The Boston Transcript tells us of a "pastor who was in the habit of picking the large stones from the roads as he walked, and teaching his flock to do the same." We love that habit of mind—that giving of an airing to the religion of the closet; and we coincide also in the still further remark of our bright contemporary: "Give us the man who, in city or suburbs clears a path, sprinkles sand or ashes on the ice, drains off the standing water in front of his premises, turns out in his sleigh for pedestrians, or keeps to the far side or middle of the road, to save walkers from the dust, is careful not to compel foot passengers to go into the mud to let his horse have the driest track, and steers clear of curb-stones that people may not be sprinkled by the splashing of hoofs or the rolling of wheels through mud-puddles—give us this man, and you give us a gentleman in the true sense; nay more, a Christian—in little things."