griof, or care. 
The sunlight rests upon the blighted flower, 
As tho' to mock the shadows of decay. 
Tho breeze that passes through the trelliscd bower, 
Murmurs, tho beautiful must pass away 
As shadowy mists at the approach or day. 
They gather round her. lie, the manly sire 
Whom fear in battles dire could not dismay, 
Weeps, that, tlio star of Hope may not rise highor 
Ere its pure light ho qncuchod, and it expire- 
Sho look'd upon him, he was ever kind, 
And round him did her heart’s affections twine; 
nis love was weak to save, and so she spake— 
“Dear father I shall my mutter'* faith be mine 
At tins dread hour, or shall I roet on thintf" 
Then on his boart Truth rushed with heavy tide 
And skepticism's fabric* swept away, 
lie could not turn its horsy waves aside, 
And thus ho to the dying girl replied:— 
11 c thus replied,—while yet that holy spell 
Was on his heart, and bound him bieath its sway, 
(While one by one his own false structures fell ) 
With deep, cmphntic tone, it bade him SBy 
“ Your mother's faith I it is the true, divine, 
Four m other'*, child, your mother's ! not on mine." 
—'Tworo well; for at the hour of closing day 
Tho soul of “ Allen's ” daughter passed away. 
Chenango Co., N. Y., 1864. 
O, God, but to hear the young voices, 
Ring out in our home as of old*! 
Forgive those who murmur boforc thee, 
And miss but the chink of their gold. 
I have been ndown to the village, 
Tho village that sprang like a gourd, 
On the fair green slopes of the river; 
I listened awhile to its lord. 
Ho’d opened his coffers so froely, 
Responsive at once to tho call 
Of the country. Ilad poured out his treasure 
And, what seemed harder than all, 
They’d faxed all hi? broad rolling acres,— 
Had levied on flock and on herd. 
Then, through the deep silence that followed 
There fell not an answering word. 
As if 'twere in awe of his greatness, 
He counted the silence of mine. 
I checked on my lips the proud answer; 
I thought of the pearls and the swine. 
He’d trample my off’ring in scorning, 
My soul's hidden treasure to earth; 
O, hearts that hold such in your keeping 
Ye'll estimate truly its worth. 
I have wealth in th' blood of the pilgrims 
That flows through these Loil swollen veins; 
I have wealth in hands proudly lifted 
That never have worn any stains. 
Only thee! All the rest of my treasure 
My country was given to then! 
Refill, if yc can, the deep coffers, 
Of hearts that have given bo free! 
Thou knowcet, O God of tho battle, 
My lips with their anguish were dumb, 
A3 (hey read death softly bad darken’d, 
Tho eyes of my beautiful one. 
My youngest with eyes like his mother’s— 
She died when this youngest was bom— 
Uis hair tonched with just the soft golden 
That glints on the silk of the com. 
My son]’* broken tendrils reached upward, 
Clinging nearer and nearer to Him, 
Who marched by Ihe side of my Allen, 
Who wept when las young eyes grew dim. 
A stranger hand traced the last tidings— 
God had broken the staff of my age; 
I bowed like a tree in the forest 
Swept down by the tempest's wild rage. 
O, God, but to bear the young voices 
Ring out in our homo as of old! 
Forgive those who murmur before Tlice, 
And miss but the clink of their gold! 
SenSK is a tangle of contradiction. The boy 
throws wood on water, and it floats; then ho 
throws in his new knife, and It sinks. Uow 
was he to know that the same force would lift 
a stick and swallow a knife? lie throws a 
feather after his knife, and away it swims on 
the wind. That is another brook then, in which 
the feather is a stick, and the stick a stone. Not 
only are result* of a single law opposed, hut the 
law pulls one this way, ono that, as gravitation 
contends with currents of water and air. If w r e 
could be Bhut in sense and surface, Nature 
would seem a game of cross-purposes, every 
creature, devouring another. The beast eats 
plant and beast; he dies, and the plant cats him 
again; fire, water and frost, in their old quarrel, 
destroy whatever they build; the night eats the 
day, summer tho snow, and winter the green. 
Change is a revolving wheel, in which so many 
spokes rise, so many fall, a motion returning into 
itself. Nature is a c-irclo, hut man a spiral. No 
wonder he is dissatisfied with his longing to get 
on. Eattug and hunger, labor and rest, gather¬ 
ing and spending, there is no gain. Life is con¬ 
sumed in getting a living. After laborious 
years our money is ready iu bank, but tho man 
who was to enjoy it is gone from enjoyment, 
shriveled with care, every appetite dried up. 
So learning devastates the scholar, is another 
plague of wealth, and our goodness turns out 
to be a hasty mistake. — Holmes, in Atlantic 
Monthly. 
FASHIONABLE WOMEN. 
Fashion kills more women than toil and 
Borrow. Obedience to fashion is a greater 
transgression of the laws of woman’s nature, a 
greater injur y to her physical and mental con¬ 
stitution, than the hardships of poverty and 
uegleet. The slave woman at her task will 
live and grow old, aud see two or three gener¬ 
ations of her mistresses fade and pass away. 
The washer- woman, with scarce a ray of hope 
to cheer her in her toils, will live to see her 
fashionable sisters all die around her. The 
kitchen maid is hearty and strong, when her 
lady has to be nursed like a sick baby. 
It is a sad truth that fashion-pampered women 
are almost worthless for all the good ends of 
human life. They have but little force of 
character; they have still less power of moral 
will, and quite as little physical energy. They 
live for no great purpose in life; they accom¬ 
plish no worthy ones, They are only doll-forms 
in the hands of milliners and servant*, to he 
dressed and fed to order. They dress nobody; 
they feed nobody; they instruct nobody; they 
bloss nobody. They write no books: they set 
no rich examples of virtue and womanly life. 
If they rear children, servants and nurses do 
all, save to conceive and give them birth. And 
when reared, what are they? What do they 
ever amount to but weaker scions of the old 
stock? Who ever heard of a fashionable 
woman’s child exhibiting any virtue and power 
of mind for which it became eminent? Read 
the biographies of our great and good men and 
women. Not one of them had a fashionable 
mother. They nearly all sprang from strong- 
minded women, who had us little to do with 
fashion as with the changing clouds. 
Written for Moore’s Rural Now-Yorkor. 
RESURRECTION. 
DON’T ABANDON THE HOOP SKIRT. 
BEAUTIFUL SUNSETS. 
It is a theme upon which the public teacher 
should much dwell. It has consolation for the 
heart in bereavement, to strengthen it to bear 
its burden of sorrow. All earthly calamities 
have not power to cause the anguish which the 
heart feels that mourns for the departed object 
of its last love. Imagine a mother bending 
over the lifeless form of her child, without auy 
kuowlcdgc of the way by which the dust com¬ 
mitted to dust will be reinvigorutod with life, 
and the loved one be given back again. There 
would often be nothing to save the loving heart 
from the pangs of despair if it were not taught 
that it may have a restoration to that from 
which it has been tom. 
“Why arc we born to die!” exclaimed a 
mother, passionately, as she looked upon her 
failing child. A response comes from a broken 
law. “ Death camp by sin.” Sin caused the 
sentence of death to be given forth, and opened 
the flood-gates of misery upon mankind. There 
may be comparatively little outward indication 
of the inner grief, but there is no possible ex¬ 
pression for the dark pressure ol' speechless 
agony in the soul, when one most dear has beeu 
taken by death from tho desolate home and 
heart. But a triumphant thought may rise 
above those reflections, even amid the grief of 
loss; for Gun has appeared in behalf of his 
creatures in, the person of his Son. The power 
of death is broken, so that tho grave itself be¬ 
comes bright to faith as the portal to a better 
life. Tho earth is full of hint* towards a resur¬ 
rection. It scuds out its brightest flowers above 
the dust.of those who have perished from our 
sight. Giving our bodies to tho grave is but 
planting the seed which shall spring up in the 
light, of 4h© future to bear the fruit of a life of 
glorious esverlartingnoss! Were there no resur¬ 
rection, the insensate dust might well join in a 
universal wail over the multitudes nourished on 
earth’s bosom but to perish. But every flower 
and living thing of the summer-time reaches 
forth with it* prophecy to the possibility of a 
new life. Gol> shall reveal himself, when mis¬ 
ery shall flee away and sin hide itself, while 
gladness shall appear for tho righteous to be 
forever! 
O, heart, heart that is pained and anxious, 
there shall come an hour when the dust will 
scein animated by palpitating life, and bo in 
haste to give up the dead! O, hate tho sin 
which has wrought so much ruin, love Him 
This is the burthen of a wwm-ifesto from the 
Editor of the Scalpel. But “ there’s no use 
o’ talking!" A certain goddess has decreed that 
skirts shall he smaller, and they will be smaller, 
If ehe had said, “let there be none at all,” we 
are confident they would have been abandoned. 
But the Editor of the Scalpel is in distress; 
listen to him: 
“ We consider the modern hooped skirt one of 
the most admirably artistic and health-giving 
devices of our tunc; and no sensible person can 
fail to appreciate its benefit to the young girl or 
woman; we will give our reasons for this opin¬ 
ion; of course they willbe entirely professional, 
for we are no man milliner. 
“It. is conceded by all correct observers, and 
fully recoguized by our anatomists and gymnas¬ 
tic teachers, that the muscles of the thorax and 
its appendages, tho arms and abdomen, are not 
used more than one-fourth as much by our 
modem women as they are compelled to use 
those of the legs; nearly all the movements 
which’ our unfortunate young people are per¬ 
mitted to perform by the inexorable fiat of 
of Japonieadoin are what may be called passive. 
Her bauds must be reverent ly and lovingly folded 
across ber chest in order that their whiteness 
may not sutler by permitting the least motion; 
the lungs, of course, must be kept quiet, not only 
because she is not allowed to walk fast enough 
to require much air, hut because the position of 
the arms, and weight of the fpre-arm and hand 
resting upon the lower ribs, will not allow their 
elevation so that the air can enter the lower 
part of the lungs at all. At best, but a sixth part 
of those life-giving organs are used, and only 
their upper part fully inflated. No w i f the hooped 
skirt bo hooked to the jacket In four places, at 
least, and not left to rest upon the hips, the 
reader will perceive that the backbone and all 
the muscles which inclose and steady both the 
great cavities of the body, and keep them ele¬ 
gantly erect upon the hips, must carry both the 
hoops and the skirt; then these may be made 
both light and elegant, or heavy and grand as 
while drawers of 
American sunset* have become proverbial 
among travelers for their wonderful beauty and 
glory. No one who has ever soon a simset on 
the prairies will ever wish the picture effaced. 
And it seems in New York beautiful sunsets 
have been observed, lor the New York Even¬ 
ing Post says: 
The present season, in this part of the country 
at. least, has been remarkable for the beauty of 
its sunsets. These have been generally almost 
cloudless, like the sunset in Italy and in the 
Levant, with an amber-color or orange light 
flushing the whole sky and streaming into every 
nook and recess open to the air, scarcely casting 
nny shadow, or costing hut a faint and unde¬ 
fined one, from the objects on which it falls. 
The most beautiful sunsets In our climate—and 
exceedingly beautiful they tire—have generally 
been those in w liich the clouds have been the 
most conspicuous accessories, curtaining the de¬ 
clining sun with their pomp of colors, purple, 
crimson, orange and gold, and their almost me¬ 
tallic brilliancy and glitter. Just now, however, 
up to the time of the late storm—we have had a 
succession of sunsets often without A single de 
fined cloud iu the sky, as if these meteors had 
been bidden to withdraw for a season, in order 
to exhibit to our eyes some of the phenomena 
presented by the most beautiful climates of the 
old world. 
DIRECTIONS TO LADY SKATERS. 
The following timely advice from an enthusi¬ 
astic skater with a poetic turn of mind, will be 
appreciated by the lady readers of the Rural: 
Is any ouo disposed to learn 
This art for which so inanv yearn? 
Stand up erect; the ankle? stiffen; 
Snrceaac your clinging, screaming, laughing, 
And with n proud, defiant air, 
Strike boldly out—now here—now there— 
Right, left, right, left—but not so wide! 
Now stand erect and swiftly glide, 
And, without aid of friend or lover, 
Your equilibrium recover. 
Now, try again; now! this way—that way— 
This way—that Way—this way—that way! 
Let the arms swing free and easy; 
Never mind 1 he air so breezy ; 
In its breath is hoillh mid life, 
In yonr form the future wife 
Of some delighted, handsome bean, 
Watching you ns swift, you go 
Over the ice, a very queen 
Of grace and beauty. But I ween 
That now and then you’ll get a fall— 
Hoops, balmoral, head, feet and all, 
In quite an interesting “muss.” 
But never mind! don’t make a fuss! 
E'en though you hear from two or three— 
“ How very cold the Ice must be! ” 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
MR. GREAT HEART. 
I have an acquaintance by the name of 
Great Heart who may be a descendant of 
the one mentioned in the Pilgrim's Progress. 
He lias inherited tome rare qualit ies from some¬ 
body, at all events. He seems to have an im¬ 
pediment in his speech, which prevents his 
doing his great heart justice, and wisely, there¬ 
fore, he does not attempt that for which he was 
not designed, but. content* himself with noble 
deeds. Some of his friends, if they have a feel¬ 
ing or a sent iment, can talk about it aud make 
the most of it, making themselves appear vastly 
better than the truth would warrant, while Mr. 
Great Heart cannot speak Ids sympathy for 
the afflicted, but stands with his hands in his 
pocket, ready to bestow what is needed, or do 
whatever else may he required, while his 
neighbor does the elocution. Neither does he 
make auy uncharitable remarks about Mr. 
Talkative’8 standing around the shop-doors, 
and telling how sorry he is for lb* neighbor 
who has just been burned out, while he himself 
is circulating a petition in his behalf, besides 
contributing generously to the same cause. If 
any one else should speak of it, lie would say, 
“0, you know that some one has got to do tho 
talking.” 
He has a kind word for every one he meets, 
especially the Children. If he overtakes a child 
gojng to school he will invite them to ride, and 
seems to think the obligation is all on his side 
when they do so. He always gives toward the 
establishment of circulating libraries, and any¬ 
thing else which promises to benefit the public, 
and provides for his own family not only the 
comforts of life, but all the good reading and 
intellectual pleasure that hi* mean* allow. And 
although his mode of proceeding will probably 
keep him a poor man, as the world goes, yet we 
may rest assured that his life is none the less 
full and happy for that, and when he dies lie 
will he sadly missed from hi- place, n. C. i>. 
ElkbOra, WIs., 1861 
SALA ON OUR CONGRESS. 
George Augustus Sal a is the English cor¬ 
respondent of a London paper. In it he de¬ 
scribes the opening of the present session of 
Congress. From his allusion to the stories, 
common in England, of the daily rows supposed 
to take place in our Congressional halls, we 
infer that he did not see what he expected to 
see, and are glad that he is honest enough to 
say so. He says: 
“There was no blasting of trumpets, no bow¬ 
ing and scraping of court-creatures stuck all 
over with gold lace; no dangling of ribbons, no 
glittering of stars; nor was there any unseemly 
helter-skelter rush of members of one House to 
the other to hear a speech read. To me .the 
spectacle was lame. When the rowdyism is to 
begin —if to begin it is destined—when the 
members are to set to abusing or cowhiding one 
another, or exchanging imputations of coward¬ 
ice, mendacity, fraud, and drunkenness, T do 
not know. Everything which 1 beheld ap¬ 
peared to me thoroughly modest, simple and 
noble—the free citizens of a great common¬ 
wealth setting about the task of governing 
themselves, and doing it sensibly and well.” 
RIDICULE AND REPARTEE, 
The fatal fondness for indulging in a spirit of 
ridicule, aud the injurious and irreparable eon- 
sequences which sometimes attend the too 
prompt reply, can never be too seriously or 
severely condemned. Not to offend, is the first 
slop towards pleasing. To give pain, is as much 
an offence against humanity, as against good 
breeding; and surely it is as Well to abstain from 
an action because it is sinful, us because it is im¬ 
politic. A man of sense and breeding will some¬ 
times join in the laugh which has been raised at 
his expense by an ill-natured repartee; but if it 
was very cutting, and one of those shocking sort 
of truths, which, as they can scarcely be par¬ 
doned in private, ought, never to he uttered in 
public, he docs not laugh because he is pleased, 
but because he wishes to conceal how much bo 
is hurt. 
As the sarcasm was uttered by a lady, so far 
from seeming to resent it, he will he the first to 
commend it; hut, notwithstanding that, he will 
remember it as a trait of malice, when the 
whole company shall have forgotten it as a 
stroke of wit. Women tire so far from being 
privileged by their sex to say unhandsome or 
cruel things, that it is this very circumstance 
which renders them more intolerable. When 
the arrow is lodged in the heart, it is no relief 
for him that is wounded to reflect that the hand 
that shot it was a fair one .—Hannah More. 
the seasons may require; 
material adapted to our severe winters, may be 
so artistically adjusted, and supported by sus¬ 
penders, us completely to protect and clothe the 
limbs, without the necessity of the skirt* so 
girding the body by drawn cords to keep them 
and tlie drawers in place, as not only seriously to 
cripple all the viscera, hut, to interrupt the 
healthful action of the muscles of the abdomen, 
and worse than this, to compress all the veins 
that Carry hack the blood from the lower lituhs 
to the heart, for purification, and often, as wc 
have seen, to render the integument, below this 
girdle of many cords, very perceptibly dropsi¬ 
cal. Every lady, If she will use her eyes, can 
see this for herself; the ‘ horrid marks’ that 
they cause, she often laments. Now, reader, if 
the lungs arc only used one-sixth part, the mus¬ 
cles of the body scarcely at all. and the venous 
blood from the lower limbs, prevented front 
returning at the full rate of five-sixths of the 
speed intended by nature, when you are walking 
even at the snail’s pace you are allowed to, what 
must be tlie result on the nutrition of the muscles 
of these Unfits? for you know they act and grow 
by blood alone; depend upon it, though you 
may make them dropsical and deceptive in size, 
they will not help you to dance as well, or to go 
np and down stairs. 
“ And this brings us to another great evil, if 
we will sacrifice so much to brown-stone fronts 
and the fancied necessity of fashionable streets; 
if we must live in houses furnace-warmed and 
eighteen feet by five stories high, for pity’s sake 
let us so distribute the load of dross our climate 
requires, as to allow every part of the body to 
be usc-d to carry it up stairs; let the jacket or 
the shoulder-straps give the chest its share of 
the work; in a word, let our wives and daugh¬ 
ters shoulder their loads, if they would have 
their days prolonged in the land, 
Alone with Gon.—There is a sublimity in 
silence and solitude. Alone! How still the air! 
'flic city sleeps In silence. N o voice, no footstep, 
nothing hut the whispers of the night, llovv 
still it is! The stars wink at each other, hut 
utter no words. The moon travels on her course, 
but is silent. Night! How grand the scene. 
My soul thrills as I contemplate. The world is 
hushed and I am alone—alone with God. 
abstraction ok sorrow. 
And she forgot the stars, tho moon and sun, 
And she forgot the blue above the trees, 
And she forgot the dells where waters run, 
And she. forgot the chilly autumn breeze; 
She had no knowledge when the day was done, 
And the new morn she saw not: but in peace 
llting over sweet Basil evermore, 
And moisten'd with tears unto tlie core. 
[ Keats. 
Written for Moore’* Rural New-Yorker. 
HAPPINESS. 
“If solid happiness we prize, 
Within onr breast tlie jewel lies, 
Nor need we roam abroad ” 
Mankind almost universally “ roam abroad” 
for that happiness, which, if it be enjoyed at all, 
must be found at home; must spring up within 
their own minds and hearts. They plate too 
great a reliance on circumstances. They imag¬ 
ine that, if thi* and that change could he ef¬ 
fected, if such ami such impediments could be 
removed, and such and such conveniences se¬ 
cured, then they would he happy. Almost all 
of uh are inclined to think that, wlu-n wc are 
restless and unsatisfied, we need only different 
circumstances to make us happy, in our day¬ 
dreams we fancy a lot in which it seems t«» ua 
we could not be otherwise. Now, the real 
truth is, and all experience is teaching the les¬ 
son, our happiness depends but very little upon 
circumstances. He who is wretched in one 
condition, is very likely to ho so in any other. 
Even though all our air-castles could become 
People do not support the gospel; the gospel 
supports them. The gosjml will live whether 
they do or do not pay their five or fifty or five 
hundred dollars to uphold it. The. gospel will 
live whether they attack, neglect or cherish it; 
hut without the gospel, the good tidings, there is 
for them no life neither in this world, neither in 
the world to come. 
When is a Man Original?—Wc say a 
man is original, if he lives at first, and not at 
second hand,—if he requires a new tombstone.,— 
if he takes law, not from the many, nor the few, 
but from the sky,—if he is no subordinate, but 
an authority, If he does not borrow judgment, 
but is judgment. Such a man is singular in Ids 
attitude only because we have so fallen from 
purity. He, not the fashion, Is crnnme il foul. 
By every word and act, he declares that as he is 
so all men must shortly be. 
Childhood is like a mirror, catching and 
reflecting images from all around. Remember 
that an impious or profane thought, uttered by 
a parent’s lips, may operate upon the young 
heart like a careless spray of water thrown upon 
polished steel, staining it with rust which no 
scouring can efface. 
I wish for no other heaven on this side of the 
last sea I must cross than this service of Christ, 
to make tny blackness beauty, my deadness life, 
my guiltiness sanctification. I long much for 
that day when I will be holy. Oh, what spots 
are yet unwashed! IMherford. 
Every wise word is an echo of the wisdom 
inarticulate in our neighbors which sends them 
confident about their work and play. 
Virtue cannot be wrinkled and sad; Virtue 
is a joy of the right, added to our earliest joy— 
is refreshment and health, not fever. 
