his friends; deprived even of many of the commonest mercies; on whom perpetually the doors close, "on whose hinges grate harsh thunder: "-of " those who go down to the sea in ships, who do business in great waters; who mount up to the heavens, who go down again to the depths, whose soul is melted because of trouble: "—of the multitudes of the poor, who now "pierc'd by wintry winds,

Unpitied, sink into the sordid hut

Of cheerless poverty: '—

of the afflicted, who find the hours of winter peculiarly tedious and painful;—and of the aged, whose heads, silvered over by the revolutions of many such seasons, tell every visitant that the days are come, in which, comparatively speaking, they "have no pleasure." Who can help pitying and relieving such as these, far as it may be in their power? He cannot love God, whom he hath not seen, who does not love his brother, whom he hath seen; and if he does love his brother, he will show that this is the case by pitying and relieving him.

What a difference there is now in our walks, and those which we take in the other parts of the year!

There is; but these delightful seasons will soon come again. Notwithstanding the snows, and the frosts, there are around us indications that the bleak winter is preparing for his departure; for

"The snow-drops by our garden-walk,
Long since to life have started;
They wither now upon the stalk,
Their beauty is departed.

I love the spring, Papa, better than any of the seasons; the very thought of its coming is pleasant

to me.

My views, Edward, are in unison with yours. I often say of Spring, in the language of good Bernard Barton,

"Sweet season! appealing

To fancy and feeling;

Be thy advent the coming of all I would crave;

Of light more than vernal,

That day-spring eternal,

Which shall dawn on the dark wintry night of the grave!"