WEDNESDAY, July 26. Meeting at Forrer's Furnace. I speak on the fiftieth verse of the one hundred and nineteenth Psalm. TEXT.--"This is my comfort in my affliction." I have chosen this subject on account of the afflictions which some of you have lately passed through, and which are, I learn, still clinging to others in this neighborhood. As I have been called--or sincerely believe that I have been called--to administer medical relief to the sick, and have thus had much experience in the sick room, and by the sick bed, I will venture to offer some observations regarding the ways in which the sick should be cared for and nursed, that they may be comforted in their afflictions as to their bodily feelings. This done, I will endeavor to say something regarding the ways in which their souls may be comforted. The bed for the sick should be soft, but not heating. Nothing can be more regularly and uniformly comforting to the afflicted than a soft and easy bed. It need not be costly. Clean straw of oats, cut fine, is my preference over all other materials. To stir the bed, the patient need not be taken out, but gently, very slowly and tenderly, moved to the opposite side first prepared, left there awhile, and then in the same gentle way returned to the front, similarly prepared. Cleanliness is next to religion, pure and undefiled, in the sick room. All fumes of tobacco or other unpleasant smells should not be allowed for a moment in the sick room. All offensive odors can most readily be gotten rid of by ventilation. This can be best secured by opening doors or windows, or both, if necessary. This should be repeatedly done daily in all weathers. At this season windows should be open all the time; but the patient should not be exposed to heavy draughts of air. Unnecessary conversation is very distressing to most sick people, even though the words be spoken low or in a whisper. Some of you, no doubt, have had experience of this fact. People kindly feel it a duty to visit the sick. One does not know that another is going, and each being impelled by a sense of duty, more go than can be needed; and in determining who shall return home, and who shall stay, conversations take place that are often very distressing to the patient. I remember a conversation I had with one of my own patients once, who had just shortly before that time recovered from a severe and protracted illness. He said to me: "Brother John, do try to set the people right about visiting the sick. There is so much wrong about it the way it is carried on now that very often more harm than good is done. I remember," said he, "one night while I was sick. You had been coming, I think, near three weeks, and I was beginning to mend. In the evening I felt so much better I thought I was going to rest well and get some good, natural sleep. But about eight o'clock several neighbors came in who got to talking; and seeing that I appeared better they were