Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
THE SOLDIER’S BLANKET. 
HOSPITAL SKETCHES -NO. I. 
Dear Rural: —Having been favored by a 
friend with some particulars of Hospital Life, 
he lias granted my request, that, for the sake of 
many anxious friends of sick and wounded sol¬ 
diers, I may send his notes to you for publica¬ 
tion. Your readers may recall to mind his 
letter in June last, asking for “ Reading for 
Soldiers,” and be pleased to know that their 
response was gratefully accepted and appre¬ 
ciated. With this knowledge, some things in 
regard t.o that Hospital, not entirely in connec¬ 
tion with others in general, may not he void of 
interest. Grace Glenn. 
Dusty, torn and threadbare, it lay piled amid 
the cast-off rubbish. No one noticed it, save to 
rudely push it down lower iu the filthy heap; 
for now its days of usefulness were over. That 
blanket was not always the despised; for on 
one hem 1 recognize a familiar name, and know 
by its home-spun appearance, that the fingers 
of loved ones toiled cheerfully, spinning and 
weaving this web of comfort for their poor sol¬ 
dier hoy. Thiuk you, it was heralded in joy as 
it entered camp, and was almost clasped in the 
aims of it** fortunate possessor? Ah yes, a 
happy heart was beating that night under the 
old-fashioned home-made blanket, now often 
he thought of past comforts, while gazing va¬ 
cantly at Iris rude counterpane; and now and 
then his bosom would swell, and the tears roll 
slowly down his cheek and fall, one by one, on 
that dear old blanket. 
Oh. mothers and sisters, send blankets to the 
“ boysl" They are warmth, life, everything,— 
a remembrancer of days gone by. and a resting- 
place for many bitter tears. s. e. d. 
North Adams, Mich., 1 S 6 L 
ENGLAND AND AMERICA-1863, 
by noun noumiTON. 
BY EMILY .1. ADAMS, 
“ Love thou thy Neighbor,” we are told, 
" Even as thyself.’' That creed I hold; 
But love her more, a thousand fold! 
My lovely neighbor; oft wo meet 
In lonely lane, or crowded street, 
I know the music of her feet. 
She little thinks how, on a day 
She must have missed her nsnal way, 
And walked into my heart for aye. 
Or how the rustic of her dress 
Thrills thro’ me like a soft caress, 
With trembles of deliciousnese. 
Wee woman with her smiling mien, 
And soul celestially serene. 
She passes me, unconscious queen! 
Her face most innocently good, 
When thro’ there peeps the sweet red blood, 
A very nest of womanhood! 
Like Raleigh—l'or ber dainty tread, 
When ways arc miry—I could spread 
My cloak; bnt, thcre’p my heart instead. 
Ah, neighbor, you can never know 
Why ’Os my step is quickened so; 
Nor what it is I murmur low. 
I see you mid your flowers at morn, 
Fresh ns the rosebud newly born; 
And marvel, can you have a thorn? 
If so, ’twere sweet to lean one’s breast 
Against it, aDd, the more it prest. 
Sing like the bird that sorrow hath blessed. 
I hear you stag! And through me spring 
Doth musically ripple and ring: 
Little you think I'm listening! 
Yon know not, dear, how dear you be; 
All dearer for the eecresy; • 
Nothing, and yet a world to me. 
So near, too! you could hear me sigh, 
Or gee my case with half an eye; 
But must not. There are reasons why. 
We only know that in the sultry weather, 
Men toiled for us as in the steaming room, 
And in our minds wo hardly set together 
The bondman's penance and the freeman’s loom, 
We never thought the jealous gods would store 
For ns ill deed- of time-forgotten graves. 
Nor heeded that the Mayflower one day bore 
A freight of pilgrims, and another slaves. 
First on the bold npholdcra of the wrong, 
And last on ns, the heavy laden years 
Avenge the erne] triumphs of the Strong- 
Trampled affections and derided tears 
Labor, degraded from her higli behest, 
Cries, “Ye shall know I am the living breath, 
And not the curse of man. Ye shall have Rest— 
The rest of Famine and the rest of Death." 
O, happy distant hours! that shall restore 
Honor to work, and: pleasure to repose, 
Hasten your steps, just hoard above the war 
Of ’wildering passions and the crash of foes. 
Is it true ? Can we ever believe 
Without doubt, when he tells us He tempers the wind 
To the poor little lamb of His flock that is shorn? 
Why, then, sits tlie young orphan to grieve? 
Why the strong all their burdens are suffered to bind 
To the backs of the minting and weak (o be borne? 
Why the eruelesl chaplets of thorns do wo find 
On the brow of the frailest.and tenderest born? 
Ts it true? Shall we ever believe? 
Is it true: though He bides from the sight 
Of the finiIn the height He hath set to pursue. 
And when oft He hath scattered Ili* good o’er the 
earth. 
We have read not His purpose aright; 
Else wc had not so wept, all the yesternight, through, 
For, instead of the enrse, wo had known there had 
birth 
A sweet helping, that still in llis warm presence grew 
Witli quick growth, till, full statured, it stood by our 
hearth 
As a presence to point ns aright. 
Lcnrn ye, then to lie glad at His voice; 
To reach forth with quick Iinnd to lay hold on His will, 
So, henceforth, walking firmly and safely abroad, 
Ye may e’en amid chiding rejoice; 
And your hearts, like the fruit of the vine, Fhnll distill 
Where the virginal feet of Affliction have trod, 
And the wine sacramental flow outward to fill 
The great cup at the supper of God. 
Of twenty-one Hospitals in Louisville, Ky., 
14 Brown’s Hospital,” formerly known as “No. 
7,” is much the largest. It is divided into ten 
wards, 60 by 60, containing seventy beds each. 
We have two dining-halls sixty feet long, with 
three tables running the entire length of each. 
All the cooking is done in sffmll buildings apart 
from the wards. One of those kitchens is called 
the “ Light Diet,” and cooks for those who arc 
unable to leave the wards. The diet is taken to 
them in their beds. It consists of tea. toast, 
gruel, &c. The others cook for the halls. 8urg.- 
Gen. Hammond has issued a “Diet Table’’ for 
all U. 8. Hospitals so that every meal is gotten 
up by the rule, sanitary stores not included. If 
this is not all used, the balance is paid in money, 
and thus the “Hospital Fund” accrues, so that 
such things as are needed, that are not on the 
books, can be bought at any time. Our arrange¬ 
ments are so complete that a stranger would be 
surprised at the smallness of the waste. 
In old hospitals, like this. Government pays 
enough to give ns a good living, but no extras: 
and after a battle, or in a new hospital it does 
not give enough of such tilings as soldiers need; 
neither eau it, for the things that are needed 
there are not such as will not keep; and as Gov¬ 
ernment has to buy by contract, it is impossible 
to fbrnish the supply on short notice. 
The Sanitary aud Christian Commissions are 
doing a great work, and should receive the 
hearty support of every loyal American. Both 
are liable to abuse, to some extent, but no more 
so than anything else of equal magnitude. 
Gen.’s Grant. Meade, Gilmore and Rosk- 
CRAN9 have given the highest testimonials in 
regard to their usefulness. 
An extract from the Chaplain’s report dated 
“Nov. 20th, 1863,” gives:—“No. of sick admit¬ 
ted since opening, Sept. 4th, ‘Go, 6,214; No. of 
deaths, 288; ratio, per thousand, 46. The ex¬ 
penses of each patient, per day, are 74 cents.” 
In my next I will give you some idea of the 
care of patients on and after entering the hos¬ 
pital. S. P. Bates, 
Brown Hospital, Louisville, Ky. 
A NEW CORSET ASKED FOR. 
BY LEAD PENCIL, ESQ, 
Susie Perkins complains, in the Scientific 
American, that the corsets illustrated and re¬ 
commended in that paper the past year, do not 
meet her requirements, and those of the sister¬ 
hood of corset-wearers. .She talks in this wise: 
“ The aii- wo ladies have to breathe up here 
in Vermont circulates all round the world, and 
is breathed by all the filthy creatures on the 
face of the earth, by rhinoceroses, cows, ele¬ 
phants, tigers, woodchucks, hens, skunks, 
minks, grasshoppers, mice, racoons, and all 
kinds of bugs, spidors. fleas and lioe, lions, 
tobacco-smokers, catamounts, eagles, crows, 
rum-drinkers, turkey buzzards, tobacco-clieYv* 
ers, hog-, snakes, toads, lizards, Irish, negroes, 
and millions of other nasty animals, birds, in¬ 
sects and serpents; besides, it is filled with 
evapoi itions from dead, decaying bodies, both 
animal aud vegetable, and we ladies are obliged 
to breathe it over after them, ough! bah! 
“Now we want, and must have, some con¬ 
trivance that will effectually keep this foul, dis¬ 
gusting stuff out of our lungs. We have tried 
the three kinds of corsets which you noticed in 
your paper the last year; but when we do the 
best with them that we can, about a teacupful 
of this nasty air w ill rush into our lungs in spite 
of these miserable contrivances, and when wo 
blow’ it out again another teacupful of the dis¬ 
gusting stuff'will again rush in, and when we 
blow that out still another will rush in ; and so 
we are obliged to keep doing from the time we 
wake up in the morning till we go to sleep at 
night, and I do nut know but we do all night. 
“ If these corsets are worth anything to keep 
this disgusting air out of a body, and wo have 
not put them on right, please come immediately 
yourself, or send the inventors to show us how T . 
If they are a humbug, I hope their inventors 
will be tarred aud feathered and rode on a rail, 
and you, lor nolicin; 
7he Getting In !—What a propelling power 
there is in the American, whether man or 
woman! You were at the lecture last night, 
reader? 8o was I, 
Did you go thither deliber¬ 
ately ? What was the direction of your thoughts 
as you walked there ? Were you Wondering what 
could be said on the subject announced ? Did 
you try to construct an argument, and get ab¬ 
stracted in your effort to build one ? Or, did you 
not walk faster and faster as you approached the 
hall, until your w alk became a rush to the ticket, 
office, a thrusting of your arm over and beyond 
others for the pieces of pasteboard which should 
admit you and yours into the hall first, where 
you might get the best and most comfortable 
scat, and well settled in your cloak of compla¬ 
cency, when your more more deliberate neigh¬ 
bor came along to look for one? 'That was the 
first, only, and last thought, wasn't it? Be 
honest, wasn’t it, now? 
The Getting OuU— And when von were se¬ 
lecting your seat, didn’t you calculate, all the 
time, the chnucee for gettiug out first? And as 
the natural channel of the argument indicated 
the close, didn’t you half lose the pleasure you 
might have enjoyed, and seriously disturb the 
enjoyment of others, by looking for your hat, or 
putting on your furs, or getting your shawl ad¬ 
justed, or changing your position so as to get a 
good ready for a good and early start for that 
goal of all your thoughts, the door! You know 
you did. And you know, or ought to, that you 
lost the climax of the lecture, its crystallization, 
its diamond point, in order that you might, reach 
that door and get int o the open air a half minute, 
or a minute at most, sooner than you otherwise 
would. The last fifteen minutes of the lecture 
you were in torment, and tormented everybody 
who sat w ithin the range of your restless in¬ 
fluence-all that you might get out of that door 
as you got in, by being the first to rush thither. 
You lost something. Others lost something in 
consequence. Now, what did you gain—pray 
tell me! 
I’ve been telling you. Sir and Madam, u little 
plain truth, which, T think, if you will digest, 
will do you good—null render you more health¬ 
ful in your habits. The fact is, it is disgraceful 
— this discourteous impatience which disturbs 
the close of every lecture, concert, opera and 
play in this country. 1 believe it would disturb 
church service but for the fact that, few' of this 
class of hoorH ever attend church. Those who 
do, may be known by their stooping down to 
pick up their hat, putting the hymn-book in 
place, turning over the foot-stool and unbutton¬ 
ing and burstiug open the pew door during the 
benediction; and then when the Amen is said, 
they may be seen rushing through the aisle, 
crowding past, aud preventing the opening of 
pews, and the exit of their occupants, nearest 
the church door. I say it, is disgraceful! And 
it is time such people were told, to their faces, 
that Huch practices are evidences of ill breeding 
and boorishness. As if two, tierce, five or ten 
minutes’ delay In getting out, would make any 
difference to you!—except that it would con¬ 
serve your reputation for good sense and good 
breeding, as well as the comfort and pleasure of 
those who have good sense and arc well bred. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker 
THE VALUE OF CHRIST. 
vv no is ii tnat can estimate the value, power 
and greatness of this gift I What reason can 
we assign for ii. further than the love of God 
for the world ?—not for sin, hut sinners. Wliat 
has the world done, or what are we doing now 
to meet this goodness at the hand of God? 
’Twos not Christ secured the love of God for 
us: it was the love of God secured our salva¬ 
tion through Christ. He loved Adam before 
and sineo the fall. He has pity on fallen man, 
and shows ifis compassion by sending his son a 
sacrifice. We Yvould, injustice, expect destruc¬ 
tion, and in return receive salvation through 
Christ. Man, as he is by nature, cannot ren¬ 
der perfect obedience to the law. Therefore. 
Christ being holy, and putting on the human 
as well as divine nature, came, fulfilled the law, 
became a sacrifice for sinners, suffered and died 
on account of the penalty of sin. See in this 
the humility of the Savior, the greatness of 
the sacrifice! ’Twas made for all ages, classes 
and conditions of men, for all time, and for us. 
Thus God is able and willing to wive the chief 
of sinners. Do you wish to experience this 
love?—fix your eye on Christ. Believe on 
him; obey him; meditate on gospel truth, &<•. 
By our fruits yvo are known; the world will 
know us; God will know us. If we trust in 
self-righteousness, Yve will he lost, Wc must 
trust in Gon. There are a thousand different 
roads leading to destruction. There is but one 
way to life eternal; that, is through Christ. 
He says, “ I am the way, the light and the 
truth.” p. w. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker 
THAT BABY IN ENGLAND. 
A baby has been born in England! There 
is no doubt about it—the papers say so. Aud 
the first report is confirmed. The Princess of 
Wales is a mother. Her child is a boy. He is 
a royal baby. His father is, prospectively. King 
of England. The baby, if he lives and “does 
well,” will be his father’s successor to the 
crown. That baby is of some importance, 
then, to other people beside its royal, happy, 
father and mother. 
There may be some of our lady readers who 
will “wonder why the Rural should have 
anything to say about ‘the event.’” Why, 
dear madam, it is to supply the demand. Is 
there a paragraph, in a paper coming within 
your reach, concerning this royal baby, that 
you have not read, and wished there w as more 
of it ? If so, you are a most remarkable woman, 
—quite out of fashion, we assure you. And 
there may he some of our readers w ho have not 
had the pleasure of learning that this young 
Prince was bom the night of the 8th of Jan¬ 
uary, 1864, at two minutes to nine o’clock—that 
his advent was most unceremonious and unex¬ 
pected—that. no preparations had been made for 
his reception. There was no titled physician at 
hand to act as usher, no matronly nurse to re¬ 
ceive him and care for his comfort and satisfy 
his cravings for food, not an article of Ins ample 
wardrobe with which to protect his royal per¬ 
son, no eloquent and anxious attendants to wel¬ 
come him formally to England! 
He had anticipated the day fixed for his re¬ 
ception nearly two months. His mother was 
not where she expected to bo when the event 
should take place. She was at Frogmore. She 
had intended he should be born in Marlborough 
House. And so England has had a sensation! 
The time when this event was expected to occur 
had been officially announced to the good moth¬ 
ers in England. And the arrival of the Royal 
baby caused them to exclaim, “ so soon!” and 
count their fingers ealeulatlngly. 
The Prince of Wales had been skating on the 
Virginia waters the day ive speak of. His loyal 
spouse had been thither in a carriage to witness 
hi9 enjoyment. She had been tenderly and 
attentively attended. She had been riding on 
the ice in a sledge propelled by the athletes of 
the Court. She had enjoyed this exercise, wit¬ 
nessing the Royal games of her Royal husband 
and his attendants, until near six o'clock, when 
she was warned by ber attendants, aud other¬ 
wise, that it “ was time to go home.” She went 
home to Frogmore. The symptoms of ap¬ 
proaching confinement became emphatic and 
unmistakable. 
Dr. Henry Brown, a general practitioner 
of good repute, was called. Telegrams were 
sent to Queen VICTORIA, the Physician in Ordi¬ 
nary to her Royal Highness, aud to Dr. Fakre, 
who had been appointed accoucheur to her 
Royal Highness. But before they could arrive, 
Alexandra, Princess of Wales, and wife of 
Albert, Prince of Wales, was the happy 
mother of a strong, healthy boy, whom they 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
SMILE WHEN YOU CAN. 
The sail of this world need your smiles; and 
the world itself may be better for them. They 
do not cost much, and oftentimes bring their 
own sweet reward: and none but the Infinite 
One can estimate the amount of good one little 
smile may do. For aught that you or I may 
knoYv', the gculle. sympathizing smile, that you 
gratuitously bestow upon some unfortunate soul, 
laboring beneath a weight of doubt aud grief, 
may tell upon countless generations yet unborn. 
Oh, if people only better realized the inestimable 
influence that even so little an act as a smile 
may exert upon one or a thousand of their fel¬ 
low beings, they would not be so penurious of 
them as they are often prone to be. 
Some people never smile. Selfish beings! 
Yet, perhaps, if you should accuse these same 
individuals of selfishness, they would deny the 
charge with a “gusto ” truly worthy of a better 
cause. But it is selfish never to smile. By 
Yvithholding smiles yvo refuse oftentimes an 
opportunity of manifesting a thankful and 
happy spirit for the goodwc receive from others, 
and from our God— to say nothing of the oppor¬ 
tunity wo mug lose of cheering and comforting 
some less fortunate one. IIoyv many times 
have T heard the expression, “ I knoYv she is a 
good Yvonmn, or that he is a good man, for he 
smiles so ‘sweetly;’ and, in my opinion, it is 
even possible for a soul to be brought to CHRIST 
through the influence of a holy smile, irradiating 
the face of a true Christian. I do not love to 
see a sober-faced Christian; one, Yvhose visage 
is at wags extended to its utmost capacity, 
aud never illuminated by a heaven-lit smile. 
To such 1 would say, “ Smile Yvhon you can.” 
Broekport, N. y., Fob,, 2864. Yrxo. 
them in the Scientific 
American , be obliged to breathe about sixty 
pints of the nasty, foul, nauseous, filthy, dis¬ 
gusting, dirty, defiled, loathsome, hateful, de¬ 
testable, odious, abominable, offensive, stinking 
air which surrounds tills earth per minute for a 
hundred years.” 
The editors, in their zeal to supply the wants 
of their correspondent, respond as follows: 
“We can suggest but one kind of corset 
which would effectually meet our fair corre¬ 
spondent’s wishes. Instead of the ordinary 
laml-up corset, take a piece of strong hempen 
cord and apply it closely about the neck, tie one 
end of it. to a beam, and let the whole weight of 
the body suspend at the other end. We guar¬ 
antee that if the cord is strong enough it will 
put an end to all future complaints on this sub¬ 
ject.” 
The habitual conviction of the presence of 
God is the sovereign remedy in temptations; it 
supports, it consoles, it. calms us. 
Wc must not be surprised that yvo arc tempted. 
Wo are placed here to he proved by temptations. 
Everything is temptation to us. < Tosses irritate 
our pride, and prosperity flutters it; our life is a 
continual warfare, but Jesus i 'hrist combats with 
us. Wc must let temptations, like a tempest, 
heat, upon our heads, and still move on; like a 
traveler surprised on the way by a storm, who 
\\ raps his cloak about him, and goes on his jour¬ 
ney in spite of the opposing elements. 
In a certain sense, there is a little to do iu 
doing the will of God. Still it is true that it is a 
great work, because It must be without any re¬ 
serve. This spirit enters the secret foldings of 
our hearts, and even the most, upright, affections, 
and the most necessary attachments, must l>e 
regulated by his will; but it is not, the multitude 
of hard duties, it is not restraint, and contention, 
that advance us in our Christian course. On the 
contrary, it is the yielding of our wills, without 
restriction, ami with choice to read ehoerfully 
everyday In the path in which Providence leads 
us, to seek nothing, to be discouraged by nothing, 
to see our duty in the present moment, to trust 
all else without reserve to the will and power of 
God. Let us pray to our Heavenly Father that 
our wills may he swallowed up in lUs.—l'auton. 
A TOUCHING INCIDENT. 
Ax officer, just returned from the West, re¬ 
lates a touching incident of thfc loyalty and ten¬ 
dency of many of the inhabitants of that nomi¬ 
nally sccesh laud. After the battle of Bean 
Station, the rebels were guilty of all mauner of 
indignity toward the slain. They stripped their 
bodies, aud shot persons who came near the 
battle-field to show any attention to the dead. 
The body of a little drummer hoy ivas left 
naked and exposed. Near by, in an humble 
house, there were two young girls, the eldest 
hut sixteen, who resolved to give the body a 
decent burial. They took the night for their 
task. With hammer and nails in hand, and 
boards en their shoulders, they sought the place 
where the body of the deud drummer boy lay. 
From their own scanty wardrobe they clothed 
the body for the grave. With their own hands 
they made a rude coffin, in which they rever¬ 
ently put the dead. They dug the grave and 
lowered the body into it and covered it over. 
The noise of the hammering brought some of 
the rebels to the spot The sight was too much 
for them. Not a word was spoken, no one in¬ 
terfered, and when the sacred rites of the burial 
were performed, all separated, and the little 
drummer boy sleeps undisturbed in his grave on 
the battle-field. Such tenderness and heroism 
deserve to run along the line of coming genera¬ 
tions with the story of the woman who broke 
the alabaster box on the feet of the Savior, and 
with her who of her penury cast her two mites 
into the treasury. 
PARENTAL LOVE, 
You never did anything to make your children 
love you, and you cannot but be aware that as 
they were removed from your authority, you lost 
all influence over them. Why could you not 
reclaim that boy of yours, Yvho madly made a 
debauchee, and disgraced your home, and tor¬ 
tured your heart? Because you never made 
him love you, or given him better motives for 
self-restraint than your own arbitrary will. Fie 
luol been governed from the outside, and never 
from the inside; and Yvlien thooutside authority 
was gone, there was nothing left upon which 
you had x>owcr to lay your hand. Why did 
your daughter elope with one who was not 
worthy of her? She did it simply because she 
found a inun who loved her, and gave her the 
consideration due her ns a woman—a love and a 
consideration which she had never found at 
home, where she was regarded by you us the 
dependant servant of your will. She was 
a nothing at home; and, badly as she married, 
she is a better, and a freer, and a happier woman 
than she would have been had she continued 
with you. I wisii to impress upon you the con¬ 
viction that these children of yours went astray, 
not in spito of your mode of training, but iu 
consequence of it. If I should wish to ruin my 
family, I would pursue your policy, and be 
measurably sure of the desired result. 
The Little and Large.—M en go an un¬ 
dulating course — sometimes on the hill, some¬ 
times iu the valley. But he only is in the right 
who iu the valley forgets not the hill prospect, 
and knows in darkness that the suil will rise 
again. That is the real life which is subordin¬ 
ated to, not merged in, the ideal; he is only wise 
who can bring the lowest act of Ills life into 
sympathy with his highest thought. And Lhis 
I take to be the cue aim of our pilgrimage here. 
1 agree with those who think that no true phi¬ 
losophy’ will try to ignore or annihilate the 
material part of man, but will rather seek to put 
it in its place, as servant and minister to the 
soul. 
The Slnnkr’H SbUUiuty.—S uppose a trav¬ 
eler in a stormy night should take up his lodging 
in some cave in the Yvoods, whore there is noth¬ 
ing hut serpents and adders and other such crea¬ 
tures, he, because he sees them not, sleeps 
soundly as if he were at home in his OYvn bed; 
but when the morning comes and ho sees what 
companions are about him, he uses all the means 
possible and makes all the haste he can to get 
away. In the same case is every impenitent 
sinner beset with as many serpents as ho has 
sins, though he cannot see them and therefore 
fears them not, but sleeps as souudly as if lie 
were in Solomon's bed about which was a guard 
of threescore thousand of the valiant of Israel. 
But when it shall once please God to open his 
eyes then ho sees the dangerous condition of his 
estate, and labors to get out of it as fast ils he 
can. 
Flattery of the Great. — It requires a 
great genius to flutter, successfully, a great per¬ 
son. The common arts of adulation are thrown 
away upon the exalted. They are so accus¬ 
tomed to these that they take little uotlee of 
them. Invention is required, and we can only 
attract their regard by some such stroke of 
originality as that by which Raleigh won the 
favor of Elizabeth. 
The blue sky, the bright cloud, the star of 
night, the star of day, every creature is in its 
smiling place a protest of the universe against 
our hasty method of counter-working wrong 
with wrong. Let loose the Right! 
Ah right action in the remotest comer is a 
world-victory, so right thought applied to the 
lowest thought is cosmic thought. 
Knowing Most ok Sorrow.—H e who has 
most of heart, knows most of sorrow. 
c 
