evil things.' The
highest flow of animal spirits would never hurry a pure-minded person to
say any thing indelicate or gross; and in the same manner, if a person
is habitually Christian in all his habits of thought and feeling, he
will be able without irksome watchfulness to avoid what may be injurious
even in the most unrestrained conversation."

HOW DO WE KNOW?

It was a splendid room. Rich curtains swept down to the floor in
graceful folds, half excluding the light, and shedding it in soft hues
over the fine old paintings on the walls, and over the broad mirrors
that reflect all that taste can accomplish by the hand of wealth. Books,
the rarest and most costly, were around, in every form of gorgeous
binding and gilding, and among them, glittering in ornament, lay a
magnificent Bible--a Bible too beautiful in its appointments, too showy,
too ornamental, ever to have been meant to be read--a Bible which every
visitor should take up and exclaim, "What a beautiful edition! what
superb bindings!" and then lay it down again.

And the master of the house was lounging on a sofa, looking over a late
review--for he was a man of leisure, taste, and reading--but, then, as
to reading the Bible!--_that_ forms, we suppose, no part of the
pretensions of a man of letters. The Bible--certainly he considered it a
very _respectable_ book--a fine specimen of ancient literature--an
admirable book of moral precepts; but, then, as to its divine origin, he
had not exactly made up his mind: some parts appeared strange and
inconsistent to his reason--others were revolting to his taste: true, he
had never studied it very attentively, yet such was his _general
impression_ about it; but, on the whole, he thought it well enough to
keep an elegant copy of it on his drawing room table.

So much for one picture. Now for another.

Come with us into this little dark alley, and up a flight of ruinous
stairs. It is a bitter night, and the wind and snow might drive through
the crevices of the poor room, were it not that careful hands have
stopped them with paper or cloth. But for all this carefulness, the room
is bitter cold--cold even with those few decaying brands on the hearth,
which that sorrowful woman is trying to kindle with her breath. Do you
see that pale, little, thin girl, with large, bright eyes, who is
crouching so near her mother?--hark!--how she coughs! Now listen.

"Mary, my dear child," says the mother, "do keep that shawl c