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"This was our season of bitterest trial, | make the two ends meet; to which he reand taught us to feel the incompleteness of plied, of course not,' and he would look this world. After it was over, our days me out a lodging in B. Ah! that again flowed on peacefully and lovingly, was a season of weeping, and the consolaeach brought some good and most sweet tions of my neighbours about the firewood joy. We became very skilful in the cul- gratis, and other perquisites, only made me tivation of fruit and vegetables, and our more wretched. I began to fancy they garden supplied half our neighbours. were tired of me, and were glad I was going away, which distressed me bitterly, yet made my nerves easier. When at length the parting came, my heart nearly broke. The trees were all in full blossom, but many eyes, too, were wet, and many an old woman said to me: 'I shall not know what to do with myself when you are gone. Here we shall never meet again, but please God we shall elsewhere, and perhaps before long. I am breaking every day, and you are dreadfully pulled down of late.'

"And so it was, that a long series of years glided away, and we were already getting old, when my husband suddenly died. This blow I had never thought of. He had not been laid up at all, and scarcely seemed less well than usual. He was always rather given to doctoring himself, probably because he had been delicate from childhood, so that it seemed a thing of course that he should be slightly ailing, and a little more or less was not easily observed. It was a thunderbolt out of a cloudless sky when I so suddenly lost him. Then I discovered the whole extent of my love for him: that I had lived, as it were, in his life for nearly forty years: that he had been my father, my husband, my child-my all! And yet at first I could not estimate all that was buried in his grave. The village had become my world: I knew of none outside it. All my hope and consolation would have been in remaining there, with my dear trees, near my church, near his grave. The smallest room would have been enough for me, and I knew of one that suited perfectly. We had never saved any money; true, we had spent little on ourselves; but that people were aware of, and therefore they required the more, and we both were fond of giving, and so nothing could be put by. But when everything was sold, there was a small sum left; and besides, I had a claim on two widows' funds, and therefore hoped to be able to live on the proceeds. But the gentleman in office would not hear of it. He told me plump and plain that I was a stupid woman, and did not understand the case, and that when I had removed from the parsonage, and had everything to buy, I should have great difficulty in getting on; whereas, if I lived at B, there were civil rights that I could have the benefit of. But I thought I should have died at the very idea of moving, and therefore had the courage to oppose him. Very well, try it,' said he; we shall soon see who is right.' "Alas! he was right; but I will not go over all my sorrowful experience of how much kindness and consideration for me was buried in my husband's grave. I had to write and tell the guardian I could not

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"And now I found myself in a broad stony street, and knew no one but the guardian of the widow and orphans' fund; and if I chanced to see him, I always felt as if he were the bear out of the pit coming to devour me. It was ungrateful of me, too, for he had cared for me like a father— had taken this room, and put all I wanted into it, and at the same time admonished me sharply not to become a useless gadabout, as most of the pastors' widows who came to B- did. Alas! he meant well, but he little knew how wide of the mark he was. Timid by nature, and made more so by sorrow, I never made an acquaintance-nay, at first I never ventured out of my room, saw no trees, no flowers, heard no song of birds. I learnt then what is meant by dying of depression-of the feeling that you are forsaken by every living being, are nothing to anybody in all the world, made to live on without sympathy and without affection.

"And so for some terrible weeks I did live, and should soon have died, but that God in mercy put it into my head to bring some living thing or other into my room. I ventured as far as the market, and all at once found myself restored to a familiar world. 1 was acquainted with everything in the stalls, and accustomed to speak to country women. I bought a few flower-pots, and next my little bird, and later took to going daily to the market. That was my life, and when I got accustomed to walking about I soon found other places where I could enjoy trees and flowers, especially the beautiful churchyard and pleasure-gardens outside the town, where no one goes on working-days. And so I gradually got recon

ciled to the town, but I made no acquaint-ing after her beloved husband's grave, and ance except the market-women, who were always kind to me.

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"And so I lived a quietly happy life here, such as I did not believe it possible to know again and if ever I fell into low spirits, my little bird would come and peck at me till I began to play with him. Then, I found my money go much further than in the country, for no one ever asked me for anything, so that sometimes I am ashamed of spending all upon myself, and think anxiously how I shall answer when God asks me what I have done for the poor. I have to confess to the guardian whenever he brings me my money, that I am far better off here than in Helmsvale. He never lets me off. He is a worthy man, but when I see him I never can help thinking of the bear in the pit. Once he invited me to dinner, but I am sure we were all equally glad when it was over. His wife is a smart, talkative lady, and I don't believe I got out ten words; and once back in my little room, I felt exactly as though I had been in the bear's den, and unexpectedly got out alive. I never was so stupid in my life. It is to be hoped they won't judge other pastors' widows by me; it would be wronging them greatly. But I am thankful no other invitations ever came, and I went on living in my quiet way, and very grateful for it to God, till He was pleased to visit me with this trial, and I found out that I could no longer get on alone. And now how grateful to Him ought I not to be for having sent me his good angels in my hour of need."

Such was the widow's tale, but not told in the course of one afternoon, for talking tired her, and yet it did her good. In her intensely quiet life she had garnered up much of thought and feeling, of which she was scarcely conscious. Her heart was over-full: our sympathy unlocked it, and it evidently cheered and refreshed her to tell us what she had experienced.

But she grew more and more feeble. I think hers was naturally a very fragile constitution; healthy so long as day passed after day in the same quiet uniformity, but incapable of sustaining a sudden shock. Perhaps, too, there may have been some latent constitutional disease, which the accident rapidly brought to a crisis.

she should like too to see how the trees had grown in the parsonage orchard, and whether there were any persons left who still remembered her. When I brought her home a present from any of the market-women, she still showed all a child's delight, and would almost weep for joy. But gradually, indeed, they ceased to remember her in the market. Everything gets forgotten at last; only to prevent her finding it out, I went on bringing her little gifts, as if from the women themselves, and each of them was a solace to her spirit.

It was the will of the Lord that she should die. One morning, just as the sun began to gild her little room, she gently slipped away, without even one deep-drawn breath; the bird alone, who was sitting on her pillow, witnessed her departure, fluttered wildly about her head, perched on her shoulder, sang as loudly as he could, as though he would waken her, and when he could not waken her drooped his wings and sat dull and listless in the same place without moving. In a few hours all his feathers looked rough, and in the evening when we were going to put him to roost as usual, we found he was gone to roost for ever; he lay dead on her shoulder where in life he had sat so constantly; he had followed his kind mistress; he could not endure to be without her loving care for a single day. It is but seldom man so clings to man. We miss and mourn each other, indeed; but hearts are not often torn to bleeding, to say nothing of their breaking outright.

Well, her loss left a large gap in my life too; a gap such as I seldom experienced, and for which my cousin, the guardian, took me severely to task. He could not, he said, comprehend my grieving thus after her: we were in no way related; not even in the same social circle; our acquaintanceship had not lasted for many months, therefore my depression was not natural, but affected, abnormal, sentimental: all the board of guardians of the orphan institution considered it in that light, and had discussed it with great disapprobation.

As the Pastor's Widow had no relations, no one took any notice of her death but the said board, who exactly filled the mourningcoach that followed her coffin. Thus her departure made no stir on earth; was passed over in utter silence. But so much greater was the joy in heaven of the angels who had long known and loved her, when she came to join them, and with them to bless and praise the Lord, as only they who are

She lived on a little while, but it seemed as if her life were all spiritual. She expressed herself far more fervently. Her feelings appeared more lively than in the first part of her illness. She spoke much of making a little journey to Helmsvale when she recovered. She had such an intense long-pure in heart may.

J. G.

From the Economist.

IS THE CATTLE PLAGUE SMALL-POX ?

afflicted with the existing plague, and adds, "the cutaneous eruption is not the only character in which rinderpest resembles small-pox. Its close resemblance, if not still more intimate relation to human variola, is borne out by the considerations he enumerates. Amongst these we may select the following:-"1. Small-pox is the only acute contagious exanthem in man that assumes a pustular form. The eruption in rinderpest is also pustular. Any difference between the two may readily be accounted for by difference in the skin of man and cattle. . . 3. The anatomical lesions of

THE opinion recently expressed by a physician, Dr. Parsons, that the cattle plague is in fact small-pox, seems to be attracting considerable attention, to say the least, amongst scientific medical observers. Now, whatever may be the result of the investigations Dr. Parsons' suggestion will produce, it is impossible to avoid an expression of disapointment that the English veterinary practitioners have not applied themselves with more purpose than they appear to have done to the examination of the symptoms the two diseases are identical. . . 4. In and indications of the prevalent disease. If both diseases, a peculiar offensive odour is they had done so, instead of consigning exhaled from the body, both before and af every animal to slaughter in sheer despair, ter death. 5. In both, the duration of the could they have missed the discovery-if pyrexial stage is about seven or eight days. such it be made by the physician? If 6. The two diseases resemble one another the disease be indeed the small-pox, its treat- in their extreme contagiousness, and in the ment and the manner in which it is communicated are by no means unknown. From the first appearance of the plague we apprehended panic, and helpless assertions of its incurable character, and our fears have in a great degree been justified by the event. It is imported, it is not amenable to curative treatment, seem to be the sum and substance of veterinary medical testimony on the subject. It is clear, however, that the public, and eventually the terror-stricken agricultural community, will not long remain satisfied with such conclusions.

Now an investigation of the plague with a view to ascertain whether it is or is not the small-pox presents something definite, and cannot fail to prove useful whatever be the result. Dr. Parsons says the animals which have died of the plague show smallpox-like pustules under the skin, and present other symptoms of that disease. He has been followed by Dr. Charles Murchison, a lecturer at the Middlesex hospital, who in a long and elaborate letter to the Lancet, indicates points of resemblance between the cattle plague and small-pox.

He says, "The resemblance of rinderpest to smallpox is no new discovery, although latterly it has been lost sight of." Ramazzina, in his account of the cattle plague which pervaded Italy in 1711, suggests such resemblance, as does also Laucisi. Dr. Mortimer and other physicians refer to the cattle plague in this country of the middle of the last century, as exhibiting pustular eruption, and it has generally been referred to by subsequent writers as "an undoubted epizootic variola," and inoculation was recommended and practised by Dr. Layard. Dr. Murchison then describes the eruptions observed in cattle

facility with which the poison is transmitted by fomities. 7. Both diseases can be propagated by inoculation. This can be said with certainty of no other human malady than small-pox. 8. In both diseases there is a period of incubation, which is shorter when the poison has been introduced by inoculation, than when it has been received by infection. 9. Vaccinated persons are constantly exposed to small-pox poison with impunity; and with regard to rinderpest, there are numerous instances in which individual cattle, or entire herds, appear to have led charmed lives in the midst of surrounding pestilence." Upon these and other considerations he has stated, Dr. Murchison,— without insisting on the absolute pathological identity of rinderpest and variola,-recommends as tests, " to produce cow-pox in cattle by inoculating them on the one hand with vaccine lymph, and on the other with the matter of human variola, and afterwards to ascertain if they be proof against the prevalent plague, or if the course of rinderpest be thereby modified."

A case which seems to be strongly confirmatory of the above view is stated by Mr. Thomas Chambers, senior, assistant-surgeon to the London Surgical Home, who says:"A week ago, December 27, I had to pay a professional visit at the house of a London dairyman. Before leaving the house Mr. B. asked if I should like to see his stock of cows, and, without waiting for a reply, he led the way to his sheds two. They were large roomy buildings, well ventilated, and scrupulously clean. There I found 27 beautiful cows in the most perfect health. B. has not had a single case of disease of any kind in his sheds, although a neigh

Mr.

bour of his, having sheds within a cannon it, instead of having any professional help. shot of Mr. B.'s, lost 80 cows in a fortnight in The inspector then recommended me to October last, I made particular inquiry as give them plenty of old ale. We went on to whether he had adopted any prophy- then with old ale warmed up with oatmeal, lactic measures, with a view to protect his together with a little ginger, aniseed, treastock from an attack of the cattle disease. cle, and honey, giving it to them three He replied that for several years past he times a day until two days ago. The first has been in the habit of vaccinating every one recovered in about a week. The others fresh cow on entering his sheds-old or sickened in turn, and one of them was for young- - and that since his adoption of two days in a much worse state than the this simple prophylactic measure he has not first one that was attacked; in fact she had lost a single cow from any cause whatever. such violent purging one day, that we subThese evidences certainly justify a recom-tituted for one dose of the old ale, &c., mendation to the owners of cattle to have three eggs and some brandy, and clothed their stock vaccinated without loss of time. her with an old blanket. However, the A correspondent of the Birmingham result is, that they have all got over it. Daily Post says on this subject:-"After They seem quite well, only a good deal thinmore than six months' careful and minute ner, and enjoy very much all the food that treatment and observation of the rinderpest, is given them. They only had chlorate of the medical faculty of the districts of potash the first two days." Crewe and Nantwich, in Cheshire, have Here probably the symptoms were obcome to the unanimous resolution of treat-served and dealt with in an earlier stage ing the cattle plague as small-pox. During of the disease than is the case in more nuthe week now ending, Mr. Bellyse and Dr. merous herds. Vaughan, of Nantwich, and Dr. Lord, of Crewe, have vaccinated successfully large stocks, amongst which was that of Mr. D. Broughton, of Wistaston Hall, near Crewe. A very favourable report has just been made to us of their experiments. To this we may add the very important fact that in the very valuable stock of Mr. Trickett, of A REMARKABLE article in the new numRope, Cheshire, not a single case has oc- ber of the Westminster Review on the writcured since the vaccination, whereas pre-ings of Coleridge, an article evidently from viously there had been fatal cases."

From the Spectator.
GOD.

SPIRITUALITY WITHOUT

the hand of one of the finest of living To these suggestive notices we may add critics, and itself full of the flavour of the following particulars furnished by Mr. genius, concludes with a suggestion, not Charles P. Christie, the well-known brewer made in the mood of profound melancholy of Hoddesdon, Heris, of the successful treat- which it is calculated to excite, but rather ment of three cases of the cattle plague: in that of pseudo-classical content, for keep"My stock consists of three young heifers, ing a religion while dismissing God. A which lie in a small field about three quar-suggestion the same in effect has been reters of a mile from Hoddesdon, and on cently made by an eminent critic of M. Tuesday, the 12th of December, it was ob- Comte, and it is evident that some of the served that one of them was unwell, would highest-minded of the modern humanists not feed, and had a slight discharge from are beginning to hold and to teach, with the nose, and running from the eyes, togeth- this critic, that "religious belief, the craver with purging. The following morning, ing for objects of belief, may be refined finding the animal much worse, I sent a no- out of our hearts, but they must leave their tice of it to the inspector, whose assistant sacred perfume, their spiritual sweetness, came very promptly in the afternoon. He behind." Or, as he says elsewhere," Longpronounced it to be one of the worst cases of rinderpest he had seen, and strongly urged me to slaughter it, and take every preventive measure with regard to the other two, one of which he also told me showed symptoms. I had in the meanwhile administered some gruel, and also provided some doses of chlorate of potash, and as my man had begun to doctor and nurse the animals, I resolved he should go on with THIRD SERIES. LIVING AGE. VOL. XXXII. 1473.

ing, a chastened temper, spiritual joy, are precious states of mind, not because they are parts of man's duty or because God has commanded them, still less because they are means of obtaining a reward, but because, like culture itself, they are remote, refined, intense, existing only by the triumph of a few over a dead world of routine, in which there is no lifting of the soul at all. If there is no other world, art in its own in

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terest must cherish such characteristics as beautiful spectacles. Stephen's face, like the face of an angel,' has a worth of its own, even if the opened Heaven is but a dream:"- which means, we suppose, that the power to dream of beautiful and unreal visions, to be clad in the glory of a false hope, is one which we ought to desire and cherish for its beauty, even though we know that it is a mere transitory flush of the spirit, which will shortly subside like the crimson from an evening cloud, and reveal the cold leaden colour behind it. Surely nothing can be less like "the Greek spirit, with its engaging naturalness, simple, chastened, debonair," which this critic describes (very falsely, we hope) as, for us of the present moment, "the Sangraal of an endless pilgrimage," than this attempt to foster artificially states of feeling of which the natural springs and sources are proclaimed to be imaginary or exhausted. To inculcate the culture of a feeling not because there is any proper object worthy of it, but because it is "remote, refined, intense, existing only by the triumph of a few over a dead world of routine in which there is no lifting of the soul at all," is surely the last vanity and infirmity of which human nature is capable, and so far from being a duty, resting, as our critic says, on the same basis as that of intellectual culture itself, it would be of an essentially opposite nature. The value of intellectual culture consists in opening to us all sorts of new and true shades of distinction, which are accessible to all who will travel the same path to find them. But feelings" that just gleam a moment and are gone," and can be defended only as being "remote, refined, intense," not as having any justification in a living object, whatever defence may be set up for them, cannot certainly be defended on the ground of belonging to the same sphere as true intellectual culture. Culture is desirable, for the same reason for which achromatic eyepieces are desirable to the astronomer, namely, as revealing true dístinctions which we could not otherwise discriminate, or delicate phenomena which we could not otherwise study at all, and which may help to throw an additional light on the laws of the universe. But to produce for yourself voluntarily rare and delicate and arbitrary phenomena,-flashes of spiritual joy without an object, Auroras of the soul without any gleam of celestial light, simply because such phenomena raise you above the common herd, and illustrate the triumph of life over dead routine, is a course of conduct which, so far from being

analogous to that of intellectual culture, would justify any spiritual attitudinizing, any swoon of solitary vanity, whether of extasy or anguish, of flushing or of pallor, any self-will of glorious but unfounded faith, such as the critic ascribes to St. Stephen, or of glorious but not unfounded despair, such as we may find throbbing through the exposed and quivering nerve of Shelley's passionate verse. If the critic in the Westminster Review be indeed the realist he professes, he will not ground his apology for religious emotion without faith on the essentially unreal plea that all emotions which are "remote, refined, intense," and which express the triumph of a few over "the dead world of routine," are good, and should be fostered for the sake of their rarity, intensity, and distinctiveness. We know of no plea more completely hollow, insincere, and, in a sense, even bad, than this. An aristocracy such as he would encourage, distinguished by rare and delicate blossoms of unreal sentiment, would be fit for nothing but to be cast out and trodden under the foot of man. We should feel even a sort of passion of severely just exultation in seeing the destruction of such an aristocracy of hollow refinement by the strong though coarse tread of the commonalty who are excluded by our critic from these "remote and refined" feelings. A spiritual joy that is not good for the multitude can be worth no more to the spirit, than an intellectual culture. which is not good for the multitude can be worth to the intellect. All who have really understood the spiritual joy of which the Westminster critic speaks have claimed it for all men, and not exulted in it as the remote and refined distinction of a few. "Comfort ye, comfort ye, my people," is the strain of the greatest prophet of this joy. The critic who claims it as an esoteric gift marking the spiritual rank of a few seeins to us to know as little of its essence as he thinks that he or any one else can know of Him who has been discovered by the modern spirit not to be its source.

But the critic suggests, though he does not hold by, another justification for this spiritual emotion and "spiritual joy" for which he contends, which we readily admit to be far nobler than the one of which we have spoken. He says people accept in theology empty arguments which they would accept on no other subject, " because what chains men to a religion is not its claim on their reason, their hopes, or fears, but the glow it affords to the world, its beau ideal.' Coleridge thinks that, if we reject the

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