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are few passages in the Holy Writ more frequently brought to remembrance by the incidents of every-day life than this—"Ye know not what a day or an hour may bring forth." The uncertainty of sublunary things is proverbial, whether in the city or the wilderness, whether among the luxuriously-nurtured sons and daughters of civilization, or among the toil-worn wanderers in the midst of savage life. To each and all there is, or may be, sunshine to-day and cloud to-morrow; gladness to-day, sadness to-morrow. There is no such thing as perpetual felicity in the world of matter. A nearer approach to it may perhaps be made in the world of mind; but, like perpetual motion, it is not to be absolutely attained in this world of ours. Those who fancy that it is to be found in the wilderness, are hereby warned, by one who has dwelt in savage lands, that its habitation is not there.

March Marston thought it was! On the morning after the night whose close we have described,