Strange ’tis, but true; in all this vast American domain, is there not room for the welfare of God’s moving images? In the city of Richmond, Va., the heat is much more constant in midsummer than in Boston, Mass. Yet of the three hundred visits among the most forsaken poor of the former city, infantile cholera is comparatively rare, and from July 15, 1877, to Oct. 30, of the same year, I found but one case of cholera from starvation; that being a case where the parent had to be out all day, while it fed from a bottle or sucked on something. Whatever saved many others in like situation, it is beyond my power to tell. There would no doubt be more numerous fatalities with children in warm climates if it was the almost universal custom to feed them on slops; but on the contrary, where they are not at the breast, among the laboring classes at least, they are fed on what is convenient for the rest of the family; and although many times the fare is decidedly objectionable, the Lord crowns the efforts for good with success. Going South, as I did, a teetotaller, I was pleasantly surprised to find that the freed people were no more intemperate than any other would be if placed in like circumstances; perhaps not so much so as many of those who could better understand how, when freedom came, all of the necessaries of life were speedily cut off from them, but where rum and ruin were, they could find an open door. Instead of setting out a decanter and glasses, as was the custom in the days of slavery (according to all accounts), I noticed a delicacy, lest they might be suspected of wrong-doing. In order to encourage the impression for reform, whenever an opportunity offered, I would say that children have grown weaker every generation in families that have indulged in the use of rum and tobacco.