in the pride of her young womanhood, eight-
and-thirty years have passed. She has fallen
asleep, and my pilgrimage is nearly ended;
but never on one day of those eight-and-
thirty years have I ceased to pray for her;
morning and evening I have prayed for her,
and many a time besides. It was of the
innocent girl that I thought, but it was for
the suffering woman that I prayed. My
mother earnestly strove to awaken in me
some affection which might replace the
remembrance of Violet. Had her fate been
happier, I cannot tell what might have been
moved within me; but I had so entirely
loved her, and I knew her to be set in the
midst of so many and great dangers that I
could think of her, alone.

"She is gone where the children of the
Father shall at length be pure and holy—
where the sorrows and misapprehensions of
this world shall be scattered like mists before
the risen sun—where I hope to see her;
the same, yet more beautiful in the majesty
of completed suffering."

My uncle ceased, and large tears rolled
slowly down his cheeks. He died after three
years, strong in the faith in which he had
lived. A locket, containing some curls of
auburn hair, and a letter, the characters of
which were illegible, were found on his breast.
We did not remove them; and beside the
porch of his little country church we
reverently laid him to rest, with these
remembrances of her whom he had loved so tenderly
and truly.

CHANGE OF AIR.

Everybody knows the great influence that
is exerted on his own person by fluctuations
in the regular supply of light and heat, air,
water and food. They are vital stimulants.
Different men need them in different degrees.
The heat and light of the tropics would do
hurt to the constitution of an Esquimaux,
and a negro would be ill able to sustain the
cold and darkness of a winter at the pole.
Within those extremes are nations very
variously constituted; and, in each nation,
men are differently organised as to the degree
and kind of vital stimulus that will produce
in them the most perfect health. Few of us
can always exactly fit the supply of all those
requisites of life to the demand. The same
person, in one state of health, will require
more light and heat, or more water and food,
and, in another, less than the amount
commonly most beneficial to him. They who can
afford it, regulate in a rough manner the
supply of their wants in this respect by,
from time to time, taking what is called a
change of air.

The air remains the same in all places—if
we put out of calculation local causes of
impurity—but, as it is through the air that we
get light, and heat, and moisture, the degrees
of which we find to be altered around us
when we move from one place to another,
it is natural to call any change of climate
change of air. Climate depends generally
upon latitude and longitude; but, more
particularly, on the nature of the soil and scenery
at any place;—that is to say, upon the geological
character of the earth trodden; the
degree and character of vegetation on it; the
relative proportions of hill, plain, and mountain,
and of land and water; and the position
which each element in the whole group of
scenery holds with regard to all the others.
It is thus evidently very difficult to conceive
of any two places, twenty miles apart from
one another, of which the climates shall be
quite alike; and it is very easy to understand
how a change in the texture of the soil, the
position of a hill or of a river, the neighbourhood
of a wood, or some sharp bend in an
adjoining coast line may cause two places,
only a mile apart, to differ very noticeably
in their climates. In one, the soil will reflect
more light and become warmed more readily
than in another; the degree of moisture in
the air of the two places, and the direction
and force of air-currents may also vary
constantly.

When geology and physical geography are
older sciences than they are now, there will
have been time allowed for their philosophical
application to a minute study of climate.
The invalid, when he is taught how to make
the very best use of the natural stimulants
that support life, will be in less need of those
non-natural or medicinal aids of which he
now takes, and must take, only too many
tablespoonsful. We have studied climate hitherto
empirically, finding out by experience what
state of body gets most benefit from the
influences to which it is exposed in any given
place. I mean here to set down with a few
comments a little of this kind of knowledge.
But we must set out with a few, plain,
general ideas.

Light, it is well known, promotes the
development of animals and plants. Plants
living in darkness do not become green, and
human beings without sunshine do not
become flesh-coloured, and have not the true
sparkle of life within their bodies. The
morning-light is supposed, commonly, to be
most beneficial, and perhaps it is so. Rays
of the morning sun are found by photographers
to do their work more perfectly than
any others. Pale, weakly, sleepy-headed
people should get out into the light, and love
clear ground on which the sun beats cheerfully.
Folks of an opposite kind, and those
especially whose ways are the reverse of sleepy,
may sometimes find their life better in the
shade than in the sun. Heat is another vital
stimulant which we all need in different
degrees; up to a certain point every man is
excited by it; and beyond that point, like
other stimulants, it goes on to produce exhaustion.
Of food, one must say much or nothing.