name and qualifications of this interesting man have been frequently brought before the public; still one or two observations may now be made, which, while they prove the advantages of education to the blind, may also tend to induce persons so situated to cultivate, what to them is invaluable-memory. ance. a situation where, comparatively speaking, the soundness of principle and the sincerity of religious profession seldom fail being brought to light. The bed of death, under any circumstances, is a solemn, an affecting scene; when we stand beside it, and think of the pangs which the sufferer may be enduring, while the soul is beating against the yielding bars of its imprisonment, our hearts are oppressed within us. When we contemplate the change which a few hours may produce, when the liberated spirit shall have begun its unreturning flight into an eternal land, we seek in thought to follow its mysterious flight; but imagination, that cannot grasp the soul while inhabiting the tenement of clay, sinks back to earth in its attempt to pursue the immortal pilgrim, and fancy itself shrinks abashed from the dark curtain beyond which the soul, the breath of immortality, must soon pass. Such thoughts render the scene fearfully impressive; we feel as if standing on the extreme boundary of time, surrounded by the messengers of an eternal world. But if there be any circumstances that can invest death with even greater solemnity, and still more powerfully awaken our sympathies, it is the thought that the day,-not the day, but the night of existence,—is to the sufferer drawing to a close, and that the eye, sealed against the light of time, must soon open in the eternal kingdom. Such, at least, were the effects produced upon the writer's mind by the scene which he is about to describe. He only regrets that he cannot always give the very words of the departed; but the sentiments, and manner of expressing them, can never be effaced from memory while memory lasts. Nearly the whole of the Word of God is treasured up in John's remembrance; but not a dead letter, it regulates his own life, and is useful to those around him. At one time inadvertently, on another occasion intentionally, (because conceived to be unedifying,) two short notes on the chapters read during family worship were omitted. The omissions were marked; and, after the conclusion of the service, to the astonishment of the chaplain, the notes were repeated almost verbatim; although, in the one case, two years at least, and, in the other, six must have elapsed since his watchful hearer had last heard them. A few months ago, the writer, wishing to learn something of the history of the Asylun from its commencement, applied to John for assistThe desired information was promptly, and, it has since been ascertained, most accurately given. Nothing important or unimportant, connected with the Asylum, escaped his notice. The dates of eight different examinations, the dates and texts of thirty-six sermons, preached in behalf of the Institution, with the Preachers' names, occasionally the state of the weather at the time, with, in one instance, (when asked,) an outline of a sermon preached above twenty years previous, formed part of the information. Without the slightest idea that it was possible, it was playfully observed, what a pity it is that you cannot give us a list of the deaths and marriages of the members of the house since it was opened. Both lists, with their respective dates, were actually given; and along with the date of every death down to the period when the writer became connected with the Asylum, a brief account of each individual, "to prove," as the kind-hearted old man re-occupied. The circumstances of both were in every marked, "that something more was remembered of those who were away, than merely their deaths." Much more might be said on so pleasing a subject, did the limits or object of this article permit. The case to which reference is to be made is that of a young woman, who had, for upwards of twelve years, been a member of the establishment, but did not reside in the Asylum, merely working and receiving instructions in it during the day, and retiring in the evening, with another woman, to a small apartment which both respect almost similar; both were perfectly blind, the former had been so from her birth; the latter had lost her sight during infancy: and both, it is pleasing to add, were partakers of the same glorious hopes. But we must proceed now to remark, that while it is The young woman first alluded to, was naturally of self-evident a happy change has taken place in the condi- a weak and delicate constitution; a severe cold, against tion of the blind, it is no less evident that others have which she struggled, perhaps too long, at last contined been benefited by the change, as well as the blind them- her to bed. The writer of this article, on his first selves. When good is done and thankfully acknow- visit, was convinced that, to the sufferer, it was the bed ledged, the benefit is mutual,-shared by him who of death. The seeds of consumption that had long gives and him who receives. We speak not now, how- lurked in her feeble frame, had now acquired a strength, ever, of the consciousness,truly blessed to the be- and fearful energy of character, that could leave no liever, that he has done his duty to his suffering bre- doubt as to the solemn result. Of this the sufferer herthren, but of the effects which the developed faculties self was perfectly aware; for it was her first remark, on of the blind are calculated to produce on society in ge- hearing the well known voice of her visitor, that the neral. By their perseverance, under so many disadvan-hour of nature's last conflict was at hand. Of death she tages, the seeing are stimulated to greater exertion; by their successful application, the parents of the youthful blind are comforted, and the young themselves cheered by the hopes of equal success; by the delicacy of their perceptions, and the variety of their resources, the Christian is led to admire and adore the wisdom of the Creator who has so constituted man, that when one or gan is lost or injured, the flexibility of those that remain is such, that, leaving their own sphere, and journeying into the field which seemed to be closed for ever, they lighten the bereavement by their united efforts. The blind have been briefly contemplated, while discharging the ordinary duties of life, in their intercourse with each other, in their intellectual powers and mental habits; it may form no uninteresting conclusion to the whole, to contemplate them also on the bed of death, Those desirous of further information regarding John M'Laren, are referred to a very interesting article in the Saturday Magazine for October 1, 1836. One remark, however, in that paper, may be corrected. It is said that John occasionally officiates during family worship in the Asylum: he used certainly to do so at one time, but not since the appointment of the present chaplain. spoke without alarm or fear, nay, it might almost be said, with delight; for the dark earth contained little that could call forth a sigh from her on leaving it. The grave had dissolved most of the ties that bound her to time; those that still remained unbroken would, she hoped, be one day indissolubly renewed in heaven. The mention of heaven seemed to bring back strength to the fainting heart, for heaven was the land of sight; there, for the first time, light would burst upon her astonished gaze; there would she see her Master face to face. Heaven was indeed to her a delightful land; it was the abode of the just made perfect,-the weary pilgrim's resting-place, the habitation of her God and "Master," (such was the term she most frequently applied to the Redeemer.) But, oh! (and on that she dwelt with transport,) it is the land of vision. Consolation she needed not from man, for all was peaceful within. For a moment, the writer was afraid that she was too eager to depart; but the answer to his observation removed all fear on that head: it was, that she wished much to be with the Master, in happiness. But, after some affecting allusions to her trials and distresses on earth, she declared her willingness, if for the glory of God and her own good, to tarry a little longer, although to depart was far better. The advantages derived from the Asylum were acknowledged with gratitude; and the duties in which she had there engaged, but would engage no more, were spoken of as the subject of joyful recollection. She soothed and comforted her sorrowing blind companion, her only nurse, as she watched by the bed of languishing, eager to anticipate every wish, and desired her not to mourn as those without a hope, but to think of the happy day when they would at length behold each other's countenances. Every visit tended to strengthen the opinion which the writer had formed, after six years' acquaintance with the sufferer, that she was indeed prepared to die, that she had been long endeavouring to work out her salvation with fear and trembling; and "that her work of faith, her labour of love, and patience of hope, in the Lord Jesus Christ, had not been in vain." Hers, it is true, was the abode of darkness,-for the blind were there; but it was also the place of spiritual light,for the Sun of Righteousness seemed to shine upon his dying servant, with scarce a cloud between; spiritual strength and heavenly hopes remained unshaken to the end, for " even her last accents whispered praise." The thought that one lowly follower of the Lamb was thus saved, through Christian sympathy, from want, must be delightful to every feeling heart. The existence of institutions where the hand is taught to labour; where the helpless are sheltered from the storms of time; where the children of earthly darkness are directed to Him who can give celestial light, is a glorious testimony to the heavenly character of the religion that inculcates such labours of love upon its followers, and loudly proclaims the condescension and all-providing love of the blessed Redeemer, who has identified him self with the humblest of his children. Might not, we would ask, (even could nothing more be said,) such institutions, founded by Christian principle and upheld by Christian sympathy, dispose the Infidel to pause in his mad attempts to break the chain which connects man with his God, and to explode, as airy visions, the blessed doctrines and merciful arrangements of the sufferer's only friend? What would be the condition of the poor in general, but especially that of the blind, were such an awful revolution effected? The infidel may assure us, that the blind might trust to the sympathies of human nature. Alas! we cannot credit the statement; for the records of human nature, unblessed by the Gospel, are dark records of blood, crime and cruelty. The powerful trampled upon the weak; the cry of distress was drowned by the clash of arms; it reached not hearts hardened by sin, unceasingly convulsed by the wild tumult of degrading passions. Driven from this resource, the infidel may direct us to civilized man as the generous friend of the afflicted. Alas! still for human nature. We have seen, that amongst the cultivated nations of antiquity the mild and peaceful virtues of the cross had no existence. turn to modern times, and behold, amongst the most highly civilized and cultivated, the consummation of the infidel's wishes, infidelity is found to be worse than heathenism. The latter was stained by blood, -the former was bathed in it: the latter was cruel through ignorance, or evil instruction; of the cruelty When we In No. 68 of the North American Review, a writer, in the course of some observations upon the Edinburgh Asylum, remarks, "it contains about 100 subjects,-but who, with their families included, amount to 250 souls; all supported from the labours of the blind, conjointly with the funds of the Institution. This is undoubtedly one of the noblest and most discriminating charities in the world." It is pleasing to find such a testimony given by a Transatlantic writer to one of the most useful and well-conducted Institutions of which the metropolis of Scotland can boast.-Ep. of the former we shall not attempt to speak, for language cannot describe it. Would that, for the honour of the name of man, fallen and degraded though it is, the fearful page could be covered by the veil of everlasting forgetfulness! No, the only friend of the poor is the Son of God; he it is who has enthroned the blind in the best sympathies of his people; he it is alone who has secured for them the affectionate interest of their brethren. If, then, Scripture in its care for the blind has denounced a curse upon the man who puts a stumbling-block in their path, what must be the condemnation of him who seeks, by the destruction of religious principle, to rob the blind of their best inheritance, to doom them to a life of unpitied, uncared for suffering on a dark earth; and oh! worse than all, to a never-ending existence of sorrow and wretchedness throughout a dark eternity. MORTALITY AND IMMORTALITY: A DISCOURSE. BY THE REV. WILLIAM STEVENSON, STRICTLY speaking, the text merely asserts the doctrine of the resurrection, that this dying body shall assume a new form, under which death shall have no more power over it. But it is proposed, in the present instance, to take a more extensive view of the apostle's words, and to found upon them three several propositions. I. We are mortal. As a simple statement of truth, this proposition needs neither proof nor illustration. If it did, the me might be found in the churchyard, the other in the sighs of the mourner. But while we all know and acknowledge the fact of our mortality, it is strange how seldom we consider it, how little we are affected by it. There would, indeed, be no singularity in our indifference, if our present state were uncongenial to our affections and pursuits, for then might we rejoice to be for ever rid of it. But this is very far from being the case; and such indifference does become highly enigmatical, when we remember the intense and universal attachment to the world and the things thereof, that is manifested by our race. When we behold the whole family of man, ceaselessly and strenuously occupied with the affairs of time, and so occupied in entire accordance with the natural bent of their minds, it does seem strange that we should be all alike unconcerned about death, which must soon tear us away in cruel mockery of our misplaced attachments. Nay, the delusion is yet grosser than this; for those among us who are the most devoted to pleasure, and who sacrifice every hour, and every capacity, to the gratification of mere sensuality, are universally found to be the most regardless of death, the most insensible to truth, the most difficult to arouse. This can be accounted for only on the supposition, that they think not at all, either of mortality or immortality, that sensual pleasure is an opiate powerful enough to lull every anxiety, to preclude every solemn reflection. And yet it seems incomprehensible, how any even this would seem a cradle of most inviting rethinking being should be able to shut his eyes to pose to men who dragged out a miserable existence, the fact that he is dying. The world is full of burdened with the infirmities of age, or disgusted death, from the first and feeblest efforts of life, up with the world. No matter what had been the to its most perfect examples. "The grass wither- course or the character of their previous existence, eth, the flower thereof fadeth," and we sigh on death, a rest on which not even a troubled dream finding ashes where we had once found beauty. could intrude, must have been to such a most They wither and fade; but shall we mourn over welcome friend. But the eternity that lies bethe fallen pride of summer, when we see man, the yond, dark, unknown, and interminable, makes stay of a virtuous family, the revered object of most men pause, shuddering on the brink of fate, many friendships, going to his long home; and irresolute to encounter the indefinite terrors of when the very bud of human life is perishing be- that shadowy land. Yes, brethren, had death been fore us, unformed and undeveloped? All this is the end of existence, it might still have been predaily passing under our eyes, and still we think ceded by bodily pain, and consummated amid not. Blanks are made in our households; be- grinding convulsions, enough to awe the most reavements disappoint our affections; and where, heartless by-stander. But it would have been in a few days, is the difference? Time soon dries tamed down to the measure of its mere animal sufup the tears of every sorrow. Our hearts adapt ferings, which may be easily alleviated and as easily themselves to new relations, and entwine them-shortened; it would have been stript of all those selves around new objects. Grief spends its vehemence, and things move on in their usual train. Assuredly all things move on. Our personal progress in every valuable acquirement, may be at a pause as we stand still to mourn the dead that fall thick around us. But time rolls majestically, and always onward, unconstrained and unimpeded by the wreck it makes; and whether we think of it or not, we are carried forward in its train. Soon shall we too sleep, we shall sleep long and soundly, for the grave shall be our bed. The mourners, for a day, shall go about the streets, and then the place that now knows us, shall know us no more for ever. The stations we had left shall be filled by others, on whom the doom of mortality shall press, as it presses on us. Like us, they shall play their part on the stage of time; and then, still like us, they shall pass behind the curtain of death and be forgotten. So all things run their course, and enter into darkness:— The smiling dawn, the laughing blue-eyed day, We have not time to mourn. The worse for us. II. We are immortal; and it is from this second fact in our destinies that death derives most of its solemnity, and all its moral force. If, when men died, they ceased to be, or if, as a mighty nation once, in madness, proclaimed, death were an eternal sleep; it could no longer be terrible to any but those whose pleasures it abridged. Notwithstanding the recoil which all young and sanguine minds feel at the idea of utter extinction, spiritual and, therefore, overwhelming alarms, with which the belief of the soul's immortality has invested it. But the case is widely different,-it is different by the whole latitude of infinity, when we know that there is an hereafter, that this mortal must put on immortality,--that our eternal existence is irrevocably decreed by heaven. For then, it becomes apparent that death is only a change of state and locality,-a transition from one region of being to another; in which transition, indeed, the body is lost for a time, but through which the busy spirit within shall pass unimpaired in its vitality, unaltered in its essential functions. Such is the doctrine of Scripture, such, therefore, must soon be the fate and experience of us all. We may easily, and by a thousand methods, dissever the soul from that frail habitation in which it lives, and moves, and has its being now; but God,— a God of judgment, has not left it in our power to quench the spark of life with which he has animated the invisible spirit itself. In what quarter of the universe,-in what paradise, or place of darkness, concealed from our view by the wide expanse of creation, the receptacle of disembodied souls has been fixed, we know not, nor need we impatiently inquire, as we shall soon see for ourselves. The momentous consideration is, that our state of being, in that new region, shall be everlasting. The only changes there, shall be accomplished in the resurrection and the judgment. Then all shall be completed. The record of this poor world shall be closed, and its dissolution by fire, decreed from the beginning, shall be finally executed. But the souls of men,-our souls, brethren, shall still exist. They shall exist for ever, with all their capacities and sensibilities entire; nay, quickened and whetted in them all. They shall exist for ever, indestructible in their essence, irrepressible in their energies, susceptible of thought and emotion, and suffering in eternity as they have been in time. It is fearful, brethren, to think, that this very spirit, busied now with trifles, must continue to exist, busied with something, for ever The and ever-that the sun of human life, which must constitute the previous body of death. You can soon set amid the gloom of a troubled night, shall easily see that howsoever these points may be deinstantly rise again in another sphere, to track its cided, the self-same spirit must exist in the two destined and eternal course. It is fearful, not be- states; and that this truth is of the highest mocause the pious believer has any thing to dread ment, for it follows that the same desires and hafrom such duration, for to him it is a prospect of bits of thought,-the same tone and temper of unmingled glory, but because infinitude is a sub-mind which we have acquired and indulged here, lime mystery, baffling every attempt to measure will follow us into the world of spirits. it, and awing us into silent amazement. In eter- painted butterfly, on passing from its previous nity, there is no revolving year to mark off suc- condition, as a caterpillar, undergoes as remarkcessive ages, no circling seasons to divide the able a transition in its tastes and habits as in its year, no more death, teaching men to number form. It will not be so with man when he casts their days. There, all space is boundless, all suc- off his mortal coil. There is no alchemy in death cession endless, if succession can be called what is to distil charitable and holy dispositions from the but one continual present, one unchanging and gross elements of selfishness and malignity,—in it eternal now. Struggle as we may with this mighty there is no purgatorial fire to change our base idea, we cannot master it. Still there are certain metal into refiner's gold. As the soul enters the elements of known truth which may aid us in our troubled waters of dissolution, so must it pass out estimate; I mean the eternal blessedness of the of them on the other side, hearing that very transaints, the eternal misery of the lost. We can script of character which time and the world have form some notion of indefinitely lengthened hap- written on it. piness, and of eternally lingering woe, which shall both be realized in the futurity before us. When we have once reached that last stage of our earthly pilgrimage, the sentence goes forth," he that is holy, let him be holy still, he that is filthy, let him be filthy still." Yes, brethren, the character is formed and consolidated before death be reached. No further change then awaits it, for the day of probation and acquirement is past,-the day of retribution come. Were we to die this moment we must stand before God in have sought and found pardon and justification through Christ, and whose hearts have already been set on the things that are above, would be carried home to the presence and enjoyment of these heavenly things. But, on the other hand, those of us whose hearts are filled with lust and covetousness would enter eternity with these affections engraved on our souls, to witness against us in judgment. For so it is that "this mortal must put on immortality." Now mark the con And, brethren, that is a lovely picture which the ransomed of the Lord shall then present, as they dwell together under their Father's eye, and in their Father's house, where all is peace, and harmony, and love, singing with angels those anthems of praise which swell and echo for ever through the vaulted heavens. Eternity, incom-judgment exactly as we are. Those of us who prehensible as it is to us, shall never seem too long to them, as thus they live and sing without weariness and without end. But it is appalling to reflect, on the other hand, that those hearts which ache so often here, may hereafter ache for ever. Then, if our souls be lost, it shall be alike impossible to heal or to forget our sorrows. Mere fatigue may lull the most wretched here into the repose of a little slumber; but when this mortal shall put on immortality, there shall be no opiate for ever and ever, to soothe the spirit's sorest an-dition of the wicked, and see how fearful is the guish, no drop of water to cool the parched tongue, not even a troubled dream to vary the uniformity of torture. The spirit may prey for ever on itself, but shall never be consumed-it may weep and wail for ever, without wailing itself to rest. It may roll itself on the hissing billows that crest the fiery lake of perdition, and thus its torments may be increased, but itself can neither be extinished nor disabled. It has cast off all that is perishable. It has once crossed the Jordan of death, and now can die no more; nay, rather, must now be dying for ever-with it, this mortal has put on immortality. III. The change between the present and future conditions of man, will not destroy the identity either of his person or character. The very same that dies here shall live for ever hereafter, for it is this mortal that must put on immortality. It would be worse than useless to entangle ourselves at present with any metaphysical subtleties, regarding the nature of personal identity; or to inquire whether the body of the resurrection shall consist of those very particles of matter which misery to which they have doomed themselves. The worst passions of our nature still ferment in their bosoms, but can no more be gratified. Their cravings are still as insatiable as ever, though they be for ever cut off from indulgence. For it is obvious, that how inordinately soever their desires may be set on the world, from that world and its pleasures, they have been summarily called away, never to return. Cravings like these, acting inextinguishably under an absolute despair of ever being satisfied, would make a hell in every breast they haunted, in spite of all possible outward arrangements. They constitute, in all probability, when united with remorse, the worm that never dieth, and the fire that shall never be quenched. You can easily see then, brethren, how closely and vitally, according to this view, our future fate is connected with our present condition and pursuits. If we must enter into eternity with souls bearing the stamp and impress which they have acquired in the world; and if our happiness, not for a dreary winter's night,-not even for a life mortal shall-to-morrow, perhaps have put on its immortality? Can they buy a pardon from the King of Glory? can they bribe the justice of heaven, or bend the God of nations from his immutable rectitude? And what, ye ambitious dreamers, can the pride of this poor world do for you in the hour of nature's extremity? Here ye may win the deafening shouts of a miserable and hollow applause; but unless ye can subvert Jehovah's throne, and trample on his power, as ye have trampled on his mercy, the name you make yourselves on earth can never, without repentance, be heard in heaven. Perhaps you are stifling the reproaches of your consciences, under the preposterous fallacy of waiting till you have leisure for repentance. Is time, then, to be sacrificed as one great holocaust to the idol of this world, and its dregs merely, its refuse, to be kept for God and immortality? or have you muzzled the devouring jaws of death till you have time to repent? Nay, the destroyer is coming fast upon you, and you shall soon sleep with those you have mourned. Time, too, as it passes, is stamping a deeper character of ungodliness on the souls of the ungodly, as well as writing its traces of decay in wrinkles on their brows. And is this a position in which it is wise, or safe, or excusable, to linger for a moment? Surely there is not an instant to be lost. Turn then, brethren, turn to the stronghold, as prisoners of hope. time, but for an endless existence, be dependent | covetous, shall your gains avail you, when this on the spiritual image which that stamp bears, then we are surely mad if we be not straining every nerve to mould and fashion it aright. Are we striving then, day by day, incessantly, to lay the restraints of godliness on our naturally rampant corruption? Are we watching and praying to guard our hearts from temptation by all the defences of piety and devotion? Why, if we be not, then do those very characters which must fix, nav, make our doom hereafter, be at the mercy of the world and its fitful impulses; those spirits which must soon stand in inmortality before God, are laid open to every evil influence, to every insinuating temptation that the world may present to our senses. In such a case, the moral image we bear, cast in the base mould of the world, shaped and indurated by the force of habit, can resemble nothing less than the holiness of God, and can, therefore, be fitted for no place worse than for his presence. If we live thus, our morbid affections must go with us to the shadowy land of immortals, and be our tormentors there for ever and ever. We have our allotment of time and of privilege here for the very purpose of preparing us for heaven. The allotment is a rich one. Every means of grace is provided and set before us in a Saviour;-a Spirit of grace, a revelation, and a series of religious ordinances; and blessed, brethren, blessed of your God are ye who understand these things, who hunger and thirst after righteousness, who, taking Jesus for your example and surety, strive steadily and resolutely to be like him. You may go mourning over your sins and imperfections, but, praying as you go, you are ever growing in that divine likeness, for the Holy Spirit from on high is himself writing the laws and character of heaven in bright and beautiful transcript on the fleshly tablets of your hearts. See to it then, all of you, that you devote your time to the work of preparing for immortality. Alas! though this be all we have to do here, yet, self-deluded sinners that we are, how many of us make it our last and our least concern! Mammon, in some of his forms, is the god of our universal idolatry. Give us but his gilded mark in our forehead, and we go contented to perdition. No nation, no tribe of men ever shewed more dauntless perseverance, more fiery and reckless enthusiasm in the pursuit of wealth and influence than we have done. No race of ambition was ever more keenly contested than that in which we either have engaged, or are willing to engage. In the dust and confusion of this strife, which brings man's worst passions into play, and chains down every nobler aspiration of his soul, we forget that we are impressing this mortal with the lineaments of a character which may embitter our eternity. The talents and affections which we most cultivate are such as can find neither scope nor exercise in heaven. Unless then, by the grace of God, we break forth from their iron grasp, they must sink us into hell; and what, ye SKETCHES OF THE PARISH. BY THE PASTOR OF THE PARISH OF E-K. No. I. [From an address delivered on the beginning of January 1830.] "When a few years are come, then I shall go the way whence I shall not return."-Joв xvi. 22.-Death is here compared to a way; to a way which every one must tread; to a way-the way of all the earth-by which there is no return; and to a way which, at longest, must soon be trode: WITHIN these twelve months past, I visited this parish in my official capacity as a minister of the Gospel, set over you in the Lord. In the course of this visitation found eighty-seven families dwelling together in unity, and all enjoying a stock of health, peace, and comfort. The cheerful looks of the young, mingled with a becoming diffidence and shyness, dressed, many of them, in their better clothes, with their minds prepared, and some of them with their Bible in their hand, delighted me, while seated with them around the clean swept family hearth. Their parents, with the look of welcome and have an interest there. In the course of these visitakindness, found a ready way to my heart, for they tions I numbered the people, and found them to be four hundred and fifty-seven souls. I have been since, and during the year, watching the ebbing and flowing of our population, which, like the ebbing and flowing of the stream that perpetuates our name, has been rapid and remarkable. Twelve of our number have been removed (by death,) and the names of some of them are almost losing their place in the tablet of our memory. Three of these twelve were only from one year to three years old; and did not the destroying angel whisper to each of these infants, "This year thou shalt |