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heavily on our hands, were it not for the opening and shutting of the days, the advent and departure of flowers, the arrival and disappearance of birds, the infinitely-numerous races of insects, the wan coldness of winter, and the ruddy warmth of summer-all iming order. Never miss a single day's exerparting to the year forms which correspond to our own changing existence.

and you will thank us for our advice long before they are half worn out. Warm gloves, (no muff), a neat little cloak, and a warm winter's dress, will, with the addition of a little "comfortable" bonnet, put you in march

cise in the open air; unless indeed the ground be saturated with rain. You cannot imagine We have lately taken several strolls among the benefits arising from walking out, during the lanes and bye-roads, with a view to re-the winter months. You shall do so, however, connoitre the doings, and try to catch the ere we have kept your company long. voices, of the early birds of song; but alas! save the musical wren, the robin, and the hedge-sparrow, all has been desolation. The fields look cold and comfortless, the trees naked, and the hedges bare. A skylark now and then has risen on the wing, and given utterance to his short, winter note; a thrush and a blackbird, too, have been heard whistling low; but no joyous effusions of vernal melody. All this has yet to come, and it is worth waiting patiently for.

The notes of birds evidently undergo some extraordinary changes during the autumn and the winter; for we find them making many vain attempts to sing in January, with out having the power to exercise their full compass. The difficulty of utterance appears to arise from some physical impediment; and this impediment is only gradually removed. Jenyns corroborates these observations; for he remarks that as the temperature increases, their system receives a corresponding stimulus, their song becomes more melodious, and also much louder. If our readers will test this by noticing the movements of the various tribes, they will not find it an unprofitable occupation.

We shall take upon ourself, month after month, to study your welfare; and we shall not hesitate to tell you all that we conceive to be for your benefit. "Line upon line, precept upon precept," shall be lovingly offered; and we feel sure that we shall win our way to your favor, while laboring so earnestly for your good.

We speak now, more particularly, to our NEW Subscribers. There are many who are as yet strangers to us, and to our doctrines. Only let them listen to what we say, and let them be better acquainted with us, and we venture our reputation that we shall ALL speedily become a " United Happy Family."

We begin the New Year with buoyant spirits. Nature's treasury is about to be opened. We shall be there at the opening; and whilst we expose to view all her ladyship's boundless gifts to her children, as they present themselves, we feel sure that there will be but one feeling between us and our readers,- Love to God, and good-will to man.

This is our fondest desire,-our earnest

hope.

THOUGHTS SUGGESTED BY THE NEW YEAR.

with the departed year.
It is a melancholy task, Mr. Editor, to reckon
curious threads of affection through its many-
To trace back the
colored woof, and knot anew its broken places-to
number the missing objects of interest, the dead
and the neglected-to sum up the broken reso-
lutions, the deferred hopes, the dissolved phan-
toms of anticipation, and many wanderings from
the leading star of duty-this is, indeed, a melan-
choly task, but, withal, a profitable, and, it may
sometimes be, a pleasant and a soothing one.

We will not close these few remarks on the New Year, without directing attention to the necessity there is for all who would be well, to take exercise in the open air. It is a too common practice at this season, for people, young and old, to crowd over a large fire-half baking themselves on one side, whilst the other is unduly cold. This invariably produces illness. Let the apartment in which you live be well ventilated, and let a moderate fire be kept in the stove. Sit at fair distance from it, and you will obtain an equable warmth. But ere you do this, take a nice bracing walk, if the day be dry. This It is wonderful in what short courses the objects will cause a due circulation of the blood, and of this world move. They are like arrows keep you healthily warm. feebly shot. On A year, a brief year, is full of home, your cheeks will glow with a ruddy Nothing keeps evenly on. your return things dwindled, and finished, and forgotten. tint, your appetite will be good, and your running calendar of the year that has departed, What is there in the digestion equally so. All that is needful to which has kept its place and its magnitude? guard against cold, is a proper equipment. Here and there an aspirant for fame still stretches Take no heed, young ladies, of being cele. after his eluding shadow-here and there an brated for a pretty foot, or a neat ankle; and there (and alas! how rarely a friend keeps enthusiast still clings to his golden dream-here especially during the season of winter. Pro- his truth, and a lover his fervor but how many vide good, strong boots, with moderately-more, that were as ambitious, as enthusiastic, as thick soles, so as to exclude water and damp. loving as these when last year began, are now Put these on whenever you walk abroad, sluggish, and cold, and false! You may keep a

B2

record of life; and as surely as it is human, it will be a fragmented and disjointed history, crowded with unaccountableness and change. There is nothing constant. The links of life are for ever breaking, but we rush on still. A fellowtraveller drops from our side into the grave-a guiding star of hope vanishes from the sky-a creature of our affections, a child or an idol, is snatched from us-perhaps nothing with which we began the race is left to us, and yet we do not halt. Onward-still onward,' is the eternal cry; and as the past recedes, the broken ties are for gotten, and the future occupy us alone.

There are bright chapters in the past, however. If our lot is capricious and broken, it is also new and various. One friend has grown cool, but we have won another. One chance was less fortunate than we expected, but another was better. We have encountered one man's prejudices, but, in so doing, we have unexpectedly flattered the partialities of his neighbor. We have neglected a recorded duty; but a deed of charity, done upon impulse, has brought up the balance. equable temper of mind, memory, to a man of ordinary goodness of heart, is pleasant company. A careless rhymer, whose heart is better than his head, says,

In an

"I would not escape from Memory's land,
For all the eye can view;

For there's dearer dust in Memory's land,
Than the ore of rich Peru.

I clasp the fetter by Memory twined,
The wanderer's heart and soul to bind."

It was a good thought suggested by an ingenious friend, to make one's will annually, and remember all whom we love in it in the degree of their deservings. I have acted upon the hint since, and truly it is keeping a calendar of one's life. I have little to bequeath, indeed-a manuscript or two, some half dozen pictures, and a Score or two of much-thumbed and choice authors-but, slight as these poor mementoes are, it is pleasant to rate their difference, and write against them the names of our friends as we should wish them left if we knew we were presently to die. It would be a satisfying thought in sickness, that one's friends would have a memorial to suggest us when we were gone-that they would know we wished to be remembered by them; that we remembered them among the first. And it is pleasant, too, while alive, to change the order of appropriation with the ever-varying evidences of affection. It is a relief to vexation and mortified pride, to erase the name of one unworthy or false; and it is delightful, as another gets nearer to your heart, with the gradual and sure test of intimacy, to prefer him in your secret register.

If I should live to be old, I doubt not it will be a pleasant thing to look over these little testaments. It is difficult, now, with their kind offices and pleasant faces ever about one, to realise the changes of feeling between the first and the

last more difficult still, to imagine against any of those familiar names the significant asterisk that marks the dead; yet if the common chances of human truth, and the still more desperate chances of human life, continue, it is melancholy to think what a miracle it would be if even half this list,

brief and youthful as it is, should be, twenty years hence, living and unchanged.

The festivities of this part of the year always seemed to me mis-timed and revolting. I know not what color the reflections of others take, but to me it is simply the feeling of escape-the released breath of fear after a period of suspense and danger. Accident, misery, death, have been about us in their invisible shapes; and while one is tortured with pain, and another reduced to wretchedness, and another struck into the grave beside us, we know not why nor how we are still living and prosperous. It is next to a miracle that we are so. We have been on the edge of chasms continually. Our feet have tottered, our bosoms have been grazed by the thick shafts of diseasehad our eyes been spirit-keen, we should have been dumb with fear at our peril. If every tenth sunbeam were a deadly arrow-if the earth were full of invisible abysses-if poisons were sown thickly in the air, life would hardly be more insecure. We can stand upon our threshold and see it. The vigor ous are stricken down by an invisible hand-the active and busy suddenly disappear-death is caught up in the breath of the night wind, in the dropping of the dew. There is no place or moment, in which that horrible phantom is not gliding among us. It is natural at each period of escape to rejoice fervently and from the heart; but I know not, if others look upon death with the same irrepressible horror that I do, how their joy can be so thoughtlessly trifling. It seems to me matter for deep and almost fearful congratulation. It should be expressed in religious places and with the solemn voice of worship; and when the period has thus been marked, it should be speedily forgotten, lest its clouds become more depressing. I am an advocate for all the gaiety that the spirits will bear. I would reserve no particle of the treasure of happiness. The world is dull enough at the best; but do not mistake its temper. Do not press into the service of gay pleasure the thrilling solemnities of life. I think anything which reminds me of death, solemn; any time, when our escape from it is thrust irresistibly upon the mind, a solemn time; and such is the season of the new year. It should be occupied by serious thoughts. It is the time to reckon with one's heart-to renew and form resolutions— to forgive, and reconcile, and redeem.-P.

NATURE'S HOLIDAY.

Goodness thinks no ill where no ill seems.

MILTON.

ALBEIT use is second nature, yet does it require some little time to get out of an old beaten track-more particularly if memory dwells fondly upon beloved objects, met with in that track.

with our readers, was a source of inexpresOur wonted habit of gossipping weekly We could tell of a sible pleasure to us. multitude of things passing at the time, and find ready listeners to share our joys and delights. They looked as anxiously for our weekly gossip, as we felt pleasure in preparing it for their eye. It was vexatious

that the proposed and needful change took far exceeds any other pleasure. It leaves a place at Christmas. We had so much to goodly savor behind it. Selfishness must not, prattle about at this season-so much of cannot intrude at such seasons. Beholding the interesting to communicate in the matter our friends happy, their hearts warm, their of social reunions, and the annual renewals of countenances radiant with delight; and those affectionate feelings of love and friend- whilst listening to the joyous sounds of ship which do such honor and service to merriment proceeding from their innocent humanity. Well is it for us, that "Fashion"-children-we behold a sight, and hear sounds, the universal tyrant, has not swept away this annual custom of meeting together, as well as so many other of the wholesome observances of life!

There is a great deal of rust contracted on the human heart, in the course of a single year-aye, in the course of a few short months. Absence very often produces a cruel coldness amongst those who ought to be the best of friends; and this coldness of feeling too often grows into something worse than indifference. Then, people will get fancying all sorts of silly things; nor does ill-nature slumber under such circumstances. Many a sly hint will be thrown out by a venomous tongue, interested in spreading dissension, that will keep the choicest of friends at variance. However, Time works wonders." The season for friendly meetings again comes round. Invitations are given and accepted. Old acquaintances meet; the hand is offered and taken-aye, shaken too! Doubts are cleared up; the heart expands under Nature's warmth, and all are "happy"-as they should be. Nature! how we love thee!

Well; all that we have been talking about has already taken place. Friends have embraced, laughed, danced, sung, played, and made merry. Youth and age have melted into one. The follies of fashion have, among the sensible, dwindled away; and Nature has reigned triumphant amongst her children. Thus has the New Year come in, radiant with smiles. The glorious sun heralded in the 1st of January, 1853. We saw his face with delight. It was but a glimpse, truly; but that glimpse shadowed forth a host of 'promises" now in course of daily fulfil

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which we cannot but rejoice in. May the time never arrive that shall see us differently minded!

Whilst very many thousands have been so enjoying themselves, it will hardly be imagined that we have stood out. Oh no! Familiarly and pleasingly known as "OUR EDITOR," we have dropped in here, there, everywhere-a welcome, privileged friend. We were an invalid too; and, on that account, the more "interesting!" "first

Christmas Day was, of course, our appearance this season." On that happy day we were enrolled-Self & Co.-among the members of a numerous "happy family." We passed the day as it ought to be passedin amity, friendship, love, and unity. We never tell tales; but we may relate, in confidence, that the "good old customs were rigidly and properly kept up. One arch face-we will not say how many more arch faces followed the good example-slyly drawing us beneath

the

"The blossom that hangs on the bough," playfully remarked, "Our Editor, being invisible,* is nobody!" The arch face, with a pretty mouth, then whispered somethingoh, how sweet !-in our ear; and as we sighed out,-"Take heed,-whisper low! lisp died softly away in the distance. "Sweet seventeen!" (-aye, and "Sweet twenty-one !") how we love thee! Long may innocence like thine live to greet us annually; long may we live to go through the same pleasing ceremonies of the season with thee! So treated, we will remain "nobody" all our life. We never can grow" old.”

We have, no doubt, here touched a chord that will awaken in other breasts besides ours, many a pleasing reminiscence of Christmas 1852-3.

We are all children at such times, and ought to be so. It is Nature's gentle law, and must be obeyed. Thus do our minds become unbent, our best feelings expanded; and thus are all the avenues opened which lead to kind, friendly, and affectionate solicitude, one for the other.

PRUDERY must never dare show her ugly deformed features at holiday times. No! No! We will have none of her detestable

Hereby hangs a curious tale. Our invisible cloak, and its mysterious properties, will be found duly chronicled in our first volume, page 104.

heresies introduced amongst Nature's children. Her ladyship claims to rule, in her own sweet way, once a year at least; and insists in putting us in the right way, whether we continue to walk in it or not. She hates the superficial and the artificial as much as we do. Oh that we could, between us, banish them for ever!

The curtain must here fall. Papas and mammas, boys and girls, young and old, grave and gay-all have met to keep Nature's holiday, and to rejoice together in love. Sight-seeing is at an end. The vacation is nearly over. The last boy is now "due" at school. Whilst we write, "Black Monday" is frowning on our young friends, and duty is beckoning them away from pleasure. Well; they have had their treat, and must now away to improve their minds. We will, in their absence, try and prepare something to "assist" in this, against their return. The seasons will soon roll over; then will they again assemble to give a loose to the dictates of honest Nature.

May God bless our rising youth! say we; and as we grow older, may we contrive-if possible, to grow more natural!

THE BLESSING OF SIGHT AND HEARING.

THE following graphic sketch appears in the "Boston Transcript." There is a vein of feeling in it, which we wish to impress upon the mind of every reader. How little do we value our gifts, until by comparison we are brought to reflection!

A few days since, says Dr. C., the narrator, I paid a visit, by invitation, with a friend, to the "Blind Institution" at South Boston, where I had an opportunity of seeing Laura Bridgman. Although much has been written about this interesting young lady, yet I am inclined to believe that her actual condition is not generally well understood. The Blind Institution has long been established, and is now under the superintendence of Dr. Howe, a man whose intelligence and humanity ad mirably fit him for the situation.

Laura is blind, deaf, and dumb. She can neither hear, sec, nor speak! I had somehow formed an opinion that she was a little girl, but I learned that she was 22 years of age, although she appeared not above 16 or 18. Her features are regular-an oval face, with a very pleasing expression of countenance. Her head is what phrenologists would call "finely balanced "-the moral and intellectual predominating. Her demeanor was lady-like, and attractive. One would not suppose she ever entertained a thought of sadness, from her appearance.

The mode of communicating intelligence to her, is entirely different from that of any other human being-she being the only per

son living who is at once blind, deaf, and dumb. The deaf and dumb can learn by seeing; and the blind by hearing,-but Laura can learn in no such way. She can only learn by the sense of touch alone! Strange as it may appear, she has been taught not only to converse freely, but to write. This has been accomplished by the sense of touch alone. How did she learn her letters? How was the first idea communicated to her? As we entered the room, she was in earnest conversation with her blind companion. The blind girl could hear our approach, but Laura literally "turned a deaf ear" to us.

While viewing the two, we almost envied the condition of the blind girl, in contrast with the night of night in which poor Laura was encompassed. Laura could speak to others by the motion of her fingers, like the deaf and dumb spelling out every word. But while she could speak to others in this way, no one by similar motions could speak to her. She could not see the motion of their hands. In speaking to her, the motion of the fingers had to be made inside of her hand. She could then understand their mean ing. Laura and the blind girl both conversed in this way. On the desk, before Laura, lay asked if she would write her name for me; a piece of grooved tin, with a slip of paper. I as I should prize it as a choice memento.

She complied cheerfully, after learning the request through her teacher. She placed the paper on the grooved tin, measuring the round letters" LAURA BRIDGMAN TO Dr. distance from the side; and wrote in plain C." She guided her pencil with the left hand, in the grooves of the tin.

Poor Laura! Heaven grant that the darkness which now surrounds you, may end in this life! There is a kind Providence, whose care is over even the most obscure creature, and in time will compensate and rectify all Wrongs.

in Heaven.

There is no blindness or deafness

"There the eyes of the blind shall be opened, and the ears of the deaf unstopped.' On leaving the Blind Institution, I trust I had a more truthful sense of the blessings of sight and hearing, and of the corresponding obligations they impose. know her Condition and her attainments, as Laura Bridgman is considered by those who the highest object of interest in the world. Let those who indulge in complaints at the disappointments and disadvantages they suffer in life, only think of LAURA BRIDG

MAN!

that we arrive at, is an imaginary milestone in THE NEW YEAR.-Every first of January the track of human life; at once a resting-place for thought and meditation, and a starting point for fresh exertions in the performance of our journey.

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close of the year,-despairing, perhaps, lest, after all, our enterprise should fall to the ground. When, however, we found ourself such a general object of regard, and experienced such overwhelming and convincing proofs that OUR JOURNAL had so won its way to favor,-creeping into the very hearts of our readers, we took fresh courage, and feel at the present time that there are those interested in our success who will never slumber nor sleep till we are placed beyond the reach of danger.

We have labored hard-very hard, to create a brotherly and a sisterly feeling among mankind generally. It has indeed been up-hill work! Our three-halfpenny readers positively derided us for our sentiments, and withdrew from our standard. It "natural," perhaps-yet rather unkind. But let it pass.

was

Our present body guard are of a very different order. They tell us, frankly, they could not expect us to write, nor could they unless they knew that we were, at all events, be satisfied to read anything we had written, protected from actual loss. This is manly, fair, and just. We love such sentiments.

The year 1852 has not passed without affording us many opportunities for noticing how much real good may be effected by kindness, and that, in a multitude of little ways. The hollowness of "the world we live in," deadens those latent feelings that only want a fitting occasion to show themselves; and people, naturally kind, loving, and sociable, are by circumstances rendered too often callous, indifferent, and morose. They find no echo to

own sentiments, become misanthropical, and turn their backs upon society with disgust. These are the people after whom we seek. We have picked up many of them already, and they have become polished jewels. More, many more, we trust, are yet to be found. Our pen shall search them out. heart creates love. Love, when once born, Kindness begets kindness, and sincerity of never dies. We have set ourselves a task to prove this. We will prove it, if we live.

Among the assembled offerings was most delicately conveyed. It reached us just before Christmas. their It was franked throughout, and forwarded anonymously. On a sheet of paper, in a most loveable handwriting, were penned these words:" For the Editor. From a grateful friend-wishing the Editor and his family a merry Christmas and a happy New Year." The" present" was a noble, snow-white bird, sacred to Christmas, weighing some eighteen pounds. A neat label notified that it had ceased to live, three days previously; and a ticket showed that it had travelled on the Southampton Railway. This offering of gratitude delighted us. bird was not packed in the usual way. It had evidently occupied some little time in its preparation. It was placed (so neatly!) in a rush basket; and the sewing, it needed no prophet to tell us, was leisurely performed by a little hand which felt a secret pleasure every time the needle was inserted and withdrawn. We repeat we know not the donor; but we rejoice in feeling that we are remembered by "one," with whom time, perhaps, will make us better acquainted. A tribute thus paid can never be forgotten,-it were impossible.

The

We were becoming melancholy at the

JOY, EXTERNAL AND INTERNAL,

He who, to the best of his power, has secured the final stake, has a fons perennis (a perpetual fount) of joy within him. He is satisfied from himself. They, his reverse, borrow all from

without.

and short. From without, it may be gathered; Joy, wholly from without, is false, precarious, but, like gathered flowers, though fair and sweet it must soon wither and become

for a season,

offensive.

Joy, from within, is like smelling the rose on the tree. It is more sweet and fair. It is lasting; and I must add, it is IMMORTAL.

YOUNG.

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