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fortable. But, in due course of time, summer comes! The sun multiplies his heat by means of reflection from slate roofs, and brick walls, and paved streets. Vain is it to open windows and doors to get fresh air; it is only an invitation to the bake-oven temperature without. The air--if it may . now be called by that name-has been breathed over,
dried over and reflected over and over till it is no more like air than chalk water is like milk. Ah! ye skillful city people, who manufacture so many wise and useful things, can you make a little fresh, cool air ?
This is our time! Here, in the country, we have plenty of fresh air. Yea, not only fresh, but actually fragrant, balsamic, and balmy from the woods and the fields. As our day has come, do not, we beseech you, think it hard if we crow a little over you in our present better fortune. Cowper, the poet, has clearly shown that this is perfectly justifiable. Hear what he saith as pertaining to the point in hand:
“In such a world, so thorny, and where none
may with patience bear our moderate ills,
This last line is adapted to our case; and we do not disown the judicious instruction. After we have, from our present vantage ground, settled with you for the light remarks in which you sometimes indulge in regard to the country, we assure you that we have, nevertheless, a fellowfeeling. Here, under the cool trees, we think of you, ye perspiring thousands; though we feel that our sympathy is but a poor substitute for the fresh air you so much need. How gladly would we send you several miles square of it chopped right out of the neighboring mountains; for there would soon be plenty to rush in to fill the vacant place.
Our heart yearns especially toward you, ye men of the types—our fellow workers on the GUARDIAN. Cool as it is where we write, it would be a weary job to make copies with the pen for each one of our patrons ! It is to you we are indebted for the faculty of multiplying copies by the thousands. But to accomplish this, ye have to pick up the letters one by one, and to do it in the midst of bake-oven surroundings! We pity you. But still we cannot avoid calling to mind the chuckle you
had in your warm office last winter, when you were setting up that funny item about a certain country youth, who nearly froze his nose and feet floundering through snow-drifts on his way home from the house of his lady-love. You showed a little of your animus then. You know, also, how to crow over the uncomfortable fortunes of one of your fellow mortals; and it does not displease you to see your own advantage over one of our rural brethren in winter. That was your time—this is ours. So we will quote you a little more from Cowper, which, though you set it up in the heat of the city, it will read refreshingly in the cool country shade:
"'Tis pleasant through the loop-holes of retreat,
To peep at such a world; to see the stir
Of the great Babel, and not feel the crowd;
So we go.
But we forget. Some city people escape from the summer ills of city life by flying to the sea-shore, or to some popular, or perhaps fashionable watering place. Very well.' Take your delights while the opportunity offers. Hie away to the scenes Elysian. We will accompany you—in imagination. Here we go. No, not yet, we must pack up first, and shut
the house. This is not as soon done as said. What a pile of things it is necessary to take along! We must have one four story “Saratoga," and at least two other trunks, beside little box, big box, band box, and bundle, with a carpet bag, lady's travelling satchel and hand basket. These things, which will furnish us with at least one-tenth of the comforts and conveniences we are accustomed to at home, are finally on their way to the depot. After half an hour of crowding, and hurrying, and pushing through, we find ourselves seated in the cars-comfortable enough except that it is specially hot and dusty; but not all the passengers can sit on the shady side of the car, nor can we keep the black coal dust out when the windows are open.
But there is always a better time coming. We shall be at the sea-shore by mid-day, or at least in the middle of the afternoon. The sea-shore would no doubt be a pleasant place, were it not for the hot sand and salty soil which there abound, in which shade trees do not prefer to grow, or rather prefer not to grow. Around this lofty hotel, and upon its roof and sides the sun has a fair chance to exhibit his power. Besides, it is already quite well filled; for we are not the only persons who are seeking cool comfort at the sea shore. Where so many go space is an item; and this having been well considered by the builder of the hotel, he has very economically made the size of the rooms eight by ten. Into one of these rooms we are ushered, where we find about a quart of water to refresh ourselves with a wash. N. B.-Though there is much water in the sea, and plenty of it comes up to the shore, it is saline, and not pleasant to wash faces with. Hence the hotel is dependent on a cistern, and as there are many faces to wash, economy in water is a necessity. Our eight by ten room contains a bed, a wash stand, and a chair or two. Besides, it is now to contain in addition, all the trunks and things before mentioned, and too tedious here again to describe. The rest of the room is for the free circulation of the inmates. This is our snug abode whilst we are enjoying the sea shore. It has one advantage over the house we left, this, namely, that not being so large, not as much hot air can get into it, but it makes up in quality what it lacks in quantity.
Besides this room, we have free access to a parlor, to which several hundred others have just as free access. We can also walk about on the verandah to be looked at by others. This is a pleasant ordeal. One looks at our clothes to see how rich we probably are. The next takes a glance at our hands with the view of determining our occupation or calling. Another scrutinizes our manners to rate our breeding. Three times a day, but at most singular hours, we have the privilege of going into the dining-room to participate in a cut of savory beef and fowl (the printer
must not print it foul), and wilted vegetables, all of which have been brought as far through the heat as ourselves. When night comes we spend the first half of it in enjoying the noise, and the second half in fighting the musquitoes! When the “season” is over-if we stick it out so longand we have paid well for our “accommodations,” we pack up and go home, singing: "Sweet are the uses of adversity!"
O, ye poor sweltering city denizens! Why are ye so slow to be wise? Go to now, and turn your faces away from the sea-shore, and escape from the heat of your cities to the refreshing bosom of the glorious mountains. Here is cool shade-here are cheerful nooks of quiet—here are laughing streams and prattling brooks—here are singing birds and blooming flowers, here is fresh food to eat, and pure water to drink-here is health, peace and pleasure.
We are again reminded of Cowper, where he saith:
“God made the country, man made the town.”.
We may add, that if our memory serve us, the first man that made a town was a bad man—even Cain, the first murderer! He “went out from the presence of the Lord,” and there “builded a city.” We pursue this historical point no farther. We make no inferences, nor draw invidious comparisons ! Perhaps that bad man devised a good thing—but the proverb is against this idea, “as is the man, so are his devices.” We could only wish, that, in the original plan for cities, he had made some provision for a slight sprinkling of trees, fields, and mountains.
Finally, reader, did you ever sit down to tea before an open window, where, while eating, you could look out on fields of clover, waving white fields, and rows of young corn, with a mountain several miles off as a background? If not, step down stairs with us--as the supper bell has just rung
CURIOUS ANCIENT ALMANAC.—Galignani has an account of a recent discovery at Pompeii. It is as follows:
“ A Roman almanac has just been found in an excavation near the Gate of Isis, at Pompeii. It is a square block of white marble, on each side of which are inscriptions relative to three months in the year, arranged in perpendicular columns. At the head of each is represented the sign of the zodiac to which the month responds. The almanac contains some curious information on the agriculture and religion of the Romans. At the top of each column, and under the sign of the zodiac is the name of the month and the number of days; next comes the nones, which, during eight months in the year, fall on the fifth day, and are consequently called quintanae; for the remainder of the year they commence on the seventh day, and are called septimanae. The ides are not indicated, because there are always seven days between them and the nones.
- The number of hours of the day and night is also marked, the whole number being represented by the ordinary Roman figure, the fractions by S for semi, and by small horizontal lines for the quarters. Lastly, the sign of the zodiac in which the sun appears is also named; the days of the equinoxes and of the summer solstices are also given. For the winter
solstice these are the words hemus initium (beginning of the winter). Next comes the chapter of agriculture, in which farmers are reminded of the principal operations that ought to be carried on during the month. The almanac terminates by the religious part; it points out the god who presides over each month; gives a list of the religious fetes which fall during the lapse of time, and warns the farmer not to neglect the worship of those protecting divinities of his labors, if he wishes to have them prosper. On the upper part of the block of marble is Apollo, driving the chariot of the sun, and on the upper part Ceres reaping corn in the field, which shows that this almanac was more particularly intended for farmers. It has been sent to Naples.”
SOMETHING FOR JESUS.
Saviour! Thy dying love
Thou gavest me;
Dear Lord, from Thee.
Something for Thee.
Pleading for me,
Jesus, to Thee.
to raise, or prayer,
Likeness to Thee,
Henceforth may see
Something for Thee.
All that I am and have,
Dear Lord, for Thee,
In death, for Thee;
Something for Thee.
ERRATUM.-By some means or other, a serious error in the poetry, in the June number, entitled “Unclothed and clothed Upon,” escaped attention. In the nineteenth line from the end, the word waft should be substituted for wept.
The Guardian .
VOL. XVI.-AUGUST, 1865.-No. 8.
BY L. H. S.
UNALLOYED happiness finds no home on earth. Grief quickly follows joy, and the soul, sickened at such transition, is, at times, almost overwhelmed with despair. But to the Christian—both grief and joy are the gifts of a heavenly Father. Behind the frowning cloud there is the paternal care and solicitude of One who cares for His people, and whose ways, however dark and mysterious they may appear, are nevertheless the ways of Infinite Wisdom. Out of the darkness and gloom will come again bright and joy will follow grief once more.
And so it must be in this vale of tears, for, to use the words of a Scotch writer, “Grief
and joy, unlike as they appear in face and figure, are nevertheless sisters, and by fate and destiny, their verra lives depend on ane and the same eternal law. Were Griet” banished frae this life, Joy would soon dwine awa into the resemblance o' her departed Soror-aye, her face would soon be whiter and mair woe-begone, and they would soon be buried, side by side, in ae grave.”
And this transition is but part of that preparation which is wisely ordained for man, in order to fit him for an abode where tears shall no longer have a place, but all shall be perennial joy.
This uncertain duration of joy and happiness is not confined to individuals or families. Communities, states, and nations are also exposed to its perturbing effects. The mysterious ways of Providence are manifested in them as well as in the lives of the humblest of their citizens. From the height of prosperity they may be plunged into the depth of misery and degradation ; or the fair record of their honor and probity may be rendered