Moral shocks are communicated to the whole world as certainly as earth tremors to the whole earth. No man can do a wrong deed or a right one without affecting every other man.
That the earth is extremely sensitive even to the slightest shocks, contractions, or alterations is shown by the tremendous rapidity with which the indications of these are transmitted to various parts of the globe. A few minutes after the first shock was felt in San Francisco the seismographic instruments at Washington recorded the tremor. (Text.)
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A most remarkable example of a peculiar sensitiveness has been observed in certain moths of the family Bombyces—notably the Oak Eggar, the Emperor, and the Kentish Glory. Take a newly emerged female of either of these species, shut her up in a small box, conceal the box in your pocket, and then walk about in some country spot known to you as being one of the haunts of that species of moth. Then, if any of the males of the same species happen to be in the neighborhood, they will settle or hover about close to the female which, altho still concealed and quite out of their reach, has attracted them to the spot.—W. Furneaux, “Butterflies and Moths.”
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“An Apology for My Twilight Rambles” was the original title of the tender hymn: “I love to steal away a while,” by Phebe Hinsdale Brown. The story in a word is this: Phebe was left an orphan in her Canaan home (New York), and fell under the cruel care of a relative who caused her to grow up timid and retiring to a painful degree. Marrying Timothy H. Brown, she made her home for some time in Ellington, Conn., caring for a growing family. At sunset, one day, she stole away from her cares for a little relief and for communion with God, in a rich neighbor’s flower garden, which, indeed, was her favorite resort. Her trespass was reported to the mistress of the house, who accosted her with: “If you want anything, why don’t you come in?” meaning, “Get out!” Next day, with a wounded spirit and filled with tears, holding her baby to her bosom, she wrote the lines above, nine stanzas in all, and sent them to the feminine churl who was so little of a neighbor and belied the odor of the flowers that blest her garden. (Text.)
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