seems to be his natural state, particularly in the winter season. I have heard some persons go so far as to say, that a cold does not do a child any hurt; but it is not true, let who will say it; every cold a child takes, makes him more liable to another; and another, and another succeeds, till chronic disease is produced. (To be Continued.) * * * * * Original. A FAINT PICTURE OF HUMAN LIFE. THE BOY; THE FATHER OF THE MAN On my first visit to New York, many years since, I was accompanied by a young nephew. He was made up of smiles and cheerfulness. Such a traveling companion, of any age, is rare to be found, so gallant--so ready to serve--so full of bright thoughts--anticipating all my wishes, and yet so unobtrusive and modest--at the same time disposed to add to his own stock of knowledge from every passing incident. Nothing, in fact, escaped his observation. The variety and richness of scenery which is everywhere to be found in the New England States, seemed to delight his young heart. This alone, was enough to inspire my own heart with sunny thoughts, though I was in affliction, and was seldom found absent from my own happy home. As I recall to mind that journey and that happy, cheerful child, I often think how much comfort even a child can impart to others, when their hearts have been sanctified by the Spirit of God. I cannot forbear to say that cheerfulness is a cardinal virtue, and ought to be more cultivated by the old and by the young. A cheerful disposition not only blesses its possessor but imparts happiness to all that come within its reach. As we entered the city at an early hour, everything wore a cheerful aspect, every step seemed elastic and every heart buoyant with hope. There was a continual hum of busy men and women, as we were passing near a market. Such a rolling of carts and carriages--so many cheerful children, some crying "Raddishes"--"raddishes"--others "Strawberries"--"strawberries"--others with baskets of flowers--all wide awake, each eager to sell his various articles of merchandise. This was indeed a novel scene to us--it did seem a charming place. My young companion remarked, Aunt C----, "I think everybody here must be happy." I could not but at first respond to the sentiment. But presently we began to meet persons--some halt--some blind--some in rags--looking filthy and degraded. Every face was new to us--not one person among the throngs we met that we had ever seen before. An unusual sense of loneliness came over me, and I thought my young attendant participated in this same feeling of solitude, and though I said nothing, I sighed for the quiet and familiar faces and scenes of the "Home, sweet home" I had so recently left.