when I hear tell of a little old man who, blessed be God! first thought of Infant Schools—Oh! it’s them are the blessings. The things I love best, are the things that teach people how to keep from sin—of the two I like them better than what takes them out of it. And when I remember WHO sent Temperance abroad to the four quarters of the globe—so that even gentlemen are ashamed of being tipsy—and how as a regenerator that Temperance is only next to Godliness—there’s a glory for Ireland! And I think of a fine ancient white-headed saint in Manchester, Wright by name and nature, who remembers, as my dear mistress says, to tread in his Master’s footsteps, who was sent, ‘not to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance.’ And I think of the charities, grander than the Pyramids of Egypt my cousin writes home about; charities purifying the great sins of great London; charities, Aunt darling, increasing every year, and as each new one starts up, from the brain maybe of some poor working man, the people cry out, as with one voice, ‘This can’t be done without.’ I am glad of such thoughts, and such knowledge, for I’ll tell you the truth, I mortally abominate them great bloated gold-finders. When I think of the _gold-loving_ English, I could send all the Fathers of the Church against them, with bell, book, and candle. When I think of the _other things_, Aunt dear, why I can only pray that they may be remembered to them as a people, at the last day;—and I’m willing to do penance for the prayer, if so be it’s a sin!