They see, with a sort of awe, how priceless are certain pictures to us, in comparison with all others. They hear us speak of the landscapes, the portraits, the graceful and beautiful images which adorn the walls; but they observe how, when restless and distressed, we steal a glance upwards at one picture, and find something there which seems to set us right--to rally us at once. If such a picture as the CHRISTUS CONSOLATOR of Scheffer be within view of the sick-couch--(that talisman, including the consolations of eighteen centuries!--that mysterious assemblage of the redeemed Captives and tranquillised Mourners of a whole Christendom!--that inspired epitome of suffering and solace!)--it may well be a cause of wonder, almost amounting to alarm, to those who, not having needed, have never felt its power. If there were now burnings or drownings for sorcery, that picture, and some who possess it, would soon be in the fire, or at the bottom of a pond. No mute operation of witchcraft, or its dread, could exceed the silent power of that picture over sufferers. Again--if the inexperienced chance to see us in an unfavourable hour, when our self-control cannot rise beyond constraint--when our words are fewest, however gentle the voice--when our posture is rigid, because we will not be restless, and our faces tell the distress we think we are concealing; if, at such a time, the post comes in, how miraculous must seem the change to one who does not know what we have just read in letters or newspapers--and, perhaps, could not understand its efficacy, if he had seen. He sees us start up on the couch, hears us become voluble, and talk in a free and joyous tone;--beholds us eat and drink, without thinking what is put before us;--perhaps is surprised at a flow of tears, which seems to dissolve the misery, whatever it was; and finds, to his amazement, that all this is caused by something to him so dry as the appointment of a committee in the House--a speech on some hustings--an improved quarter’s revenue;--or, perhaps, something not dry, but merely curious, and to him anything but moving,--a new appearance attending an eclipse--an arrangement for embanking the Nile, or cutting through the Isthmus of Panama, or some vast discovery in science or the arts. He may, again, see the relaxation yet more complete,--may perceive, without a word being spoken, that we are well for the hour,--the eye swimming in happiness, the voice full of gentle joy; so that he is convinced that illness does not “spoil everything.” In this case, some comfort has come, too sacred to be told,--at least then; some news or appeal from the primary christians and confessors of our day,--the American abolitionists,--some opening to us for doing some little service,--or, as not seldom happens, some word of true sympathy which rouses our spirit, as the trumpet stirs the war-horse,--some sudden light showing our position on our pilgrim path,--some hint of our high calling,--some