Not only are the sick neglected and unpitied by the officers and servants of the prison, the _Ministers_, also, neglect them. I have known men lie six months in the hospital, and die, without being visited by a single clergyman, or having even one christian call to pray with them. This speaks but little for the piety of Windsor; but such is the fact. It ought however to be understood, that the clergymen of that town are always willing to attend to any of the duties of their office, as well _in_ the prison as _out_ of it, when they know that they are wanted. I make but one exception to this remark, and that is only a _partial_ one, for Mr. How--d was not _always_ what I am condemning. The great blow, then, must fall ultimately with the greatest weight on the keepers. But still, when the great and the pious men of the village were weeping over the miseries of sin in the far distant Isles of the Pacific, and in the lands of the rising and setting sun, and sending their property in Bibles, Tracts, and Missionaries to "the farthest verge of the green earth;" is it not a little wonderful that they should so have forgotten the "prison house," and the sin-ruined prisoners, famishing for the bread of life, in their own town, and within their own sight, as not to have blessed them with a single visit from their itinerant mercy? Would not a little attention to the wants of the neighborhood have been at least _excused_? Neglected, however, as they are by Christians, many of the suffering tenants of that gloomy abode, have an arm to lean upon which bears them up, and a sun to shine around them, whose beams create their day. While the earth is disappearing, and their heart-strings are breaking, they can sing-- How sweet my minutes roll, A mortal paleness on my cheek, And glory in my soul! It would gladden the hearts of christians to reflect on the happy deaths that have been witnessed in that place. There, religion appears in all her loveliness. When there is no kind friend to watch the fading cheek and close the sightless eye--when a mantle of everlasting black is falling on all the beauties of earth, and hiding the sun, moon, and stars for ever--when the blood is stopping, a cold and clammy sweat is gathering on the temples, and the heart is sinking down into the stillness of death; then it is that the value of that principle is appreciated, which charms all fears away, and calms the throbbing heart, and lights up in the soul the brightness of eternity. Then, in that immortal ecstacy that nothing but God can inspire, it enables the happy possessor to join with the millions who have gone before him, in this triumphant farewell to this vale of tears:-- On Jordan's stormy banks I stand, And cast a wishful eye To Canaan's fair and happy land, Where my possessions lie, O the transporting rapt'rous scene, That rises to my sight; Sweet fields array'd in living green, And rivers of delight.