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FLORAL BIOGRAPHY.

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So WASLARDOM aAwOrT

FLORAL BIOGRAPHY;

OR

CHAPTERS ON FLOWERS:

BY OAS ee ELIZABETH. /
wee PeSRD he as)

FOURTH AMERICAN FROM THE SECOND LONDON EDITION.

WHEW YORK:
PUBLISHED BY M. W. DODD,

BRICK CHURCH CHAPEL, CORNER OF PARK ROW AND
SPRUCE STREETS.

1842.

The Snow-Drop

The Furze-Bush

The Shamrock

The Heart’s-Ease

The Hawthorn

The White Rose

The Carnation é

The Evening Primrose. . . ‘ : : .

The Vine. ® °

The Heart’s-Ease

The Lauristinus

CONTENTS.
Page.
CHAPTER I.
° ° . e ° ° . . 7

CHAPTER II.
° e e e ° e ° 24

CHAPTER III,

; ° : . ‘ . : oe)

CHAPTER IV.
. . e ° ° ° e ° 53

CHAPTER V.
° . ° ° e ° 67

CHAPTER VI.
: : : ‘ : ° : . 80

CHAPTER VII.
° ° : " 91

_ CHAPTER VIII.

102

CHAPTER IX.
s ° e * s. e 113

CHAPTER X.
. : ° . 125

CHAPTER XI.
a a * . 138

ae

vl CONTENTS.

CHAPTER XII.

The Holly-Bush 5 ese eed dee ee LO eat ee
CHAPTER XIII.
The Christmas Rose . 3 : B 3 ‘ oa Ge
CHAPTER XIV.
The Purple Crocus ah eee) aah gil, age 174
CHAPTER XV.
The Hyacinth . . ; ier la ° . . 185
CHAPTER XVI
The Heart’s-Ease . ; 2 , ‘ ‘ ~' 202
CHAPTER XVII.
The Ranunculus - : : . " : 214
CHAPTER XVIII.
The Garden . 3 s “ ‘ 4 é . .* a8
CHAPTER XIX.
The Jessamine . ‘ 4 J P ; ps 3 241
CHAPTER XX
The Passion Flower. . , : é é ; -) Rae

CHAPTER XXI.
The Lemon Plant : fe é a 5 . « "O65

CHAPTER XXII.

The Pale Bell of the Heath a é < 4 . 279
CHAPTER XXIII.

The Guernsey Lily : Pe eee ‘ o ® 293
CHAPTER XXIV.

The Ivy * ° ° a ‘° o ° e e 307

CHAPTERS ON FLOWERS.

CHAPTER I.
THE SNOW-DROP.

Botany is doubtless a very delightful study ; but
a botanical treatise is one of the last things that
I should be found engaged in. ‘Truth shall be
told: my love of flowers—for each particular petal
—is such, that no thirst after scientific knowledge
could ever prevail with me to tear the beautiful
objects in pieces. I love to see the bud bursting
into maturity; I love to mark the deepening tints
with which the beams of heaven paint the expand-
ed flower; nay, with a melancholy sort of pleas-
ure, I love to watch that progress towards decay,
so endearingly bespeaking a fellowship in man’s
transient glory, which, even at its height, is but as
“the flower of grass.” I love to gaze upon these
vegetable gems—to marvel and adore, that such
relics of paradise are yet permitted to brighten a
path where the iniquity of rebellious sinners has
sown the thorn and the thistle, under the blighting

8 THE SNOW-DROP.

curse of an offended God. Next after the blessed
bible, a flower-garden is to me the most eloquent
of books—a volume teeming with instruction, con-
solation, and reproof,

But there is yet another, and somewhat fancifnl
view, that I delight to take of these fair things,
my course has lain through a busy and a chequer-
ed path; I have been subjected to many changes
of place, and have encountered a great variety of
characters, who have passed before me like visions
of the night, leaving but the remembrance of
what they were. I have frequently in my lonely
rambles among the flowers, assimilated one and
another of them to those unforgotten individuals,
until they became almost identified; and my
garden bears a nomenclature which no eye but
mine can decypher. Yet if the reader be pleased
to accompany me into this parterre, I will exhibit
a specimen or two of what I am tempted to call
floral, biography ; humbly trusting that He who
commended to our consideration the growth of
the lies, will be with us, to impart that blessing
without which our walks, and words, and thoughts,
must be alike unprofitably—sinfully vain.

In glancing around the denuded garden, at this
chilling season, we can scarsely fail to fix our re-
gards upon the snow-prop, which bows its trem-
bling head beneath the blast. Every body loves
the delicate snow-drop; I will not stop to repeat

THE SNOW-DROP. 9

what has been often said and sung concerning it,
but proceed to that of which it is a characteristic
memento. Merely premising that in this, and
every subsequent sketch, I shall adhere most
strictly to simple, unadorned truth. ‘The char-
acters will be real, every incident a fact; and
nothing but the names withheld.

It was in dear Ireland, some years ago, that a
pious clergyman, in reading a letter from a military
correspondent, pronounced a name familiar to me
—it was that of one who had been a beloved play-
mate in my earliest years, of whom I have long
lost all trace, and who was there represented as
having died rejoicing in the Lord. <A few ques-
tions elicited the fact of his having entered the
army; that he had been stationed in Ireland;
had married an engaging young lady, and taken
her to India; and now, had died in the faith.
I soon after learnt that the youthful widow was
expected, with her mother, to settle in that very town,
where they had no connexions, nor could any one
assign a reason for their choice.

Months passed away, and I could not ascertain
that they were arrived; but one Sunday, long after-
wards on taking my accustomed place at church,
I found a stranger beside me in the pew, whose
deep weeds, pallid countenance, and bending figure,
with the addition of a most distressing cough,
increased the interest excited by the lowly humility

10 THE SNOW-DROP.

of her deportment during prayers, and the earnest-
ness of her attention to the preacher. After quitting
the church, I asked a friend if he knew who she
was; he replied, ‘The widow of Captain :
concerning whom you have so often inquired.’
The next day I went in quest of her, introduced
myself as the early friend of her departed husband,
and from that time it seemed as though her only
earthly enjoyment was to be found in my little
study.

Her story was this: she had married while both
parties were in total ignorance of the gospel;
their mutual attachment was excessive, on her
part extravagant. She left the parental roof, and
felt no grief at quitting it: she accompanied the
regiment, and found every change agreeable, for
still it was her privilege to brighten the home of
her beloved and affectionate husband: He was
an amiable young man, moral and honourable;
and while quartered in that town, he had attended
the preaching of the gospel, little imagining that
the warnings addressed to unawakened sinners
could affect one so upright as himself. Yet the
word was not lost upon him: the good seed sunk
into his heart; and soon afterwards it sprang up,
beginning to bear fruit to the glory of God.

Theresa’s affection was of that kind which is
content to do, and to be, whatever will best please
its object. With the same willing and happy ac-

THE SNOW-DROP. yi

yswescence that had before led her into the revel-
ries of the ball-room, did she sit down to read
with her husband the word of God, or kneel
beside him in prayer. ‘'The world,’ she said,
‘was pleasant to me while he loved it; and when
he forsook it, so did I : but with this awful difference,
Frederick left the world, because he found its
friendship was enmity with God: I turned from
it because my world was centered in him.’ Her
husband saw this, and earnestly strove to lead her
imto acquaintance with herself, as the necessary
prelude to her seeking the knowledge of the Lord:
but in vain—his opinions were hers, in all matters,
and therefore in religion ; but her heart was totally
unchanged.

And here I would pause to impress upon my
readers, particularly the younger portion of them,
the necessity for self-examination—constant and
close—on this momentous point. ‘Too frequently
is the force of human attachment, the power of
human influence, mistaken for the effectual work-
ing of a divine energy in the soul. A favourite
preacher will sometimes lead captive the imagina-
tion, or the paramount influence of a beloved object
seemingly draw the affections, into that track
whereon none can truly enter, much less consist-
ently walk, but by the guidance of the Holy Spirit :
and what a catalogue of woes, not always to end
with the present state of existence, might be ex-

12 THE SNOW-DROP.

hibited as resulting from this specious self-decep-
tion! “We know,” saith the apostle, “that we
have passed from death unto life, because we love
the brethren.” The test, when rightly applied, is
a sure one: but we cannot guard too vigilantly
against that perversion of it to which our deceitful
hearts are perpetually prompting us. To love
Christ 2m his people, is an evidence of spiritual
life: to love Christ for his people, is a delusion,
by means of which the — of lies seals many
to eternal death.

After a few removals, the regiment was ordered
to India; and with bitter anguish has my poor
friend dwelt on the recollection of that year’s
events. ‘The family of her husband being people
of rank, and wealthy, his outfit was rendered, by
his father’s generosity, a very superior one. Val.
uable plate, and every thing that taste could devise
for affluence to accomplish, was lavished on the
young couple; and as Theresa’s fondness, in
alliance with the pride that was her natural char-
acteristic, pleaded for the display of all that could
make her Frederick an object of such respect as
this world’s envy can bestow, she exerted all her
influence to draw him into society which he felt
to be most deadening to his spiritual energies, and
destructive of the peace which he most coveted
Still his affection for her was so great as to render
her persuasions irresistible: and, while the fading

THE SNOW-DROD., 13

of his healthful cheek, and increasing pensiveness
of his eye, bespoke the internal conflict, he yielded
to the snare so far as to devote many precious
hours which might have been profitably spent
among God’s people, to associates, moral and re-
spectable indeed, but very far removed from the
ways of godliness.

Frederick concealed from his wife the extent
of his sufferings, while she thus encouraged the
flesh to lust against the Spirit; but she could not
be ignorant of it; and that knowledge, as she
described it, only added strength to her endeavours.
She was conscious of a sort of jealousy, the re-
collection of which, overwhelmed her with horror:
in the selfish indulgence of an inordinate attach-
ment, she felt it asa wrong that her husband could
love God better than he loved her—she sought to
rival the Lord, to win from Him the allegiance of
a soul that He had betrothed unto himself: and
when, in the fiery furnace into which she was
shortly afterwards put, all these things were re-
called to mind—set in order before her—how
fearful were the agonies of her remorseful spirit !
If I could display its writhings as she described
them to me, the warning might be salutary to some
who are, in like manner, provoking the Lord to
jealousy, endangering abrother’s safety, and braving
the storm of divine indignation.

After some months passed in the manner above

2

14 THE SNOW-DROP.

stated, while Frederick perceptibly drooped more
and more, under the struggle that divine grace
enabled him to maintain against temptations, too
frequently successful, to compromise his Christian
simplicity of walk and conversation, he appeared
one day to his anxious wife, radiant with joy and
holy exultation. ‘Oh, Theresa,’ he said, ‘what
can I render unto the the Lord for his great bene-
fits? I have long been a wretcned, prayerless
outcast, unable to pour out my soul to him. J
have pined under the sense of banishment—of ,
deserved exile from his presence. I have been
forsaking him: and he almost forsook me. But
on this happy morning, I have been once more
admitted to my Father’s throne: I have had such
enlargement of spirit, such freedom in prayer,
such a blessed assurance of his unchangeable love,
that surely, surely he will not let me wander any
more! She told me that his look and manner
quite overpowered her selfish feelings: she was
conscious of the deep cruelty of her conduct, in
depriving him of such peace, such joy: she even
prayed to be kept from a repetition of offence.
Her impressions were, however, then too weak
and transient to have endured a trial—the Lord
wrought, in a way that neither of them had antici-
pated: and on the very next day she saw her
Frederick laid on the bed of dangerous sickness.
He recovered speedily, so far as to appear out

—

THE SNOW-DROP. 15

of immediate danger; but the medical men pro-
nounced it indispensable that he should return to
his native England without delay; and, two years’
leave of absence being granted, they embarked ;
her fond bosom cherishing the confident expecta-
tion of his perfect re-establishment. At the
Cape they made a short stay; and Frederick
appeared so perfectly convalescent, that he seemed
beyond the reach of a relapse. Alas! on the
very day of their quitting that shore, his malady
returned with such overwhelming violence, that
before they had made many leagues of the long
homeward voyage, not a hope remained of his
reaching England alive.

It was dreadful to see the effort with which
that broken-hearted creature nerved herself to tell
me the sequel. Her feet placed on the fender for
support, knees crushed together, lips strongly
compressed, brows—such beautiful brows !—bent
into an expression of sternness, and even the
hectic of her cheeks fading into ghastly white----
all bespoke such mental suffering, that I implored
her to spare herself the recital: but in vain.

It appeared that, while Frederick, full of joy,
lay dying in his cabin, the fiery darts of Satan
were almost all shot into the soul of his distracted
wife. She told me that she never suffered him
to suspect it---that she wore an aspect of even
cheerful resignation---and by so doing, increased

16 THE SNOW DROP.

his happiness. But, whenever withdrawn from
his sight, the tempest would break forth with such
maddening violence, that it was astonishing how
she could survive the paroxysms. Thoughts of
blasphemy, the most appalling, were continually
infused into her mind: every creature that enjoyed
health and cheerfulness was to her an object of
such bitter envy, that she desired their death.
And while contrasting the rude hilarity of some
men upon the deck, who lived in open scorn of
every divine law, only using the name of the
Most High in jests or curses, with the wasting
anguish that was dissolving the frame of her angelic
sufferer in the cabin below---then, impious
thoughts, wild charges against the mercy, and
even the justice of the Most High, would shoot
through her brain, until, loathing them as she did,
while totally unable to repress them, she was
many atime on the point of flinging herself into
the roaring surge beneath. ‘And then, to dress
my face in smiles, to go back to him, and take his
hand, and tell him that the air had refreshed me---
to read the word of that God whom I felt that I
was defying---to kneel in prayer, seemingly a
sharer in his beautiful aspirations of hope and
peace, and joy, and thankfulness---You know it
not---oh, may you never know it !”

The closing scene was at hand; and while she
hung in quiet despair over his pillow, he told her,

THE SNOW DROP. 17

with a look of sweet sympathy, that the Lord
would soon bring her to Himself; but that he
saw it needful first to remove the object of her
exclusive attachment. ‘My death will be the
means of bringing you to Christ; and Christ’s
death has opened for us both the way to God.
Fear not, my beloved Theresa---only believe.---
We shall sing a new song together before the
throne of the Lamb.’

Poor, poor Theresa! A few days more would
have brought them to anchor in the English port;
and at least she would have been spared the awful
solitariness that surrounded her, when without one
outward solace, she sat watching that lifeless clay,
extended before her in the calm still beauty of
death. She described herself as having under-
gone the most extraordinary change, from the
moment of his decease. ‘The smothered tempest
under the outbreakings of which she had ex-
pected, and even hoped to die, passed away
without a single burst. A cold, dull, quiet endu-
rance succeeded; not unmixed with transient
gleams of hope, as his parting words again and
again passed through her unresisting mind. Yet
she was roused, by what I can well suppose must
be one of the most heart-rending sounds pertain-
ing to this world of woe; the splash that told her
when that form, so long and fondly loved, was
indeed descending into its watery grave---and the

Q*

18 THE SNOW DROP.

ship rolled on---and even the eye of such loves as
Theresa’s might never, never catch a trace where-
by to discern the spot of his obsequies. Ocean
was his tomb: and who should reveal in what
chamber of the mighty mausoleum those cherish-
ed relics had found rest, until that day when the
sea shall give up its dead !

As yet, no real peace had visited the soul of the
mourner: the enemy was restrained, that he
should no longer inflict on her the torture of his
blasphemous suggestions: but grief, corroding
grief, ate into the vital principle. She was desolate,
and a widow, moving to and fro: looking for some
manifestation of that divine love, of which the first
breathings were yet hardly perceptible in her soul;
yet without any energy of prayer, any conTident
hope, or such a measure of faith as might enable her
to lay hold on one of those promises, whereof she
was very certain that her dear husband was en-
joying the glorious fulfilment in heaven.

In this wretched state Theresa returned to the
home of her widowed mother; but there she
could not remain. She pined for the ministery
under which her departed husband had first re-
ceived ablessing, and gave her mother no rest,
until she consented to remove to that place ; where,
on the first Sunday after the arrival, we were
brought in the house of prayer.

Theresa had taken the infection, while tending

THE SNOW DROP. 19

the death-bed of her husband. Consumpuon,
lingering but confirmed, had shown itself before I
saw her; grief had bowed her once elegant fig-
ure, and [ cannot look at a snow-drop without re-
cognizing her very aspect,---every lock of her hair
concealed beneath the widow’s cap, which scarce-
ly surpassed in deadly whiteness the countenance
that drooped beneath it.

But let me render thanks to God, that, speedily
as the outward form decayed, the growth of spirit-
ual life within was far more rapid. She had
found mercy, and I never beheld such intense
application of every faculty to the one work of
searching the scriptures ; such fervent importuni
ty for divine teaching; such watchful discrimina-
tion in securing the wheat and rejecting the chaff
while listening to the various instructors who
proffered their aid to this interesting inquirer. In
trembling humility and self-distrust, she no less
resembled the snow-drop, which looks as though
the lightest zephyr would rend it from its stem:
but, strong inthe Lord and in the power of his might,
rooted and grounded in faith, she still, like the
snow-drop, maintained her assigned place,unmoved
by storms that carried devastation to loftier plants
around. Popery, infidelity, antinomianism, were
casting down many wounded in her path; but God
had indeed revealed to her the pure doctrines of gospel
truth, and beautifully did her growing conformity

20 THE SNOW DROP.

to Christ evidence that the clearness of her views
was not merely an operation of the mind—it was
an illumination of the soul.

Yet though enabled to rejoice in spirit, some-
times with joy unspeakable and full of glory, her
earthly sorrow pressed heavily on the heart so
early bereft of its idolized treasure. ‘To me alone
was the privilege allowed of numbering over with
her the little relics of by-gone hours; and of
gazing on his miniature; where his beautiful fea-
tures, that never seemed to have lost the noble
simplicity of expression that characterized his child-
hood, recalled many endearing little incidents to
my mind, on the recital of which she dwelt with
sad delight. One occasion I well remember, when
the depth of her feelings was displayed in a sin-
gular manner; and this I often think upon, when
revelling in the contemplation of my flower-garden
at the height of its glory.

She came to me one morning, and found me
still in my bed, suffering from a sore throat. A
basket of flowers had just arrived from a distant
friend, which, moistened by a shower of rain, 1
dared notthen unpack. When she entered, I called
out, ‘ Theresa, you are just the person I wanted.
I can trust precious flowers in your careful little
hands; and you shall arrange them with all the
taste that you are mistress of.’ She threw a hasty
glance on my blooming store, smiled very faintly,

THE SNOW DROP. 21

then, seating herself beside me, entered into con-
versation. After a while, I reminded her of the
flowers: ‘ Presently,’ was the answer; and she
then commenced a long history of her childhood,
which was indeed one of extraordinary inter-
est. Hours passed away ; and I, seeing the flowers
begin to droop, once more asked her if she intend-
ed to let them die? She rose, with a long sigh;
and kneeling down beside a chair, slowly com-
menced arranging the rich variety before her. I
thought she had never looked so touchingly forlorn,
as when, with her black garments spreading around,
and her pale sorrowful face bent over the glowing
heaps of roses, carnations, and every brilliant child
of June, she pursued her task, fillmmg several vases
with the bouquets thus formed.

She brought me my dinner, and then dressed,
and conducted me into my study, where she had
placed the flowers with such exquisite state, that
I cried out in delight, .‘O Theresa, you shall be
my florist in ordinary: what a beautiful display
you have made! She seated herself b my side
on the sofa, kissed me, and said, ‘ Now, a! er this,
you are never to doubt that I love you.’

‘Doubt it, my dear friend! I could not if I tried :
but you have given me stronger proofs of it than
this, much as your taste and ingenuity are now dis-
played on my behalf.’

‘No---I never gave you such a proof before!

92 THE SNOW DROP.

She then burst into tears, and told me that her
passion for flowers was as great as even mine:
that it was Frederick’s daily task, when in India,
to go out every morning and cull the most splendid
blossoms of that glowing clime, which he always
arranged in her boudoir, and upon. her beloved
piano, with as much care as he bestowed on his
military duties. The long voyage had separated
her from the world of flowers during his illness:
and when, after leaving him in the depths of
ocean, she first beheld those smiling remem-
brances, such a horror took possession of her poor
lacerated mind, that, as she solemnly assured me,
she would rather have taken the most noisome
reptile into her hand than a rose. Voluntarily,
she never entered a garden; because of the al-
most unconquerable desire that she felt to trample
every flower into the earth. She had struggled
and prayed against this: it was a species of de-
lirium over which time seemed to have no power ;
and it was to avoid a taskso torturing that she had
engaged my attention for hours, in the hope of
my forgetting it until after her departure. ‘When
I kneeled down before the chair,’ said the sweet
mourner, ‘I prayed that the sense of all your love
toward me might prevail over my dreadful reluct-
ance; andit did.’ Then, after a pause she added,
with another burst of tears, ‘I don’t think I could
have done it, if you had not loved Frederick !”

THE SNOW DROP. 23

Not long after this, ] was surprised by seeing
in her own apartment,a single, soft white rose in
a glass. She pointed it out to me, saying, ‘I am
following up my, or rather your conquest; it is too
ungrateful, that because God has seen fit to resume
the dearest of all his gifts, I should spurn from me
what he yet leaves in my path!’ I understood the
nature of her struggle; and, trivial as it may ap-
pear to those whose minds are differently con
stituted, I could appreciate the honesty of her
efforts to overcome what too many would have de-
lighted to indulge, as the offspring of feelings that
could not perhaps have excited but in a remark-
ably sensitive and imaginative character. She
laboured to bring all into the captivity of willing obe- °
dience to Christ: thus yielding strong evidence
of a growth in the grace that was preparing her for
glory.

I watched, for twelve months, her progress
towards heaven; and greatly did she desire to die,
where alone she had truly begun to live; but
duty called her elsewhere, to the fulfilment of a
painful, though sacred task. She applied, her
remaining strength to the work, and then lay down
in peace. Her death-bed was described by a pious
minister as presenting a foretaste of heavenly tri-
umph. Her ashes repose beneath the green
shamrocks of her native isle; her spirit rejoices in
the presence of her redeeming God.

CHAPTER II.

THE FURZE-BUSH.

‘Norsine venture, nothing have,’ is one of the
homely sayings against which sentence of ban-
ishment has been pronounced from the high places
of what we are pleased to call refined society.
When I scrawled the adage in my first copy-book,
I thought it exceedingly wise; and reduced it to
practice a few evenings afterwards, in a merry
holiday party, where the old game of snap-dragon
was played. I had rarely borne off a single plum’
from the midst of those pale blue flames that ap-
peared in my eyes most terrific ; indeed, all my
prizes had been made under circumstances that
called only the best part of valour into exercise ;
for I watched when some more adventurous wight,
who had boldly seized them, was induced, either
by alarm or burned fingers, to let the trophy fall,
which I quietly picked up, and conveyed into my
mouth. The proverb, however, seemed to have
mspired me with somewhat of a more enterpris-

THE FURZE-BUSH. 25

ing character; for, on the evening in question,
I elbowed my way through the laughing, scream-
ing little folks, and secretly ejaculating, ‘ Nothing
venture, nothing have,’ I bravely plunged my hand
into the dish, and bore off a noble plum, enveloped
in those alarming flames, which I blew out; and
certainly I thought the morsel that my own chival-
rous exploit had secured, infinitely superior in
flavour to any of the more ignoble.spoils of former
times.

How far this successful application of an old
saw might influence my after life, I know not.
but certain it is, that I have done many things
which wiser people call rash, and imprudent in
the highest degree, under an impulse very similar
to the foregoing. Not that, in the darkest days of
my ignorance, I ever looked to what is called
chance, or luck: even in childhood, I regarded
with inexpressible contempt what the grace of
God subsequently taught me to reject as decided-
ly sinful. I was taken to church every Sunday,
even before I could read the bible, and when
sufficiently advanced in learning to do so, I was
told to receive every word that I read in it, as the
declaration of God himself. This I did: and I
believe that a reverential reception of our Lord’s
plain assurance, that the very hairs of our head
are all numbered, and that not a sparrow could
fall to the ground without our Father, proved suf-

3

26 THE FURZE-BUSH.

ficient to arm me against the whole theory of
luck. I notice this with gratitude; and as an en-
couragement to parents to bring that blessed book
within the reach of their little ones, from the first
dawning of their infant faculties.

It was not, therefore, in a gambling spirit that I
applied the adage :—to venture something, where
the object was to be gained according to the turn-
ing up of a card, or the random decision of a lot, I
felt to be foolish, before I knew it to be wicked;
but when any desirable thing was placed within
my grasp, the attainment of which I might honest-
ly compass, at the expense of some loss, or
perhaps suffering to myself, I have rarely shrunk
back from the enterprise. It has pleased God, in
his great mercy, so far to sanctify this feature of
my natural character, that I am able, through
‘prayer, to attempt things, where his glory alone is
concerned, that some who are far superior to me
in every spiritual gift and grace would pause at.
and I have a criterion whereby to judge when it is
through the help of my God that I overleap any
wall. Accomplishing it in my own strength, and
for my own gratification, I am sure to carry off
either broken bones, or some severe sprain or con-
tusion; obliging me to limp for a long while after :
but when the power of faith has alone wrought
the achievement, I alight unharmed, and go on my
way rejoicing.

THE FURZE-BUSH. 27

‘ Nothing venture, nothing have,’ was my mental
reflection, as I inserted my hand, the other day,
within the strong fence-work of a hardy furze-
bush, to possess myself of the fragrant flower that
reposed its golden bosom where few would have
cared to invade its retreat. But the plant was an
old, an endeared associate, having formed a dis-
tinguishing feature of the wild, sweet scenery,
amid which I passed many a happyday. A type,
too, it was of those days; for as the bright and
beautiful furze-blossom throws its sunny gleams
over the withering herbage that lies frozen around,
—shedding lustre and breathing fragrance on its
own thorny tree,—so did the transient loveliness
of that short season to which I refer, ameliorate
the dreariness of a wintry doom, ag sweeten
many thorns, planted around me by the hand of
unerring wisdom. The furze-bush from whence [
last plucked a flower, is located, indeed, in a re-
gion as dissimilar from that which my memory
enshrines, as are the feelings excited by a glance
at the present, contrasted with the retrospection
of what is forever past: but its tints are as mel-
low, its foilage as green, and its aspect altogether
the same, I knew that if I secured a cluster of its
soft petals, they would breathe a like fragrance ;
and I was content to venture a scratched finger,
for the indulgence of a sweet, though melancholy,
gratification.

28 THE FURZE-BUSH.

There was yet another inducement to gather
these buds of furze: I was about to pass a spot
singularly interesting to me—a grave, over which
I have often bent with sensations of exquisite de-
light. The silent tenant of that dark and narrow
house, in the few months of our intimate ac-
quaintance, furnished me with an opportunity of
bringing into action all that God was pleased to
impart to me of enterprize and perseverance,
for the attainment of a trophy more glorious than
aught, and all, that can perish. Icould not but
frequently compare that work with the attempt to
gather flowers from the midst of numerous and
piercing thorns; and more than once, during its
progress, have I stopped to rend a sprig from the
forbidding#furze, and then divested that sprig of
all individual points, that I might rejoice in the suc-
cess of an allegorical exploit. To none but to
Him who helped me, is it known what I endured
before the victory was made manifest which He,
not I, achieved; nor will Christian charity admit
the lifting of that veil which I desire to throw over
the opposition of some, whose crown of rejoicing
it might well have proved to be fellow-helpers in
such a work. I gathered the blossoms ; and thank-
fully will I leave the thorns out of sight, forgetting
those things that are behind, and reaching forward
to what is yet before me.

Mary was the name of this departed one, whose

THE FURZE-BUSH. 29

memory is precious to me. She was a humble
cottager ; but remarkable for that intelligence which
frequently, I may say universally, characterizes
even the most uneducated class in her native Ireland.
Over the earliest period of her life, a cloud hangs ;
but it is not the obscurity of darkness—rather it
would seem, the outset was a flood of light, sudden-
ly disappearing behind the thick mists which over-
hung the horizon where her morning sun arose.
This I ascertained, but not until long after those
mists had begun to disperse, which deeply shroud-
ed her mind at the commencement of our acquaint-
ance ;—that she was the daughter of a converted
man, called out of the darkness of Romanism to
the marvellous light of the gospel ;—that her father
had diligently instructed his household in those
truths which he had found to be the power of
God unto the salvation of his own soul ; and, both in
English and Irish, he had read the scriptures, to
all who would come within the hearing of them.

I know not how it was, that at the early age of
six years, Mary was removed from the paternal
roof, and initiated by those among whom she sub-
sequently dwelt, into all the mysteries of that
fatal apostacy from which her father had been res-
‘cued. She became in time, the wife of one
equally bigoted, and equally ignorant with herself ;
and crossing the channel, they took up their abode

in England, within the reach of a Roman Cath-
3*

30 THE FURZE-BUSH.

olic chapel, the priest of which justly num-
bered Mary among the most determined adherents
to the tenets of his erroneous faith. ‘Some time
elapsed, (above ten years, I believe) before I
was led by the hand of Providence to fix my
dwelling in the same neighbourhood. Of Mary,
T had never: heard; but having become acquaint-
ed with several of her poor country people
around, and told them how dearly I loved their own
green isle, she had felt the yearnings of Irish af-
fection towards one who entertained a preference
for poor Erin. Nothing could be more eharacter-
istic than our first meeting: I was advancing
with a tract, towards the gate of a little cottage,
out of which came a respectably-dressed woman,
with a basket of eggs on her arm, who made mea
very nice courtesy, at the same time fixing on me
two of the most brilliant eyes I ever beheld, and
smiling with unrestrained cordiality. I returned
both her greeting and her smile; on which she
immediately said, ‘You never come down to our
place, Ma’am.’ I replied, ‘ Perhaps not, for I don’t
know where you place is; but I am sure you are
Irish’ Iam Irish indeed: and you love our peo-
ple so well, that I often look out for you to visit
me. I live down by’-—and she named a retreat,
rather out of my usual road. I promised a visit,
asked a few questions respecting her native place,
and we parted. I observed to my companion
what a remarkably intelligent countenance she

THE FURZE-BUSH. 31

had ; and was told in reply, that she was one of
the most zealous papists in the parish.

We met occasionally in the street, and always
spoke ; but I was prevented by other engagements
from visiting her. After a long time, I learned
that she had been very near death; that her new-
born infant, like herself, had narrowly escaped it,
and that Mary was then sinking into a very painful
and dangerous disease—an internal cancer form-
ing, which menaced her life. ‘To this were added
distressing testimonies as to the determined manner
in which she rejected all religious instruction, not
administered by her own priest; excepting that
she listened patiently and respectfully to one pious
clergyman, who occasionally visited all the cotta-
ges; and who was so universally beloved among
the poor, that no one ever refused him a reveren-
tial and affectionate reception.

I was pricked to the heart, when told of the in-
creasing sufferings of poor Mary, whose personal
industry had been the main support of her family
and who began to feel the miseries of abject poverty
aggravating her bodily torments. I determined
to visit her, and that too for the express purpose
of trying whether I could not, as a weak instrument
in an Almighty hand, bring her forth from her dar-
ling delusions, into the beams of the day-spring
from on high. I was told that such an attempt
would subject me to insult ; if not from her, from

32 THE FURZE-BUSH.

her husband: and that the priest was too unremit-
ting in his attentions to be ignorant of an invasion
in that quarter, which he would surely repel, by
stirring up yet more the bigot zeal of some among
his Irish flock, who had shewn a disposition to re-
sent my occasional interference with their false
faith.

‘ Nothing venture, nothing have,’ was here appli-
cable, in its very best and highest sense ; and in
the spirit of prayer, I betook myself to the task.
Into a bush, of which every leaf was a thorn, I cer-
tainly did thrust my hand, to gather out from among
them this flower. Opposition I fully expected, from
her own strong attachment to the errors of po-
pery : but I found her far more willing to listen than
Ihad dared to hope. Indeed, such was the love
wherewith the Lord mercifully taught her to regard
me, that she could not quarrel with any word or
action of mine: the flower itself offered no thorny
resistance. Opposition from her husband was
unexpectedly prevented, by the removal of Mary
from her home, to a place under parochial man-
agement, which also brought her much nearer to
my abode. Opposition from the priest, I encount-
ered to the full extent of his power, even to per-
sonal resistance, and the exercise of an influence
that I did not expect to find so powerful, in far
other quarters than the cottages of those who fre-
quented his altar. The great enemy of poor Mary’s

THE, FURZE-BUSH. 33

soul put in force to the uttermost his crafty wiles,
to the strengthening of a cause that, to all but me,
appeared frequently triumphant: and when her
bold, decided avowal that she would hear the
scriptures read, and listen to my instructions,
silenced those who had built their predictions on
her long hostility to protestantism, the old and
more subtle charge of hypocrisy was resorted to.
Instances were adduced of her frequent deviation
from strict veracity, while yet under the power of
that religion which teaches, even in its first cate-
chism, the fearful doctrine that such sins are venial
only, and to be readily atoned for by a few forms
and penances. The recent change in her expres-
sions was referred to a prudential application of the
same convenient sophistry ; and I was told that the
trifle which I occasionally left on her pillow went
duly to the priest, in purchase of absolution for
the sin of listening to me. This I knew to be
utterly false; but I felt at times those painful
misgivings, which were as delicate thorns intro-
duced into the flesh, harassing me, and tending to
indispose me from further exertion. Still, by keep-
ing my eye upon the power which alone could ac-
~complish such a work, the power which, if once
brought into operation, none could let, I was en-
abled to go on, grasping the flower, and applying
every energy to draw it from its adverse concomi-
tants.

-) THE FURZE-BUSH.

It was when struggling against my own unbelief,
so cruelly encouraged by the groundless tales of
wilful deceivers and willing dupes, that I was
unexpectedly cheered, by the sudden recurrence
of Mary to the scenes of her infancy, her father’s
home. <A text of scripture was brought before
her, which he had been in the habit of dwelling
upon, when pointing out to his family the sinful-
ness of creature worship; and a flood of light ap-
peared to break at once upon her mind, presenting a
rapid succession of images, long lost in the spiritual
darkness of herriper years. It wasthen thatshetold
me what proved her to have been the child of many
prayers—the object of a truly christian father’s anx-
ious instruction: and it came, too, at an advanced
period of my daily attendance when she lay in
lingering torments on what was sure to be her
death-bed. Need I say, that every phantom of
mistrust, conjured up by the devil to dishearten
and perplex me, vanished, never to return? It
was enough—lI found that another had long before
laboured where I was mercifully commissioned to
enter upon the ground, unoccupied as I supposed it
to be. Inthe morning that christian father had
sown the seed: in the evening, by God’s grace,
I withheld not my hand ; I know not whether pros-
pered, this or that: but I believe they were alike
good. Only the former sprung not up, until the
latter was likewise cast in.

THE FURZE-BUSH. 35

T'wo things made against the apparent reality of
dear Mary’s conversion : one was, that she long per-
sisted in a falsehood, the tendency of which was
to screen from well-merited odium one who had
deeply, cruelly wronged her faithful attachment to
him. The other was the unvarying respect that
she showed to her priest, who persisted in visiting
her. On both these points I was fully satisfied,
and indeed confirmed in my estimate of her char-
acter: for, on my directing my discourse one day
with an especial view to the former of them, the
delusion of doing evil that some supposed good
might ensue, she burst into tears, acknowledged
her offence ; and that she had considered it meri-
torious to stand between that individual and the
disgrace that was his just due; and, in my
presence, she spoke to the same effect to him,
warning him of the ruin that awaited him, in time
and in eternity, if he forsook not his evil way.
With regard to the priest, she had experienced
from him much kindness, and frequently had he
relieved her necessities, instead of taking aught
from her. She knew him to be sincere in his
errors; and she did justice to the benevolence of
his conduct; firmly declaring, that as long as
she lived she would manifest her grateful sense
of his well-intentioned zeal. I was far from dis-
couraging this: I loved her for it, and exhorted
her to be frequently in prayer for him; but others

36 THE FURZE-BUSH.

could not enter into my views, because they saw
not that wherein I was daily privileged to rejoice.
It was a small matter to her, or to me, to be judged
of man’s judgment. Mary had the witness in
herself, and she died in perfect peace—a peace
that had possessed her soul for many weeks, pre-
vious to its happy enfranchisement from the per-
ishing clay. I too, had a witness, in the signal
answers to prayer, whereby my path was daily
opened to the chamber of my beloved charge, not-
withstanding an almost unprecedented stretch,
both of influence and authority, to bar it against
me. I had another witness, in the unwonted
patience that possessed my intemperate spirit,
under many indignities; and the faith that led
my steps continually to the scene of opposition.
That God himself had set before me an open
door, was manifested in this—no man couLp shut
It.

Well, the scratches were soon healed, that
those ungracious thorns inflicted ; and the certain-
ty that I did indeed behold the flower removed to
a fair garden where no thorns can enter, renders
me joyfully willing to encounter as much, and
more, wherever the Lord points a way. I should
be well pleased so to connect the memory of my
interesting Mary with the bright-blossomed furze,
that every survey of its golden treasures, scattered
over our heaths and glens, might suggest a theme

THE FURZE-BUSH. 37

of cheerful encouragement to all who desire to
labour in the Lord’s cause, among the bond-slaves
of Satan. Let them always remember, that op-
position ought to be a spur, overruled to quicken
them in their course. Satan is an experienced
general, who does not enter the field against imagi-
nary foes, nor man his walls when there is no
peril. Whenever he bestirs himself to an active
resistance, depend upon it, he sees that One
mighticr than he is taking the field. You cannot
see your leader; Satan does. When, therefore,
you find unlooked-for obstacles thickening before
you, be sure that the adversary is alarmed, and
GO FORWARD; for He who never rides forth but
to conquer is with you in the field.

With a gladsome heart I looked upon Mary’s
humble grave: for with sparkling eyes she used
to tell me that, whereas it had been, all her life
long, a prospect of unutterable horror and dismay
to her, she could look forward to it as a pleasant
resting-place for her poor body, while her soul, in
the hands of her dear Redeemer, waited for the
time appointed to reunite itself with its former
companion. She dwelt upon the glorious change,
from corruptible to incorruption, from mortal to
unmortality ; and she dwelt upon it as the achieve-
ment of Christ alone, on her behalf. This was a
hope that maketh not ashamed; and well does the
gay sweet blossom of the threatening furze accord

4

38 THE FURZE-BUSH.

with my bosom’s joy, while contemplating the
work of redeeming love, in rescuing her soul
from all the host that encompassed it. ‘The work
was the Lord’s—to Him be the thanksgiving and
the praise |

CHAPTER III.
THE SHAMROCK.

SHOULD any of my readers have amused themselves
by conjecturing which, among the increasing vari-
ety of floral gems that herald the spring, would be
brought forward as appropriate to the month of
March, they will probably be disappointed. The
delicate primrose may look forth from its crisp
leaves; the fragrant violet may volunteer, in its
natural and emblematical beauty, to furnish a
grateful type; but the parterre, with all its attrac-
tion, must be passed by; for, among the long grass
at the bottom of the garden, in the most unculti-
vated, neglected spot, lurks the object of which
we are now in quest :—invisible, as yet; unless
prematurely unfolded by the influence of more
genial weather than we can reasonably anticipate
at this blustering season: but sure to lift up its
simple head, in the freshness of healthful vegeta-
tion, before three weeks have passed away. Yes,

40 THE SHAMROCK.

the SHamRock must occupy the station of a flower
for once, and why should it not? England displays,
as her symbol, the glowing rose,—Scotland, the
lilac tuft of her hardy and gigantic thistle,——and
alas! poor Erin’s‘green shamrock has too often
outblushed them both, as the life-blood of many a
victim oozed forth upon the sod, under the iron
reign of spiritual tyranny, which still sharpens,
for its own dark purposes, the weapons of civil
discord ; wading onward, through rivers of blood,
to the goal of its insatiable ambition.

But I must not identify the gentle shamrock
with themes so revolting ; I have pleasanter combi-
nations in view, and long to introduce to my read
ers the companion with whom, for seven succes
sive years, I sought out the symbol so dear to his
patriotic heart, and watched the prayerful expres
sion of his countenance, while he gazed upon it
He was dumb; no articulate sound had ever passed
his lips, no note of melody had ever penetrated
his closed ear, but the ‘ Ephphatha’ had reached
his heart ; and, oh! how full, how rich, how sweet,
how abiding was the communion which he held with
his adored Redeemer !

The Irish have a tradition, that when St. Patrick
first proclaimed among their fathers the glad tidings
of salvation, making known to them the existence
of the tri-une Jehovah, the greatness of tha
mystery perplexed and staggered his disciples.

THE SHAMROCK. | 4]

They urged those cavils wherewith poor natural
reason.loves to oppose the revelations of infinite
wisdom. ‘ How, they asked, ‘can three be one?
how can one be three?’ The missionary stooped
to gather a shamrock leaf, which grew at his feet;
telling them, that God had carpeted their beautiful
island with an illustration of what they considered
so incomprehensible: and thenceforth, say the
legends, the shamrock was adopted as a symbol of
the faith embraced by christianized Ireland. This,
I know, that, with a shamrock in my hand, I have
gained access. to many an Irish heart, while my
auditors eagerly listened to whatever I might
preach, upon the text of St. Patrick.

The dumb boy fully understood all this: he
frequently alluded to it: and sweet it is to reflect,
that he whose tongue was silent on earth, is sing-
ing a new and glorious song before the throne of
that Incomprehensible onE, whom he knew and
adored—as Creator, Redeemer, and Sanctifier—
while seeing through a glass more dark, perhaps,
than that which we are privileged to use: whom
he now knows, even as he is known: whom he now
adores, with energies set free from the deadening
weight of sinful flesh, perfected even into the image
of his Saviour’s glory.

Before nineteen years had rolled over him, J ack
was summoned to enter into this enjoyment: and

I do not hesitate to affirm, the broadest, deepest,
A*

42 THE SHAMROCK.

most unequivocal seal of adoption into God’s family
was visibly impressed upon him, during the last
seven years of his gentle and peaceful life. His
character shone with a bright, yet calm and unos-
tentatious consistency—he adorned his lowly sta-
tion with such quiet endurance of the world’s lifted
heel, and stood so unharmed in the midst of its
pollutions, evermore revived by the dews of divine
grace, and exhibiting so attractive, though imper-
fect an image of Him, who formed him to shew
forth his praise, that I could find no type so expres-
sive of him, as his own native shamrock; even
had not the fervency of his patriotism, which was
really enthusiastic, crowned the resemblance.

But another circumstance, never to be erased
from my fondest recollection, has inseparably
combined that boy’s image with the shamrock
leaf. I had taken him from his parents, at the age
of eleven: and it will readily be believed, that the
grateful love which he bore to me, as his only in-
structor and friend, extended itself to those who
were dear to me. There was one, round whom
all the strings of my heart had entwined from the
cradle. Jack appeared to understand, better than
any one else ever did, the depth of my affection
for this precious relative, and most ardently did
the boy love him. He went to Ireland; and Jack
remained in England, with me. Many weeks had
not passed, before our hearts were wrung by the

THE SHAMROCK. 43

intelligence, that this beloved object had been
snatched away, by a sudden and violent death.
The shock, the grief, that preyed upon the boy’s
affectionate heart, while witnessing what I endured,
proved too much for him, and led to the lingering
decline which, after years of suffering, terminated
his mortal existence.

It was some months after my family bereavement,
that, on the dawn of Patrick’s day, I summoned
Jack to sally forth, and gather shamrocks. To
my surprise, he declined putting one in his hat; and
when I rallied, remonstrated, and at last almost
scolded him, he only repeated the gentle movement
of the hand, which implied rejection, sometimes
spelling, no,—no. I was puzzled at this; especial-
ly as a deep shade of pensiveness overcast a coun-
tenance that always was dressed in smiles on
Patrick’s day. I was also vexed at his want of
sympathy, on a subject on which we had always
agreed so well—love for dear Ireland. In the
middle of the day, I took him out with me, and
again tendered the shamrock : but could not per-
suade him to mount it higher than his bosom.
Seeing an Irish youth pass, with the national crest,
I pointed to him, saying, ‘That good boy loves
Ireland: bad Jack does not love it.” This touched
him nearly: he answered sorrowfully, ‘ Yes, Jack
very much loves poor Ireland.’ I shook my head,
pointing to his hat; and, unable to bear the re-

44 THE SHAMROCK.

proach, he reluctantly told me, while his eyes
swam in tears, that he could not wear it in his hat,
for shamrocks now grew on —’s grave.

I will not attempt to express what I felt, at this
trait of exquisite tenderness and delicacy in a poor
peasant boy: but I told him that the little sham-
rocks were far dearer to me, because they made
that spot look green and lovely. He instantly
kissed the leaves, and put them in his hat; and
when, after two years, I saw his own lowly grave
actually covered with shamrocks, I felt that, in
this world, I must not look for such another char
acter. ‘That child of God was commissioned to
cross my path, that he might shed over it that pure
and tranquillizing light of his eminently holy and
happy spirit, during the darkest, and mogt troubled
season of my past pilgrimage. ‘The Lord has
choice cordials to bestow, but he keeps them for
special occasions, to strengthen the weak hands,
and confirm the feeble knees, of his fainting people.
Such was my experience, while the boy was with
me, whose whole discourse, his every thought by
day, and dream by night, was of the love and the
power of Jesus Christ. Hesaw God in every thing:
the lightning, he called ‘ God’s eye,’ and the rain-
bow, ‘ God’s smile.’ Two objects his soul abhorred
—Satan, and Popery. Of Satan’s power and mal-
ice he seemed to have a singularly experimental
knowledge: yet always described him as a con-

THE SHAMROCK. ; 45

quered foe. He once told me that the devil was
like the candle before him; and advancing his
hand to the flame, suddenly withdraw it, as if
burnt: then, after a moment’s thought, exultingly
added, that God was the wind which could put
the candle out: illustrating the assertion by extin-
guishing it with a most energetic puff. I often
remarked in him such a realization of the constant
presence of his great enemy, as kept him per-
petually on his guard ; and when it is remembered
that Jack never knew enough of language to enable
him to read the bible, this will be felt to have- been
a striking proof of divine teaching. Jack knew
many words, but they were principally nouns—he
mastered substantives readily, and some of the
most common adjectives, with a few adverbs, but
the pronouns I never could make him attend to;
the verbs he would generally express by signs.
His language was a mere skeleton, rendered in-
telligible by his looks and gestures, both of which
were remarkably eloquent. Ihave seen him trans-
cribe from the bible or prayer-book, as he was
very fond of the pen; but when he has uninten-
tionally turned over two leaves, or missed a line,
he has not been sensible of the error: a proof
that he wrote as he drew, merely to copy the forms
of what he saw. He once got hold of the verse,
“Behold the Lamb of God, which taketh away
the sins of the world,” and asked me to explain it.

46 THE SHAMROCK.

T did: and he would write it out twenty times,
with great delight: but still preferred the symbol
of the red hand. It may be asked why I did not
advance him farther in language? There was a re-
luctance on his part which I could not surmount,
and which he in some measure accounted for, by
saying that he liked to talk to me, but not to others.
He used the word ‘‘ brother,” to explain the sen-
sation occasioned by any effort in the way of ac-
quiring grammatical learning, and went off to his
pencils with such glee, that, as he was a good deal
employed about the house and garden, and evidently
drooped when much confined to sedentary occupa-
tion, I yielded to his choice, determined to settle
him, after a while, to his studies; and conscious
that he was right in the remark which he made to
me, that his not being able to talk better kept him
out of the way of many bad things. His sister,
who came over to me five months before his death,
could not read; consequently they had no com-
munication but by signs; and often have I been
amazed to witness the strong argumentative dis-
cussions that-went forward between them on the
grand question of religion. She looked on Jack
as an apostate ; while his whole soul was engaged
in earnest prayer, that she also might come out
from her idolatrous church.

But to resume the subject of that spiritual teach-
ing: knowing as I did, how ignorant the boy was

THE SHAMROCK. 47

of the letter of scripture, I beheld with astonish-
ment the bible written, as it were on his heart and
brain. Not only his ideas, but his expressions,
as far as they went, were those of scripture ; and
none who conversed with him could believe without
close investigation that he was so unacquainted
with the written word. When tempted to any
thing covetous or mercenary, he would fight
against the feeling, saying, ‘No, no: Judas love
money—devil loves money—Jesus Christ not love
money—Jack know, money bad.’ I had of course
brought him intimately acquainted with all the his-
tory of our blessed Lord; but it was God who
made the spiritual application.

It was a sweet season when first the dumb boy
commemorated, at the Lord’s table, that dying love
which continually occupied his thoughts. A sea-
son never to be forgotten. A young country-
man of his for whom he was deeply interested,
had, after a long conflict, renounced popery ; and
earnestly desired to partake with us the blessed
ordinance. Consumption had been preying on
Jack for many months, though he lived a year
longer, and his pale face, and slender delicate figure,
formed a touching contrast to the stout ruddy young
soldier who knelt beside him. ‘The latter evinced
much emotion; but there was all the serenity, all
the smiling loveliness of a clear summer sky on
the countenance of Jack. I asked him afterwards

48 THE SHAMROCK.

how he felt at the time: his reply was concise,
but how comprehensive, ‘ Jack knows Jesus Christ
love poor Jack—Jack very very much love Jesus
Christ—Jack very very very much hate devil—
Go, devil!’ and with a look of lofty, solemn tri-
umph, he waved for him to depart, as one who had
no power to molest him. ‘There was a galaxy.of
scripture in these few words, with their accompany-
ing looks. Jesus had made himself known in the
breaking of bread—‘‘ We love him, because he
first loved us.” ‘Get thee behind me, Satan.”
“They overcame him through the blood of the
Lamb.” “The God of all peace shall bruise
Satan under your feet shortly.” Jack had the
most clear perception of the nature and end of that
ordinance, more so, I believe, than many who with
every advantage in the way of instruction, attend
it from year to year. Dearly he loved the altar
of the Lord; and near it he is now laid to rest,
just beneath the eastern window of that house
where, indeed, he would far rather have been the
humblest door-keeper, than have dwelt in the most
gorgeous palaces of an ungodly world.

I have alluded to the strength of the boy’s patriot-
ism; this always appeared extraordinary to me.
Of geography he had not the slightest idea, neither
could any peculiarity of language (for the Irish is
much spoken in his native place) or difference of
accent, affect him. He showed not the slightest

THE SHAMROCK. 49

unwillingness to leave his country ; nor did a wish
of returning to it ever seem to cross his mind.
Yet was his love for Ireland so pervading, that it
seemed to mix itself with all his thoughts. I have
no doubt but that the sad contrast which his memo-
ry presented, of the wants, the vices, the slavish
subjection of a priest-ridden population, to the
comforts and decencies, and spiritual freedom of
the land where he could worship God according to
his conscience, without fear of man, was a princi-
pal ground of this tender compassionate love to-
wards Ireland, and was the means of stirring him
up to that constant prayer, in which I know that
he earnetly wrestled with God, for his brethren
according to the flesh. The language of his heart
was, “O that mine head were waters, and mine
eyes a fountain of tears, that I might weep day
and night for the slain of the daughter of my peo-
ple !”

I well remember finding him one morning in
the garden, leaning on his spade, with tears, trick-
ling down his cheeks. On my approaching him
with a look of inquiry, he took up a handful of
earth, and showed me that it was so dry he could
scarcely dig : then proceeded to tell me, that, be-
cause of the drought, he feared potatoes would
not grow well in Ireland ; and poor Irish would be
all bone, and would be sick and die, before they had
learned to pray to Jesus Christ. He dwelt on

5

50 THE SHAMROCK.

this for a long while; and most pathetically en-
treated me to pray to God for poor Ireland. All
that day he continued very sad: and on bidding
me good night, he gave a significant nod to one
side, and joined his hands, signifying his intention
to have a ‘long prayer,’ as he used to call it. The
next morning I went tothe garden; and most ve-
hemently did he beckon for me to run till I came
to where he stood; when, with a face flushed with
joy, he turned rapidly over the well-moistened
earth, then stuck his spade exultingly into it, and
told me that he prayed a long while before he
went to bed—got up soon after, to pray again—
and, on returning to his little couch, slept till morn-
ing ;—that while Jack was asleep, God who had
looked at his prayer, made a large cloud, and sent
much rain; and now potatoes, would grow, poor
[rish would be fat and strong; and God, who sent
the rain, would send them bibles. He then lifted
up his face to heaven, and with a lock of unbound-
ed love—so reverential, yet so sweetly confiding
—such as I never beheld on any other countenance,
he said, ‘ Good, good Jesus Chnst Often when
my heart is particularly heavy, for the wants and
woes of Ireland, do I recall that trrumphant faith
in which the boy pleaded for it, day by day, for
seven years; and it gives me comfort more solid
than can well be imagined.

His expression, that God looked at, or saw his

THE SHAMROCK. 51.

prayer, reminds me of another beautiful idea that
he communicated tome. Qbserving that he could
not speak to be heard, he made me open my watch ;
and then explained that as I, by so doing, could
perceive all the movements of the wheels, so, but
without opening it, Ged could discern what passed
in his head. A servant going to fetch something
out of his room one night, when he was supposed
to have been asleep along while, saw him at the
low window on his knees, his joined hands raised
up and his eyes fixed on the stars, with a smile of
joy and love like nothing, she said, that ever she
had seen or. fancied. ‘There was no light but
from that spangled sky ; and she left him there un-
disturbed. He told me that he liked to go to the
window, and kneel down, that God might look
through the stars into his head, to see how he
loved Jesus Christ. Alas! how few among us but
would shrink from such a scrutiny !

I once asked him a strange question, but I did
it not lightly. He was expressing the most un-
bounded anxiety for the salvation of every one.
He spoke with joy and delight of the angels, and
glorified spirits: he wept for those who had died
unreconciled through the red hand; and urged me
to pray very much for all alive, that they might be
saved. When he lamented so feelingly the lost
estate of the condemned, I ventured to ask him
if he was not sorry for Satan? In a moment his

52 THE SHAMROCK.

look changed from the softest companion to the
most indignant severity : and he replied, with great
spirit, ‘No! Devil hate Jesus Christ—Jack hate
Devil :’ and went on ina strain of lofty exultation,
in the prospect of seeing the great enemy chained
for ever in a lake of fire. He did not excuse those
who perished in unbelief and enmity: he seemed
to mourn for them in the exact spirit of his Saviour,
who, as man, wept over the sinners whom, he nev-
ertheless, as God, sealed up in just condemnation.
When Tasked himif he ever prayed for those who
were dead, he answered, in some surprise, ‘ No,’
and enquired whether I did. I replied in the
negative. He said, ‘Good;’ and added, that the
red hand was not puton the book after people
were dead, but while they were on the earth, and
praying. Yet the idea of the soul slumbering
was to him perfectly ridiculous—he quite laughed
at it. The day before his death, he asked me,
with a very sweet and composed look, what mes-
sage I wished him to deliver to my brother, when
he should see him: I desired him, in the same quiet
way, to tell him that I was trying to teach his little
boy to love Jesus Christ; and that I hoped we
should all go tohim by-and-by. Jack gave a satis-
fied nod, and told me he wouldremember it. Accus-
tomed as I was to his amazing realization of things
unseen, I felt actually startled at such an instance
of calm, sober, considerate anticipation of a change

THE SHAMROCK. 53

from which human nature shrinks with dismay. At
the same time, it furnished me with a support under
the trial, not to be recalled without admiring grati-
tude to Him who wrought thus wondrously.

And oh that we were all such Protestants as Jack
was! Popery he regarded as the destroyer of his
beloved country: its priestly domination, its me-
chanical devotions, were, in his mind, inseparably
linked with the moral evils of which he had been,
from infancy, a grieved and wondrous spectator—
drunkenness and discord, especially. After he
was spiritually enlightened, his view of the ‘mys-
tery of iniquity,’ as opposed to Christ and his
gospel, became most overpowering! it was ever
presenttohim ; andwhenactually dying, he gathered
up all his failing energies into an awfully vehement
protest against it: sternly frowning, while he de-
nounced itas ‘a Lie! This was followed by an
act of beautiful surrender of himself into the ‘ bleed-
ing hand’ of his ‘Onr Jesus Christ,’ as he loved
to call him in contradistinction to the many saviours
of unhappy Rome—and a pathetic entreaty to
me, to pray, and to work for ‘ Jack’s Poor Ireland.’

I will do so, God helping me; and happy shall I
be, if some among my readers, when the little trefoil
spreads its green mantle in their path, will remember
the dumb boy, and fulfil his dying wish, by seeking
occasion to promote the cause of Jesus Christ among
the darkened population of ‘ Jack’s poor Ireland.’

5*

CHAPTER IV

THE HEART’S-EASE.

THE winter of 1833-4—by courtesy a winter—
will long be remembered by florists, as having
afforded them an unlooked-for feast. Its approach
was heralded by such awful prognostications, found-
ed like those of old, on the flight of birds, and other
omens alike infallible and innumerable, interpreted
by the most experienced seers—all tending to es-
_ tablish the interesting fact, that an early, long-con-
tinued winter of the keenest severity was about to
commence its reign over us—that we began instinc-
tively to examine our coal-cellers, number our blank-
ets, and canvassthe merits of rival furriers. Not
being accustomed to place implicit confidence in that
peculiar gift called weather-wisdom, I was exposed
to many rebukes, by my temerity in not removing
some tender plants, which were doomed to hope-
less annihilation, by the aforesaid prognosticators,
if left to brave the coming season, in its unparallel-

THE HEART’S-EASE. 55

ed intensity. December came and went, leaving
us many a bright rose-bud, intermixed with our
holly-boughs ; January laid no very severe finger
on them, though some rough easterly blasts scatter-
ed a few of their opening petals; but gave with
the accustomed snow-drop, fair primroses, and
fragrant violets, to laugh audacious defiance of the
menaced blights. February blazed upon us in a
flood of unwonted brightness, showering in our
path such blossoms as rarely peep forth till late
in Spring. Preparations were in forwardness for
sending northward in quest of ice; but they were
suspended, in the anxious hope that such an un-
natural state of things would soon give place to
weather less portentous, less fraught with disap-
pointment to the gourmand. Alas for the packers
of fish, and coolers of wine and congealers of
cream! February went smiling out, and March,
blustering March, came laughing in, arrayed in
such a chaplet as he had scarcely ever before
stolen. My garden is of moderate size, in the
articles of sun and shade enjoying no peculiar ad-
vantages above its neighbours; nor enriched by a
higher degree of cultivation; yet within a small
space of this garden, I counted, on the 6th of
March, eighteen varieties of flowers in full beauty,
while the fruit-trees put forth their buds in rich
profusion, and the birds proclaimed a very different
story from that which had emanated from the

56 THE HEART’S-EASE.

weather-oflice, in the prospective wisdom of its
sundry clerks. My mignonette, my stocks, and
wall-flowers, and vivid marigolds, had never quailed
throughout the preceding months ; they continued
blowing without intermission, yielding constant
bouquets, with scarcely a perceptable diminution
of their beautiful abundance ; and never had I been
disappointed when looking for the smiling features
of my loveliest charge---the small, but magnificent
Hearv’s-Ease. ‘Two roots in particular, the one
intermixing its gold with purple, the other with
pure white, appeared to derive fresh brilliancy
from the season, abundantly recompensing my daily
visits.

Sweet flower! Tranquillity makes its lowly
rest upon its dark green couch; and cheerfulness
is legibly written on every clear tint of its glossy
petals. Asa child, I loved that humble blossom ;
and when childhood’s happy days had long been
flown, I loved it better than before. Yet it was
not until within a comparatively short period that I
found a human being altogether assimilating to it ;
and since his transplantation to the garden of
glorified spirits, nearly two years ago, I have pon-
dered on the exquisite traits of his singular charac-
ter, with a growing certainty that to me, and to
many, he came as a warning voice to chide our
sluggishness in that race wherein he strove, not as
uncertainty,---wherein he ran, not as one that

THE HEARTS’S-EASE. 57

beateth the air,---wherein he struggled with all the
energies of mind, and body, and spirit, to rend
away every weight, to overthrow every obstacle,
that could hinder him in pressing on towards the
mark, the prize of his high calling in Christ
Jesus.

Many will recognize, even in such brief sketch
as I can give, the friend who lived in their hearts’
deepest recesses. It was his to be understood and
appreciated, in an extraordinary degree, by all who
surrounded him; and though his death drew tears
of poignant grief from every one who had known
him, yet such had been his life, that we felt it
almost criminal to mourn his entrance into immor-
tality.

“To him that overcometh,” the promises are
given, and what is it that man chiefly has to over-
come? Self, unquestionably. The world, the
flesh, and the devil, are powerful enemies, but only
through the medium of self can they assail us.
D knew this, and his whole conduct was one
beautiful, consistent evidence of a successful con-
test with the selfish principle, so that, in a}l pertain-
ing to outward things, he lived for others, but al-
ways tothe glory of God. Engaged im profession-
al occupation, which only gave him the early
morning, an hour at mid-day, and the evening, for
his own disposal, he invariably devoted the lat-
ter to the service of others, yet found no lack of

58 THE HEART’S-EASE.

time for abundant reading, meditation, and secret
prayer. |

On one occasion, when I admired the expertness
with which he kindled a fire that had gone out, he
said, ‘It is practice ; I always light my own fire.’

‘Why not employ the woman who attends your
chambers ? | |

‘For two reasons; I his it trait eauline: than
she could conveniently come; and my thoughts
flow on more evenly, when unbroken by the sight
or the sound of another.’ a al

The time that he thus redeemed from slumber,
was exclusively devoted to the nourishment of his
own soul. He frequently recommended the practice
to others; enforcing it by the striking remark of
Newton, that if the sack be filled at-once with
wheat, there will be no room for chaff.- ‘I fill my
sack as early and as full as I can, at the footstool
of the Lord,’ said D ‘ or the devil would get ina
bushel of chaff before breakfast.’ Three hours at
least were thus devoted, in the stillness of his
chamber; and then, after a frugal repast, he sal-
lied forth—so fresh, so cheerful, so full of bright
and energetic life, that it was even as a beam of
sunshine when he crossed our early path, with his
joyous smile. Yes, he did then resemble the
flower, vigorous from its bath of morning dew,
spreading its fairest tints to the returning beam
and breathing pure fragrance around it.

THE HEART’S-EASE. 59

The mid-day hour was devoted to a meal as
frugal as his breakfast. ‘Those late dinners,’ he
once said, ‘are thieves. They steal away one’s
time, and energy, and usefulness. I am naturally
luxurious; and should be the laziest dog on earth,
if I treated myself toa full meal at that hour.’ Ac-
cordingly, when others repaired to the dinner table,
D was on foot for some expedition fraught
with usefulness; most happy when, on those
evenings devoted to public worship, he could win
some thoughtless youth to sit with him, beneath
the ministry of his beloved pastor—the pastor
who had for five years been building him up on
his most holy faith, while he himself drew many
rich streams of spiritual thought from D , in
the intercourse of that friendship which linked
them in the closest brotherhood. Very lovely and
pleasant were those kindred spirits in their lives,
and in death they were scarcely divided. A few
months only intervened, ere Howels followed his
beloved companion, to join in his new song before
the throne of the Lamb.

In his perpetual renunciation of self, there was
a singular judgment, a striking discrimination in
D ’s method of laying himself out for the
benefit of others. ‘To please was his delight; but
never did he lose sight of that neglected rule of
** pleasing his neighbour to edification.” His spirits
were light, and his temper joyous in the extreme.

60 THE HEART’S-EASE.

The frank cordiality of his address bore down all
the frost-work of hearts, even the most unlike his
own. His manly sense won the respect of many
who were blind to the more spiritual gifts ; and
frequently did it pioneer his way, with such char-
acters, when bringing forward—as he invariably
did—the grand topic of christian faith and practice.
Assuredly God gave him this favor in the sight of
men, to render his short, but bright career more
extensively useful.

And where, does my reader think, where did
D , thus accomplished, thus fitted to shine, and
to captivate, to win, and convince—especially love
to exercise his gifts for his dear Master’s glory ?
Those who know not the metropolis of England
cannot estimate the force of my reply. In the
dark recesses of St. Giles’. Totally unconnected
with Ireland, never having even beheld her green
shores, he devoted himself to the cause of: her out-
cast children, with a zeal and a fervency, and a per-
severance, that I never understood until I saw
some of those poor creatures looking down into his
open grave. ‘Then I comprehended how God had
put it into his heart so to work, while yet it is
called to-day, as the night was suddenly to close
upon the scene of his mortality, when he should
work no longer.

Tt is one characteristic of the heart’s-ease, to
spring up in corners where no other flower, per-

THE HEART’S-EASE. 61

haps, is found: to plant its flexile roots among
heaps of rubbish; to peep out from tufts of grass,
and even to spread its little lovely coat of many
colours on the walk of stony gravel. We wonder
to see it there; but never wish it away. And
thus, go where you would, into the haunts of utter
destitution, of lowest debasement of most hardened
depravity, there, ever engaged in his work of
mercy, you were likely to meet D Those
natural characteristics of which I have spoken,
more particularly the frank hilarity of his address,
endeared him to the open-hearted Irish; and he
hailed their evident partiality as a token that the
Lord had willed him to work in that most desolate
corer of His vineyard. But D did nothing
by fits and starts: all was, with him first planned,
then executed ; and what, he once undertook, in the
spirit of faith and of prayer, he never abandoned,

In one of the streets of that wretched district is
a blessed institution, known by the name of St.
Giles’ Irish Free Schools. Suchra collection of
little ragged, dirty, squalid beings as assemble in
it, can hardly be paralleled in London: and here,
on the very top of the unseemly heap, did this
spiritual heart’s-ease plant himself. No! here the
Lord planted him, and here he delighted to abide.
From sabbath to sabbath he was found at his post,
directing, controling, encouraging, leading the ex-
ercise of prayer and praise, as one whose soul

6

62 THE HEART’S-EASE.

was engaged in wrestling with God, for the wild
and wayward creatures around him. I am not
writing fiction: many a tear will bear witness that
I am not, when this page meets the eye of those
who laboured with him. Have we not seen the
smile of triumphant anticipation, against hope be-
lieving in hope, while, with one hand resting on a
slender pillar, and his eye taking in the whole
group, he led the children in their favourite hymn—
‘ Jesus shall reign where’er the sun,’ &c.

Oh! how did his tender and compassionate heart
yearn over those little perishing creatures! How
ardently did he, on their behalf, supplicate for that
display of healing power under which

‘The weary find eternal rest,
And all the sons of want are blest.’

That school was the dearest object of D ’s
solicitude ; it flourished under his hand---it drooped
at his departure ; it is struggling on, in a precarious
existencé now; for who like D can plead and
work for it.

In the month of April, 1832, a dreadful fever
was raging in our unhappy Irish district; and
many perished, for want of attentions which it was
impossible to procure. Much was done by com-
passionate Christians, but few suspected the ex-
tent to which D carried his self-devotion. It
was a time of much professional business, and he
could rarely leave his desk until late in the evening :

THE HEART’S-EASE. 63

when---at midnight---he has gone to the dying
poor, in the cellars of St. Giles’, with such supplies
as he could collect; and fed them, and prayed
with them, and smoothed down their wretched
couches of straw and rags. Unable to meet the
demands cn his bounty, he nearly starved himself,
to hoard up every possible supply for his famish-
ing nurslings. ‘The last time that he visited me, I
inquired concerning a poor Irish family for whom I
was interested.

‘They are all in the fever,’ replied D, ‘ one sweet
little boy lying dead; the father will follow next.’

‘But if all are ill, who nurses them ”

‘Don’t be uneasy ; the Lord careth for the poor.
By his grace I nurse them when I can. Last
night I took a supply of arrow-root, and fed them
all round ; not one was able to lift a spoon---parents
and children helpless alike.’

I trembled, well knowing the extreme peril to
which he must be exposed; but he turned the
discourse to the evident opening of the father’s
mind, and the happy confidence which he felt con-
cerning the dead child: expatiating on the glories
of heaven, as one whose heart was already there.
Twenty-one days afterwards the three survivors
of that family, so tenderly nursed, crawled out to
see their benefactor buried. He had closed the
eyes of the father, who departed, rejoicing in the
full assurance of that hope which D. had first set

64 THE HEART’S-EASE.

before him; and then he sunk under the fever, and
died of it.

I saw him in his coffin: he was withered and
changed by the devastating violence of that malig-
nant fever—changed as completely, almost as
rapidly, as the flower whose petals are defaced, and
marred, and rolled together, never more to expand.
Yet amidst all, there lingered an expression belong-
ing not to the children of this world. It spoke a
conflict, but it also toldof a victory, such as man un-
assisted can never achieve. I knew not until after-
wards, what words had expressed the dying expe-
rience of that glorified saint. At the very last, at
the threshold of immortality, he had slowly and
solemnly uttered them :—‘ Mighty power of Christ !
to give a poor sinner the victory even in death!’

Yes; though death had laid upon him a hand
that might not be resisted, though every mortal
energy was prostrated, and icy chains fast wrapped
around his suffering body,—though crushed into
the dust, and speedily to crumble beneath it, he
grasped the victory, he felt it in his grasp; and
the glorious truth which in its height, and length,
and depth, and breadth, he had appeared remarkably
torealize in his life-time, shed splendour unutterable
on his dying hour.—*“‘ Nevertheless I live; yet not
I, but Christ liveth in me.”

With D , religion was altogether a sub-
stance: nothing shadowy, nothing theoretical ot

THE HEART S-EASE. 65

speculative had any place in him. He coveted
clear views, that by them he might lay hold on
right principles; notto gather their flowers in a
showy bouquet, but to get their deepest roots fast
planted in his soul. I never saw one, who seemed
so totally to forget the things which were behind,
while reaching forth to those which were before.
The only subject on which I ever knew him to ex-
press impatience, was the slowness, as he consider-
ed it, of his growth in grace. Of this he spoke
even bitterly: often taxing me with indifference to
his spiritual welfare, because I did not urge him on-
ward, when, perhaps, I was contemplating with
secret dismay, the immeasurable distance at which
he left us all in the race. ‘If you make no better
progress than I do,’ he once said, ‘it is an awful
sign of a sluggish spirit. Yet proceed warily—
make sure of every step; for many in this day
are running fast and far, they know not whither.’
The shining heart’s-ease will continue to expand
throughout the year: the memory of D will
be written on every successive blossom: and [
cannot promise that in some future month, if God
spares me, I may not resume the subject of this
chapter. When gayer flowers have enjoyed their
summer day, our heart’s-ease will survive many
painted wrecks: and then it may come forth again,
to speak of one who never spoke to me but for the
glory of his God, and the spiritual welfare of his
6*

66 THE HEART’S-EASE.

friend: who dearly loved to follow the. wonder-
working hand of creative power in its glorious dis-
plays throughout the visible world, and to trace the
beautiful analogy subsisting between the providen-
tial government without, and the rule of grace
within us. He understood the privilege of giv-
ing, as it were, a tongue to every object, that all
might unite in one harmonious song of praise.
This formed a conspicuous tie among the many
that appeared to bind the spirit of D with that
of my dumb boy, in such perfect fellowship ; per-
fect indeed beyond what poor mortality may con-
ceive.

CHAPTER V.
THE HAWTHORN.

Tue changeableness of earthly things has been
always a favourite and a fruitful theme, alike with
the worldly moralist and the more spiritual in-
structor. ‘The mutations of vegetable life, in par-
ticular, appear to have presented an obvious lesson,
known and read of all men. The pagan Homer
could tell us—

Like leaves on trees the race of man is found,
Now green in youth, now withering on the ground.

Holy scripture abounds with sublime and touch-
ing allusions to the same affecting memento of
life’s transitory bloom. Who has not felt the
thrilling power of those words, so appropriately
introduced in our funeral service,—‘‘ Man that is
born of a woman is of few days, and full of trou-
ble; he cometh forth and is cut down like a flower.”

68 THE HAWTHORN.

The pride of my little stand, last winter, was a
white Camelia Japonica, gracefully towering above
its companions, terminating in one of the richest
floral gems that I ever beheld. Summoning, one
day, some young friends to admire it, I was start-
led to find the stalk bare; and, looking down, I
saw the petals, not scattered about, but fallen intoa
half-empty flower-pot, upon the lowest round, where
they laid in such a snowy mass of death-like
beauty, as perfectly embodied that vague idea---
the corpse of a flower.

Yet, in general, the evanescence of these bright
and beautiful creations affects me far less than
their unchangeableness. Individually, the florets
may perish in a day; but succeeding families
appear, formed and pencilled, and tinted with such
undeviating fidelity, as to bewilder the imagina-
tion; leading it back, step by step, through seasons
that have been crowned with the same unfailing
wreaths. The flowers of this year come not to
me as strangers, never seen before; I can select
and group the different species, as of old, and gaze
upon them with the eye and the heart of delighted
welcome: for surely these are loved companions,
revisitng my home, to awaken recollections of
the many hours that we have passed together---
hours of joy, rendered more joyous by their glad-
dening smiles; hours of sorrow, when, in silent

THE HAWTHORN. 69

sympathy, they seemed to droop and to die, because
my spirit was wounded, and my visions of worldly
bliss fading into hopeless gloom.

May bears many flowers; but that to which it
gives its own bright name---the simple blossom of
the common HAwTHORN---is the flower that I take
tomy bosom, and water with my tears; and would
fain bid it linger through every changeful season.
I cannot even remember the date of the identifica-
tion which invests this blossom with a character of
such fond and sacred endearment: it is coeval
with my early infancy. The month of May gave
me a beautiful little brother, when I was myself
yet but a babe: and it was natural that a thing so
sweet, and soft, and fair, should be compared to
the lovely bud which usually shed its first fra-
grance about the very day of his birth, in the mid-
dle of the month. I have no earlier recollection,
“nor any more vivid, than that of standing with
my sweet companion under the hedge-row, to us
of inaccessible height, eagerly watching the move-
ment of our father’s arm, while he bent the lofty
branches downward, that we might with our own
hands gather the pearly clusters selected to adorn
our little flower jars: A bough of larger dimen-
sions was selected, and carefully severed with his
pocket-knife, to overspread the hearth, where,
planted in a vase, it completely hid the parlour
grate, delighting us with its beauty ; which we then

70 THE HAWTHORN.

verily believed to be bestowed for the express pur-
pose of honouring our domestic fete.

Years rolled over us: to others they were years
of mingled cloud and sunshine, but to us they
brought no sorrow, for we were not parted.
Sheltered in the house of our birth, never trans-
planted to unlearn in other habitations the sweet
lesson of mutual love and confidence, the early
link was not broken; other companionship was
unsought, undesired. arly associations lost none
of their endearing power; and the hawthorn
hedge, perfectly accessible to the tall lad and
active lass, was visited by them as punctually on
the morning of their pleasantest anniversary, as it
had been by the lisping babes of three or four
short summers.

I never went alone to gather the May-blossoms,
until my companion had crossed the sea, and
drawn the sword in the battle-fields. I did indeed
then go there alone, for this world contained not
one who could supply his place to me; and be-
yond this world I had not learned to look. I was
solitary, in the fullest sense of the word, and very
sad at heart; but deeply imbued with the same
chivalrous spirit which had led my brother from
his happy home, to scenes of deadly strife: I
strove, by the false glare of imagined glory—that
glory which is indeed asa flower of the field---to
dazzle my tearful eyes. I intermixed my haw-

THE HAWTHORN. 71

thorn blossom with boughs of laurel, and soothed
my agitated feelings with the dreams of martial re-
nown: yet, even then, the voice had spoken to my
inmost soul, that vanity of vanities was written on
the best of my choice things. I felt, but under-
stood not, and stifled the whisper; and when
again the sunburnt soldier, smiling at my pertina-
cious adherence to the childish commemoration,
playfully showered the May-blossoms on my head,
I felt as though my home was certainly on earth,
and my dwelling-place should abide there for ever.

But my heavenly Father had other views for
me, and I was put to school. Very hard to a
proud heart and carnal mind was the lesson that I
had to learn; but my Teacher was omnipotent, he
subdued my will, and brought me---poor blind
rebel! by a way which I knew not. Upon the
darkness that overshadowed my painful path he
poured light, and opened to my eyes the gates of
life and immortality. Then I went on my way
rejoicing ; but one thing was wanting, and that one
of the dearest of all created things. I was alone:
the beloved companion of infancy and childhood
was far away under a foreign sky; earthly ties
multiplying around him, and not a voice to proclaim
the solemn admonition, ‘’This is not your rest: it
is polluted.’

Sweet blossoms of May! year after year I
marked them unfolding, and every opening bud

%2 THE HAWTHORN.

told me a tale of hope and confidence. Returning
still in their appointed season, they were never
sought invain. Why? “ For that He is strong in
power, not one faileth.” Day and night, summer
and winter, seedtime and harvest, came and went.
Their quiet rotation none might interrupt: they
were ordained as tokens of a covenant between
God the creator and his creature man; and this
again was the type of a better covenant between
God the Redeemer and his ransomed family. I
had no express promise that such or such a soul
should be saved at my request: but I had in my-
self a token for good ;—the spirit of earnest, per-
severing, importunaté prayer, for one who was to
me as a second self. I had waited and prayed
through eight successive years,—still reading upon
the simple hawthorn flower, an admonition to
pray and to wait,—before a gleam of actual glad-
ness broke upon me. On the ninth anniversary,
from the period whence I ventured to date my
own deliverance from spiritual darkness, I was
privileged to deck my brother’s hearth with the
snowy flower; and while his little ones aided in
the task, [ could send up a secret thanksgiving,
that at Jength the means of grace were vouchsafed
—at length the glorious gospel was weekly pro-
claimed to him; and while I numbered the buds,
I numbered the promises too: for that He is strong
in power, not one had yet failed.

THE HAWTHORN, 73

‘The day returned—it was a late cold spring and
only a few half-opened blossoms rewarded my
anxious search. I was well-pleased, for the tree
furnished a type of him for whom my soul wres-
tled hourly with my God. There were graces in
the bud, giving promise, but as yet no more: lying
concealed, too, except from the watchful eye of
solicitous love. I placed the little round pearly
things, hardly peeping from their green inclosures,
upon his study table; mentally anticipating a far
richer developement both of flowers and Christian
graces, when another year should have passed
away. It did pass, and a brilliant season brought
the next May flowers to early perfection ; whether
the type held good, I know not—he was far from
me—but never can I forget the eagerness of sup-
plication into which my spirit was wrought at that
period. I had no assignable reason for it; yet I
called on friends to make continual intercession on
his behalf. I thought it long to wait, and impa-
tently asked, How often shall the returning sea-
sons speak only of hope? When shall they bid me
rejoice ?

“My thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are
your ways my ways, saith the Lord.” I have pon-
dered on those words, when I saw the glory of
creation withering, and its loveliness fading away
beneath the first chills of winter. I have dwelt
more deeply upon them, when my best purposes

cs

74 THE HAWTHORN.

were crossed, my fairest anticipations blighted, and
my attempts at usefulness repelled by unforseen,
insurmountable obstacles. But if ever those words
sank with abiding power into my heart, it was
when I went to gather a solitary blossom of May,
and hid in the folds of my sable weeds, while im-
agination travelled to the distant spot where the
wind was scattering such tiny petals over a grave,
which man’s thoughts would call most untimely :
—a grave dug where the grass had scarcely re-
covered from the pressure of his firm, yet buoyant
step :—a grave, into which he went down, without
a moment’s warning: yes, as a flower of the field,
so he flourished. In the morning he was as bright,
as beautiful, as joyous, as any creature basking in
the light of that summer day,—in the evening he
was cut down and withered. He around whom the
deadliest weapons of war had often flashed in vain,
who had seen a thousand fall beside him, while not
a hair of his head was touched—who had encoun-
tered storm and shipwreck, pestilence and famine,
and almost every description of peril, with perfect
immunity from all that overwhelmed others,—he
was reserved to die in the midst of life, and health,
and peace, and sunshine, and prosperity.

“As the heavens are higher than the earth, so
are my ways higher than your ways, and my
thoughts than your thoughts.” It is the Christian’s
privilege no less than his duty, to walk by faith and

THE HAWTHORN. 75

not by sight, and this we readily admit; but let the
lesson be brought home to our bosoms, and what
wretched learners are we! We sow the grain, and
fully expect to reap our fields in the appointed
weeks of harvest: ask the natural man whence his
confident anticipation of such an issue to his hus-
bandry---he will tell you that he trusts to nature,
because her operations are uniform, and have never,
in the ordinary course of events, been known to
fail. Are those two immutable things, the promise
and the oath of Him who is the Author of nature,
less trust-worthy than April showers, and summer
beams? Alas! we must answer in the affirmative,
if we square our words to our thoughts and actions ;
for notwithstanding the unutterably rich profusion
of promises studding the whole book of God, as
thickly as the stars bestud the evening sky, we
bring our unbelief in desperate resistance to the
fulfilment of our prayer, mentally crying, Let
Him hasten his work that we may sEE it. Hxcept
I see, I will not believe. Had I been left, to this
day, in the ignorance of the spiritual state of that
dear brother---as I was, until long after his depar-
ture,---I could not sorrow as one without hope,
remembering the many encouragements given to
persevere even unto the end, after the example of
the Canaanitish woman; but the trial, though se-
vere, was not long; and solid grounds were afford-
ed of a delightful assurance, that even in the sight

76 THE HAWTHORN.

of men, that work was begun in him, which God
never commences to leave unfinished; though
sometimes drawing a veil, and from its obscurity
breathing into our souls the memorable word,
“Only believe and thou shalt see the glory of
God.”

I could murmur that the hawthorn blossom has
this year unfolded. prematurely beneath the unwon-
ted softness of the season; but ever welcome be
the endeared type! shall we quarrel with the ra-
pidity of God’s mercies, and lament the untimely
perfecting of a glorified spirit? If the flowers be
withered, the fruit will tell that they have verily
bloomed, and left an endearing record of their
existence ; but some lingering blossom I shall find
to speak of what needs no memento. It was once
my lot to pass a spring In a distant country, so
bleak and barren that, throughout the whole terri-
tory, only one attempt at cultivating the hawthorn
had succeeded, and that consisted of a few yards
of hedging close to my abode. How sweet was
the smile with which its white flowers seemed to
look out upon the poor stranger, speaking not merely
of home, but of all that had made home pleasant
to my happy childhood! ‘The colonists prized
their hawthorn hedge, and pointed it out with pride,
to their curious children, descanting on the beauties
of English landscape ; but who among them could
love it as I did?

THE HAWTHORN. 17

The character of him who forms the subject
of these reminiscences, was in perfect unison with
the flower. He was singularly beautiful in person,
in temper most joyous, and of a disposition that
diffused sunshine around him. ‘The most superfi-
cial observer could not pass him by unremarked ;
the deepest investigator found abundance to repay
his close inspection. Many a delicate trait invited
the latter; while the former could not but recog-
nize a union of attractiveness and worth not often
meeting in one individual. ‘To me he was a fence
as pleasant and as precious as Jonah’s gourd,
sheltering me from the vehement wind. But
though so many sad thoughts are now written on
the fair blossom of May, it likewise presents a
sacred Eben-ezer of unnumbered mercies, which
have followed me all the days of my life; and
which follow me yet, as surely as the leaves re-
appear to clothe the stems that winter had de-
nuded. ‘For that he is strong in power not one
faileth.”

And here I had intended to close this paper, but
I cannot. A circumstance most unexpected has
occurred, even while I was in the very act of pre-
paring to send these pages to the press; and I
must not withhold the ascription of praise to Him
who now, at the end of several years, has given
me to see a cluster of fruit from the sweet blos-
som of Christian promise, that seemed so sudden-

7 (as

78 THE HAWTHORN.

ly to fall and die. I was yet pondering with tear-
ful eyes on this poor record of departed gladness,
when a letter reached me from one who labours in
his Master’s cause among the deluded people of
Ireland. He asked me to plead for an estimable
society, established in the diocese of Tuam, for
the education of poor children; and subjoins ‘ one
of our best schools was instituted by your late la-
mented brother.’ Now, to the glory of God’s grace
be it spoken, He never yet left me without some to-
ken for good, when my mind had been strongly exer-
cised on the glorious subject of his faithfulness and
truth. I had even questioned whether it would be
expedient to send forth this story of hopes and
prayers, where many might doubt whether they
had been fulfilled: and I do not envy the faith or
the feeling of that person who should chide me,
for recognizing in this case a distinct message of
encouragement from Him whom I have dared to
trust.

I knew long since that my dear brother, shortly
before his death had discovered a little hedge-
school in a remote part of that country, which he
only visited to find a grave beneath its sod. I
knew that he had compassionated its destitute case,
and obtained for the children a small supply of re-
ligious books: but I never knew, never suspected,
that the Lord had put such honour upon his work,
as to bid it grow up into an important establishment

THE HAWTHORN. 79

of truly spiritual instruction, and to stand forth among
a little cluster, appointed to shed abroad the light of
life and immortality over those regions of darkness
and the shadow of death. I cannot communi-
cate to my readers my own peculiar feelings, but
fain would I speak of hope and joy, to those who
go in heaviness for souls not yet brought under the
power of divine truth; fain would I urge them
always to pray, and never tofaint ; fain would I per-
suade them, when looking abroad on the bursting
buds, the unfolding leaves, the embryo fruits of
May, to read on every petal, every pod, the soul-
cheering invitation, ‘‘ Lift up your eyes on high,
and behold! who hath created these things, that
bringeth out their host by number: he calleth
them all by names, by the greatness of his might,
for that he is strong in power, “ NoT ONE FAILETH.”

CHAPTER VI.

THE WHITE ROSE.

Brityiant month of June! What an accumula
tion of treasures are scattered over the face of the
florist’s domain by thy liberal hand. Or rather,
since those figurative expressions steal away the
ascriptions of praise from him to whom they
should ever ascend, and scatter them among the
clouds of pagan imaginations, rather let me say,
how richly has the Lord our God dealt forth his
unmerited bounties; on how many fair pages, of
ever-varying beauty and grace, has he written the
story of his compassionate love to man—the me-
morial of that blessedness which they alone enjoy
who seek his face. That the flower-garden is a
type, the most cursory glance ought to convince us
—the outline cannot be mistaken, by one who con:
siders it with that reference to spiritual things
which the Christian should not—cannot lose sight
of: but there is, in the ample detail of all its deli-

THE WHITE ROSE. 8i

cate filling-up, such a perfect correspondence, that
the more we study it, the fuller will be our appre-
ciation of that expressive promise to the church,
“Thou shalt be like a watered garden.”

Watered by the soft dews and cooling rain of
spring, we have seen the plants arise from their
dark chambers, and shake off the dust, and unfold
their bright bosoms to the sun. Always to the
sun. Called into existence by his vivifying power,
and ripened in its pod by his steady rays, the seed,
in its earliest state and most shrouded form, was
altogether his work. It never would have been,
independent of his influence, and under that influ-
ence it was preserved, until, having been placed
where it should become fruitful, the germinating
process had brought it forth into open day—no
longer a seed, but a plant. And when its beauti-
ful garments are put on, when it stands so clothed
that Solomon in all his glory could not compare
with it, what does the flower, in this watered gar-
den? It turns to him whose creative power and
preserving care have led it to its new state of
being—it turns to bask in the full glow of trans-
forming Love; it looks upward; and upward it
sends that rich fragrance which never dwelt in the
original seed, or in the mass of polluted earth
where its first habitation was fixed; a fragrance
that belongs only to its expanded state. Thomson
has very elegantly expressed this :

82 THE WHITE ROSE.

‘ Soft roll your incense, herbs, and fruits, and flowers,
In mingled clouds to him whose sun exalts,
Whose breath perfumes you, and whose pencil paints.’

Yet Thomson only saw with the perception of taste,
and by the exercise of natural reason argued from
ithe things that are seen to the invisible First Cause.
Alas! that many who have been deeply taught of
the Holy Spirit to view all in Christ, and Christ in
all, should often come so very far short of even
this ascription, when looking upon their watered
gardens of perishing flowers !

I am shamed by every weed that grows, when I
bring myself to this test—when I compare the dili-
gence with which each tiny blossom seeks the
beams of the summer sun, with my sad unheedful-
ness in striving to catch the far brighter beams of
that eternal Sun, without whose life-giving light
my soul cannot be sustained. The favourite
edging of my flower-beds is singularly eloquent
on this point. Heart’s-ease composes it; and
while the border that faces the south exhibits its
beautiful little flowers on short stems, basking tran-
quilly in the ray, displaying a broad uniform sheet
of gold, and silver, and purple,—the strips that run
from south to north; appear as with their heads
turned, by an effort, out of the natural posture,
that they too may gaze, and shine. ‘To complete
the picture, where a little hedge throws its shad-
dow over another bank of my heart’s-ease, I see

THE WHITE ROSE. 83

them rising on stems, thrice the length of their op-
posite neighbours’, perfectly erect, and stretching
upwards as if to ‘overtop the barrier, that they
too may rejoice in the sunshine which gladdens
the earth.

Beautiful at all times, when are flowers most
beautiful? ‘To this question each will reply, ac-
cording to his peculiar tastes and preferences.
For myself, I must declare that they never look so
lovely in my sight, as when brought to wither
gently on the bed of death.

It was in the land of warm deep feelings—the
country which I must needs be continually bringing
before my readers, if my hand be prompted by
the abundance of my heart—It was in Ireland,
that I made this discovery. It was well known
how revolting are the scenes of riot and debauche-
ry usually presented at an Irish wale: the very
“name isan abhorrence to those who comprehend
its character, as practised in the south of Ireland,
among the Roman Catholic population. Yet a
wake, kept by some humble Roman Catholics in
the South of Ireland, is one of the spectacles to
which my memory often reverts with delight ; as-
sociating with it all that is most touchingly lovely
in the world of flowers.

The boy was not two years old, who lay stretch-
ed on a little couch, over which the hand of affec -
tion had festooned a drapery of delicate white

84 THE WHITE ROSE.

muslin, confined here and there with bows of
white satin ribbond, while a dress of the same ma-
terials enfolded the corpse: his little cap just sha-
ding the soft bright locks that alone varied the
snow-like appearance of the whole object, until
the last finish was given to the careful arrange-
ment, by disposing small bunches of delicate
flowers, and young green leaves upon the pillow,
the coverlet, and the surrounding drapery. ‘The
child was very beautiful when living ; in death,
surpassingly so. If real grandeur is any where
on earth to be found, it dwells on the broad open
brow of infantine’ beauty, ere the conciousness of
wilful sin has marred its native majesty. Often
have I quailed before the steadfast gaze of a very
young child; almost forgetting that the little crea-
ture, who looked so bold in comparative innocence,
was already a condemned sinner :—that, though
of such zs the kingdom of heaven, it is only by
the atoning blood of the cross that a being so
polluted can enter there. But infancy in death—
infancy snatched from an evil world, ere the taint
can overspread its unfolding mind—infancy re-
deemed, and rescued, and exalted to behold always
the face of God in heaven—is indeed a glorious
spectacle. Where is the Christian parent, whose
bitterest tears have been unmixed with the sweet-
ness of assured hope, when contemplating the be-
reavment of a babe, not lost, but gone before ?---

THE WHITE ROSE. 85

gone to Him whose compassionate bosom is ever
open to receive his lambs ; his hand always extend-
ed to wipe the tear-drops---the few and transient
tear-drops of infancy---for ever from their eyes.

But I must return to the Irish baby, who lay in
state, not after the fashion of this world’s great ones,
but to indulge the fond and superstitious feelings:
of his family: three generations of whom had as-
sisted to adorn him for this customary display.
Glancing around me, I beheld with surprise four
large candles burning, though scarcely visible in
the glowing sunbeams that fell upon them from a
western window. Behind these superfluous lights,
a large crucifix was fastened to the wall, termina-
ting in a bowl well filled with holy water. Ona
table, together with the good cheer inseparable
from a wake, were displayed other symbols of a
worship clearly idolatrous: while whispered invo-
cations, addressed to the helpless mediators on
whom the church of Rome instructs her deluded
people to call, completed a scene that filled my
heart with sadness when I looked upon the living,
and my soul with rejoicing, as again I turned to
contemplate the dead.

It is impossible to describe the force of the con-
trast. The paraphernalia of a worship at once
sensual and senseless, mingled with the gross ali-
ment of the body, with the coarse luxuries of to-
bacco, and snuff, bottles of whiskey and jugs of

8

86 THE WHITE ROSE.

beer, all confused in the red, smoky atmosphere
of dim candles: these were on my left hand. I
turned to the right, and beheld the fair casket of a
jewel lately rescued from the evil grasp—the calm
and majestic countenance of a creature, originally
formed in the image of God, and by the sacrifice
of God’s dear Son, made near once more, and for
ever. Over this beautiful object stole the purest
beams of a setting sun, bathing it in soft brillian-
cy; while the flowers, the innocent smiling flow-
ers that reposed above, and beside, and around him
—not in profusion, but at such intervals as gave the
full effect to each mdividual blossom—these appear-
ed to claim, as their sweet companion, the little body
so like themselves, in its short, sunshiny existence,
its peaceful decay, its future uprising from the
dust of the earth, to light, and life, and glory.
Happy spirit! Like a bird out of the snare of
the fowler, he had escaped the chains that supersti-
tion was forging to hold him back from God.
Before that idol crucifix he had never bent; to the
water beneath it he had never looked for sanctify-
ing influences. He had not dishonoured the most
high God his Saviour, by giving glory to other
names: nor had he sought unto man for the par-
don which cometh from God alone. ‘Too young to
sin “after the sinnlitude of Adam’s transgression”
by voluntary disobedience, he was by natural inher-
itance an heir of wrath, an alien from God: too

THE WHITE ROSE. 87

young to exercise faith on Christ, how precious as
L looked on him, was the assurance, that the blood
shed as a propitiation for the sins of the whole
world, embraced his case, and opened to him the
heavenly kingdom. My mind was engrossed by
the deep and clear argument of the apostle, in
the fifth chapter of the epistle to the Romans, -
which to me brings perfect conviction as to the
eternal safety of all who die in infancy. Like
the early dew, they just visit our earth, and once
brought within the influence of the Sun of right-
eousness, ‘they sparkle, are exhaled, and go to
heaven.’

There are many flowers that speak to me of
early happy death. The lily of the valley is one:
but the fairest is the white moss-rose. I have
never yet attached it to any individual character :
but behold in its faint blush, scarcely perceptible,
the last delicate hue of animation quietly fading
from a young face where the pulse throb no longer.
The usual plan, as I have seen it adopted among
the poor Irish, is to lay out the body of the dead
on an elevated couch, or table, in the corner of
a room; one wall forming the head, another the
side, of the temporary bed. Against these walls
they suspended a white sheet, pinning bouquets
here and there; and as the flowers begin to drop,
bending their heads downward, it requires no very
great power of imagination to read the type—

88 THE WHITE ROSE.

they seem to gaze upon the corpse, repeating the
humiliating doom, alike applicable to both—dust
we are, and unto dust we shall return. I could
not look on such a spectacle without beholding the
garden of Eden, by man’s transgression rendered
desolate, and perishing, alas! in man’s destruction
-—the creatures, the innocent and beautiful crea-
tures of God’s hand, made subject to vanity
through our sinfulness ; fading and falling into one
common grave. The pall may spread its velvet
folds, and the sable plumes bow in stately gloom
over the dead; but a single white rose, drooping
amid its dark foliage, tells the story more touchingly,
and with more eloquent sympathy, than all that the
art of man may contrive, to invest sorrow in a
deeper shade of woe.

“Thou shalt be like a watered garden,” says
the Lord to the believing soul, whose grace shall
spring up and flourish, and be fruitful, to the praise
of the glory of his grace, who visits it with the
small, quiet rain of his life-giving Spirit. “Thou
shalt be like a watered garden,” he says to his
church, as one sleeper after another awakes, and
arises from spiritual death, and receives light
from Christ, growing up among the trees of his
planting, that he may be glorified in the abundant
accession to his vineyard on its very fruitful hill.
“Thou shalt be like a watered garden,” the Lord
says to this wide earth, destined in the appointed

THE WHITE ROSE. 89

day to see her dead men live—they that dwell in
the dust of many ages, awake and sing—a dew as
the dew of herbs falling upon her graves, and the
bodies of the saints that slept issuing forth in the
brilliancy of celestial beauty. Then that which
was sown in corruption shall be raised in incorrup-
tion: that which was sown in dishonour shall be
raised in glory: that which was sown in weakness
shall be raised in power: that which was sown a
poor, vile, natural body, shall be raised a spiritual
body, like to the glorious body of Christ, accord-
ing to the mighty working whereby he is able to
subdue all things—yea, even death, and the grave,
and destruction—unto himself. Has he not given
us an earnest of this, in the vivid forms that spring
on every hand, as we tread the garden and the
grove? Shall we look upon this annual resurrec- —
tion, and not give thanks unto him for his great
power? Shall we disdain to acknowledge the be-
nevolence of that divine skill which has taken of
the common elements, and spread them out into
such lovely forms, and tinted them with such re-
splendent hues, and finished the delicate pencilling
with such exquisite art, and planted them in our
daily, hourly path, breathing delicious fragrance ;
and, to crown all, bade us consider them how they
grow, as an earnest of the tender care that he is
pledged to take of us, his obdurate, unthankful
children!
8*

90 THE WHITE ROSE.

Lord of all power and might! all thy other
works do naturally praise thee ; but such is the dark-
ness of man’s heart, that it is only by the application
of that spiritual gift which was purchased by the
blood of Christ, that even thy saints can be im-
pelled to give due thanks unto thee for thy great
love, while thou clothest the grass that makes
pleasant their footpath over this magnificent wreck
of a glorious world !

CHAPTER VII.
THE CARNATION.

THERE are many disadvantages in writing periodi-
cally on a given subject. Other engagements,
combined which the treacherous spirit of procras-
tination, will lead us to defer the work, until the
consciousness of a waiting press throws a feeling
of hurry and anxiety upon the mind, which is sure
to fetter its operations, just as they need to be
most vigorously performed. It was under such
a consciousness, that I strolled forth this morning
to look upon the languid flowers. A long drought
had sadly changed the aspect of my usually soft
and verdant grass-plat; the trees that cluster
around it presenting quite an autumnal tint, from
the number of faded leaves ; while, on the border
open to the south, such an array of shrivelled
petals and whithering buds disfigured the tall rose-
trees that expanded upon the wall, that while I
gazed, my spirit drooped in sullen sympathy ; and
having bound some straggling carnations to the
sticks which I could scarcely drive into the baked

92 THE CARNATION.

soil, I returned to my study, with as little inclina-
tion to write about flowers, as a sick person usual-
ly has to partake of a substantial meal.

On a sudden, and most unexpectedly, a dark
cloud which had rapidly overspread the sky, burst,
in one of those downright soaking rains that bid
fair to penetrate even to the roots of the earth.
This was accompanied by a breeze, so rough as to
bend low the lighter trees, and to toss with some
violence the branches of the more stable. Thus,
while the rain freshened all that retained life, the
wind separated what was dead, bearing it far
away, and leaving the exhilarated scene to sparkle
in its summer beauty. Who could look on this,
and fail to apply the expressive acknowledgement
---“ Thou, Q Lord, sentest a gracious rain upon
thine inheritance, and refreshedst it when it was
weary.”

I now can augur well for my carnations, plant-
ed rather unadvisedly, I confess, in that unshaded
south border. Some will wonder that I should
suffer them to droop for lack of moisture, while
the simple contrivance of a watering-pot is within
reach. But, though I do occasionally give the
garden such artificial refreshments, I find that the
hard spring water, which alone is at hand, affords
a very insufficient substitute for the distillations of
the sky. This, too, is good for me—it teaches me
to look up and to acknowledge my soul’s continu-

THE CARNATION. 93

al dependance on that which man cannot supply.
The garden of Eden was Adam’s only Bible, and
sweetly, no doubt, did he meditate upon the living
page ; a book more precious meets our far deeper
wants; but the first volume, with all its sin-
wrought blemishes, when interpreted by the se-
cond, is a study that I would not forego for any
work of human wisdom.

I must not, however, lose sight of my carnations :
they have reference to some reminiscences in
which I must indulge. Not that the character
which I connect with them, bears any resemblance
to the flower; but those delicate flowers grew in
great profusion round the lowly cottage of old
Dame C., and, as the sole, acknowledgment that
poverty could make, I was invariably presented with
the choicest of that elegant store, when I com-
menced visiting her: until I come so to identify
them, that, if I had been more than a day or two
absent, the sight of a carnation would send me off,
conscience-stricken, to my instructive post.

Dame C. could find no gratification in the flower-
garden : for twelve years she had been totally blind ;
and when she had lain for full two years on a bed,
where rheumatic affection of the limbs forbade her
even the luxury of changing her position, without an
effort quite agonizing to her crippled frame. - I
want to pourtray the family as I found them ; and
shall endeavour so to do.

+

94 THE CARNATION,

A beloved friend, whose faithful labours in the
ministry had shed the light of Goshen within
many a detached cottage, where all besides was
darkness---yea, darkness that might be felt---was
removed from among us. At his departure, I was
told of Dame C., as one who would surely feel
the loss, and requested to ook in upon her oceasion-
ally. It was not long before I visited the cottage ;
and certainly a less attractive scene I could hardly
have encountered.

On entering the little kitchen, the first object
that presented itself was the countenance of a boy,
in the very lowest state of confirmed idiotcy; his
open mouth distorted into a wild laugh, and dis-
figured by a frightful scar, occasioned by his fall-
ing upon the wood fire. ‘This deplorable being sat
in a little chair; his long mis-shapen legs and
arms were alike powerless; and altogether the
first sight of him was enough to check my wish
for further acquaintance with the cottagers. How-
ever, I proceeded, and saw a very old man sitting -
near the fire; while a middle-aged woman, of a
very serious and even sad countenance, respectful-
ly welcomed her visitor.

‘Is this your little boy? said I, trying to recon-
cile myself to the spectacle.

‘No, madam, he is a friendless child,’ cast by
the Lord on such poor help as we can give him.’

‘Where is Dame C.?

THE CARNATION. g5

‘T will take you to her: and then, with great

tenderness lifting the boy in her arms, who at eight
years old, had the length (not height, for he could
not stand) of ten or twelve, she preceeded us into
the adjoining room; which was in so dilapidated
a state that light penetrated the roof in many
places, where the covering of turf had sunk in
between the open rafters, presenting an aspect
of great poverty, and accounting for the rheu-
matic pains to which the inmate was subject.

The dame lay on her very humble but clean
bed; and again I shrunk back. Her face was
drawn into innumerable wrinkles, its expression
indicating great suffering, and something about the
eyelids that gave a vague idea of the forcible ex-
tinction of sight. She seemed a personification
of misery, and there was a heavy vacant look that
almost discouraged me from speaking to her. Still
I strove against the repugnant feeling, and spoke
gently and kindly, inquiring how she felt herself.

‘Very poorly, indeed, lady,’ she answered,
without any movement; ‘my poor bones ache so,
that I can get no rest.’

‘But your soul rests---does if not ?---in the love
of the Lord Jesus.’

‘It does—blessed be my gracious Lord !’

‘Well, I amcome, at the request of our dear
Mr. H. and his sister to see you.’

In a moment her hands were raised to grasp a

96 THE CARNATION,

cord that hung locsely across the head of her bed,
and by means of which, with a forcible effort, she
turned herself to the side where I sat, exclaiming,
with a blaze of animation, ‘ Oh, do tell me some-
thing of them! And did they send youto me”

I told her much of those precious friends; and
then we talked of the Master whom they served :
and then I read a portion of God’s word, astonish-
ed and instructed by the deep observations that
she continually made. I found her, in fact, one
of the most experimental Christians that I had
ever met with; and before I left her, every object
had become lovely in my sight: so manifestly did
the glory of the Lord rest on all around me.
Many an after hour did I pass, holding her poor
withered hand in mine, while we discoursed upon
the love of God in Christ; and many a Christian
friend, including ministers and missionaries, did I
take to learn of my blind old dame such heights,
and depths, and breadths of that redeeming, enlight-
ening, sanctifying love, as few of them had ever
attained to.

On my second visit, I took my dumb boy: he
was deeply affected, and after gazing intently on
her countenance whilst I read the scriptures to her,
though not comprehending a word that passed, he
said to me with tears in his eyes, ‘ Poor blind
woman loves Jesus Christ.’ I then told her of
his presence and his state ; and very lovely it was

THE CARNATION. O7

to see the trembling hand of the blind old saint
pressed on ithe head of the deaf and dumb youth,
while she invoked the richest blessings of cove-
nant grace on his path—already, and evidently
tending to an early grave.

One peculiar characteristic marked that singular
dwelling: it was the zeal of both mother and
daughter for the soul of the idiot boy: his story
was very touching. His mother, led astray and
abandoned, had sought shelter there—had given
him. birth—and died with every appearance of
having been led to Christ during her short but bit-
ter trial. ‘The only connexion of either parent
who could do any thing for the babe, was asked
where he should be sent: ‘Toss him behind the
fire? was the savage reply; and from that hour
he was cherished in the poverty-stricken abode of
faith and love; receiving a most scanty dole from
the parish towards his support, with a weekly
threat of its withdrawal. ‘And if they do,’ said
the dame’s estimable daughter, ‘we can but trust
to the Lord, and go on. I amsure he has a soul,
and at times I see little gleams of sense in him;
and [ am sure that, poor sinful child of a sinful
race though he be, the blood of Jesus Christ can
save him too.’ And then she clasped her arm
round him, and earnestly talked to him of the love
of Christ; observing, ‘How do I know but that
he understands more than he can express!’

2)

98 THE CARNATION.

It will readily be believed that my heart became
knit to this family ; and after my poor boy was
confined to his home, I went continually to give
and receive supplies of strengthening hope, in con-
versing with Dame C. Never was gratitude so
overpowering as that wherewith our little offices
of kindness were received: never were spiritual
things more abundantly reaped, in return for such
poor services in carnal things.

I was often deeply humbled to perceive in how
fierce a furnace the Lord still kept what to man
appeared gold fully refined. ‘The dame’s trials
were dreadful. One part of her malady was the
nightly, and often daily, appearance of the most
horrible shapes and countenances, menacing and
rushing at her, as if commissioned to tear her in
pieces. Not being able to account for this, she
naturally supposed them to be evil spirits; and
most heart-rending were her cries to the Lord, for
help and defence against them. A medical friend
explained to me the origin of those optical illu-
sions ; and I was able to convince her that they
sprang altogether from her disease. It was joyful
news to her harassed mind: but in the beautfui
simplicity of her faith she said, ‘ When I thought
them devils, I did not really fear them: it was sad
to have devils for company, and they are very
frightful too: but since neither angels, nor principal-
ities, nor powers can separate me from the love of

THE CARNATION. 99

God in Christ Jesus my Lord, I felt that they could
do me no harm.’

The dame found out my love of flowers, and
often charged her daughter to pick the best for me.
The little garden was as rich in them as tasteful
industry could make it; and, by careful cultivation,
the family of pinks and carnations had overspread
the borders in splendid profusion. I have no floral
association more distinct, than that of these lovely
specimens with the cottage of Dame C.

When, after a period of most agonizing suffer-
ing, my dumb boy underwent what the country
people call the “ change for death,” about a week
before his actual departure, I went to seek comfort
from my dame, and was greeted with the tidings that
a change exactly similar had passed on her. I could
not then bear to see her; but, five days after, I
went and beheld her laid out, in the perfect sem-
blance of death. No perception of any kind
seemed to exist, her respiration only, now and then
rising to a groan, indicated that life still lingered.
‘She will never speak nor move again,’ said her
daughter, ‘thus she will breathe her last’ But
she was mistaken; another day and night passed
by, and every moment appeared likely to be the
final one. At seven o’clock in the morning of the
ensuing day, to the amazement of her watchful
nurse, the old woman lifted up her hands, and in
a loud clear voice exclaimed, ‘ When you hear the

100 THE CARNATION.

bell toll for me, then rejoice—rejoice—rejoice ; for
I shall be in glory.’ ‘The word ‘ rejoice’ was each
time accompanied with a clap of the hands—the
word ‘ glory’ was uttered in a tone of rapturous ex-
ultation—and then the hands fell, and the soul was
gone in a moment.

Thus she entered into her joy of the Lord, at
the age, as she used to say, of twenty-eight. ‘ For
though it is eighty-six years since I came into the
world, you know I was dead till the voice came,
‘‘ Awake! thou that sleepest, arise from the dead,
and Christ shall give thee light.” Yes, I was dead
in trespasses and sins, and I will only number my
days from that whereon He quickened me.’

I had anticipated much solace from discoursing
with her of my dumb boy’s state, when he should
be taken away; she died fourteen hours before
him; and he called her, playfully, ‘Bad blind
woman,’ for not waiting for him. [I stifled the
selfish feeling of disappointment, and feasted on the
assurance of their glorious meeting, when the eyes
of the blind are indeed opened, and the ears
of the deaf unstopped, and the tongue of the dumb
makes melody in heaven. It is so realizing to
witness the short and sprightly step wherewith
some of God’s children spring from time into eter-
nity. ‘The bursting of a bud into the sudden ex-
pansion typifies it sweetly ; but I must not antici-
pate the Evening Primrose. For this month it

THE CARNATION. 101

will suffice me to bend over the gracefully-droop-
ing carnation, and send out my heart’s warmest af-
fections towards the poor of this world, rich in
faith, whom God hath chosen to be heirs of his
kingdom, in glory that shall never fade away.

g*

CHAPTER VIII.
THE EVENING PRIMROSE

‘Tue pale primrose’ of early spring has found a
laureate in the bard of every age, of every grade.
The vernal landscape pictured to our mind’s eye,
would be incomplete without it. Who can fancy a
green bank, beginning to shoot forth its tender blade
after shaking off the feathery tufts of snow, with-
out including in the ideal sketch that delicate
flower which rises on its slender stalk to grace the
slant, and peer into the narrow channel beneath, as
if watching the gradual withdrawal of winter’s
now liquified mantle !

But the primrose of spring has a younger sister
appearing later in the year ; one who wears her tint,
and borrows her name, and inherits her sweet hu-
mility, though towering in stature far above the
lowly prototype. The primrose of evening comes
not forth to share in the general competition of
her many tinted neighbours: she keeps her beau-
tiful petals wrapped closely in their mantle through
the day, nor unfolds them until other flowers have

THE EVENING PRIMROSE. 103

shrank from the dewy chill; and then it is aston-
ishing how rapidly the blossoms burst their cere-
ments, expanding in quick succession, while we
can scarcely persuade ourselves that the change
before us is the work of half an hour.

It was in the haunt of my childhood, the garden
of my paternal home, that I learnt to love this
primrose. My father had so great a predilection
for it, that he scarcely allowed its progress to be
checked, even when the increase threatened to
overrun the parterre. I knew the reason of this—
he had heard me say that I liked nothing so well
as, after gazing on the brilliant colours of the
western sky, to turn and look upon the cool sweet
buds that awoke while all others were at rest. I
scarcely dare to call up the images connected with
that period of my life: intentionally I never do so,
because the scenery on which one ray of gospel
light never broke, will not endure the retrospective
gaze, without inflicting a pang most trying to poor
rebellious nature. Yet that their memory lives in
the deep recesses of my heart, I am made to feel,
whenever I look upon the plant: and that, with all
its sorrowful combinations, the theme is most dear
to me, I know by the thrill of secret delight that
welcomes its appearance, far beyond that of every
bright flower around it.

Not long ago, I was trying to trace to its first
origin the character of deep sympathy, wherewith

104 THE EVENING PRIMROSE.

I am conscious of having invested this particular
flower, from my very childhood. 'To me, the eve-
ning primrose does not so much represent an indi-
vidual, as a sentiment; but this assuredly took its
rise from its association with my father’s image,
who, in all that concerned me, presented the most
complete personification of delicate sympathy that
I have ever witnessed among men. ‘This was the
more remarkable, as his mind was _ particularly
masculine, his every taste and pursuit far removed
from what was frivolous or idle. Yet was his
soaring intellect perpetually bowed, his mighty
faculties continually brought down, to reach the
level of a weak and wayward child, so as to render
his companionship the main ingredient of my hap-
piness; while others, far my superiors in age and
understanding, stood aloof, and wondered at my
delighting in what they regarded with no little awe.
Certain I am, that at no period of my life have I
met, in any human being, with a sympathy so full,
so tender, so unfailing, as that of him who left me
early to buffet with the storms of life; and the
evening primrose always is, always will be, a me-
mento of what I shall no more enjoy on earth.
The flower too, is an apt emblem of what I would
describe. It comes, when the fellowship of many
sunshiny friends is withdrawn. ‘The gayest have
disappeared from my garden before it is ripe for

blossoming; and ihose of its contemporaries who

THE EVENING PRIMROSE. 105

smile on me through the day, will close the eye,
and avert the head, at the cool hour when I am
tempted forth to muse among them. A feeling of
desertion steals on my spirit, when I look around
upon the folded petals, that laughed back my noon-
tide greeting; and then, as if partaking in my
thought, the delicate buds of the evening primrose
throw wide their silken leaves with a haste that
seems to bespeak no slight impulse of benevolent
sympathy. ‘The lapse of every year gives addition-
al emphasis of meaning in this contemplation : for
each returning summer bears witness to some ad-
ditional bereavment, while companions long-loved
have gone down into the grave, or faces that beamed
lovingly on me have become averted in coldness,
or estranged by protracted absence. The flower is
then a precious remembrancer to tell me of one
who changes not—whose unseen hand upheld my
unsteady steps when gambolling in infancy among
the blossoms—guided me through the mazes of a
perplexing pilgrimage—and is still upon me for
good, with the cheering promise, “I will never
leave thee, nor forsake thee.” ‘The sudden burst-
ing of a bud of the evening primrose has power to
recall my thoughts, in the moment of inconsider-
ate levity, with an influence most subduing; and
when despondency or discontent pervade the spirit,
that little incident will sooth and cheer me, like the
words of a tender and sympathizing friend.

106 THE EVENING PRIMROS

How wonderful is the influence that sympathy
can exercise over some minds! And yet it is dif-
ficult to define its precise character; for it may
exist unseen, where a cold exterior veils its opera-
tions; or it may be so counterfeited as to delude us
into a belief of its abiding, where, in reality, it
was never known. Besides, different ideas are at-
tached to the word, according to the feelings of in-
dividuals; and when men will call that sympathy,
which merely conforms itself to their prevailing
humours, taking care not to cross the grain of their
inclinations, however wrong or dangerous they may
be. An invalid may have a particular liking for
something expressly forbidden by the physician:
and then he is the sympathizing friend, who will
smuggle the prohibited delicacy to the sick patient,
or overrule the opposition of more conscientious
advisers. Again, a Christian may be—and alas!
there are few who are not—under the influence of
some besetting sin, which he conceives to be mere-
ly a harmless characteristic of his natural disposi-
tion, while to all others, it may evidently appear
most unlovely—unseemly—and inconsistent with
his profession. ‘To him, that friend will seem the
most sweetly sympathizing, who affects not to per-
ceive, or helps him to frame excuses for, the reign-
ing corruption. But that in either of these cases,
the seeming kindness is real cruelty, we need not
to be told. ‘True Christian sympathy places its

THE EVENING PRIMROSE. 107

soul in the soul’s stead, with which it has to deal,
and proceeds as, in such a case, it would desire to
be dealt with; constantly keeping in view the mo-
mentous interests of eternity. At the same time,
it will infuse all imaginable tenderness into the
faithful dealing which conscience dictates; and
herein is its peculiar character most brightly devel-
oped, that it will stoop to the weakness of the most
feeble-minded ; studying the very prejudices of its
object, in order to avoid any needless imfliction.
There are some minds so constituted, that they
appear, intuitively, to fall into the very circum-
stances of those with whom they have todo; inso-
much that the pain or embarrassment of another
will affect them as personal troubles :—the gratifi-
cations of others yield them a positive pleasure.
Of this sensitive class was Cowper, whose univer-
sal tenderness of feeling took into its grasp the very
brute creation. And if such characters were nu-
merous among men, we should find the world very
different from what we now experience it to be.
Sweet and refreshing it is, to meet with individu-
als so constituted: and where divine grace has
given a higher impulse and a nobler aim to their
benevolence—when, not merely the temporal, but
also the spiritual benefit of their fellow creatures
becomes an object of their deep concerns—they
are as palm-trees in the desert of our pilgrimage,

108 THE EVENING PRIMROSE:

extending alike to every weary traveller the sha-
dow so welcome.

This habit of placing ourselves in the situation
of another, will also be found to prevail wherever
a strong individual attachment subsists. Warm
affection will seek the happiness of its object, and
that is only to be done by studying the disposition
of the person beloved, with a steady self-devotion
—a co-partnership in every joy and sorrow—a
moulding of our own will and habits to those of the
cherished object. Here, again, is sympathy; and
to this manifestation of it I can bear witness, and
remember how my every taste and inclination were
watched, that they might be gratified; how light
was every sacrifice accounted, that a fond father
could make to promote the welfare of an afflicted
child. ‘The sacredness of the tie, the immensity
of the obligation, the total removal of him who con-
ferred it out of the reach of all grateful return, and
and the cheering brightness that seems to hang
over the remote retrospection of those by-gone
years—all tend to melt my spirit into sad, yet
soothing emotion, when I behold the flower on
which is engraven the record of indulged childhood
—of sympathy more perfect than I can ever again
look for upon earth.

There is yet another demonstration of this be-
nevolence, which we are warranted to expect among
all who bear the name of Christ; and this is ex-

THE EVENING PRIMROSE. 109

pressed by the injunction, “ Bear ye one another’s
burdens.” Without possessing the exquisite tender-
ness of the class first alluded to, without entertain-
ing any especial degree of partiality for the individ-
ual, we are imperatively called upon to make both
allowances and sacrifices, for the sake of those
around us. Good breeding ensures this, among
people who are held together by the bonds of civil
society ; but something more must interpose to in-
duce its continuance, where intimacy has removed
many restraints. It is not to be computed how
much of domestic and social happiness is lost, by
neglecting to cultivate this branch of Christian duty.
It is lovely to see the strong bearing the infirmities
of the weak, and descending to trifles, beneath the
level of their more powerful minds, in order to
avoid too rough a collision with spirits rendered
over-sensitive by afflictions, by sickness, or by
natural temperament. Nor is forbearance to be
confined to the more energetic party : the weak are
bound to remember that others, differently consti-
tuted, cannot so enter into all the minutie of their
feelings, as to escape every appearance of insensi-
bility to their complaints. Still, if the gospel rule
be followed, in prayerful solicitude to possess and
to manifest the mind which was in Christ Jesus,
many a cup, now Of almost unmingled bitterness
as respects this world, may be sweetly ameliorated
by the hand of forbearing kindness; while gleams
10

110 -HE EVENING PRIMROSE.

q

of gladness are rendered brighter, by the smiling
participation of those who are taught of God to re-
joice with them that do rejoice.

I think the whole bible does not afford us so af-
fecting a lesson as that contained in two words in
St. John’s gospel—“ Jesus wept.” It is not merely
the act of his weeping, but the occasion, that pre-
sents so exquisite an instance of the sympathy dear
to afflicted man. Our Lord was on the point of
turning the grief of his friends into unbounded joy,
and very few among us, with such anticipation close
at hand, would be able to find a tear for the mourn-
ers—our minds would be too much occupied with
their approaching, and most overwhelming delight.
But the holy Jesus, touched with a feeling of all
our infirmities, looked on the present anguish, and
wept with the heart-broken sisters. Oh! how un-
like that cold, unsympathizing spirit, that seeks to
force on the writhing sufferer its own superficial view
of the passing calamity; that chides the gushing
tear, and preaches a lesson of indifference to a
mind stretched on the rack of torture! Yet this
is often done, with the best and kindest intention,
through forgetfulness of the great and precious ex-
ample of Him who could not err! I have expe-
rienced this injudicious treatment, when every feel-
ing of my heart was lacerated and torn, by a loss
no less bitter---far more sudden. and terrible than
that of Martha and Mary. I have then been told,

THE EVENING PRIMROSE 111i

that what was past could not be recalled, and there-
fore | must not allow my mind to dwell upon it,
Miserable comfort it was, and utterly hateful to
my soul: but I turned to the sacred volume, and
in those twe words, “Jesus wept,” I read the cha-
racter of one to whom I could bring my sorrows,
who would suffer me to weep before him, and for-
give the reproachful thought, that said “ Lord, if
thou hadst been here, my brother had not died.”
And how beautifully does the bud ef my gentle
Evening Primrose typify the change that passes
on the children of God, when he summons them
to burst the fetters of flesh! It is true that, when
the spirit enters into glory, it disappears altogether
from our ken, while the glory of the flower is to
expand and shine before us. Still the rapidity, the
beauty of the transition, occurring too, as it does,
at the quiet, solemn hour of closing eve, will force
upon the mind a resemblance very sweet to con-
template, and gives, at least to me, the idea of hap-
py spivits silently encompassing my path, while I
meditate on the endearing theme. I sometimes
gather the buds, and watch their expansion in my
hand, delighting almost as a mother does in the un-
closing eye of her slumbering babe. The petals
of this flower are very beautiful, and wear a char-
acter of refreshing coolness, and durability too,
when they open to the pleasant breeze of evening
but all is frail and transitory, destined to endure no

112 THE EVENING PRIMROSE

longer than while the sun is absent from our hem-
isphere. Vanity is written upon all that fixes its
root in this perishing earth; and man, especially,
walketh in a vain shadow, disquieting himself in
vain. The best, the dearest, the holiest of our
privileges, as regards our fellow-beings, hang but
upon a breath; and that perhaps the breath of Sa-
tan, or of most evil-minded men, permitted by Him
who suffered the inmates of Bethany to drink the
bitter cup of bereavement, in tears and anguish
of soul: but only that he might, after exercising
their faith and submission, prove the omnipotence
of his arm to wrest back the prey, and confounded
the opposers of his sovereignty, and shame the
doubters of his everlasting love. Against his faith-
ful servants, the hand of violence and wrong can
do nothing, but pave the way for brighter manifes-
tations of his glory ; he whom Jesus loves may be
sick—he whom Jesus loves may be persecuted—
but his prospect is sure; and, however foes may
triumph for a season, he shall yet be more than
conqueror, through Him who has so loved him.

CHAPTER IX.
THE VINE.

Arter a long struggle against the prevailing incli-
nation, I have resolved to gratify it, even at the
hazard of being brought in guilty of a flagrant de-
parture from the verity of my title. Fruit does not
legitimately come under the head of flowers ;—
true, but flowers that herald not some species of
fruit are comparatively of little worth. In short,
I would rather, for once, plead guilty to the charge
of inconsistency, than deprive myself of the de-
light with which I constantly dwell on an image so
nationally precious, that the reader who falls out
with me for bringing it before her, must seek her
place beyond the circle of, at least, English Chris-
tian ladies. -

The Ving, the fruitful vine, that spreads its luxu-
riant foliage, and throws out its wiry tendrils, and
hangs forth its clusters ‘to the mellowing sunbeams,
will not be passed by, at this season of sweet recol-
lections. It brings before me in the most vivid por-

10*

114 THE VINE.

traiture, a scene never to be forgotten; noreverto be
recalled without a glow of heart, which, to be sure,
I cannot hope to communicate to my readers;
though most of them will be able to conceive how
little peril I am in of overstating the matter, when
they have the paw ers: which I will faithfully
relate.

It was on a very bright and gladsome morning
that I set out, accompanied by my own, my pre-
cious brother, and his little girl, and my dumb boy,
on an excursion fraught with very delightful ant-
cipations. We reached the, end of our journey,
and were ushered into a room well furnished with
books, adorned with tasteful prints, and wearing
the aspect, yea, breathing the very soul of elegant
retirement, hallowed into something far beyond the
reach of this world’s elegancies. At the further
end of the apartment was a recess, almost of suf-
ficient size to be called an additional room, thrown
boldly forward beyond the line of the building,
and forming in four compartments, one large semi-
circular window, scarcely a pane of which was
unadorned by some stray leaf or tendril of the vine
that rested its swelling bunches in profusion against
the glass. Beyond, the eye might find much of
sylvan beauty whereon to rest: but to me, no at-
traction lay beyond it; for, in the light and cheer-
ful little sanctuary, there sat a lady, whose snow-
white locks—‘‘a crown of glory”—shaded, or

THE VINE. 115

rather brightened, a countenance so beaming with
love, that the sentiment of reverential humility was
at once absorbed in that of endeared fellowship
with one who evidently sought no homage, nor
claimed superiority over the lowliest of her Sa-
viour’s followers

That lady was Hannah More.

My heart often melts within me, at the recollec-
tion of the tenderness that marked her first greet-
ing. ‘There was that in my own circumstances,
which could not fail to engage her sympathizing
compassion ; there was that, in the case of my
companions, which powerfully awakened her most
serious interests. I had long shared the benevo-
lence of her love, long reaped the benefit of her
devout prayers, and received many a message of
affectionate solicitude, during a preceding period of
no common tribulation. She saw me then, rejoic-
ing in the presence of a long-lost friend, yet filled
with keenest anxiety for his spiritual welfare. I
can readily believe that the occasion called forth
into conspicuous display the loveliest features of
her beautiful character; and, assuredly, I never
have beheld a countenance so expressive of all
that can sweeten mortality.

How quick, how perfect is the communion of
spirit between those who, having often met at the
throne of grace, while yet far absent in body, are
at length brought eye to eye, beholding one ano-

116 THE VINE.

ther’s face in the flesh, which heretofore had been
but dimly pourtrayed by uncertain imaginations!
Our converse was unavoidably restrained, by the
presence of those whose absence neither of us
could have desired: but every time that her sweet,
quiet, yet animated eye met mine, it told me that
she read my thoughts, that her soul ascended in
prayer for the attainment of*that which mine so
fervently longed after: and it spoke, in the smiling
encouragement of her cheerful aspect, ‘fear not:
only believe, and thou shalt see the glory of God.”

It was, to me, a clear token for good, that her
very heart seemed drawn out towards my brother,
who having long sojourned in a land of gross dark-
ness—such as might be felt—had recently return-
ed, not only ignorant of the truth as it is in Jesus,
but impressed with the most absurd prejudices
against those whose spiritual earnestness he had
been taught to consider as paroxysms of fanatical
derangement. He had never been brought into
contact with an open professor of serious religion,
and very terrible to his joyous spirit was the
phantom of melancholy moroseness conjured up
by the enemy of his soul, to deter him from enter-
ing into such society. His love for me, the de-
light that he had ever found in promoting my
gratification, impelled him to venture into what he
expected to find the counterpart of La Trappe.
This he had expressed to me on the road, remark-

THE VINE. LIT

ing that he had no great fancy for visiting “the
queen of the Methodists ;” and a lurking expres-
sion of suspicious dislike clouded his bright coun-
tenance, until he had taken a deliberate view of
his new acquaintance; who, being on her part
fully aware of his prejudices, was peculiarly so-
licitous to remove them.

It was no difficult task ; for the Lord had willed
it; and oh how sweet it was to me, who could
read every turn of those expressive features, to
see the mist rolling away, and the brightest sun-
shine of delight overspreading them, as he listened
to her interesting converse, and repaid her judici-
ous inquiries with a mass of valuable information,
on the topics most engaging to a soldier just return-
ed from the scene of his victories. ‘The usual
period allowed to visitors passed too fleetly, and
he appeared no less gratified than I was, when
she told us that after taking some refreshment, and
strolling through the grounds, we must again re-
turn to her alcove, and renew our conversation.

During this interview, Jack, the dumb boy, had
been standing behind a chair, his eyes roving with
strange delight from one to the other, fully com-
prehending the character of each, and bestowing
on me many significant nods, accompanied with
the words, ‘‘ Beautiful loves Hannah More:
Good Hannah More loves beautiful ,” while
he and the wonderful manifestation of divine grace

118 THE VINE.

in his soul, furnished her with many appropriate
remarks, calculated to awaken my dear brother’s
interest on subjects quite new to him.

Sweet shades of Barley Wood ! how lovely they
looked to my gladdened eye, as we strolled among
them—how delicious to my soul were the remarks
made by my companion on their blessed owner—
and with what pleasure did I observe the mutual
cordiality of their greeting, when he again seated
himself opposite to her, leaning over her little table,
and perusing the venerable countenance which
really shone with maternal love towards him. I
would record it among the many instances of her
Christian spirit, that she endured, even to serious
inconvenience, the fatigue of a most, prolonged in-
terview, for the sake of following up a manifest ad-
vantage with one in whose sight the Lord had given
her unlooked-for favour; and I trust that is en-
rolled among her abundant labours in her Master’s
cause.

But the vine? Well, I was seated just oppo-
site the window, and counted as grapes of Eschol,
the clusters before me ; for I thought that my bro-
ther was now obtaining a glimpse of the product of
that good land, concerning which unfaithful spies
had brought him an evil report. Neither did I
overlook the typical fitness of the plant to grace
Hannah More’s favourite corner; for truly she,
among woman was as that vine among the shrubs

THE VINE. 119

of her garden. Who has not attached the distinc-
tion of exquisite gracefulness, combined with noble
simplicity, to the vine ? Who has not acknow-
ledged its beauty, its full, overspreading growth, its
rich abundance of delicious fruit? Painters will
tell us, that, to study the perfection of form, colour,
light and shade, united in one object, we must place
before us a bunch of grapes. Scripture refers us
to their juice, as ‘‘ wine that maketh glad the heart
of man,” selecting it also as an emblem of that
choice blessing, a loving, faithful wife. Now, in
Hannah More’s renewed and ripened character,
those who know her best will be the most eager to
assert that all these qualities were clearly percep-
tible;, to me, who had not much personal inter-
course with her, the trait of grateful simplicity,
evidently emanating from an humble, peaceful
mind, shone paramount, as it does in the beautiful
tree. ‘There was an exquisite modesty, deprecat-
ing in every look the homage that all-were prepared
to render. ‘There was something that shrunk from
admiration, while it courted the love, I could al-
most say the countenance and encouragement, of
those who could only have thought of raising her to
the eye of reverential observance. Yet, amid all
this humbleness of mind, that asked a prop from
what, in comparison, was but a bundle of dry sticks,
rich clusters were perpetually looking out—thoughts
that drew their being from the sap of the True

120 THE VINE.

Vine, clothed in the fairest diction, arranged with
tasteful skill, and touched with the peculiar grace
of originality: while the unction that cometh from
above, rested with freshening effect upon this fruit
of the lips of a true mother in Israel.

We are, alas! such selfish creatures, that I have
often questioned whether Hannah Move would have
left such a delightful impression on my mind, had
LT seen her under circumstances less endearing to
my own fond heart, than those narrated above.
So very precious her remembrance would not be ;
but that she was altogether equally engaging as
valuable, I had the testimony of my brother, whose
previous expectations had been extremely unfavour-
able. He remarked in his usual playful manner,
referring to the title that he had given her, ‘ The
methodists cannot be like their queen: they are
poor melancholy souls, but she is the nicest, liveliest,
sweetest old lady I have ever met with. I well
remember that, on our return to the study, on hear-
ing us expatiate on the beauties of her luxurious
plantation, she told us she had put down every tree
and shrub with her own hand ; neglecting for that
employment, the more important one to which the
Lord had called her: adding that she had been se-
verely rebuked for it, by being long disabled in the
right hand. ‘ This evil hand,’ she said, slapping it
with the other, ‘ which left its Master’s work so
long undone! Well might he have caused it, like

THE VINE. 128

Jeroboam’s to wither and be dried up ; but after a
season he mercifully restored it.’

One of the last efforts of my dumb boy, with his
pencil, was to complete a copy that he had commen-
ced from a print of Barley Wood. He left it after
all, unfinished; but the window is distinctly pour-
trayed: and the distant church, where now repose
the mortal remains of Hannah More. She lived
to shed many a tear for me, when the sudden stroke
that removed my brother made every preceding
trial appear as nothing; and she lived to render
praise for the slow yet glorious translation of the
dumb boy into the eternity after which he panted.
He retained the fondest recollection of her; and,
when dying, requested me to fix a little sketch of
her likeness where he could constantly behold it—-
saying in his broken language, ‘Jack die young:
good Hannah More very old, soon come to Jesus
Christ in heaven.’ Yes I trust indeed that they
were all branches, living branches of the True
Vine. In one of them the father was glorified, by
her bearing much fruit, through a long succession
of plentiful years: another, according to his shorter
season, yielded many a cluster, precious inthe sight
of the great Husbandman, who willed his early
transplantation into a better soil: and the third—
oh, he was taken from the wild vine, and grafted
into the tree, and had received of its fulness, and

began to put forth the delicate bud of promise—
El

122 THE VINE.

the blossom of hope that maketh not ashamed.
What could we do without that blessed assurance
that itis the Father’s good pleasure to give the king-
dom to all his little flock? The lamb, so newly
dropt that it cannot yet find a firm footing, but tot-
ters and sinks before the lightest breeze—the lamb
is, notwithstanding, of the flock. Once born of
God the soul never dies; once admitted into his
family, it is no more cast out. Weak faith is ever
staggering at the promise, and asking for evidences
which the nature of the case puts beyond our reach:
it cannot trace this simple analogy between things
natural and things spiritual. It is content, as
regards the veterans of the fold: but the little
new-born lambs, how could they tread the difficult
path to heaven? Why, they could not tread it at
all—and what then? ‘The Shepherd gathered
them in his arms, and carried them in his bosom,
and they reached it no less surely, safely, speedi
ly, than the sturdy ancients who travelled onward
in matured strength. Verily, our unbelief strips
God of half his glory, to put it on the creature.

It is a hard saying for human pride to hear, that
the babe which gives one gasp and dies, enters
heaven under as exceeding and eternal a weight of
glory, as the matured, the tempted, the victorious
Christian, But if it be of grace, and not of works,
such is the undeniable inference. We are con
strained to believe; but how hard to apply it!

THE VINE. 123

‘The infant martyrs of Bethlehem, who laughed
with unconscious glee at the glittering of murder-
ous blades, just poised to impale them—wherein is
their crown less bright than that of our confessors,
who voluntarily mounted the pile, and fixed the
chain, and welcomed the torturing fires of popish
persecution? There is, surely, no difference in
the recompence of Curist’s sufferings, bestowed
alike en each: but very sweet, and surpassingly
dear, must be the retrospection of those who had
forsaken all to follow him, after counting the cost,
and fully comprehending what lay before them.
The act of renewing a sinful nature, must needs
furnish a song of praise for eternity : a long cata-
logue of wilful transgressions, also blotted out by
the blood of the cross, may well raise the tone of
exstacy much higher. But it will be as with the
manna in the wilderness, where he who gathered
little did not lack, and he who gathered much had
nothing over. This is never the case with aught
of man’s providing; but when God furnishes the
table, it cannot be otherwise. :

When the eye rests upon the pleasant green
foliage of a favourite tree, how smoothly can the
billows of thought roll on, in the untroubled mind,
each insensibly disappearing before its successor.
To dream away life, would accord with most dis-
positions ; and to ponder on the works of others,
often appears somewhat of a meritorious work in

124 THE VINE.

ourselves. [ find this snare in my garden, loving
better to trace characters in flowers, than to bestir
myself to the needful operation of uprooting weeds.
May the Lord, who has given me many sweet and
soothing thoughts, while contemplating the vine
that his bounty has enriched with precious clus-
ters, cause the warning word to sink deep into my
heart, which declares, ‘‘ every branch in me that
beareth not fruit, he taketh away !”

CHAPTER X.

THE HEART’S-EASE.

WueEn viewed upon a grand scale, and from a
commanding station, how beautiful are the tints of
Autumn! We look abroad, over hill and plain,
interspread with grove and shrubbery, and the
hedge-row that forms so remarkable a characteris-
tic in our national scenery, and endless appears
the diversity of rich and mellow tint, which by its
loveliness half reconciles us to the legible symp-
tom of speedy desolation. He who has willed
the frequent changes that bereave us of our choic-
est possessions, has not failed to soften that
bereavement with many tender touches of a hand
that loves to pour balm into every wound it sees
needful to make. Even in the material world, we
trace the workings of this divine compassion; and
while shrinking from that dreary winter of which
they are the infallible precursors, we still are com-
pelled to greet the dying hues of autumn as among
the most welcome spectacles that can gratify the

eye of taste.
11*

126 THE HEART’S-EASE.

Yet it is when we are somewhat removed, and
able to take a general view of the landscape, that
such loveliness is rightly appreciated. Walking
under the shade of our own withering bowers,
where the damp, fallen leaves impede our path,
and mar the lingering beauty of our borders, it is
by no means so pleasant. ‘The visitation touches
us too nearly, our individual comforts are too
closely trenched upon; and gladly would we bar-
gain that, after going forth to look upon the beauty
of neighbouring plantations in their progress to-
wards utter decay, we might return to our especial
garden, finding it exempt from the universal doom ;
as thickly clustering with green leaves as when
summer first put on her finished livery.

I have thought of this, as illustrating in some
degree my feeling, when I meet with narratives of
interesting characters, whose passage from mortal
to immortal life is arrayed in new glories, like the
fading woods of autumn. I gaze, and admire, and
rejoice, on behalf of the privileged saints, whose
hour of approaching departure is the loveliest pe-
riod of their visible sojourn here: but when it is
upon mine own familiar friend that the visitation
comes—when the tree that shelters me is to be
stripped, when the verdure that gladdens my re-
treat is to fade away,—how different are the
feelings excited! ‘To the eye of a more remote
spectator, the withering of my bowers may form,

THE HEART’S-EASE. 127

perchance, the most beautiful spot in a widely
varigated landscape : to me it is a source of com-
fortless repining, excepting only as faith looks
confidently onward to the outbursting of a future,
and a brighter vegetation.

By daily care, the fallen honours of the nut,
the lilac, the ash, and the acacia, are removed
from my sheltered border, where still the dear
little HEART’s-EASE, now revived by autumnal
damps, retains its smiling aspect. During a
droughty summer, the flowers lost much of their
beauty, diminishing in size, and changing their
colours for shades less bright; but now they stand
arrayed as gorgeously as ever, telling again the
familiar tale of him who, in far brighter apparel,
is adorning the bowers of heaven. It was always
my purpose to return to this subject; but I reserv-
ed it until my garden should begin to look sad;
because in the retrospection.of what God shewed
me, while privileged to contemplate the character
of D. I find a cordial for fainting hours.

I have frequently wished to classify the beauti-
ful features of that gifted mind ; but I could never
succeed in it. Like my border of heart’s-ease, it
was full of variety ; and perfect, harmonious order
reigned throughout the abundant distribution: but
so many excellencies shone forth at once upon the
view, that it was hardly possible to take them in
succession, to confine the gaze to a single tint, or a

128 THE HEART’S-EASE.

single combination of tints ; unless when, in the
actual scene of some passing day, circumstances
called forth a separate, a peculiar manifestation of
the grace most needed at the time. It was as
when I cull one flower from the many, and bear
it away, to ponder on its individual beauties.

[have spoken of gifts: now one remarkable trait
in D. was the tenacity with which he clung to the
principle, that ad/ in him not hateful and repulsive,
was a special gift, purchased by the blood of the
cross. The usual close of his letters ran in these
words, ‘ yours, by the grace of God, most affection-
ately.’ I once asked him why he used this expres-
sion; his answer was, ‘ Because, by nature, I am
so vilely selfish, that sovereign grace alone can
implant in my spirit one right impulse of disinter-
ested affection. ‘“ Hateful, and hating one anoth-
er,” is the description of such as me: and | could
not honestly love you, if the constraining love of
Christ did not compel me to it... Many can use
such depreciating language concerning themselves,
and, doubtless, many do so with sincerity : but there
was a sorrowful earnestness in his remarks on the
inward depravity, that always left me without
power to reply.

On one occasion, when several of us were assem-
bled, the conversation turned on passing events,
scenes, and persons. D. bore his part in it with
his accustomed sprightliness ; but presently leaned

THE HEART’S-EASE. 129

back in his chair with a look of pained abstraction.
I addressed him, and his reply was, ‘ These are all
material things, they engross our thoughts, and de-
vour our time. Shall we never rise above sensi-
ble objects? I often strive to do so, but I am
pulled back, and fettered down, by the mass of
matter. I am oppressed by it: why do you not
help me to throw off the weight ? why is not our
conversation more in heaven? ‘This was spoken
with a feeling that approached irritation; but he
followed it up immediately, by sweetly leading the
way in an interesting inquiry into what he used to
call the progress of prayer. I could not but think
of the expression “ we that are in this tabernacle
do groan, being burdened”—and when, just three
months after, I saw him reposing in his coffin, m
that very room, how sweet was the recollection of
his secret groaning after what he now so fully en-
joys, clothed upon with his. house from heaven :
and his mortality swallowed up in life!

About that time, he made a remark that im-
pressed me deeply, and, I hope, abidingly. We
attended the ministry of his beloved friend H., and
on one occasion, adverting to certain criticisms that
had been passed on his discourses by some who
seemed to sit in judgment on their teacher, I asked
him, ‘ How is it, that while they call one of his ser-
mons fine, and another dry, and so forth, I find
them all so profitable, and always come away well

130 THE HEART’S-EASE.

fed? With animated quickness he replied, ‘Til
tell you how it is: you pray for him.’ ‘Indeed I
do: and that he may be taught to teach me.’ ‘ Aye,
there it is: and your prayer is answered. Now
mark me; the preacher and the flock either feed
or starve one another: what they withhold from
him in prayers, they lose in doctrine. ‘Those who
merely listen to cavil, or to admire, come away
empty of spiritual food. Those who give liberally
to their minister in secret prayer for him, have their
souls made fat by the very same doctrine that falls
unblest upon others.’ He added, with emotion,
‘Bear dear H. more and more upon your heart be-
fore your father’s throne, and you will feast more
largely upon the banquet that he spreads.’ I have
to be thankful that my friend’s counsel was not lost
on me: from that shepherd, indeed, I was soon
removed ; and very soon he followed D. to glory:
but I had already carried the lesson into another
pasture ; where, richly and abundantly as all were
fed, mine always appeared a Benjamin’s mess; for
I had learned the secret of the profitable barter
which I would commend to every christian hearer :
instant, affectionate, individual intercession for the
teacher, in the spirit of faith: then may we sit,
contented, and humbly confident to receive the as-
sured answer, in the portion which he is commis-
sioned to divide.

It was the delight of D. by every means, to

THE HEART’S-EASE. 13i

draw closer the bond of union between the pastor
and his flock: and that was a blessed work. Woe
to the hand that wantonly severs them! It is the
Lorop’s prerogative to visit a people by removing
their most gifted teachers into a corner, even as it
was also his to render the scattering of his church,
by means of fiery persecutions, available for the
spread of sound doctrine through Phenice, and
Cyprus, and Antioch; but not the less sacrilegious
is the blow that snaps asunder a tie which the
Lord hath blessed; and I was left to appreciate
the full beauty of that feature in D.’s spiritual cha-
racter, long after he was taken from mortal view :
‘as the balmy warmth of life-breathing Spring, is
doubly endeared to our remembrance when we
shiver before the rough blasts of a surly, devas-
tating November.

Well! the Lord God Omnipotent reigneth, and
man cannot dethrone him! He worketh all things
after the counsel of his will, and man cannot thwart
his purposes. Nay, when most thoroughly set to
do mischief, man is but blindly forwarding the
work of eternal love and truth, even towards those
whose welfare is the farthest from his wish. My
little heart’s-ease tells me this, in its own quiet lan-
guage, as it looks up from under the heap of un-
sightly leaves that, by falling thickly upon it, have
sheltered it from the evening frost, and left it
sparkling with salubrious moisture, when I take

132 THE HEART’S-EASE.

them away and give entrance to the sunbeams,
Often, very often, has D. expatiated on the same
sweet truth, representing the many ways in which
my abounding trials were working together for good,
already perceptible. I remember the lesson, and
cherish it in my heart; but sorely do I miss the
cheerful look, the encouraging smile, that were
wont to accompany it. D. was utterly incapable
of that cheap generosity which bestows on the
sufferer a scrap of advice, perchance a text of
scripture, and thinks it has done the part of a
Christian comforter. He first placed himself so
fully in the situation of the person afflicted, by the
exercise of that beautiful consideration wherewith
God had gifted him ; and made so many allowances
for the peculiarity of individual feeling and circum-
stances, that his language assumed rather the cha-
racter of consoling thoughts, inwardly suggested
to the mourner, than of another man’s ideas, ver-
bally communicated. Surely if there be one gift
more to be coveted than another, in the social in-
tercourse of poor pilgrims through a valley of Baca,
it is this. It is easy to lecture a complaining
brother: it is easy to shew him how lightly you
regard his present affliction; and thus to silence
the rising murmer, bidding it retire and rankle in
the heart which knoweth its own bitterness; but
oh, how wise, how tender, how Christ-like, is the
love that voluntarily places itself under his cross,

THE HEART’S-EASE. 133

poises its weight and speaks the language not of
one who merely sees, but of one who has felt it!

To rejoice with them that did rejoice, was a duty
rendered easy indeed, by the extraordinary cheer-
fulness of D’s. mind. Looks, words, gestures,
were all put in requisition to express the delight
of his soul, when he saw his companions happy.
So joyous was the spirit of his religion, that it
grieved him to witness a sombre cast on the coun-
tenances of those engaged in devotional exercises,
Calm, subdued, collected, and intent, he always
appeared at such times, but never, to use his own
expression, ‘pulled a long face,’ for the worship of
God. Approaching a reconciled Father through
Christ Jesus, he could not conceive why the de-
light that animates the heart, and beams in the
looks of an affectionate, grateful child, should be
banished from his. Let those who remember D.
in his constant place, beside the pillar at L. A., ac-
knowledge that a countenance more brightly irra-
diated with love and joy never shone among that
privileged flock. Heart’s-ease all over, D. looked
up and smiled: you could not gaze on him and be
melancholy. This, too, is a gift to be coveted: a
happy look bears eloquent testimony that ‘ the
peace which passeth all understanding” is no chi-
mera; and that godliness hath the promise of this
life, as well as of that which is to come.

Yet the word is sure: “In the world ye shall

12

134 THE HEART’S-EASE.

9

have tribulation ;” and D. experienced it, in a de-
gree little suspected by those who watched the ex-
pression of his happy countenance. ‘There are
insects that, in the darkness of the night, steal forth
to prey upon the gentle flower that typifies D.;
but though they sometimes rend its petals, they
cannot mar the lovely bloom of what remains: and
thus had he his undiscovered enemies—cares that
he revealed to none but his heavenly father, and
disappointments blighting the dearest projects of an
affectionate heart. He felt their gnawing progress,
but he knew the wise purpose for which they
were sent; and though, in thoughts and visions of
the night, his spirit was often sorely harrassed, yet
the morning sun beheld him bright and cheerful as
ever, through the freshening of that early dew that
never failed to visit his prayerful chamber. Occa-
sionally he has admitted to me that so it was; for
he well knew that a fellowship in suffering would
add power to his ready consolations ; and when he
found me so much absorbed in my own griefs, then
—only then—it was that he would impart to me a
portion of his secret sorrow, just sufficient to rouse
my interest, to excite my sympathy that he might
immediately turn the discourse to the sweet sola-
cings of the Divine Comforter, which he described as
being so effectual, as to make him, ‘through the grace
of God,’ more thankful for a little tribulation than
he should have been for a vast abundance of pros-

THE HEART’S-EASE. 135

perity. And thus delicately would he insinuate
the comfort which my fretful spirit was unwilling
to receive in a more direct way.

The last christmas that D. celebrated with the
militant church on earth, will long be remembered
by those who passed it with him. It fell on a Sun-
day ; and he had busied himself much on behalf of
his poor children, the wild little Irish, who attended
our dear schools. It is customary, on the Sabbath,
to give each child, on leaving the school, a thick
slice of bread and butter, except in cases of flagrant
misconduct, when the culprits must march past the
tempting board empty-handed. ‘The importance of
this boon cannot be appreciated, but by those who
know something of the squalid misery that pervades
St. Giles, and that very few of our children tasted
any thing better than half a meal of potatoes on any
day throughout the week. A good piece of well
buttered bread is a prodigious feast to them.
However on the day in question, D., as if conscious
that it was his last time of celebrating the happy
season among them, provided, for the afternoon, a
more luxurious entertainment. He filled his blue
bag with excellent plum-cake, and merrily remarked
to me, that for once all his clients would be satisfied
with its contents. To this he added the more dur-
able gift of some small books and tracts ; and very
delightful it was to us, the teachers, as we stood
about him, to witness the reciprocal looks of love

136 THE HEART’S-EASE.

between the donor, and the gleeful recipients of
those gifts. Gravity was, of course, out of the
question. I should pity the person who tried to
look solemn among our dear Irish children, when
the work of the schoolis over. Neither fluttering
rags, ill-suited to repel the season’s cold, nor
naked feet, cut and bruised by the filthy pavement
of St. Giles, nor famished forms that bespoke the
weekly fast, could counterbalance the mirthful as-
pect wherewith they approached the pile of cake,
and the delighted grin of each farewell obeisance.
My poor dear Irish children! Why do so few
among the wealthy ones of London take thought
for that swarming hive of ever active beings, who,
by a little devotion of time, a little sacrifice of the
unrighteous mammon, might be trained to industry,
and piety, and peace! Alas! even of those who
partook of D.’s parting feast, are not there now
many to be found in the dens of profligacy, or the
dungeons of detected crime? It is the shame,
and will prove the curse of Christian England,
that the very heart and centre of her gorgeous
metropolis should form a throne on which Satan
is permitted to hold an almost unquestioned reign
over her empire. Many a missionary is girding
himself to the work of the Lord in foreign lands .
but few are the missionaries who will step fifty

yards out of their daily path, to carry the light of

THE IHEART’S-EASE, 137

the gospel among the dark abodes of wretched
St. Giles’.

D. worked diligently; so that when his sun
went down at noon, he had accomplished more
than would be deemed, by the bulk of those in his
sphere, a full day’s labour. He has entered into
his rest, to shine as the sun, and as the stars, for
ever and ever, in the kingdom of his Father. Is
the prize that he has grasped, worth striving after ?
Go to St. Giles’s, and do likewise. Is the work
that he has wrought, meet to be copied? Go, and
gather the desolate little ones, whom he loved to
lead to Christ. I cannot resume the subject of a
flower, while my soul is oppressed with the sorrows
of thousands of perishing souls, enclosed in bodies
that also are perishing in want, and vice, and all
the fearful train of consequences attendent thereon.
If I begin with D. I shall be constrained to end
my paper, as he ended his life—in pleading with
the favoured children of God, for pity on the poor,
the destitute children of Erin.

ie.

CHAPTER XI.

THE LAURISTINUS.

“THE memory of the just is blessed.” Happy
are they who comprehend how sinful mortal man
may be just with God—who, in taking up the hap-
py boast ‘‘He is near that justifieth, who shall
condemn me?” can discern as their sole claim to
this glorious immunity, the justifying righteousness
of the Lord Jesus Christ, in virtue of which their
iniquity is forgiven, and their sin is covered: their
persons are accepted, and their souls are saved.

I knew an aged man, who lived through many
long years in the delighted contemplation of this
mystery ; who realized in its fullest extent the ap-
plication thereof to himself; who, taught daily to
comprehend more of the love of Christ which
passeth knowledge, had a well-spring of love flow-
ing from the depths of his renewed heart, towards
every child of Adam. When I saw him last, he
was green and flourishing; in the seventy-sixth
year of his pilgrimage—aye, and blossoming too,
in all the rich, vigorous life that distinguishes my

THE LAURISTINUS. 139

beautiful LavurisTiNws, now spreading its wide
arms over the border, and supplying the vacant
places of many withered flowers. Very lately, I
asked of a dear friend, from the remote corner
where this aged servant of God had been station-
ed, how our valued brother was prospering? The
reply was startling, because unexpected: it elicited
some tears, but they were not those of grief,—
‘Six months ago, he departed to his Lord.’

I have been a sad egotist throughout these pa-
pers; and much am I tempted to mix a deal of
self in this. But with such a subject before me, I
must forbear; only stating, that it was the privilege
of this gracious old man to water the good seed,
sown by another beloved hand, in the heart of my
brother : that it was his to remove all my doubts
and fears on the subject: and that the most trying
event of my whole life became the means of bring-
ing me acquainted with one whose conversation
was more peculiarly in heaven, and his spirit more
tinged with the joy of him who knows the blessed
ness of his future mansion, than that of almost any
one whom I have met with.

The sphere of his labour was in a remote part
of Ireland. And here I must beg my reader to
remark something which I find it very difficult to
establish, that I am not a native of Ireland. Eng-
lish by birth and education, and doubly English by
deeply-rooted prejudice, I first visited Ireland,

140 THE LAURISTINUS.

long after my habits and tastes had become fixed,
with a most inveterate determination not to like it
—in plain terms, to hate the country, and to de-
spise the people. ‘This resolution, by no means a
singular one I fear, I was enabled by hard strug-
sling to maintain, for nearly a whole day; but
every particle of frost-work melted at last beneath
the fervent beams of that warm and smiling wel-
come, which will win its way to the heart of every
one who has a heart to be reached. Subsequently,
the glorious and far brighter beams of divine truth
burst upon my view, beneath the sky of that belov-
ed island; and there my spiritual infancy was
cradled, there the hand of Christian brotherhood
was stretched forth, to uphold and to guide my
tottering steps in the new and narrow path; there
I was built up on this most holy faith, and taught
to wield, however feebly, the weapons that are not
carnal. I left the country, as an exile leaves his
home; I pined and drooped, and still does my
heart yearn towards its beloved shores. But I am
no otherwise Irish; and I have said so much, be-
cause the frequent recurrence to scenes and sub-
jects connected with that country, in these periodi-
cal pages, might appear to be the natural effect of
patriotic feeling, in one born on its green carpet.
In me, it is the offspring, not only of deep and
grateful love, but of a most solemn conviction that
we are verily guilty, in a henious degree, concern-

THE LAURISTINUS. 141

ing our brethren in that most interesting portion of
the British dominions.

It was, as I have said, in a remote corner of the
emerald isle, that the Lord planted this flourishing
tree of righteousness, within the sanctuary of His
church. He was indeed, a faithful pastor, burning
with zeal, overflowing with love, and singularly
gifted for the peculiar work to which he was called.
There was an exuberance of animal spirits, a fund
of rich humour, a perpetual flashing of original
wit, that would perhaps have been unsuitable to
his high and holy office, and which, therefore, the
Lord might have seen fit to subdue, had he not
been stationed where such qualifications exactly
fitted him to win the attention of those around, and
so to lead. them to give audience, even where they
had been instructed to repel, with brutal force,
every attempt to fill their ears with sound doc-
trine. Of all characters, 1. know none more dis-
gusting than a clerical buffoon: but far from the
slightest approximation to such an anomaly was
our dear brother 8S. Even the sparkles of his wit
were bright with fire from the altar of God, and
the quaint expressions that extorted a smile from
every hearer, were never culled for effect :—it was
the natural eloquence of a mind full of noble sim-
plicity, and venting the abundance of its treasures
too eagerly to pause over the medium by which
they were conveyed. To set forth Christ crucified,

142 THE LAURISTINUS.

as the alone and all-sufficient refuge for sinners,
was the single object of his life; and to effect it
he cared not how homely, how strangely unique,
or how clasically elegant, was the language or the
metaphor employed. Intimately acquainted with
the vernacular tongue of the native Irish, it was
the ruling desire of his heart to see it adopted,
and cherished, and consecrated to the service of
God, by his fellow-labourers. In the month of
April, 1830, this aged Christian first, as he ex-
pressed it, stepped off the edge of his own green
carpet, to accompany a deputation to London for
this very purpose. He appeared on the platform
in Free-masons’ Hall, and in a strain of original
humour, combined with deep pathos, he placed us,
as it were, in the very midst of his desolate coun-
trymen, pourtraying the waywardness of their
minds, and the destitution of their souls, in lan-
guage the most thrilling. Then, by a sudden
transition, he led all our awakened sympathies into
a scene close by: he showed us that portion of
poor Irish outcasts congregated in the heart of our
metropolis; and, clasping his hands, with almost
a cry of passionate appeal, ‘give but one bread-
shop for my starving people! open but one room,
in wretched St. Giles,’ where they may find the
food of life in their own language! You English
Christians, rich in your many privileges, will you
let the starving souls of my countrymen cry

THE LAURISTINUS. 143

against you at the day of judgment? One little
bread-shop—give us but that, and thousands un-
born shall call you blessed

God be praised, the plea was successful; and
he has met, before the throne of the Lamb, some
whose polluted garments were washed clean in
His blood, through the ministrations of a blessed
‘bread-shop,’ established by English Christians,
before that year had closed on the wretched popu-
lation of St. Giles.

In 1833, he came again on his mission of love,
to rejoice over the work, and to stimulate us anew.
He then appeared as hale and hearty, in his green
old age, as before: but he had a witness within,
that the earthly tabernacle was beginning to fall.
He said to a dear brother, ‘I am looking for pre-
ferment ;’ and the upward glance, the finger point-
ed towards heaven, the joyous smile that spoke
not of this world’s transitory, possessions, all indi-
cated his meaning. How and where he put off
this mortal coil, I know not: but this I know—
that he had so put on Christ in the days of health-
ful vigour, and so served Christ in his generation
here, as to leave no shadow of doubt or solicitude
as to his beatic realization of all that his soul long-
ed after, in the presence of God.

It isin my garden that I especially delight to
dwell on the memory of this endeared old man;
recalling many of his beautiful adaptations in trac-

144 THE LAURISTINUS.

ing the constant analogy between the visible works
of God and those which are imperceptible to out
ward sense. I have two precious letters of his,
from which I must extract a few passages, to illus
trate my meaning. The reader will easily surmise
that they referred to the trying event which intro-
duced me to his sympathizing regard.

‘IT cannot describe to you the great and universal
concern and grief with which the account of your
dear brother’s sudden and unexpected removal from
a world of trials and tribulations was received at
C It seemed as if “all faces were turned
into paleness,” and all tongues cried out, “ Alas!
my brother.” But there is a needs-be for every
thing of this kind that occurs: what our Lord is
pleased to do, we know not now, but we shall
know hereafter. There is one precious know-
ledge, however, and that is, that ‘ati things work
together for good to them that love God; to them
that are the called,” &c. This sweet drop of gos-
pel honey has often rendered palatable to me the
bitterest infusions that ever were mixed in my cup
of life. But why should [ talk of one drop alone
—is not our hive (our bible) full of honey? full of
consolations, full of promises, and privileges, and
prospects, and assurances, that render the suffer-
ings of this transitory life, in the eye of a Chris-
tian philosopher, of as little consequence as the
buzzing of the summer flies* You are tried, my

THE LAURISTINUS. 145

aister beloved, and I condole with you from the
very bottom of my heart; but do suffer a ‘ Paul
the aged,’ to remind you of what I know the Spirit
and word of God has already taught you, that it is
good for you to be afflicted; that it is through
trials and tribulations we enter (or make advances
into) the kingdom of heaven; and when you are
thrown into the furnace of affliction, Christ stands
by the fire; and that sanctified afflictions are
spiritual promotions. ‘The darker the cloud, my
dear co-heiress, the more vivid the lightning: and
the more we suffer in the flesh, the more (very
often) we rejoice in the Spirit. The rainbow al-
ways appears most bright in the most broken wea-
ther; and He, of whom it is an emblem, mani-
fests himself most clearly to the mourning, the
afflicted, the penitent, the broken heart. May the
oil and wine of the gospel be plentifully poured
into your bleeding wounds, by the Good Samaritan
whom we love and serve!’

On this last sentence a tear fell, from the com-
passionate old man; and no words can do justice
to the feelings with which I look upon the litle
blot, now that God himself has wiped away all
tears from those eyes, and given him to see how
acceptable in His sight was this cup of consola-
tion, bestowed on one of the least and most un-
worthy of those whom he vouchsafes to call His.

The following extract, from a subsequent letter,

13

146 THE LAURISTINUS.

very sweetly now applies to the writer, who is, as
I humbly and confidently trust, rejoicing with him
who was its original subject. ‘Yes, with him the
bitterness of death is past: the ministration of
mortality is broken, and the liberated, the disem-
bodied spirit is with God, who gave it. Of what
consequence is it, my loved, my respected sister
and friend, how or when the earthly house of the
tabernacle we now inhabit is torn down, or dissolv-
ed, when we know that we have a “building of
God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the
heavens,” to remove to and occupy? ‘There is a
precatory, or optative expression in the Romish
Missal (service for the dead) with respect to a per-
son removed from time into eternity, which is not
as comfortable as the scriptural declarations are on
that important subject, ‘requiescat in pace, —may
he rest in peace! This does not pour into the bleed-
ing, the grieving heart of a surviving friend, the
sweet, the refreshing, the sanative wine and oil
that is conveyed to a Christian’s afflicted soul, by
that heavenly voice heard by John, which pro-
nounced the dead to be blessed who died in the
Lord, “ from henceforth” —from the instant of their
dissolution—enjoying, not wishing, waiting for, or
expecting, that ‘‘rest that remaineth for the people
of God.” Knowing then, and being fully and
satisfactorily assured of this consolatory truth, that
the dead in Christ are blessed, that they are not

THE LAURISTINUS. 147

lost, but gone before; that our adored Redeemer,
in the capaciotis mansions of his Father’s house,
has prepared a place for all our dear departed
Christian friends, and zs preparing a place for our-
selves, ‘‘let not our hearts be” over anxiously, im-
moderately, unreasonably, or irreligiously, ‘ troub-
led.” Let us, im the present lamented instance,
say, and be thankful that we can say it, ‘ requiescit
in pace’-—he REsTs in peace. And as it was the
Lord who gave him for a time to his relatives and
friends, and it is the same Lord who has been
pleased to take him away, let us all say, “ Blessed
be the name of the Lord!”

There is an exquisite delicacy in the manner of
conveying these rich consolations to a bereaved
spirit. A tender caution not to grate upon the
sense, by seeming to make light of that affliction
which it professes to soothe, is the most important
requisite, where real sympathy would display it-
self. My revered friend may, in these extracts,
speak comfort even now to some wounded heart,
and furnish a valuable model to those whose privi-
lege it is to administer comfort to others. I have
identified the Lauristinus with this departed teach-
er; and I desire to profit by the recollection, when-
ever I glance upon that luxuriant shrub; the white
flowers of which bear a distant resemblance to
the fair blossoms of May. These usher in the
many-coloured attendants of blooming Spring; the

148 THE LAURISTINUS.

others smile upon the scene, when deserted even
by the last lingering relics of sober Autumn. The
Lauristinus loves to overtop a lofty wall, and to
look out beyond its native garden, upon scenes un-
adorned by such embellishments. It will cast its
spreading branches over the fence, as if eager to
beautify an uncultivated region, and to smile where
all was dull, and barren, and uninviting. High and
stubborn indeed is the barrier which separates the
watered garden of the Lord’s church from those
who are not only alienated by a false and idola-
trous religion, but rendered more inaccessible by
dissimilarity of language, which few, very few,
will trouble themselves to overleap. Herein the
Lauristinus beautifully typifies the venerable S——,
who surmounted the barrier, and spread abroad the
gospel invitation, where, otherwise, it could not
have come. His vigorous growth shewed how
rich was the soil that bore him; his healthful
abundance proved how careful the hand that train-
ed him: and while his aspect invited a farther ac-
quaintance with both, his example proved that no
obstacle, really insurmountable, existed to prevent
the external desert from becoming a garden—the
waste wilderness from blossoming as the rose.

In his own beloved, poor country, he was indeed
a prophet: I know not where his mantle has fallen
—what favoured lips shall exercise the precious
gift, so available to the souls of his Irish-speaking

THE LAURISTINUS. 149

neighbours: but, last spring, a young sucker from
the ancient Lauristinus was transplanted to another
part of my garden, to replace a stunted holly that
would neither grow nor die. I passed it to-day,
and most richly had it spread abroad, while burst-
ing buds tufted every sprig that shot from among
the dark glossy leaves in youthful luxuriance. It
was a cheering sight: my heart bade it go on to
grow and prosper, and beautify its new station ;
while I secretly traced out a parallel for it, on the
far western coast of my beloved isle, and confi-
dently trusted that, from the parent tree—now re-
moved to a brighter garden—would some be found
to have sprung who shall cause the desert to re-
joice, and make glad the solitary places with tidings
of everlasting salvation.

13*

CHAPTER XII.

THE HOLLY-BUSH.

How cheerless an aspect would our gardens wear,
in this dreary month of December, had not some
plants been indued with hardihood to retain their }
leaves, when the greater proportion was stripped
bare by chilling frosts and blighting winds. It is
a point of wisdom, plentifully to intersperse our
evergreens among the brighter, but more transitory
children of summer ; and now that the dead leaves
are finally swept off, and my garden looks once
more perfectly tidy, [ can appreciate the taste that,
in first laying it out—long before I had ever seen
it—allotted no small space to plants that would
defy the season’s severity. Of grass there is
abundance ; but that being easily buried under a
light fall of snow, I will not glory nm it. There is
a full proportion of classic laurel, the slender Alex-
andrine, the towering Portuguese, and our more
enmmon species, distinguished by the glossy polish
of its leaves. The fir, the cypress, and the yew,
present their varied, yet not dissimilar foliage: and,

THE HOLLY-BUSH. 151

in a conspicuous place stands the spreading rho-
dodendron, prepared to unfold its exquisite blossoms
to the first warm breath of spring. An arbutus of
large growth displays its mimic straw-berries, pen-
dant among the leaves, where lately shone those
elegant white clusters that so remarkably attract
the roving butterfly, and the diligent bee. This
tree I reckon among the gems of the garden.
Farther on, where my rose bushes have well nigh
perished from the antique wall, a profusion of ivy
flings its straggling shoots downwards from the
summit, as if solicitous to occupy the vacant space.
There too, the lauristinus flourishes, in full vigour
and beauty ; while the dwarf box, well trimmed,
edges my flower beds, and trained into shrubs, af-
fords a pleasant variety, where the china rose re-
tains its pale green leaf, with firm, upright buds,
ready to expand in succession throughout the year.
The variegated bay occupies a conspicuous post ;
and, last not least, the Holly-bush abounds, valu-
able as a fence, beautiful in the lustre of its highly
polished leaves, sprinkled with berries of vivid red ;
and endeared by the Sweetest, the purest, the most
sacred associations that can interest the mind, and
elevate the soul.

I wish, with all my heart, that the grandsires
and granddames of this generation would do some-
thing to stem that Sweeping tide of oblivious folly,
yclept the march of intellect—-the progress of refine-

152 THE HOLLY-BUSH.

ment. Is now intolerably vulgar, insupportably
childish, and popishly superstitious, to deck our
houses of Christmas-tide with the shining holly, the
absence of which was almost unknown among some
who may yet be proved to have excelled in true wis-
dom this our vaunted age of reason. I have fought
many battles with my pious friends, in defence of
my pertinacious adherence to this good old cus-
tom. Sorry should I be, to leave the holly uncrop-
ped, or the house unadorned with its bright honours,
on that most blessed anniversary. Roast beef and
plum-pudding, home-brewed ale, and Christmas
berries, have certainly, no necessary connection
with the spiritual aspirations required of us; and
which the renewed heart will delight in breathing
forth, while reminded, in the beautiful services of
our scriptural church, that on the occasion com-
memorated, a great multitude of the heavenly host
disdained not to take the lead in songs that were
made for poor sinners of the dust, “ Glory to God
in the highest, on earth peace, good-will towards
men.” But this I will maintain, that our non-ob-
servance of ancient usages is any thing but a proof
of growing spirituality of feeling; and I very much
question whether those who contemn the sprigs of
‘Christmas’ stuck over my mantle-piece in hon-
our of this precious festival, are wiser than the
disciples of old, who cut down branches of palm-
trees, and strewed them in the way.

THE HOLLY-BUSH. 163

Four years since, when the dumb boy was fast
sinking under the fatal disease that, in a few weeks,
was to terminate his mortal career, we went out,
on Christmas eve, by his desire, to bring him
some holly. One of our party, who to say truth,
was then still under the dominion of popery, car-
ried her zeal so far, that almost a forest was
brought into Jack’s sitting-room; and I was re-
monstrating, when he interrupted me with ‘ Good,
good!’ An expression of the most divine sweet-
ness overspread his countenance, while, raising his
meek eyes to me, he took a small sprig of the hol-
ly, pricking the back of his hand with its pointed
leaf, and shewed me the little scars left by it.
Then, selecting a long shoot, he made a sign to
twist it about his head, described the pain that it
would give him to do so: and with starting tears
said, ‘Jesus Christ.2. Who could fail to read in
‘ those eloquent looks and actions, his vivid recol-
lection of the crown of thorns? He then pointed
to the berries, thinly scattered on the holly bough ;
and told‘me God put them there to remind him of
the drops of blood that stained his Saviour’s brow,
when so crowned. I stood before the boy, filled
with conscious shame, for that I had never traced
the touching symbol: while the piteous expression
of his pale countenance bespoke that exquisite reali-
zation of the scene, to which J never could attain.
How cold and hard did I feel my own heart to be,

154 THE HOLLY-BUSH.

when I might even see the melting of that poor
boy’s, under the sense of what his Redeemer had
suffered for him. For him, indeed; such an un-
doubting appropriation of the work to his own
eternal gain, few are privileged to witness—fewer
to experience.

After this, he requested us to surround the room
on all sides with the holly, until he sat as in a
bower; and then endeavoured to instruct his sister
on the great difference between loving the symbol
and regarding it superstitiously. He adverted with
grief and indignation to the popish chapels, where
at this season, a more abundant measure of adora-
tion is offered at the idol shrines: and strongly
insisted that all honours should be paid to the living
God alone.

Attached as I always was to the old custom of
decorating our houses and churches with the holly-
bough, it may be believed that the scene just
sketched, left an impression not calculated to de-
crease my partiality for the usages of other days.
From that evening, the holly has been to me a
consecrated plant: and every sprig that I have
gathered, has furnished me with a text for long
and touching meditation, on the subject of our re-
demption,—on the character of Him whoachievedit.

When commencing these sketches, I promised
that they should embrace none but individuals who
were known to me,—how solemn is the question

THE HOLLY-BUSH. 155

that presents itself !—have J known Jesus Christ?
Him to know is life eternal. Well I know my
need of him: my total, and everlasting ruin with-
out him: I know his power and willingness to
save, even to the uttermost, the very chief of sin-
ners who come to God by him—but to say that I
know him as the dumb boy knew him, that I
can with so steady a hand lay hold on Christ, as
being made of God unto me, wisdom, and right-
eousness, and sanctification, and redemption—and
that, too, to the utmost bound of my necessities—
thus to believe, and believing to rejoice, with joy
unspeakable and full of glory—no, I dare not yet
say it. Often have I asked the boy, ‘ Does Jack
love Jesus Christ” The reply has always been,
with a bright and placid smile, ‘Yes, Jack very
much loves Jesus Christ—Jesus Christ loves poor
Jack” But if Task myself, Do I love lim? I
can but tremble, and say, ‘I desire so todo.’ Yet
I have the ‘full conviction that he has loved me,
and given himself for me; and if I could unleara
enough to become as wise as Jack, I might attain
to his blessed assurance.

Taking the holly as Jack viewed it,—as a type
of that which is salvation to all who believe---how
many interesting points of resemblance may be
traced! Passing through the highways, where
every foot is free to tread, we mark the shining
evergreen, with its bright berries, conspicuous by

156 THE HOLLY-BUSH.

the road-side, inviting us to make the prize our
own, to bear it away, that our hearts may be glad- ~
dened by its verdure, more rich and durable in
midwinter than is the foliage of summer roses.
Even so, salvation is found of them that seek it
not; freely, abundantly offered to all whose ear
the glad tidings reach; and when by the hand of
faith appropriated, who shall dispute the posses-
sion? Which of this world’s fleeting glories can
so gladden the heart, and beautify the home of its
proprietor, as does the unwithering leaf of him who
is rooted and grounded in the hope of the gospel ?

We cannot, indeed, divest the holly of its nu-
merous thorns; neither can we separate the Chris-
tian from his cross, or the promised heaven from
the ‘‘much tribulation” through which it is ap-
pointed us to-attain it; but a more touching char-
acter is imparted to those thorns, by adopting the
idea of the dumb boy: every blessing that we
reap from the grand work of redemption, is a me-
mento of the sufferimgs of Him, upon whom the
chastisement of our peace was laid.

And, in those uncultivated spots where the holly
grows wild and free, by what a scene is it gene-
rally surrounded, at this season! ‘The oak that
soars above, in the pride of vegetable empire, the
elm, and the hazle, the hawthorn and the wild
brier, look dark and chilling in their leafless guize:
no verdant neighbour sympathizes with the holly,

THE HOLLY-BUSH. 157

nor spreads its green mantle in cheerful compan-
ionship. No gaudy butterfly sports around it, nor
does the bee come forth to ply her busy trade
among its branches. The snow-drift alone lodges
there ; and every howling wind vents upon it a
passing murmur. Yet, calm and contented, the
beautiful plant uprears its head, well-pleased to
put honour upon a season that few of the gay ones
of the earth care to adorn. I should be sorry to
overlook this; for it tells me of Him who came
into this dark and stormy world, to suffer and to
do what nothing but Almighty love could have
supported or achieved; who looked for some to
take pity, but there was none; and for comforters,
but found no man :—who not only bore the scorn,
the rebuke, and the rejection of those in whose
likeness he vouchsafed to appear, but endured the
storms of divine wrath, the blasting of the breath
of that displeasure which had waxed hot against
the inhabitants of the earth, and to which he pre-
sented himself, an innocent and a willing mark.
Then the berries: what a tongue is their’s, while
they represent to my eye that which speaketh bet-
ter things than the blood of Abel. Wrung forth in
slow droppings from the agonized body, which
sweated blood through the pressure of mental an-
guish, before the scourge, the thorn, and the nail
had pierced the sinless feck of their victim,—how
precious was that coin which was given to ransom
14

158 THE HOLLY-BUSH.

a world of lost sinners! Who can hold back,
when invited to wash and be clean, in the purify-
ing fountain? And who shall dare to exclude him-
self, or his fellow, from this sphere of an unlimited
invitation ?

Perchance there may be some, who will trace,
in my fondness for this type, an approximation to
the popish doctrine of image-worship. We all
know that this abominable idolatry originated in
the specious contrivance of exhibiting pictures and
images in the churches, that, by visible objects,
the gazers might be stirred up to a more perfect
realization of what was taught from the pulpit. I
should be sorry to incur such suspicion; but, as
the introduction of holly-boughs into our temples,
or the placing of a few sprigs over our fire-places,
has never yet issued in any thing heterodox, as far
as I can discover, I must still plead for the dear
old custom; still wreathe the holly with the misle-
toe, in grateful acknowledgment of the mercy that
rescued my country from the darkness of heathen-
ism—from the sanguinary rites that once polluted
the shadow of her majestic oaks. That kingly
tree, himself denuded by the hand of winter, can
yield no foliage to honour our sacred festival ; but
sends the little misletoe, his foster-child, to do
homage in his stead. Alas, for England when she
shall discontinue the observances of her pious re-
formers, her martyrs, and apostles of a brighter

THE HOLLY-BUSH. 159

day! I grant that these are only shadows; yet,
when the sun shines brightly, what body is with-
out one? It may be our pride to cast away such
shades ; but when I can no longer trace them, I
am inclined to apprehend, either that the substance
has melted away, or that the sun-beam falls not so
clearly as it was wont to do.

Yet not alone to the sufferings of a crucified
Saviour do I hold the holly sacred. I know that
He who once came to visit us in great humility
shall yet come again in his glorious majesty, to
judge both the quick and dead. I know that he
wwill appear, in the splendours of immortality, in
the grandeur of his Almighty power, while the
‘wrecks of all that this world cherishes, of pomp,
and pride, and greatness, shall crumble beneath
his feet, and pass away like the last fragments of
November’s shrivelled leaves before the whirlwind.
‘Then every eye shall see him, and they also which
pierced him, and all the kindreds of the earth shall
wail because of him. No longer stained with the
crimson drops of his own life-stream, his vesture
shall then be dipped in the blood of his enemies.
He, who, with tears and groans, achieved, unas-
sisted, the work of our redemption, shall then
alone tread the great wine-press of the wrath of
God. Then his enemies shall feel his hand: for
he will tread them in his anger, and trample them
in his fury, and their blood shall be sprinkled upon

160 THE HOLLY-BUSH.

his garments. Lovely and precious indeed is the
accepted Saviour, to the souls who have made him
their refuge: terrible, beyond what heart can con-
ceive, will be the slighted, the rejected, Saviour,
to those who, going on frowardly in the way of
their own hearts, make light of his offered salva-
tion, and treasure up for themselves the most
dreadful of all inflictions—the wrath of the Lamb.

I am deeply convinced, that an apprehension of
being led into the unscriptural lengths to which
some have carried their speculations on unfulfilled
prophecy, drives many into the opposite extreme
of shrinking from the contemplation of that which
is clearly revealed. Our Lord has given us a
solemn, a reiterated injunction to watch for those
things that, in the fulness of time, shall come to
pass: he has made his warnings profitable to every
intermediate period of the church; but, inasmuch
as it is not his will to add another revelation to
what is already perfect, he has laid down marks
and signs whereby his people may safely judge
when the events predicted are about to take place.
Around us, in this our day, every sign is rapidly
accumulating,—and shall we close our eyes to the
awful fact ?—shall we refuse to watch, and to ex-
pect the fulfilment to which God himself vouch-
safes to direct our attention ?—shall we arraign his
wisdom, in preparing us for those things that are
beginning to come upon the earth? Long has

THE HOLLY-BUSH. 161

Satan triumphed over all that was created so beau-
tiful and good, crushing it into a scene of wintry
devastation, and sending across it many a storm,
originating in the perverted elements of depraved
humanity ; and surely it is a glorious hope that
spreads before us a speedy termination to this sa-
tanic reign—that gives promise of another and a
brighter spring; when the Sun of Righteousness
shall arise and shine, throughout the wide range
of our beautiful sphere, and the kingdoms of this
world shall become the kingdom of our God, and
of his Christ.
14°

CHAPTER XIII.

THE CHRISTMAS ROSE.

‘A HAPPY new year.—From how many thousands
of voices is that greeting heard! I love to receive
it even when friendships are so young, that it is
the first occasion offered of exchanging the kindly
salutation; but there is a feeling that does not
display itself; an under-current, deep and strong,
rolling over the graves of by-gone years, and
sounding in secret a knell that is not heard amid
the cheerful tones of the upper world. ‘True, by
the mercy of God, a happy new year may be mine;
truly happy, if his grace render it a year of spirit-
ual improvement, of perceptible progress towards
the consummation of all real bliss: but flesh is
very slow to receive such interpretation of a term
long applied to the pleasant things of time and
sense; and instead of being rejoiced at having
learned the truest meaning of an abused term,—of
being brought to understand the right appropriation
of the emphatic words, ‘Happy are ye,—how
prone are we to look back upon the worldly sub-

THE CHRISTMAS ROSE. 163

stance—or worldly shadows—that we have barter-
ed; while the pearl of great price, though perhaps
acknowledged to be our own, may lie before us
almost unheeded—certainly undervalued—as the
regretful sigh escapes.

This, at least, is my case: knowing and closing
with the announcement, that we must through
much tribulation enter the kingdom of heaven ;
and being well assured, that He who spake the
word, “In the world ye shall have tribulation,”
hath in him no variableness, neither shadow of
turning; how wonderful it is that every light afflic-
tion, sent to wean me from earth, should be re-
garded as a strange thing; and a sort of careful
account-book kept from year to year, of what has
been done against my will, though in answer to
my prayers: as I number successive bereave-
ments, and secretly ask, “was there ever any sor-
row like my sorrow, wherewith the Lord hath af-
flicted me?” I meet a funeral party, perhaps in
my daily walk, and compassionate thoughts may
follow the weeping mourners, as they hold their
sad, slow progress towards the grave: but the
emotion is very transient, and the scene soon fades
into forgetfulness; but when I betake myself to
the numbering of my past funerals, when I con-
template some dreary blank left in my bosom by
the removal of a cherished object, it will almost
seem that all other griefs are common and poor—

164 THE CHRISTMAS ROSE.

mine only deserving to be chronicled in those
fleshly tables of the heart, which God has prepared
for the reception of his own laws—the manifold
tokens of his unchangeable and everlasting love.

All this, or something resembling it, has doubt-
less been said or sung, on a topic, as old, nearly,
as the globe which we inhabit. Nevertheless, I
have repeated it, in order to account for my pecu-
liar taste in new-years’ salutations. I love the old
custom, and cannot dispense with it among friends;
but my special delight is to exchange greetings
with some little flower that may have outlived the
prefatory blasts of mid-winter, and lingered to
welcome another year. In seasons of severity,
when intense frost has cut down, or deep snow
overlaid the tender blossoms, I am driven to my
in-door collection; but far better do I love to
search the garden, the hedge-row, and the field ;
if perchance some native production may reward
my diligent scrutiny.

There is one, not uncommon at this season; the
Christmas rose. It is the saddest, in aspect, of
the numerous family that bear that distinguished
name: but the scene where I first remember to
have met with it was characterized by any thing
rather than sadness.

It was a new-year’s party of youthful guests,
many being accompanied by their elder connex-
ions, at the house of an opulent and most hospit-

THE CHRISTMAS ROSE, 165
i

able family, in my native place. The noble sir-
loin, with his attendant turkey, not then considered
intrusive even at three o’clock, having led the van
of a most substantial dinner, a body of much
lighter auxiliaries brought up the rear. As a finale,
after my plumb-pudding, I received a portion of
sweet jelly: and with it one of the Christmas
roses that, mingled with sprigs of myrtle and ge-
ranium, had graced the epergne. I was then
about nine years old, and have a distinct recollec
tion of sitting, with my eyes cast down on the
flower,—which I retained to the close of the feast,
—while innumerable thoughts arose, forming a
link hardly broken at this distant day, between my
then habits and enjoyments, and that world of
flowers of which a few fragments were scattered
before me.

I know that, when our glasses were replenished,
with orange wine, to drink a happy new-year all
round, the Christmas rose which I held in my
hand formed a portion of my new-year’s happi-
ness, by no means inconsiderable: and strange is
the vision that flits before my mind’s eye, when,
under similar circumstances, I now meet one of
that unpretending race. I can better bear to go
back so far, than to let my thoughts rest half-way
between that early period and the present. I can-
not wish myself a child again, even in my saddest
moments: for who that has trod so far on a thorny

166 THE CHRISTMAS ROSE.

path would desire to retrace the whole road! But
the new year’s salutations that ensued, when child-
hood had ripened into youth, and, yet more, those
which gladdened seasons of longer experience—
oh, itis hard to feel that they must never again
be mine !

The happiest part of the happiest new year, was
that, when I could reiterate the warmest wishes of
the season to one on whom I might look with the
sweet retrospections, combined with recent fears
and present security, so beautifully expressed in
those simple lines,

‘We twa ha’e rin about the braes,
And pu’d the gowans fine,

But we’ve wander’d mony a weary foot
Sin’ auld lang syne,

We twa ha’e paidlet 7 the burn
Frae mornin’s sun till dine,

But seas between us braid ha’e roare
Sin’ auld lang syne.’

No: this world can afford us nothing, fully to oc-
cupy the chasm that remains, after the removal of
an object endeared by first and fondest associations.
Some, I know, have not their warm affections fully
drawn out until, beyond the circle of their home,
they meet with one capable of attracting them:
and, no doubt, the feeling is then more intense, and
absorbing; but as deep it cannot be: because it
cannot carry its associations so far back, into early

THE CHRISTMAS ROSE. 167

years ; nor trace the happy tie entwined even amid
the scenes and sensations of childhood, to which
no human being can avoid sometimes recurring
with fond recollection. But, whatever may have
been the duration of such endearing attachments,
that chasm of which I speak can never be filled
up. It is as when a mould is delicately taken from
a peculiar countenance ; with which no other fea-
tures will be found exactly to correspond. The
many millions of earth’s inhabitants may be num-
bered over in vain, to discover a face upon which
that mould shall fit: resemblances there are, and
strong ones; but a counterpart the world cannot
furnish—the mould will remain, an unappropriated
memento of what we can no more recall. It may
multiply by thousands the lifeless images of what
once was; but the reality is gone forever.

What then remains? Something which is not
in the world’s gift. We havé a better and more
enduring substance, capable of so filling every
vacancy, that we should have nothing to repine at,
if we would avail ourselves of it. ‘A shadow that
departeth,” is legibly written on every created
thing around us: this we know; and is it not
strange that, having seen the most precious of
these shadowy possessions elude our eager hold,
and vanish away, we should rather love to look
about for something equally insecure, whereon to
lavish our disappointed affections, than turn at once

168 THE CHRISTMAS ROSE.

to that which, whether in time or in eternity, fadeth
not away? It is the weightiest part of the curse
that so presses our souls into the dust, inclining us
to lade ourselves with thick clay, in the face of
the acknowledged fact, that it must crumble and
fall off. I task myself continually with the diffi-
cult work of applying this lesson, so easily learnt
in word ; so hard to reduce to practice: but while
I treasure up with jealous care the fragments of
every broken tie, and would not relinquish one of
them, nor forget how the bursting of it rent my in-
most heart, I am ever ready to the unwise occupa-
tion of forming new ones, to be in like manner
served, and to plant an additional pang. It is
partly a consciousness of this that sends me to the
flowers of my new year’s greeting: they are not
individualized, like the loved ones of my own race.
I can take a Christmas rose, and, in every point,
identify it with the first that attracted my childish
notice. It seems to be an actual relic of the scene
so gay in lengthened distance ; it has, I know not
how, outlived the bloom of all, the mortal existence
of many, whose laughing countenances shone round
me that day. By being the representative of a
whole assemblage, some of whom are now on
their way rejoicing, together with me, that they
have been led to seek a city which hath foundations,
the sigh of regret is softened as I gaze on the
flower, and I feel an acquiescence in the common

THE CHRISTMAS ROSE. 169

lot of my species ; a thankfulness for mercies past ;
a cheerful trust in the word of those good promises
yet to be fulfilled, and a readiness to go forward,
after marking the Eben-ezers that I have been
constrained to set up at the close of every fleeting
year.

‘But this is not a chapter on flowers—it is a
chapter on new years, very barren of incident, and
too vague to be classed with your floral biogra-
phy. Have patience, dear reader; I will not
leave you without singling one from the many
cheerful assemblages that the Christmas rose has
graced, from time to time, before or since it at-
tracted my especial notice.

Even prior to the period alluded to, while I was
yet but a very little girl, I had often been the fa-
vourite playfellow of one who had a nearer claim
than the tie of mere acquaintanceship. His story
is touching; and T will give it briefly. He was
born in a distant country, and came among us to
be educated: many years older than myself, I can
but remember him as a tall youth, when I was a
child: but many little recollections combine to
make his image familiar to my mind’s eye. Hav-
ing completed his studies in Eingland, he left our
shores, highly accomplished, and returned to the
bosom of a family whose pride he was. Not long
after, he was unhappily led, by the influence of

some who knew how to work on his chivalric char-
15

f

170 THE CHRISTMAS ROSE.

acter, to accept a distinguished rank in a wild ro-
mantic expedition, planned by some enthusiastic

military men, to effect a landing, and to excite a
“revolution, in the South American territories of

Spain.

The result was disastrous: the landing took
place ; but in an action with the colonists, a great
number of the invading party were killed, some
saved themselves by precipitate flight, and the re-
mainder were made captive. Among the latter,
was my old playmate and kinsman ; and the intel-
ligence soon reached his distracted parents, that
their beloved son was condemned to labour for life,
in the mines of Peru!

His father, who possessed high claims on the
confidence and consideration of the British govern-
ment, hastened to make known his afflictive case ;
and letters were given to him from various mem-
bers of the Royal Family, and from distinguished
official men, to the court of Spain. ‘Thither sped
the anxious father; and by persevering importu-
nity, obtained, though with great difficulty, the pre-
cious boon—an order for his son’s immediate re-
lease—with this he again crossed the Atlantic, and
had the unspeakable delight of delivering the poor
captive, and conducting him once more to the arms
of a rejoicing mother, a fond circle of brothers and
sisters, to whom he appeared as one alive from the
dead. Very sweet is my recollection of the jubilee

THE CHRISTMAS ROSE. 171

among us, when those glad tidings reached his En-
glish friends: and our joy was increased, when in-
formed that he considered his happiness incom-
plete, until he should have received in person the
congratulations of those by whom he had been so
long regarded as a son and a brother.

With this object in view, he repaired to one of
the West Indian Isles; from whence a vessel was
about to sail for our shores. She was very unfit,
in the judgment of many, for a long voyage; but
our young friend’s ardent character prevailed over
prudential considerations—he would not brook de-
lay. He sailed—and we received tidings of the
day and hour when he left the port: but other
tidings never, never came, of the vessel or her
freight.

Often have we sat round the fire-side of the
venerable and venerated individual, who, with
maternal fondness looked upon three generations
of her numerous progeny: and while the tale of
her darling grandson was again and again recount-
ed, we have talked of pirates, and of shipwrecks
on desolate places, whence after a long lapse of
years the objects who were mourned as dead,
have returned to overwhelm their sorrowing friends
with unlooked-for joy. We have talked, until a
knock at the hall-door, or the sound of a man’s
voice from without, has sent the thrill of undefined
expectation through many a bosom; to be suc-

172 THE CHRISTMAS ROSE.

ceeded by the starting tear, and half-uttered whis

per of, ‘His poor Mother! what must she feel”
It is true that the outline alone of this sad story is
impressed on my mind ; but it is strongly engraven
there: and from it I have drawn lessons of thank-
fulness under all my most trying afflictions. In
every case, I had at least a melancholy certainty :
I have not been left to endure the long torture of
mocking hope—of that wild, obstinate clinging to
bare and meagre possibility that the sorrows of
my soul might be suddenly turned into unspeaka-
ble, worldly, joy. We do not half consider the
measure of mercy that is given to sooth our bitter-
est grief. We do not, as we might, take a survey
of what others have had to encounter, when worm-
wood has been added to their gall. There are
some who would barter all the comforts left in
their lot, for that which may be our deepest grief
—the sight of a quiet grave, where the heart’s
most cherished treasure peacefully moulders be-
neath. ‘They could be resigned, if they assuredly
knew that all was indeed over: but that cruel
phantom of hope for ever flits before their eyes ;
and the spirit cannot rest—cannot turn away from
the pictures that imagination is constantly pour-
traying, of what may be reserved of future dis-
covery, and reunion here. In ordinary cases, the
vacated seat is again occupied: and the heart
can struggle into acquiescence that so it should be:

THE CHRISTMAS ROSE. 173

but alas for those, to whose sight a vacancy ever
appears, which they cannot but feel may yet again
be filled by the loved object to whom it was ap-
propriated! There is balm, indeed, for the Chris-
tian thus circumstanced: his faith is put into a
more trying furnace: and a higher exercise of it
demanded: but as his day, so shall his strength
be. God doth not willingly afflict; this cross, and
none other, was prepared for the individual, with a
purpose of mercy for which he shall here glorify
God in the fires of tribulation, and hereafter in the
felicity of his eternal kingdom. Living or dead,
the eye of the Father is upon all: and the sorrow-
ful, the conditional prayer, with its heart-breaking
clauses, ‘if yet he liveth,’ may be receiving an
answer little understood by the tearful supplicant ;
or, should the subject of it have indeed passed be-
yond this mortal scene, and thus be moved out of
the reach of our intercession, such prayer may
return to the bosom that breathes it, with a bles-
sing beyond his hopes.

Over his providential dealings, the Lord some-
times draws a thick veil; and upon its surface we
discern only these words. “Trust in Him at all
times.” May He enable the afflicted soul to res-
pond, “Though He slay me, yet will I trust in
Him.”

15*

CHAPTER XIV.

THE PURPLE CROCUS.

To those who admit —and who can deny it ?—that
flowers are a special and most unmerited gift to
brighten the path which man’s transgressions have
darkened with sadness, and strewn with thorns, it
is a touching circumstance that, be the seasons
what they may, there is no month in the twelve
without its attendant blossoms. If the human eye
possessed a micoscropic power, what a spectacle
of beauty would burst upon it, and that too in
wintry time, among the family of mosses alone!
But such not being the extent of the visual organ
entrusted to us, we are not left to go groping about
with glasses. Enough is given to common ken to
prompt a song of praise, ‘‘ Wonderful are thy
works, Lord God Almighty !”

It is a peculiar feature in this part of those won-
derful works, that, although we lack not tall shrubs,
even trees, that win the upturned eye to explore
the abundance of their beautiful tints, still the far

THE PURPLE CRCCUS. 175

greater portion of our most valued flowers draw
the gaze downwards, by their lowly stature; while
their own faces, raised to heaven, set us the exam-
ple of looking thitherward. It is remarkable that
the blossoms of lofty plants are most frequently
pendulous ; those of the dwarf family the reverse.
The golden clusters of the beautiful laburnum, and
the shining silver of the yet lovelier acacia—how
gracefully they bend and fall, as though ashamed
of being placed so high; while the innocent daisy,
made to be trampled on, and her neighbour, the
spruce little butter-cup, lift up their broad bright
eye, in unreserved freedom. ‘Thus the great one
of the earth, when touched by divine grace, rejoices
to be brought down, and the brother of low degree
can also rejoice in that he is exalted into a great-
ness that the world knows not of.

This is adreary season; bleak winds are abroad
and the frequent snow-drift oppresses every bough.
The holly’s bright berry peeps out here and there ;
but for flowers I may search in vain among the
branches. I must look lower, and there they are
—the regiments of soldiers, as my childish fancy
termed them, that fail not to start up, keeping their
appointed ranks in resolute defiance of all the ar-
tillery of winter. Far less elegant than the snow-
drop, the CROCUS yet possesses a sprightly grace
peculiar to itself. The former seems to endure
adversity ; the latter to laugh atit. I allude to the

176 THE PURPLE CROCUS.

bright yellow species, shedding a mimic sunshine
upon beds of snow: there are others of the family
more sober in aspect; looking tranquilly content
in the spot where they have been placed; and, un-
der all attendant circumstances, placidly cheerful.
They seem to say, ‘It is but for a little while ;

The storm of wintry time shall quickly pass,

and we will not murmur that we at present feel
their severity.’

The yellow crocus was my favourite in very
early years; but a small portion of experience
sufficed to transfer my preference to its purple
brother: and to it is attached a particular train of
thought, now connecting in my mind its lowly sta-
tion, and its quiet hue, with the memory of a
humble, yet most vigorous and happy Christian,
who, just as the earliest crocus was peeping forth
in my garden, received his summons to depart and
be with Christ.

He was an aged man; the inmate of an alms-
house ; situated, happily for him, on the confines
of a church-yard. When first I knew him, he
was drawing spiritual nourishment from the minis-
trations of a pastor whom he most dearly loved;
and who seemed to have been commissioned to
hold a temporary charge in that parish, for the
purpose, among many others, of more brightly
trimming the lamp of old B, At our frequent

THE PURPLE CROCUS. 177

meetings in the spacious school-room, just by his
cottage, how rejoicingly did the venerable believer
listen to his pastor’s exhortation—how devoutly did
he fall down before the Lord, in fervent prayer—
and what a privilege was it reckoned, among the
Christians near his usual seat, to assist his tremb-
ling hands in turning over the leaves of the hymn-
book: or to hold a candle near the page, assisting
his dim sight, while his low, but distinct accents
swelled the song of praise! Often had I the
delight of thus assisting him: and never shall I
lose the remembrance of his bending figure and
striking countenance. There was a singular in-
tellectual character about the latter: his broad,
full, lofty brow, and the fine expansion of his bald
head, added to a really pleasing cast of features,
never failed to arrest an observant eye; and I have
rarely noticed a manner so marked by perfect pro-
priety, among those of his humble rank, who have
been hailed as brethren beloved by men very much
their superiors in worldly station. Old B. never
aspired to rise above the level of a poor man in an
almshouse; nor did he ever sink below that of
the conscious heir to an everlasting and glorious
kingdom.

After observing him at the prayer-mectings and
the church, and ascertaining that my very favorable
impressions were rather below than above what
lis character would justify, I one day met him in

178 THE PURPLE CROCUS.

a little rural lane, carrying in his blue handkerchief
some portion that had been given him from the
larder of a rich person; and kindly saluting him
by name, I asked, ‘ Are you travelling the safe and
pleasant road, with the Lord Jesus Christ for
company ? He looked at me, the tremor of his
frame increasing greatly from emotion, and quietly
answered, ‘I hopel am, lady, I hope I am: and
so are you; and then, after a short pause, he
rather abruptly resumed, ‘I have been thinking
that we don’t pray enough; we should pray for all
—especially for the Lord’s people. We _ should
pray particularly for those God loves—don’t you
think so? I readily assented, and he continued ;
‘And for the wicked: there would not be so much
wickedness in the world, if we prayed as we
ought. God hears prayer: he hears my prayers
—and if [ do not pray, I sin against him. But
particularly for the Lord’s people—for praying
people, —and with a respectful bow he went on,
evidently pursuing the same train of thought,
which had not been interrupted by my unexpected
address.

After this, we never met without a cordial greet
ing; and on one occasion I saw him, when return-
ing from a scene to me most precious. A poor
Romanist who had, under the power of the gospel,
declared in his own native Irish, renounced all his
fearful errors, and become a simple believer in

THE PURPLE CROCUS. 179

Christ, was soon afterwards called away to ‘see

whom unseen he adored.’ It was quite a relief to
my full heart to descry old B. feebly advancing
along my road: I flew to him, and told him the
glad tidings, that the poor man had died most hap-
py in his Saviour. He lifted his hands and eyes,
in solemn fervour, ejaculating, ‘ How gracious He
is! a soul is precious :’ and went on his way re-
joicing, in broken phrases, with a joy so calm and
beautiful that it redoubled the gladness of my
heart.

But a trial was in store for old B. which had
this alleviation, that every Christian in the place
largely participated in his sorrow. The Pastor so
dear to him and to us was about to leave a sphere
of labour where God had most signally blessed his
work : and I never, during the sad weeks that in-
tervened between the announcement of this event
and its occurrence, met old B. that he did not lay
hold on my wrist to support him, under excessive
tremor, and weep, while he uttered his lamenta-
tions. The flock over whom our pastor had pre-
sided, presented him with an elegant and costly
token of their grateful affections: it was altogether
spontaneous; and meant to be confined to the
more affluent: but there was no resisting the tears
of the poor, as they proffered their shillings or six-
pences; and old B. was among the first to lay
down his offering. It was beautiful to witness the

180 THE PURPLE CROCUS.

strength of his attachment; esteeming very highly
in love for his work’s sake the ambassador of
Christ, who had delivered many a sweetly encour-
ageing message to his soul: yet it was the Lord’s
will to permit the afflictive loss, and he strove after
submission. But never, from that period, did he
meet me without grasping my arm, and sorrowfully
adverting to our bereavement.

But the summons came at last; and after a few
days of suffering, I was told that his end drew
nigh. Wishing once more to receive his patriar-
chal blessing, I repaired to his alms-house, accom-
panied by the same valued pastor,—who had never
relinquished the intercourse of Christian brother-
hood with this endeared member of his former
flock—and also by one whose hoary head being
found in the way of righteousness, wore a far
brighter crown of glory than the coronet that told
of his rank among the nobles of the land. Oh,
how beautiful it was to see the peer and the pau-
per, both of very advanced age, looking together
into an eternity that was to irradiate both with
light and joy! One, sweetly sinking into the
grave, like a shock of corn fully mpe for the gar
ner, and the other, with a heavier weight of years,
and an added weight of worldly wealth and honours
to oppress him, alert, hale, vigorous, and running
with patience and joy the race set before him! As
the snowy locks of one drooped over the humble form

THE PURPLE CROCUS. 181

of his expiring brother, what could I compare him
to, but the towering acacia, bending its flowering
branches, more graceful in humility from their natu-
ral elevation; and while the lowly man, from his poor
but clean pillow looked up to the countenance of his
beloved pastor, catching every sound that issued from
his lips, as a gracious message from the Lord his
God—then turned his dim eyes to acknowledge the
gentle words of encouragement added by the un-
known, but noble and venerable stranger, who
cheered him with the breathings of his own spirit
in the same delightful theme—what was old B.
but the antitype of my purple crocus, looking forth
from its unadorned resting-place through the
cloudy dispensations of a winter’s day, to catch the
sunbeam from afar, and to prove to every beholder
that, in spite of adverse seasons, or any combina-
tion of untoward circumstances, God’s tender mer-
cies are over all his works. ’

I received the old man’s blessing, and left his
_ peaceful abode, to ramble wide and long amid the
chastened beauties of a shining winter’s day. My
thoughts were very sad: [ knew that, notwith-
standing the frequent benefactions of those around
him, old B. had suffered much from poverty. His
little room contained a box well stored with money,
collected by him for the missionary work ; but his
own possessions were scanty indeed. He was not
without claims of kindred, which, with his tender

16

182 THE PURPLE CROCUS.

and loving spirit, induced a course of strict self-
denial, that he might minister to the temporal
wants of others. Many a little gift, both of money
and clothing, only came into his possession to be
immediately transferred to those who occupied his
anxious thoughts. living in an alms-house, he
was rich in alms-deeds. Himself supported by
charity, his charitable works to others had no
bounds but those of his limited means. I knew
that he often shivered in the wintry blast, after
having assisted to clothe those who could not help
themselves: and I felt a pang, that was only to be
soothed by stedfastly looking to the inheritance
upon which I knew he was soon to enter: had I
known that he would be with his Lord in so few
hours as actually did intervene, I should have ex-
perienced more unmingled joy.

I could not but feel greatly depressed, in com-
paring my own opportunities, and the use made of
them, with those of the aged pauper. I longed
for a portion of his self-denying zeal, in every
good work: and I realized, in a peculiar manner,
the sanctifying power of the Hcly Ghost, as mani-
fested in the poor of this world, rich in faith, and
heirs of the kingdom. In them, it shines out with
a lustre not to be mistaken-—they are epistles of
Christ, known and read of all men. ‘‘ Blessed are
ye, poor,” was continually in my mind; and happy
it is, thought I, as I looked on my two compan

THE PURPLE CROCUS. 183

ions, happy it is that the blessedness embraces the
poor in spirit also—that, though not many, yet
some rich, some wise, some noble are calied, and
made partakers of the like precious faith. Exter-
nal things never appeared to me so valueless, nor
eternal things more important. Who would not
inhabit the pauper’s dwelling, subsist by labour, or
on charity, through life, and owe at last a coffin
and a grave to the hand of casual bounty, so that
he might but ‘read his title clear to mansions in
the skies... Who would be trusted with wealth, or
be surrounded by pleasurable allurements, calcula-
ted to steal away his heartfrom God? Oh, it isa
mighty power put forth by Omnipotence itself, that
raises the base, and brings down the lofty to the
same safe level! The work is marvellous, worthy
to be had in daily and hourly remembrance, that
takes away the stony heart out of our flesh, and
gives us a heart of flesh. Behold a mixed multi-
tude, in any given place, not set apart for uses de-
cidedly sinful, or exclusively spiritual, but where
the denizens of the district are thrown together, and
consider the awful line of demarcation which sep-
arates them into two companies,—however in man’s
sight they are blended in one—distinct as heaven and
hell. A full acquaintance with the private history and
experience of each, would show that the operations
ofsovereign grace are totally irrespective of every na-
tural or incidental distinction. It would prove, beyond

184 THE PURPLE CORCUS.

controversy, that those who are lost perish by their
own wilful act; while such as are saved escape
the same fearful doom by an act of unsought mer-
cy—free and as unsearchable as that which brings
the crocus from the frozen ground, and bids it
bloom, in vigorous life, amid the dark, cold world
of leafless trees, and the torpor of suspended vege-
tation.

CHAPTER XV.

THE HYACINTH.

Has any person ever seen a vulgar-looking flower ?
It is customary, I know, to call weeds vulgar; but
that is an idle distinction, not admissible by any
florist, to say nothing of botanists; because some
of the most exquisitely elegant of the race are
trodden under our feet on the heaths, and plucked
by children from the way-side hedge-row. Is the
daisy vulgar! no, that “ wee, modest, crimson-tip-
ped flower” has been sung into importance. Is
the poppy? Why, if the common single species,
that waves its loose petals among our corn, were
introduced as a rare exotic, crowds would press to
examine and to eulogize the depth of its splendid
lint, with the singular mixture of jet black, so rare
among the flowers. The dandelion, scornfully ex-
pelled from our gardens, is a minature sun, with
its radiating petals of bright gold: and _ thus
through every family of every tribe may be traced
the workings of a skill that cannot be ungraceful.
However, I wiilingly admit that some flowers
16*

186 THE HYACINTH.

are pre-eminent in elegance of structure, casting
many others into comparative shade ; and if I pre-
‘er, on a very uncongenial day in Febuary, to re-
main within doors, and solace myself with the
small garden that my stand exhibits, and what I
have forced into bloom before they could have
reared their heads above the surface of the frozen
ground, I have a proof before me, that, among the
native productions of our soil (and I deal with no
other in these pages,) there are some that, for
beauty of form and colouring, and richness of per-
fume, may vie with the proudest offspring of war-
mer latitudes. Behold the glass that adorns my
mantle-piece, and tell me where to look for a love-
lier flowret than the tall, rich, double hyacinth that
shoots from it in a living plume? I have watched
its progress, from the first putting forth of those
delicate suckers, whereby the watery nutriment is
drawn up to the roots, until every white petal had
unfolded, streaked with a warmer tint of rose-col-
our; and the whole flower stood arrayed in the
majestic grace which now clothes it.

‘There are few positions more favourable to a
prolonged reverie than that which I rarely indulge
in—a seat just opposite the fire, when a cloudy day
is about to close, and prudence recommends a short
season of perfect idleness, after an early dinner, to
avoid the head-ache, that might, by too sudden a
return to study, be induced: verifying the home. .

THE HYACINTH. 187

saying, ‘more haste than good speed.’ My morn-
ing’s reading, too, has been of a character that re-
quires digestion: that paragon of memorialists,
John Foxe, has spread its mighty folio to my gaze ;
and in the fire that burns before me, I can fancy
the forms of heroic sufferers, chained to the stake,
and mouldering away amid devouring flames. I
loved John Foxe dearly, before I could well sup-
port one of his ponderous volumes: and many a
time my little heart has throbbed almost to burst-
ing, when, having deposited the book in a chair,
and opened its venerable leaves, I leant upon the
page, to pore over the narrative of some godly
martyr. Especially did I love to read of Latimer
and Ridley—those twins, born into the kingdom of
glory together. At the age of seven years I made
acquaintance with the beloved martyrologist ; and
great cause have I to be thankful for the impres-
sions then left upon my infant mind. Facts are
stubborn things; and I have found the record of
those facts a valuable safeguard against attempts
that were made to undermine my protestantism,
before I was sufficiently grounded in the faith of
the gospel to oppose them with the invincible
shield.

‘But why dwell on such themes now? The
days of martyrdom have long since passed away.
In England, at least, we know nothing of the

kind.’

188 THE HYACINTH.

True, so far as regards the open violence that
could take away a man’s life, under the sanctions
of civil and ecclesiastical law: but do you believe
that the spirit of popery is, in our day, one whit
changed from what it was, when Smithfield kin-
dled her faggots, to send the souls of God’s people
in fiery chariots to heaven? No! it is the deep
device of the papacy to wrap its thunders in a
cloud that none can penetrate—watching for a
season that, by the infinite mercy of God, is yet
retarded, when they may again be hurled, with
blighting fury, upon the land that shall lie expos-
ed to their bolts.

I have been marvelling at the rapid change
wrought since I placed that root in the glass; a
shapeless, unpromising thing, now arrayed in re-
splendent loveliness, rewarding a thousand-fold
the care bestowed upon its culture. I can find a
parallel most touchingly true; and I will narrate
the story, with the strictest adherence to simple,
unadorned fact: not disguising time, or place.
May the tale sink deep into the hearts of my rea-
ders !

It is pretty generally known that, in the year
1830, through the blessing of God on the efforts
of a few Christian friends, a chapel was opened at
Seven Dials, in London, where the Liturgy of our
Church is used, and the pure gospel is preached
in the Irish language. Such an assault upon the

»

THE HYACINTH. 189

enemy, in the very heart o1 one of his strongest
holds, could not but lead to great excitement ; per-
secution, carried to the utmost extent short of mur-
der, was the certain lot of those poor victims of
popery who dared to inquire what they should do
to be saved, and join the congregation of the zeal-
ous servant of God, who had left some comfortable
preferment in his native land, to assume the office
of a missionary among his wretched countrymen
here. Many were, however, found to encounter
the worst that man could do, rather than forego the
word, the sweetness of which they had once been
brought to taste: and to this hour, a little flock is
regularly assembling, who, having cast away the
trammels of popish delusion, are able, even in the
extremity of wretchedness and want, to rejoice in
Christ as their only and all-sufficient Saviour.

It was in the spring of 1831, that a Scripture-
' yeader, attached to the Irish church and school,
was visited one evening by a young countryman,
who requested his assistance in penning a memo-
rial or petition, by which he hoped to obtain some
employment. It appeared that he was a most ex-
travagant and dissipated character, who had, through
his own vicious conduct, forfeited every advantage
that he acquired. Still, being ‘a@ good Catholic,’
all was right with him; and the sins for which,
with sixpence, he could any day purchase absolu-
tion, never gave him a moment’s concern.

190 THE HYACINTH.

The Reader willingly wrote out his petition, for
Doghery was a better scholar in his native Irish
than in the English tongue ; and while he was so
employed, the young man took up the book which
the other had been reading—a book that I had given
him, containing some controversial tracts on the
leading errors of Popery.

When the letter was completed. Doghery ex-
claimed, ‘This book must be false, for it contra-
dicts my church? here is the presence of Christ
in the sacrament of the mass denied. Why do
you read such books ?

‘Because,’ answered the other, ‘ they shew me
the errors of the church to which I also once be-
longed.’

A very animated discussion ensued, which lasted
till after midnight; while Doghery contended for
the orthodoxy of his church, with equal spirit and:
ingenuity. ‘The next day he returned with an an-
xious countenance: and on the Reader inquiring
the fate of his petition, he replied, he did not come
about that; but to renew their discourse concern-
ing the book. ‘ For,’ said he, ‘ you deny the power
of my church to forgive sins; and if that be the
case I am ina bad way.’ Again was the point
_ brought to the test of Scripture; and Doghery
went away, deeply impressed, to return on the fol-
lowing day, more troubled than before, while he
frankly acknowledged that he could no longer place

THE HYACINTH. 191

any confidence in that which had always appeared
to him an infallible guide to heaven.

‘What am I todo” was his anxious inquiry.
The Reader told him, that if he would accompany
him to the Irish Church, where service was _per-
formed on the Wednesday evening, he might hear
something in his own tongue that should give him
more light.

Unacquainted with the circumstances, the pastor
addressed his little flock on the parable of the pro-
digal son, expounding it as he proceeded. On ar-
riving at the passage—“ Put a ring on his finger,
and shoes on his feet,” he explained the latter by
a reference to Eph. vi. “having your feet shod
with the preparation of the gospel of peace,” and
dwelt on the difficulties that the Christian must
surmount, or pass over, which required, at every
step, such defence as Christ alone can furnish to
the feet of his saints. At this period of the dis-
course, Doghery trembled exceedingly, and looked
down at his feet. The Reader asked the reason of
his emotion: ‘ Look,’ he replied, ‘at my broken
shoes—I could never travel a stony road in them :
my soul is ina worse condition than my shoes:
how then can I travel that difficult path to heaven ?
And see, my shoes are so far gone, that nobody
can ever make them good for any thing now: my
soul is worse—Oh, who shall mend that!” The
Reader was so struck by this singular application

192 THE HYACINTH.

of the subject to his own case, that he took him to
the vestry, and introduced him to the zealous
preacher, who spoke very impressively to him, and
gave him a bible.

On that very evening, the minister of the Irish
church repeated this to me: and Doghery became
the subject of our especial prayers.

From the time of receiving the bible, he studied
it daily—hourly. A change most striking came
over his whole aspect and character. His memo-
rable petition had succeeded, so that he got a place
as porter in an apothecary’s establishment: and he
who never before could remain sober for two or
three days, and was sure to loose every situation
within a week, was now so temperate, so faithful,
so diligent, so steady, that he won the perfect con-
fidence of his employers. Still, being an out-door
servant, and having a little motherless girl to sup-
port, at nurse, he was unable to afford himself the
means to remove from his wretched lodging to one
less miserable. He occupied a corner in a dense-
ly inhabited court, near Covent Garden, surround-
ed by the most bigotted of his unhappy country-
men, who made Doghery and his heretic bible the
objects of their fiercest animosity. However, the
Lord helped him to make a good confession, in
meekness and love, even here: and after a propex
season of probation, Doghery was admitted a com
municant at the Lord’s tabie in the beloved Irish

THE HYACINTH. 193

church. There, the cup of blessing, which his
crafty priests withheld from him, was put into his
hand; and with what effect may be gathered from
an incident that his dear pastor repeated to me.
He went to visit a poor sick Irishman, in one of
the dens of St. Giles’, and found Doghery seated
by his bedside, reading the word of God to him.
Mr. B. said ‘I rejoice to find you sensible of the
preciousness of that sacred book.’ Doghery re-
plied, ‘I hope I am, sir; I feel much when I read
the scriptures here; I feel much when you preach
to me in the church; but when you gave me the
bread of life, in the holy sacrament, I feel, oh,
then I did feel, indeed ’—‘ How did you feel, my
poor fellow ?” He looked up, with eyes that sparkled
brightly, and answered, with great energy, ‘Sir, I
felt that it was the marriage ceremony, which uni-
ted my soul to my Saviour for ever.’

On the Saturday following this, he went to his
old friend the reader, and said, ‘I have many trials
at home: they never allow me to sleep, for curs-
ing me and blaspheming. ‘They insist on my giv-
ing up my bible, or else they will have my blood.
My blood they may have,’ he added, with earnest-
ness, ‘but this book none shall take from me. It
is more precious than my life.” He then related
how he was accustomed to answer their menaces
and revilings, by reading or repeating to them the
blessed truths by which he was made wise unt:

17

194 THE HYACINTH.

salvation. He told the reader, that he must go on
the morrow to see his child, at Finchley common ;
and, therefore, could not attend church till the eve-
ning, and he continued searching the scriptures
with him until a very late hour, expressing the joy
and peace he felt in believing.

At seven o’clock next morning he was obliged to
go out with medicines, to his master’s patients ;
between nine and ten, he went to eat his breakfast
in his comfortless home. Here he was most
fiercely assailed, on the two points that they con-
stantly insisted on—to give up his bible, and to go
tomass. Doghery refused: they attacked him, and
struck him, but he only entreated their forbearance :
he raised not his hand, except to ward off some of
their blows—in ten minutes he was pitched out
into the street, a mangled corpse—his head and
side both laid openby blows from a plasterer’s
shovel; one arm and several ribs- broken: and all
the upper part of his body black with bruises.
The poor Irishman had sealed with his blood the
testimony of that truth which he held: he had
joined the noble army of martyrs, and entered into
the joy of his Lord.

Many a tear have I shed over the leaves of
Doghery’s little bible, as I marked the print of his
soiled fingers in those pages which he loved to
ponder upon. ‘The Gospel and Epistles of St.
John, and that of St. Paul to the Hebrews, bore

THE HYACINTH. 195

evident traces of frequent and protracted study :
there he had found encouragement to pursue his
new and blessed path, until, through the blood of
Christ, he had grace given him to shed his own.
He was faithful unto death: andthe Lord delayed
not to give hima crown of life.

%

It may be said, this was the act of a savage
mob, and ought not to be charged upon the reli-
gion that they so ignorantly profess: but, a very
short time afterwards, a clergyman connected with
the friends who supported the Irish chapel, was
met by the regular, the educated, the recognized
Roman Catholic parish priest, of a populous dis-
trict, in another part of London, who, adverting to
the murder, coolly said, there would be more of
them, if the Irish preaching and scripture reading
was not discontinued: while placards were fixed
opposite the chapel, menacing those who attended
it with Doghery’s fate.

What shall we say to these things? shall we
permit our souls to be blinded, and our hearts har-
dened, against the dreadful evils of this unholy
system? It is the device of popery to keep her
votaries in perfect subjection, by the same arts that
she uses to lull their souls in the most profound
repose of secure iniquity. By means of her
priestly absolution, she affects to wipe off the old
score of sins, committed since last the nominal
penitent knelt at the confessional; and sends him

196 THE HYACINTH.

forth to commence a new arrear, with perfect as-
surance that by the same process that too shall be
made to pass away. ‘Thus is the conscience sear-
ed, and the sinner deluded; as was poor Doghery,
until, through the faithful testimony borne without
reserve against his darling errors, he was led to
feel his dreadful peril, while walking along a bridge
of straw, over a gulph of ascending flames. And
this is the case with every member of the church
of Rome, high and low, rich and poor. Thus are
we guilty concerning our brethren, if we fail to set
before them the peril in which they stand. The
wild fanatics who murdered Doghery, were less
guilty than we, if we hold our peace, when oppor-
tunity is given to plead with a member of that
anti-Christian church. They acted up to the spirit
of the religion that they professed; we do not.
They killed his body; but in so doing sent his
soul to glory: we study the ease of our own bo
dies, and to retain the mistaken good-will of our
neighbours, at the fearful price of accelerating
their pace to everlasting destruction. I say accel-
erating; for if we, calling ourselves Protestants,
withhold the PROTEST, which by that very
name, we are pledged to make, what must their
inference be, but that we are not of the same mind
with our fathers, who yielded their bodies to the
flames, rather than even feign a tacit acquiescence
in the fearful delusions of others? They see us

THE HYACINTH. 197

banding for the zealous promotion of missionary
labours, of which the avowed object is to put down
the idolatry of heathen lands; and can they be-
lieve that we really consider them idolaters, while,
with every facility of daily intercourse, we speak
not a warning word to save thezr souls?

Alas for the desolation of popery, that is rapidly
spreading over our country! We despise the little
cloud, no larger than a man’s hand, nor believe
that ere long the heavens shall be black, and the
earth deluged, with the abundance of that plague
which we care not to arrest in its early progress.
Far different is the view taken by the promoters
of Rome’s deadly apostacy: they know the value
of every foot of land that their multiplying temples
over-shadow, and of every deluded soul that they
ensnare with the net which is now spread in almost
all our English villages. The land, which is as
the garden of Eden before them, they will convert
to a howling wilderness, if the Lord revive not in
us somewhat of the spirit that dwelt in his confes-
sors of old.

How awful are the descriptions given in the
word of God, of this predicted apostacy—how
fearful the denunciations thundered forth on its
upholders! Can we read them, and not desire to
become instrumental in the work of delivering our
fellow-sinners from such a snare? Never in the
annals of creation did a power so fierce, so pitiless,

rit

198 THE HYACINTH.

so sanguinary as that of popery, appear to deface
the beauty of God’s works: none stand exposed
to visitations so tremendous as He has denounced
against it. We must turn to the martyrology of
the Piedmontese Valleys, and to our army, in the
days of Mary, to nerve us for the perusal of those
vivid descriptions in the book of Revelation, where
the smoke of the eternal torment of great Babylon,
ascending to heaven, is said to call forth new songs
of praise and triumph from the spirits in glory.
We must explore the records of Spanish atrocity
in the newly discovered western hemisphere, and
dive into the dungeons of the eastern inquisition ;
we must open the blood-stained page of a Parisian
Si. Bartholomew, and then turn a stedfast eye to
the green shores of poor Ireland, tracing to their
true source the wretchedness, the recklessness, the
crimes of her priest-ridden peasantry. We must
consider how the Lord is insulted, His truth blas-
phemed, His word anathematized, His great name
prostituted to the upholding of that which he de
clares an abomination, while His glory is given to
another, and his praise to molten images. Yes,
we must survey the curse, in its height, and depth,
and length, and breadth, in its various manifesta-
tions through twelve hundred years of violence
and wrong, in order to impress our minds with the
duty that we owe to our wretched fellow-creatures,

THE HYACINTH. 199

yet lying under the condemnation of this idolatrous
iniquity.

It was predicted of our blessed Lord, that he
should “grow up as a tender plant,” and as he
was, so are his people in this world. To be born
under a dispensation of pure gospel light, and un-
clouded truth, to sit every one under his own vine,
and his own fig-tree, with none to make us afraid
—oh, we do not properly estimate the value of
such distinguishing privileges. Our sons grow up
like young plants indeed ; but it is out of a rich, a
watered, a well-tempered soil, where morning
sunbeams play, and evening dews bring gentle re-
freshment; where the hand of culture directs their
growth; and the guarded fence repels every
prowling foe. How different is the case of him
who, having been reared in the hot-bed of super-
stition, is taken thence, and received into the shel-
ter of the true church of Christ, while the storms
of vindictive rage howl around, longing to blight
the early promise of his growth, and to visit him
with swift destruction.

I should sorrow to see my beautiful hyacinth
taken from its warm station, and placed abroad,
on this chilly evening, to shrink before the biting
frost, to bend beneath the blustering wind, and to
break under a load of drifted snow. If the flower
could reason, might it not well reproach me, under
the circumstances, for hastening its birth into such

200 THE HYACINTH.

a wintry world? Yet, alas; poor Doghery, and
many a poor creature like him, could tell a tale of
similar desertion, ending in the destruction of the
body. The fault rests not with those who take
compassion on the perishing victims of popery.
We must often say with the apostle, “Silver and
gold have I none,” but, shall we not proceed to
add, ‘‘such as I have, give I thee ;’ and while we
behold the immortal spirit lying helpless under the
deadening influence of his paralizing disease, are
we to refrain from the sequel, ‘‘In the name of
Jesus of Nazareth arise and walk,” because the
alms that depended on the continuance of his in-
firmity may then fail; and we may be unable to
provide him with an immediate subsistence ?
Even in a temporal visitation, this would be cruel
policy ; how then can we dare to act upon it in
spiritual cases? No; we must proclaim deliver-
ance to the captives, though, from lack of service
on the part of those who gave the means, we
thereby expose them to starvation, if they escape
a more immediate and more violent end.

It is certain, that when one of the poor of this
world becomes so rich in faith as to be enabled to
sacrifice all for Christ, by openly separating from
the communion of idolatrous Rome, the means of _
daily subsistence will fail, so long as he continues
among the people whom his poverty precludes him
from leaving. ‘The great mass of Irish poor, in

THE HYACINTH. 201

St. Giles’ and the other districts, are composed of
brick-layers’ labourers ; and it is a fact, that when
one of the number forsakes his false religion, he
cannot mount a scaffolding but at the eminent
peril of his life; for his comrades threaten to hurl
him headlong if he comes among them. ‘Thus he
is driven from his daily labour; and is, moreover,
followed through the streets with yells and execra-
tions, accompanied, generally, with some actual
violence. I speak from personal observation—I
testify what I have seen from day to day; and I
cannot but ask, is the Protestantism of our favoured
land fallen so low, that we cannot provide means
of employment to those who, for Christ’s sake and
the gospel’s, relinquish the daily pittance that was
wont to furnish them with a meal of potatoes?
When our adored Redeemer spoke the words of
life to thousands of perishing souls, how sweetly
did he express the tender feeling of their bodily
infirmities wherewith he was touched-——“I have
compassion on the multitude; . . . if I send them
away fasting, they will faint by the way.”

Well, Doghery hungers no more, neither thirsts
any more; he has joined the glorious host of
martyrs, and his blood has truly been a seed in
our Irish church, emboldening many to come out
openly from the shambles of Great Babylon into
the pastures of Christ’s fold. Oh! when shall
arrive that predicted day of divine retribution, that

202 THE HYACINTH.

will break “the hammer of the whole earth!
When the Alvas and the Dominicks, the Bonners,
the Gardiners, with all the host of sanguinary
tyrants who have trafficked in the souls of men,
shall receive at the Lord’s hand the cup of retribu
tion, and perish, with that desperate delusion, that
offspring of Satan, which the Holy Ghost had
denounced as the mother of abominations—the
woman drunk with the blood of the saints, and
with the blood of the martyrs of Jesus! This
is not the language of uncharitableness—no: the
farthest possible from true charity is that ungodly
liberalism which will close its eyes to the plainest
declarations of holy writ, and leave men’s souls to
perish, rather than shock their prejudices. God
will not alter the thing that is gone out of his lips;
and unless we can expunge from the thirteenth to
the twentieth chapter of Revelation, or close our
eyes to the clear and indubitable exposition which
history supplies, of its actual reference to the pa-
pacy, we stand guilty of wilful mutilation of God’s
word, while withholding those awful appeals from
our deluded fellow-creatures of the Romish per-
suasion, and neglecting to address to them the
warning cry, “‘ Come out oF HER, my people: be
ye not partakers of her sins, that ye receive not
of her plagues.”

CHAPTER XVI.

THE HEART’S-EASE.

THERE are some objects that all the world is agreed
in admiring, or professing to admire. ‘Those who
have taste and feeling, experience exquisite delight
in surveying such objects; and people who have
neither, would not expose their deficiency by ae-
knowledging that these things have no charm for
them. Thus, an April sky, with its flitting clouds,
and glancing sunbeams, and evanescent rainbow, is
by common consent, most lovely. Some, to be sure,
there are, who consider all the enjoyment derivable
from the contemplation, to be’ a very poor equiva-
lent for the spoiling of a ribband, or the splashing
of a gown; but they rare!y venture to proclain
their dissent from the general agreement. This
being the case, all descriptive, all sentimental
writers, and indeed all who handle any other than
the driest matter-of-fact subjects, are to be found
tendering their quota of admiration, in every vari-
ety of style and phrase. ‘To elicit any thing new,
on such a hackneyed topic, is, perhaps impossible :
but as I do not aim at originality—merely wishing

204 THE HEART’S-EASE.

to indulge in the pursuit of a few thoughts that
form the rainbow of my rather cloudy sky—TI shall
continue to think upon paper; unshackled by any
apprehension of the censure that is, doubtless,
often provoked by my lucubrations—‘ How very
common-place !’

I sally forth into the garden, on a very unprom~-
ising morning. ‘The whole concave is overcast
with clouds: they hang low, portending a dark
and cheerless day. I see not even a probability
of rain, which might clear the expanse, and give
us the desired prospect of an azure heaven beyond ;
but there is every sign of continued gloom—clouds
that appear disposed neither to pass on nor to fall,
maintaining a position of sullen quiescence, the
most discouraging ; while the little flowers beneath,
looked as grave and as cheerless as flowers can
look, and the general effect on my mind is that of
chilled and saddening feeling. Presently, there is
a perceptible movement of the dull mass—a thin-
ning of the cloud in some particular spot, as though
it was drawn upwards, and comparative transpa-
rency ensues. I watch, until an opening is effect- -
ed, and a little,—a very little spec of clear blue
sky becomes visible beyond the separating edges.
A gladdening sight! for, then, 1 confidently anti-
cipate, that, in another quarter, the same process
will ere long, afford a farther glimpse of what I
desire to see. Ancther does appear, and another ;

THE HEART’S-EASE. 205

the whole company of congregated vapours is
breaking up, not borne along in a body, leaving all
bright behind their course, but dispersing gradual-
ly, here and there, until the several patches of soft
blue seem to enlarge, and combine to establish the
reign of light over darkness. And, lo! the sun
breaks forth, the shadows flee away, the flowers
look up in laughing gladness, and every little bird
contributes his individual chirp of gratulating joy.

‘What, on earth, have we to resemble this!
Something, whereof I consider it a most beautiful
type. I have seen families as destitute of gospel
light, as closely wrapped in spiritual gloom, ay,
and as contentedly immoveable, in their darkness,
as the discouraging morning that I have endeay-
oured to pourtray. I have gone forth and looked
upon them, as Ezekiel upon the dry bones in the
valley, obliged to confess indeed, that the Lord
could work among them, but beholding no token
that such was as yet his will. Then, shaming my
unbelief, the light that shined upon a solitary indi-
vidual, opening, as it were, one spec in the cloud-
ed sky; and then I have looked, and longed, and
confidently trusted, that farther manifestations
would appear. Another of the household has
yielded to divine influence; perchance a third:
and these, with united supplication, walking to-
gether as children of light, have been enabled to
wage a powerful, though comparatively silent war,

18

206 THE HEART’S-EASE.

upon the remaining darkness. The work goes on;
reflected brightness shines upon the rest; and at
last the Lord puts on his glorious apparel, takes
unto himself his great power, breaks forth in the
dazzling brilliancy of acknowledged glory, and
reigns over a household of willing conquests.

How lovely is the sympathy displayed by the
expanded world beneath, when this fair work is
accomplished in the brightening atmosphere above !
Not a shrub, not a blossom, or a leaf, but seems
to rejoice, when the liberated day-beam shines
upon it; and gladness yet more intelligibly ex-
pressed, fills the animal creation. It is not long
since, looking around for some particular flower,
whereon to mark the vivifying effects of these
outbursting rays, 1 was struck to perceive on the
bank beside me, only one flower in bloom; and
that was a single solitary child of my prolific
family the Heart’s-Ease. ‘No,’ thought I, as I
turned reluctantly away, ‘no, I must not bring you
a third time into my chapters.’ But when I stole
another glance, and saw the little cheerful blossom
uplifting its modest face to rejoice in the sunshine,
I could not forego the almost inexhaustible source
of pure delight afforded me in the retrospection.
With such a train of thought awakened in my
mind, it seemed that none could so meetly claim
the notice I was prepared to bestow; and that
peculiar characteristic of D., which shewed him

THE. HEART’S-EASE. 207

altogether identified, as it were, with those engaged
in spiritual conflict, or crowned with spiritual vic-
tory, exactly answers to the picture that my imagi-
nation had drawn, of perfect sympathy with the
effect produced by the day-beam on that cheerless
sky—cheerless no longer.

It is, no doubt, a delicate and a difficult subject ;
the manner in which the Lord works in families.
Some, who are not strongly opposed to divine
truth, while their hearts remain untouched by con-
verting grace, do unquestionably build a treacher-
ous hope for themselves, founded on the religion
of others. They regard their pious connexion in
the light of mediators, calculating on their prayers
to help them out in the last extremity ; and believ-
ing that, for the sake of such, his faithful servants,
God will have mercy on them also. I am often
afraid, by saying too much on the blessedness of
beholding the good leaven even partially introduc-
ed, to foster this perilous error: but so enumerable
are the cases where I witness the rapid extension
of divine knowledge, in families where but one
has been first enlightened, that I cannot refrain
from trying to speak words of cheer to those who
are praying and watching for the souls of their
dearest connexions. Our views of God’s mercy,
his power, and willingness to save, are most
wretchedly, most insultingly low; and where that
awful doctrine which represents him as having

208 THE HEART’S-EASE,

fore-ordained the condemnation of some souls,
creeps in, to paralyze the mighty arm of energetic
faith, and to cripple the strong pinion of soaring
hope, we are tempted to do bitter wrong to the
souls of our brethren, no less than to the faithful-
ness of our unchangeable God. Many an earnest
and solemn discourse have I had with D. upon
these points; and I cannot forget the patient en-
durance, the affectionate anxiety, with which I
have seen him for hours engaged in combatting
the delusions of one who had imbibed such notions.
It gave him pain, even to hear it urged, that an
actual decree had gone forth, willing, from all
eternity, the everlasting perdition of individuals
hereafter to be born into the world. It grieved
him, even to the suffusion of his eyes with tears,
that such a charge should be brought against his
God, whose tender mercies he wel! knew to be
over all his works; and whose own immutable
word assured him that he willeth not the death of
a sinner. He dearly loved, by bright displays of
inviting mercy, to set forth the freeness of pardon-
ing grace, for the encouragement of such as are
labouring to bring souls to God; and more espe-
cially those of their own household. He believed
what he spoke; he acted on his belief: and never
did I witness a more sustained, persevering series
of efforts, than I saw in him, on behalf of a young
and endeared relation. That man, of his own free

THE HEART’S-EASE. 209

will, could turn to God, and repent and believe, he
spared not to denounce as most unscripturally
false: that any mortal could achieve for another
that mighty work, was equally far from his
thought: but that God had barred the door of
mercy against a single soul of all Adam’s race, he
knew to be irreconcilable with the distinct declara-
tions of him who cannot lie. Hence he drew the
sweetest encouragement for himself and others ;
and hence would I gladly suggest a redoubling of
prayerful exertion, on the part of those who may
be faint, indeed, yet pursuing, in the cause of their
unconverted friends.

But there is a case, not unfrequently occurring,
where individuals who have themselves been
brought to Christ, see their hope, as respects
some beloved connexion, apparently cut off, by a
stroke that removes its object too suddenly to give
time for that investigation which his doubtful state
rendered particularly desirable. Oh, how bitter is
the tear that flows over the coffin of a darling
friend, concerning whom, there is, alas, but a
‘peradventure’ to lay hold on! Yet I have found
such a visitation most profitable, in leading the mind
to a review of past prayers, on behalf of that ob-
ject, to an anxious scrutiny of answers to those
prayers, which we, in our habitual disregard of
the ‘day of small things,’ had before overlooked ;

and to the exercise of keen self-condemnation, of
18*

210 THE HEART’S-EASE.

deep and truly humbling penitence for the wanton
neglect of many an appointed means, the careless
disregard of many precious opportunities which,
if rightly used by us, might materially have help-
ed forward the work. Such remorseful regret,
however vain in the particular case which is for
ever beyond our reach, will lead, if it be indeed
a godly sorrow, to the diligent use of similar ad-
vantages, in regard to those who remain. ‘This
was a favourite topic with D., whose office it ap-
peared to be to extract wisdom and instruction
from every past occurrence, as a guide in present
difficulty and a valuable store laid up for time tocome.

Never did I behold a more consistent, steady
zeal, than he displayed for the extension of Christ’s
kingdom—first, in his own heart; then in his own
family, among his immediate associates, and the
poor who were brought within his reach. It seem-
ed to be his maxim, that our missionary efforts, like
the widening circles of disturbed waters, should
extend with gradual evenness, not only of purpose,
but of operation. ‘ Let us,’ he would say,’‘ evan-
gelize, as far as we can, the space immediately
surrounding us; and there will be no lack of mis
sionaries to work in foreign lands.’ No one lis-
tened with smiles of brighter joy than D. to the
recital of achievements abroad, where the banner
of the cross was born into the dominions of Pa-
ganism, and souls were won to his beloved Master

THE HEART’S-EASE. 919

None with more prayerful fervency bade God-
speed to the departing warriors who were about to
wield their spiritual sword in distant climes: none
rendered them higher honour, or more triumphant-
ly dwelt on the glories of what he firmly believed
to be the crown of genuine martyrdom, when they
yielded their lives beneath the pressure of their
sacred burden; but he deprecated in himself, and
detected in others, that excitement of feeling which
too often takes the name of missionary zeal, when
wrought upon by touching descriptions of spiritual
darkness and moral degradation among the dwellers
in far off lands, while carelessly passing the abodes
of our own countrymen, as completely prosirated
beneath the power of Satan, as are the savages of
foreign woods. I never beheld a person so anxious
to strip religion of all encumbering romance: and
to bring its divine energies into unfettered action
wn the streets of London. ‘And why there partic-
ularly? Because his calling was there: because
in his daily walks from one office to another, he
passed through lanes and alleys, ‘where Satan’s
seat is,” and being possessed of but limited means
as to time and money, he considered himself bound
to use them where God had seen fit to open a field.

The little Heartsease looks and breathes of blue
skies, and verdant fields, and fragrance-fraught par-
terres ; but to me it pourtrays a different scene,
bringing before me the densely peopled courts and

212 THE HEART S-EASE,

passages of Gray’s Inn Lane; the nests of vice,
and dens of misery that display the corruption of
our great metropolitan cancer, St. Giles’. Oh,
when will those cloudy regions become bright be-
neath the beam of gospel truth? When shall we
take care, and provide for those of our own na-
tional household.—When shall the gorgeous gin-
palace, glittering in our own streets, move us to
pitying exertion, like the distant temple of Jugger-
naut pourtrayed in an album—or the thousands of
suicidal, of infanticidal deeds, hourly perpetrated
by the wretched females of our own neighbourhood,
through the unrestrained use of intoxicating drugs,
touch that chord of sympathy in the bosom of
Christian ladies, which vibrates to the tale of a
suttee, or the description of a Hindoo babe, immo-
lated by its heathen parents ?

April skies are lovely indeed; but on what spec-
tacles do they look down !—and He who dwelleth
above those heavens, He beholds them too, and
will require at our hands the blood of the souls of
them who perish. Neither may we, if our lot,
dear reader, be cast far from the scenes where D.
worked while it was day to him, and where his
dust now reposes, to cry, as it were, from the
ground, and chide the flagging zeal of his survi-
vors—neither may we put the lesson from us on
the plea that no gin-palace rears its hateful front —
in our daily path. Satan has a seat in every vil-

THE HEART’S-EASE. 913

lage, a throne in every natural heart. Be 1% ours,
as children of light, to war against the kingdom
-of darkness, wherever we behold its ensigns dis-
‘played; and let our efforts go forth, wide as the
glorious command, “into all the world,” .“ unto
every creature,” as our means may enable us,
after doing thts work at our own doors—not to
leave the other undone.

As in families, so in cities: as in cities, so in
empires. When the day-spring begins to shine, it
will brighten more and more unto the perfect day.
When the tide commences its majestic approach,
it will overflow, and pass on, and cover the whole
earth with the knowledge of the glory of the
Lord. You cannot look up, and survey the clouds
darkening over your head, you cannot look down,
and see the little Heartsease smiling at your feet,
without feeling conscious that a book of remem-
brance is before you. I would rather forego, to
the last hour of my existence, the dear delights of
my own sweet garden, than think that I wrote to
minister a transient gratification to your idle hours,
and leave you unimpressed with the awful fact,
that another portion of the very little span of time
appointed you to work in, has passed away—elud-
ed your grasp for ever, while you turned over these
pages—leaving you only a solemn admonition to
rise up, and be doing, and redeem the moments
that remain.

CHAPTER XVII.

THE RANUNCULUS.

‘You have been plundering from Hervey,’ said a
friend good-humouredly the other day, who traced,
as he thought, a resemblance between these chap-
ters and Hervey’s Meditations, strong enough to
warrant the charge. My reply was, simply and
truly, that I never had read the book. Indeed, I
remembered having seen it in my father’s posses-
sion, when a child; but had not perused it. How-
ever, I resolved to write no more on the subject,
until I should have made myself acquainted with
a production that every one is supposed to have
read: and arich treat it afforded me Still I do
not see that my poor little chapters have arrived
within any degree of comparison with this beauti-
ful work: nor do I detect a closer approximation
of thought than what is founded on the language
of that blessed book, by which Hervey interpreted
the great volume of creation. It is there that
Christ is set forth as the Sun of Righteousness,
leading every reflective mind to follow up the

THE RANUNCULUS. 215

points of the brilliant type: it is there that our at-
tention is directed to the lilies of the field, with a
special reference to their beautiful attire, as the
providential allotment of God. There it is, that
the flower is set forth, as a touching emblem alike
of man’s goodliness and his decay, while the hea-
vens are made to declare the glory of God, and
every element to furnish some vivid illustration of
His power and love. In fact, when two people
come to investigate the same subject, under the
same teacher, and with feelings just similar, even
though they hold no previous communication one
with another, still they can hardly do otherwise
than fall occasionally into the same train of
thought; and, in the paucity of words to convey
the multitude of ideas, to use expressions very
similar. JI never aspired to originality, because [
should be unwilling to think that none had trodden
the path of flowers with feelings as delicious as
are mine, when revelling in the garden sweets:
but, as another friend to whom I repeated the re-
mark of the former, told me she had heard it made
by many, I take this method of assuring all my
kind readers, upon my honest word, that I never
read Hervey’s work until this very day; conse-
quently, I am not a plunderer.

But, had not the good-humoured hint of my
friend led me to examine Hervey, I should have
committed myself, irretrievably, in the opinion of

216 THE RANUNCULUS.

all suspicious readers: for I had a tale in reserve,
a most touching story, concerning one whom I
must have identified with the Passion-flower; as I
have done so for years, owing to an incident where
that flower led to singular results. I find that
Hervey has expatiated upon it too largely, to leave
me any thing to say: and in another instance,
where the Sensitive plant was the type, I read
with surprise, almost consternation, what I had
supposed to be my own exclusive cogitations as
yet uncommitted to paper. This has straitened
me a little, in my floral biography: but I am not
daunted ; and the slight mortification arising from
being denounced as a plagiarist, is most abundant-
ly overpaid by the acquisition of so sweet a com-
panion for my flower garden, as I have discovered
in Hervey.

Gaily, indeed, is that spot now decked with the
bright children of May: but I am inclined, before
proceeding in the survey, to enlarge on an event
which occurred when I was quite a little girl, and
which left a lasting impression on my mind. I
was straying in the garden, searching for some
polyanthus, and other dwarf flowers, to select a
small bouquet ; when, in the midst of my opera-
tions, I found myself suddenly attacked, in a most
extraordinary manner. The bed where I was
groping for flowers had, from neglect, become
much encumbered by weeds, and in reaching at a

THE RANUNCULUS. 217

fragrant Ranunculus, I came in contact with a
flourishing cluster of nettles. The result was, of
course, very distressing: my hand swelled, and
became extremely painful, and, in the irritation of
the moment, my childish resentment prompted me
to lay hold on the unprovoked aggressors, to tear
them up, and fling them beyond the garden pales.
This desire gave way, however, to a more pruden-
tial feeling, knowing that there was no defence for
an unarmed hand, against their thousand invisible
stings. I therefore contented myself with deter-
mining to point them out to the gardener, and
walked away, in quest of some cooling dock-leaves
to soften the smart.

Returning shortly after, [ beheld a bee most
busily plying her trade among the blossoms of
similar weeds; and perceiving that they evidently
contained no small store of honey, I cautiously
drew a flower from its cup, put it to my lips, and
was delighted with the sweetness that rewarded
my enterprize. I made a feast, when I had been
severely wounded; and retired, congratulating my-
self on the exercise of that forbearance, which had
issued in far more pleasing results than would have
followed a hostile attack on the unequal foe.

Now, I am not going to indentify the nettles as
individuals; but, as a class, how aptly do they
typify too many who are scattered throughout the
professing Church of Christ! Mingled among the

19 .

218 THE RANUNCULUS.

flowery shrubs, and fruitful blossoms, of the Lord’s
parden, they deceive the unsuspecting stranger,
who, forgeting that tares will grow with wheat,
and weeds with flowers, fears no ill where the
Lord is acknowledged as rightful possessor of the
soil. The out-stretched hand is met by a stab;
and drawn back in wondering incredulity that,
from the fair green foliage, adorned with clustering
flowers, and holding its place among the choicest
of the parterre, such darts should have been pro-
jected, such venom have oozed forth. But the
fact is beyond dispute, and the deed proclaims an
alien unfit to mingle with the fragrant offspring of
an enclosed garden. It seems almost a point of
duty to draw the traitor forth, exposed to public
reprobation, and banished from the sacred spot ;
but the Lord hath spoken: “‘ Avenge not your-
selves,” ‘Vengeance is mine; I will repay.”
And faith commits her cause to that unerring hand,
leaving the enemy unmolested, to seek a balsam
for the smart—and singular it is, that where net-
tles abound, the spreading dock is never far off.
The emissaries of Satan have permission to
wound; but the Healer is always nigh, and needs
but to be sought in the hour of suffering. There
is that which will soothe the throbbing anguish of
a thousand stings; and cool the fever of a spirit,
where fiery darts haye exhausted all their burning
venom.

THE RANUNCULUS. 219

Nor does it end here: whatever be the rod, the
chastisement is ordered and over-ruled by a loving
Father, that it may yield to his children who are
exercised thereby, the peaceable fruit of righteous-
ness. ‘To overlook the rod as a mere instrument,
in itself utterly contemptible, and from the permit-
ted chastening to draw sweets, is a very delightful
privilege. ‘Thus it is that the wrath of man is
made to praise the Lord, beyond whose permission
it cannot extend—no, not to the fraction of a hair’s
breadth. The remainder of wrath he restrains;
where malice purposed to pour down an over-
whelming torrent, to drown its devoted object, God
suffers a few drops to fall, sufficient only to refresh
and fertilize; and then, with his mighty breath,
drives off the swelling cloud to vent its rage be-
yond the precints of His garden. “Ye shall have
tribulation ten days,” is Jehovah’s award, to those
whom Satan marked out for utter destruction ;
and surely these ten days should be days of re-
joicing, to the souls who hear not only the rod, but
him who hath appointed it. How sweet are those
lines !

Man may trouble and distress me,
*T will but drive me to thy breast ;

Life with trials hard may press me,
Heaven will give me sweeter rest.

Dear Reader, have you ever yet come into con-
tact with nettles, concealed among the rose-bushes?

220 THE RANUNCULUS.

then probably, you can, through grace, bear testi-
mony that my experience is no chimera. You
have surely sought the healing leaf; and if so, un-
questionably you have obtained it. You have
extracted the honey from your nettle, as Sampson
from his lion, and you may be well content to
leave it where you found it, knowing that there
shall be ‘‘a gathering out of all things that offend”
without your putting yourself forward in the work
of judgment. Rather bear in mind the humbling
truth, that such a nettle once were you; stinging,
by your vile aggressions, the hand that was
stretched out on the cross to save you: and if the
mighty working of unlimited power has changed
your nature, why despair of its operation upon
others? Point out your enemy to the Lord, but
as an object for converting and sanctifying grace,
remembering that Saul of Tarsus was the first
fruits of Stephen’s dying prayer.

I have mentioned the Ranunculus, as the prize
in pursuit of which I made my first acquaintance
with the stinging nettle. That flower has been a
choice favourite from my very early years. I re-
member accompanying a party to a horticultural
exhibition on a small scale, where a country gar-
dener had made the most of his ground, for a dis-
play of flowers. He had retarded his hyacinths,
and hastened his tulips, and disposed as they were,
‘on distinct beds, in masses, the effect was splendid.

THE RANUNCULUS. pe |

-

I recollect that our connoisseurs were learnedly
expatiating on the rarity and consequent value, of
certain magnificent tulips; while amateurs, were
bending with delight over the hyacinth bed, inhail-
ing its delicious fragrance, and reposing the eye on
those exquisite hues, which, in the species of flower,
never lack a refreshing coolness. I was strongly
tempted to enroll myself among the hyacinth
devotees: but there was something in the neigh-
bouring family of the Ranunculus’ that struck my
childish fancy above all the rest. There appeared
a toy-like prettiness in the many-coloured balls,
that was not to be rivalled by any other ; and when
a light breeze suddenly swept over the garden, too
faint to disturb the more substantials stems of their
neighbours, my Ranunculus’ were all in motion,
nodding their innocent heads, as would seem, at
me andl at each other, with such lively, infantine
restlessness, that it was rivetted to the spot, indif-
ferent to any other attraction, while the party con-
tinued in the garden.

This was a point in my opening character that
I cannot trace to any origin; but it cleaves to me
yet, and always will do so—a strange faculty of
forming, as it were, acquaintance with inanimate
- objects, until a sympathetic feeling seemed to exist
between us, and I found a more interesting com-
panionship in a tree, a flower, or a rivulet, than
among the greater number of my own species. I

19*

292 THE RANUNCULUS.

am now fully convinced that, out of this compara-
tively most innocent enjoyment, Satan wove a
powerful snare for my after-life. Imagination
took the rein, and carried me out, far beyond the
boundaries of reality and sober thought. A world
that I could people entirely after my own unfet-
tered fancy, was doubly attractive when I began
to experience the hollowness and instability of
sublunary things. My heart was never cold ;
neither, as regards my fellow-creatures, was it
ever treacherous. <A very little kindness, the mere
semblance of love in others, drew forth an abun-
dant return of unfeigned affection; and this, of
course, exposed me, even in childhood, to frequent
disappointments, on the discovery that I was re-
ceiving only base coin in exchange for my best
gold. One would suppose that the affections of an
immortal creature, repulsed on earth, would natu-
rally rise with greater vigour heavenward ;—that
when thus checked in their tendency to shoot, as it
were horizontally, they would assume the perpen-
dicular, and rise towards God. But, alas! corrupt
nature has no desire after that which alone is
worthy to be desired; and [| transferred every
slighted affection to that ideal region which my
own fancy had created, by combining the images -
of whatsoever was lovely and loveable in this
dying world—thus using the gifts of my Creator
as so many implements wherewith to effect the

THE RANUNCULUS. 223

robbery of what was doubly His—my own heart,
and the faculties of mind and body, implanted by
His hand, that they might yield him a reasonable
increase.

Thompson’s beautiful hymn on the seasons, al-
beit that it rises no higher than deism, was the
first thing that compelled me to see God in his
works; and even this greatly sobered my wild
imagination ; but it was not a humbling truth, as I
viewed it. Looking around upon a universe of
mute worshippers ; taught to consider myself as
one of those

Chief, for whom the whole creation smiles,
At once the head, the heart, the tongue of all;

without any knowledge of my own lost and ex-
ceedingly sinful state, any consciousness of that
guilty perversion of imparted powers, which sank
me far below the level of those things that impli-
citly follow the first law of their existence, even
“the wind and storm, fulfilling his word,”—what
benefit could I derive in offering vain oblations of
praise, from an unsanctified, unhumbled heart?
But, blessed be God for Jesus Christ! the gospel
came, not to divorce me from the contemplation
of what was so lovely and so soothing when viewed
aright, but to render that contemplation profitable
—to print a gentle rebuke on every page of the
great book, wherein I used only the lessons of

294 THE RANUNCULUS.

pride, and slothful indulgence ; and to tell me that,
while every inferior creature of God is filling its
station, performing its office, and ministering to
the accomplishment of one vast end, I, who am
bought with a mighty price, must not cumber the
ground, in a life of unfruitful idleness and visionary
speculations. I, too, must be doing; and that as
being well assured that my time is short at the
longest, precarious in its best estate, and frail as
the flower which bends before a zephyr’s sigh.

Thus the Ranunculus leads me back to a period
now distant, and shewing me the long, the guilty
waste of precious days and years, waves not its
beautiful head in vain. From a fascinating toy, it
has become a serious monitor; but even now I
cannot look upon a cluster of those flowers without
experiencing somewhat of the buoyancy of spirit
that seems to dance within their varigated little
world. It is my deliberate opinion that, whether
in form or in colour, the full double Ranunculus
may challenge any flower that blows; while the
remarkably delicate fragrance, that scarcely
breathes, unless invited, from its rose-fashioned
petals, is in beautiful keeping with the whole
character of the elegant plant.

It may readily be supposed that no person of .
ordinary appearance, or of common mind, would
bear a comparison with this favourite flower. I
believe it was one of the very first that I linked

THE RANUNCULUS. 225

to a living antitype—always excepting my own
sweet May-blossom, the fondly-cherished emblem
of what, among earthly things, is the most sacred-
ly dear to my heart—but in childhood I have de-
lighted to lead, with careful hand, among my
flower-beds, one whose fair head hung languidly
down, and whose attenuated form appeared to
tremble, if touched by a breeze that would wave
the Ranunculus. I remember her well—she was
most lovely ; and to gratify her little companion,
she would be as playful as she was sweet. The
child of a fond father, the image of one in whom
all his affection had centered: whom he had
watched over, while she slowly pined and wither-
ed under the blightening hand of consumption,
and in whose grave was buried all that had sweet-
ened his life, save only this fair girl, in whose
transparent complexion, and in the glitter of her
- full blue eye, he read the pressage of hovering
decay. The blight that struck her mother down,
had indeed passed upon her; and my first recol-
lection of her is what I have alluded to—my con-
ducting her, in the cool of a soft summer evening,
through the little mazy walks of my especial
garden, pointing out to her notice, now the tint of
a flower, now the corresponding hues of a glorious
western sky ; and anon that exquisite object, Hes-
perus, sparkling in a flood of liquified gold. I
looked up in her sweet face, and the smile that

926 THE RANUNCULUS.

beamed there spoke cheer to me; yet I felt that
she was like one of the withering Ranunculus’,
ready to sink before the next rude breath of air.

At the window of our rural parlour, sat the fond
parent of this fading blossom; and as I marked the
watchful gaze of an eye suffused in tears, following
every step of his child, I felt more than ever that
something must be wrong ; and my heart grew sad,
to think that a creature, as lovely as my flowers,
should be equally transient in her bloom. Our
abode was in a very open, yet retired spot; and
its air was considered very salubrious for the sink-
ing Lauretta. Frequently did her father drive up
to our gate in his pony-chaise; and being himself
too much afflicted, by some rheumatic complaint,
to walk, he took his post at that pleasant window,
fronting the western sky; while I led his feeble
charge to inhale the breath of flowers, and to bask
in the slanting rays of an orb that was soon to set
for ever, to her. She went to the tomb before that
summer had shed its latest glow; and her father
survived her but a short time. ‘Their forms soon
melted away in the undefined vagueness of days
long since past; but on a sweet evening, when the
retiring sun-beams glance on a bed of Ranunculus’,
I often behold the vision of Lauretta and her father,
surrounded by the scenes that memory will then
call up, in all the vivid reality that makes the pre-
sent appear as a dream.

THE RANUNCULUS. Ps

[ know not—I have no means of knowing—
whether the path of that dying girl was lightened
by the beams of a far brighter Sun than I could
point out to her; whether the bereavements of her
widowed father, even then, in anticipation, child-
less too, were blessed to his soul’s peace, by lead-
ing him to seek the Lord, who had both given and
taken away. ‘That cloud of doubt hangs over the
greater number of those whose images people the
haunts of my infancy: the Baal of worldliness
appeared to reign supreme; yet surely among
them the Lord had reserved to himself a remnant,
whose knee had not bowed to the idol, nor their
mouth kissed him. In many respects, there are
shadows resting on the past, impervious to the anx-
ious eye as those that veil the future; but the
present is our own; and as we use it, so we are—
flowers to grace the garden of our Lord, imparting
to others of the fragrance of his gifts, and adorning
the spot wherein he delights to dwell—or weeds,
to offend the little ones of his flock; intruders,
whose desert is to be rooted out, and whose end is
to be burned.

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE GARDEN.

BeavTiFruL at all times, and always refreshing,
there are seasons when the garden wears a coun-
tenance of enhanced beauty, and wafts to the
spirit a refreshment more welcome than at others.
Such is the case, when, after a short period, per-
chance a day or two, passed in the crowded me-
tropolis, we return to the bosom of domestic
repose, and wander through the maze of flowers,
all fresh and sparkling from the pure moisture of
an untainted atmosphere. Balmy, indeed, are the
breathings of my lovely companions after such an
absence: and most intelligible is the welcome that
their smile bespeaks. At all times I feel it; but
now more truly than at other seasons: for a short
excursion to the mighty capital has filled my mind
with images more touchingly tender than I can
well bear to contemplate, save in the society of
these beloved mementos of all that my heart has
learnt to cherish, through a varied and painful
course. I could not afford to lose this picture

THE GARDEN. 229

gallery : at least, I should need a large portion of
all-sufficient grace, cheerfully to submit to that
privation, to which multitudes of my fellow-crea-
tures are subjected. ‘The sense of sight is a
blessing that we do not rightly appreciate: and I
am conscious of much guilty omission in that I do
not oftener render thanks to God for such enjoy-
ment. Is there no echo to this acknowledgment
in the bosom of my reader?

I bless the Father of mercies for the delight
that he has given me in the works of his hand;
and I desire to find in them an ever active stimulus
in the path of willing obedience. Shall I rebel,
when, from the majestic oak, that even now is put-
ting forth his multitudinous leaves, each in its ap-
pointed place, down to the butter-cup that holds
forth its tiny receptacle, to catch the falling rain-
drop, all, all are implicitly following His law, from
the third day of creation, even to the present hour ?
Shall I move laggingly on in my assigned course,
like a fettered slave forced to his task-work, while
each little blade of grass springs up with joyous
elasticity, even though my footstep again and again
presses it down to earth? No, there is a lesson
to be learned here, and I will con it, so long as the
Lord, by his aiding grace, enables me to study his
will in his works, even as his word hath command-
ed me to do.

But my picture gallery—what has now endeared

20

230 THE GARDEN.

it beyond its common value? I have been where
every chord of my heart was compelled to vibrate,
and every form and colour of by-gone scenes most
vividly represented to my tearful gaze. I found
myself in an assemblage, including many whose
looks of love are still permitted to gladden me ;
and, alas! presenting many vacancies where
others, most deeply endeared, had passed away—
some to the world of spirits, and some into dis-
tance almost as remote. ‘The May-blossom, that
in fond, annual commemoration of the day, I had
hidden in my bosom, bore a thorn which I had not
the heart to break off; for why should I not feel,
even bodily, the piercings of what had been to me
a broken reed, so far as this world’s comfort is
concerned? The very thorn of that withered
May-flower was more precious to me than all the
living garlands of the present spring. ‘There are
many who will question the truth of this; but
some there are, who, without knowing any thing
of me or mine, will, from individual experience,
acknowledge it to be unquestionable.

The object of the meeting before me, was one
inexpressibly dear to my heart—the promotion of
poor Erin’s spiritual good, through the divinely
appointed medium of her native tongue. I say
divinely-appointed: for God has declared it to be
so, not only in word, but by confirming signs and
wonders, which none might gainsay.

THE GARDEN. 231

Who that contemplates the day of Pentecost
can deny this? Could not the same Omnipotence
have rendered one dialect intelligible to all hearers,
at no greater expense of miraculous power, than
was required to pour at once the eloquence of
more than fifty various languages from the lips of
twelve unlettered men? It was the divine will,
that each should hear them speak in iis own
tongue, the wonderful works of God: and shall
our poor sister sit desolate upon her green moun-
tains, excluded, through our iniquitous neglect,
from sharing the privilege that was extended to the
swarthy Egyptian, and the dweller of the distant
desert—that is now carried out alike to the in-
habitant of polar regions, and to the South-sea
islander, to the wild hunter in his western forest,
to the Brahmin, in his eastern fane, and which in
his own uncouth dialect, speaks words of peace in
the Hottentot’s kraal? It is a foul spot in our
feasts of excursive charity, to have those of our
own household sit famishing at the portal: itis a
denying of the faith—it is an aggravation of some-
thing worse than infidelity. But, blessed be God!
the odious stain is in the hands of the scourer;
and fuller’s soap will, ere long, whiten this defiled
garment of ours. It must be so: for the Lord
puts such persuasive words into the mouths of
those who plead for our poor sister, that many
were, on that day, constrained to lay down for a

232 THE GARDEN.

while the telescope so curiously pointed towards
the remote corners of the globe, and shed a tear
over the mourner, who has so long sat neglected
at their feet. God puts such tears into his bottle :
yet, not by weeping shall we help Ireland, unless
we join thereto the fervent supplication of interced-
ing spirits: and when that is accomplished, we
have done but the preliminary work. Our tears
and prayers are to the Lord, that he would send
help: he answers, ‘‘Who shall I send, or who will
go for us?” Here is the test: are we ready to’
reply, ‘‘ Here am I, send me?” Perhaps not liter-
ally, for no miraculous power is now put forth, to
fit us for the task of speaking in other tongues ;
and we cannot all become learners of a new dia-
lect: but let it be remembered that there are hun-
dreds, yea, thousands, competent to engage in the
sacred labour, and under the greatest advantages
that local knowledge and attachment can afford,
awaiting only the means which you hold within
your purse-strings, to set them at work. This
fact is unquestionable ; and a most astounding fact
it is,—two shillings will buy an Irish Testament ;
eight shillings the whole word of God in that lan-
guage; and three pounds eleven shillings and
three-pence, will afford a salary on which a native
Irishman can be found, to spread its contents, for
a year, amid the habitations of his darkened coun-
trymen. And oh, how beautiful on the mountains

THE GARDEN. 233

of Erin are the feet of those who publish peace,
where war—intestine war, goaded by bigotry—
has for ages past defiled the land with blood! I
look around me on the peaceable possessions of an
English garden: | recall a long sojourn in the sis-
ter ats yet more brilliantly clad in the profusion
of vegetable beauty, and again does my heart bleed
over a scene most eA eat placed before my
mind’s eye, in the very assemblage to which I
have alluded.

There stood forth one, who came to plead for
his poor country; and he told a simple tale of
what his own eyes had seen, his own experience
verified, within a short space of time. He spoke
of a mansion where peace had dwelt: where the
pastor of a parish had long abode, and from whence
he was driven by the blood-thirsty rage of a mul-
titude, whose menaces compelled him to flee for
his life. He told of the wretched contrast that
ensued—of the glebe-house transformed to a bar-
rack—of peaceful chambers garrisoned by armed
men—of the bugle note echoing where, from a
family altar, had ascended the quiet tones of prayer
and praise. ‘Tears from many eyes bore witness
to the sympathy of his hearers; but none flowed
from a source so deep as mine. ‘That pastor was
my friend; that glebe-house was the pleasant
home where I learnt the meaning of those other-
wise inexplicable words, Irish hospitality! In|

20*

234 THE GARDEN.

those light and airy. chambers, I had, many a
night, sunk into pleasant repose ; awakened by the
morning beam, to rove through a wilderness of the
choicest sweets, and then to kneel amid the house-
hold band, uniting my devotions at that family altar.
There was no fiction in it: nothing for imagination
to fill up; all was reality, deep-felt, agonizing
truth: and though, I bless my God, I do love
Ireland, and mourn for her, and have tried to serve
her, even from that very time, yet I never so loved,
I never so grieved, I never so burned to spend and
be spent for her, as when that appalling description
was given, of scenes where my bosom’s warmest
affections had been drawn out, and where the vic-
tims of popish persecution were my friends, my
endeared, my hospitable Christian friends; and
the wretched instruments of destruction were the
smiling peasants, whose cabins [ had visited,
whose children I had fondled, and from whose
scanty meal of potatoes [ had often accepted the
choicest morsel, rather than hurt their generous
feelings, by declining that which they could ill af-
ford to give. My poor, warm-hearted, impetuous,
deluded Irish! What can I do forthem? What,
but pray and plead for their immortal souls, drag-
ged into perdition by means of chains, that you,
reader, might well assist to break.

The dear young pastor who related this touch-
ing story, gave a singular instance of the efficacy

THE GARDEN. 235

of those means. He told of the funeral of a
policeman, whose mangled remains he buried amid
menacing thousands of those whose hands had shed
his blood, or whose hearts applauded the deed.
They pressed on the heretic minister, with thoughts
of similar violence; but the Lord put it into his
heart to use his knowledge of the vernacular tongue
for their benefit: he continued the beautiful service
in Irish; and the effect was wonderful. They
listened, they joined in it; and at the close they
opened a passage for him with uncovered heads,
pronouncing a blessing on him in the tongue that
they loved: and such was the influence that its
use had given him over them, that, when frankly
declaring their purpose of not leaving a Protestant
alive in the parish, they told him his blood would
be the last that they should shed !

I cannot forget the thrilling reality of all this:
neither could I, nor would J, forget that he who so
feelingly, so tenderly, interceded for his deluded
countrymen, had, within a few short weeks, beheld
the grey hairs of his own beloved father brought
down in blood to the grave, by the murderous hands
of such as he was pleading for. He alluded not to
this: but surely the blessing of him who prayed
for His murderers, could not but sanctify the effort
made: and surely a portion of that blessing will
accompany even my poor record of it, to reach the
heart of some on behalf of Ireland’s guilty Papists

236 THE GARDEN.

and her wronged, her persecuting, her forgiving
Christian Protestants.

I am not going to select a flower, and an indivi-
dual for this chapter. I take the whole garden for
my type, and Ireland for my departed friend. Alas!
she lies among the dead: but the spirit of life will
re-enter, and she shall cast forth her grave clothes,
despite of Satan and of Rome. I remember, many
years ago, passing some hours in a garden, that
might serve as the very personification of Ireland.
It belonged to a noble mansion, the titled owner of
which had not for years inhabited it. The dwelling
was closed, but in no manner decayed; and the
garden was deserted, not destroyed. ‘There were
winding walks, bordered with exquisite shrubs:
but the latter had attained a growth that stretched
their branches across the path; and weeds of
enormous magnitude seemed to compete, on equal
terms, the possession of the soil. In one place,
my foot was caught by the tangled meshes of a
moss-rose-tree, straggling quite over the gravel
walk, and actually throwing me down in my at-
tempt to pass; nor did I escape without scratched
hands and a torn dress. In another, I had to rend
my way, though reluctantly, by destroying whole
masses of honey-suckle; and such was the diffi-
culty of proceeding, that only one of the party.
would accompany me in my determined efforts to
explore the whole scene. It must not be supposed

THE GARDEN. 237%

that overgrown rose-trees, and rampant honey-
suckles were the only obstacles we encountered.
Many a nettle thrust its aspiring shoots into our
very faces; and not a few sturdy thistles poig-
narded our ancles. A more annoying, vexatious,
perplexing task could hardly be imagined ; only
that at every step, we were compelled to cry out,
““Tf it were but weeded, and pruned, and dressed,
what a paradise it would be !”

I well recollect, too, the unexpected termination
of this strange ramble. We arrived at a spot
where the luxuriant growth of all descriptions of
garden trees, laburnum, lilac, arbutus, laurel, and
an endless etcetera, no longer shut out the sky from
our view, but opened to usa little grassy knoll,
surmounted by an ancient yew, of beautiful form,
round the trunk of which was the wreck of a ru-
ral seat. We ascended the gentle slope, and at-
tempted to pass round the tree; but ah, what a
start did I give on accomplishing the half of my
purpose! Beyond that tree, not a leaf of vegeta-
tion was to be perceived, excepting the grass and
hawthorn shoots that clad a precipitous descent, of
a few yards, beyond which lay a strip of bright
vellow sand, and then the ocean, the grand, the
glorious German ocean, stretching away to the
horizon, in the deep blue of unbroken repose ; save
where the thousands of little silvery billows, gem-
med into unspeakable beauty, by the slanting rays

238 THE GARDEN.

of the western sun, came rippling along the edge
of the coast, and sported over the sands. The
contrast was inconceivably fine: never did ocean
appear so mighty, nor ‘all the grand magnificence
of heaven’ so imposingly sublime, as when I had
just emerged from that labyrinth of neglected
flowers and permitted weeds. Yet it was all in
keeping: sea and sky most beautifully harmonized
with the wide range of tall green shrubs, on which
I could look back, or rather down, from the emi-
nence: and the many-tinted clouds of sunset ap-
peared as the very pallet from whence the flowers
had stolen their corresponding hues. I was then
a wild young girl, and my feelings were kindled to
the highest pitch of enthusiasm by the scene: but
T little thought that a deserted garden on England’s
eastern coast, was, in after years, to furnish a type
for the lovely western isle, concerning which I, of
course, knew less then I did of Peru or Kamt-
chatka. I say of course, because it seems to be
a general rule among us, that young people should
know no more of Ireland than they can learn by
committing to memory the names of its four pro-
vinces and thirty-two counties ; and old people only
what they can glean from the newspapers: in
proof whereof I will just mention that, four years
ago, wanting to refer to an authentic history of
Ireland, I went to borrow it from the library of a
first rate military public institution, which salaries

THE GARDEN. 239

a professor of history—there was none! I then
sent to all the private collections within ten miles,
and some much farther, but no such book as a his-
tory of Ireland was to be found in any of them.
I applied to a quarter in London, where I was sure
of success :—any other history was at my service ;
but not a line of Irish history had they. Poor as
I was, I could not endure the stigma to rest on all
the English; so I bought Leland, in three good
volumes; and I positively declare that, of all the
English friends who have noticed it in my precious
cabinet of Irish bog-yew, not one had read the book.
Now, if this be not the devil’s doing, to blind our
eyes, and harden our hearts against the claims of
our dear brethren—whose is it? Yet there is a
work I would rather see than Leland’s, in the pos-
session of my friends. Christopher Anderson’s
Historical Sketches of the native Irish, is a gem
such as six shillings will not often buy.

I have rambled from my garden, but not from
my point. Ireland is such a spot as I have faith-
fully described; for what I have written is un-
adorned fact. Ireland is a garden, where what
was originally good, has run to rampant mischief,
only bearing abundant token that it needs but to
be pruned and trained, to become again most inno-
cently lovely. Ireland is a garden, where what is
radically bad, has, through our wicked neglect,
taken root, and well nigh usurped the soil, to the

240 THE GARDEN.

extirpation of many a delicate plant, that was
thrust out to make way for its noxious growth.
Ireland is a garden, where he who only lounges
for his amusement, or dwells for his convenience,
will be—ought to be—scratched, and stung, and
tripped up, and bemauled: but where he who,
with axe and pruning-hook, assails the bad root,
and dresses the good tree, who gathers up, and
binds together, and weeds, and plants, and waters,
looking to God for the increase, may, and will, be-
hold his share of the desert transformed into a
blooming Eden—the wilderness into the garden of
the Lord. Furthermore, he shall find, when his
work is ended, a resting-place, where the ocean of
eternity shall lie before him in all the unruffled
majesty of bright repose, while the winds are held
fast in the hollow of God’s hand, and the sun
shines forth, even the Sun of Righteousness, to
beautify with celestial splendour the interminable
prospect of delight. ‘‘ Not of works,” God for-
bid! No, but of that grace which alone, in the
face of Satan and all his hosts, can gird us to the
mighty deed of hurling great Babylon from her
usurped seat: and which does not choose and
sanctify an instrument here, to be cast into the fire
when the work is accomplished.

CHAPTER XIX.

THE JESSAMINE.

Tat dear little modest flower, the Jessamine,
with its milk-white blossoms half hid in the masses
of cool refreshing green, used to adorn the most
limited spot, in the shape of a garden, that ever |
was confined to, as a promenade. It was, in fact,
merely a gravelled walk, raised to the height of a
couple of steps above the level of the paved court,
which formed the rear of some premises where I
was an inmate. The further side, and the ex-
tremities of this walk, were bounded by an ex-
ceedingly high wall; and nothing could have been
more ruefully sombre, or more widely removed
from any approach to the picturesque, had not the
old wall possessed a mantle of Jessamine, the
most luxuriant that I remember ever to have seen.
The slender branches had mounted nearly to its
summit; then, finding no farther artificial support,
through neglect, which shall presently be accoun-
ted for, they bent downward, shooting out in un-
checked profusion, until the whole space might
21

242 THE JESSAMINE.

with strict propriety be called a bower. The upper
part of the wall was more gaudily attired, in all the
variations of green moss, yellow and blue creepers,
and the dark red of the wall-flower. Beyond
these, nothing appeared but a strip of sky. At
the foot of the rampart some thrifty hand had ar-
ranged a narrow plantation of balm, sage, parsley,
and thyme, so close that the introduction of any
other shrub was impossible: of course, the old
wall possessed the sole claim to the designation of
a flower-garden; and, circumstanced as | then
was, I learnt to be thankful for any medium that
led my eye to the brighter world above; for, in
truth, all sublunary things were exceedingly dark
around me.

It was impossible, at least to me, to avoid iden-
tifying’ the Jessamine with her who owned that
narrow spot, and who was peacefully journeying
on, to take up her last earthly. abode in one still
narrower. Disease had blanched her cheek to the
whiteness of the flower, and bowed her frame like
its declining branches; while the nature of her
malady forbade the continuance of her once fa-
vourite occupation of training and propping the
Jessamine. Cancer, in its worst and most excru-
ciating form, had seized upon her; and, at the
time whereof I speak, it had spread from the side
to the arm, reducing her to a state of suffering not
to be conceived but by those who have closely

A

THE JESSAMINE. 2438

watched the progress of that deadly complaint, de-
vouring its victim, piecemeal.

Often have I gone out from the presence of the
dear sufferer, to meditate upon the amazing power
of divine grace, which she abundantly possessed ;
a rich. treasure in an earthen vessel so deplorably
marred as to make it doubly apparent that all the
excellency of that power was of God. I found it
hard, in an early stage of my Christian experience,
to reconcile the acuteness of her bodily anguish
with those promises of holy writ which describe
the believer as possessed of all things—godliness
as having the promise of this life, as well as that
which is to come—and the Lord as withholding
no good thing from them that walk uprightly. I
could not comprehend how such exquisite patience
should be visited with tribulation so severe; for I
had still to learn, that the tribulation wrought the
patience. Hundreds of times have I paced up
and down that confined path, murmuring against
the cross that my friend so cheerfully bore; and
questioning the love that so grievously afflicted
her. Sometimes the dumb boy, then in the first
steps of instruction, would come to me, increasing
my perplexity by showing that the same thoughts
occupied his mind. In his imperfect phraseology,
he would again and again say, ‘Poor Mrs. C.
much hurt. What? God love Mrs. C.? God
hurt Mrs. C. What?” The word—what! inter-

244 THE JESSAMINE.

rogatively repeated, with an impatient shake of the
head, signified a desire for information. In this
cease, I could only reply, ‘ Yes, God loves Mrs. C.
Poor Mrs. C. soon go to heaven.’ Jack, who
realized heavenly things in a way that few of us
attain to, was content with this assurance, under
the expectation of her immediate removal to glory:
but I knew that she had, probably, many a long
month to linger yet; and as weeks passed away,
Jack would come out with his embarassing ‘ What?
Mrs. C. very long pain! What—God love Mrs. C.?

I found her, one day, in her nice parlour, dress-
ed as usual, with exquisite neatness, her poor arm
supported in a sling of white muslin, and her pale
cheek wearing the sorrowful smile that rarely left
it. ‘Have you had a tolerable night, dear friend”
I asked. She replied, ‘I had no sleep at all; the
doctor dared not give me an anodyne, and the pain
was so excessive, that I could not help weeping.
However, a thought came into my mind that com-
forted me. It occurred to me that [ might have
been brought up a Socinian; and oh, dear lady,
how dreadful it would have been, to acknowledge
Jesus Christ as something less than God! When
I thought of the mercy that taught me from my
early youth to confess Him as God; and the sove-
reign grace that has more lately enabled me to see
Him as my God, bearing my sins in His own body
on the tree, oh, then my tears fell much faster;

THE JESSAMINE. 245

but they were full of joy; and I learnt the value
of the pain that kept me awake to recall this mer-
cy to mind, and to meditate on the great love of
my Saviour.’

While she said this, her tears again stole forth ;
but her countenance wore an aspect so heavenly,
that I soon betook myself to the Jessamine walk,
to wonder why I had never thanked God for not
allowing me to be born among Socinians.

A whole year, I think, this blessed woman lin-
gered in tortures indescribable ; and latterly she
would not admit into her room any but those who
were obliged to enter it; so great was the delicacy
of her feelings for others. She, however, used to
speak from her bed to those in an adjoining apart-
ment, the door being placed ajar, and very sweet
was her conversation. One day, after a week of
dreadful agony, she asked her maid to lift her from
her bed, to try if a change of position would bring
any relief; she was accordingly, seated on a low
chair; and, laying her head on the girl’s shoulder,
in a very soft, but animated voice, she murmured,
‘Mary Heaven!’ and instantly departed thither.

I placed some delicate Jessamine flowers in hér
coffin: and most delicious it was to gaze upon her
placid countenance, with a vivid recollection of her
bitter sufferings, and an equally vivid assurance of
her present bliss. Never did the beautiful hymn,
commencing, ‘Ah, lovely appearance of death,’

21*

246 THE JESSAMINE.

seem so appropriate, as when I repeated it beside
her corpse: never did the high wall of the dark
little garden, studded with shining white stars,
afford so sweet a meditation as on the close of that
summer-eve. ‘Three or four days after, Jack and
I arose very early to see her remains committed
to the ground, while the dew-drops were still upon
the grass. Huis smile was triumphantly joyous,
though tears stole down his cheeks, as he said,
‘Yes, God loves Mrs., C. Good Mrs. C. gone to
heaven. Yes, Jesus Christ loves Mrs. C,’

I have frequently been led to consider the asser-
tions of some Christians, that bodily suffering is
not an evil: that, when in severe pain, they could
desire still greater, as enabling them the more to
glorify God; and also that such inflictions are sent
altogether as marks of distinguishing favour, not
in punishment. I do not think that such was the
view taken by my friend; she appeared to regard
the sufferings of her body as a chastisement, not
joyous but grievous; but being to her, through
divine grace, made an exercise of faith, patience,
and love, it yielded most peaceable and beautiful
fruits. I have been startled, many a time, by the
rash and presumptuous complaints of those in
prosperity, lamenting that they had no cross laid
upon them, and envying the lot of their afflicted
friends; as though tribulation and anguish were
the determined portion of all God’s children. I

THE JESSAMINE. 247

grant that the apostle assures us we must through
much tribulation enter the kingdom of heaven ;
and that all who live godly in Christ Jesus shall
suffer persecution; but I cannot see that it neces-
sarily follows that we are to doubt our adoption,
when the Lord, giving us liberally all things to
enjoy, fills our hearts with food and gladness.
Ease and prosperity are, in themselves, very try-
ing to the Christian; and he is apt enough, when
so tried, finding his corruptions strong, and sin
struggling for the dominion, to prescribe for him-
self a course of temporal calamities, as the only
effectual remedy ; instead of applying to the sanc-
tifying aid of the Holy Spirit, who taught Paul no
less how to abound, than how to suffer need. I
liave often admired the levelling simplicity of that
concise portion of our beautiful litany, which bids
us pray ‘‘In ali time of our wealth, in all time of
our tribulation, good Lord deliver us.” One state
is not a wit more secure than the other; we are
just as prone to make a popish purgatory of our
afflictions, as we are to make a fool’s paradise of
our joys; and sinful as it is to repine under the
chastening rod, it appears even more inexcusable
to grumble at the profusion of our temporal mer-
cies. On the other hand, unless in some very
peculiar cases, it seems to me quite as unbecoming
to make a boast of our calamities, as to glory in
our worldly possessions ; for what is it, in fact, but

248 THE JESSAMINE.

a covert vaunt of our patience and faith? I have
seen some dear sufferers, writhing under the most
excruciating torments of acute disease, or pining
in lengthened confinement to a sick room, or weep-
ing, in the bitterness of their souls, a sudden be-
reavment, which has left them comparatively alone
upon earth :—I have seen them compelled to listen,
while others, in the full enjoyment of health and
prosperity, lectured them upon the enviableness of
their lot: and required of them songs of mirth in
their heaviness. God can, and does, give songs in
the night of sorrow, heard by himself alone; and
undoubtedly, he also enables his people to rejoice,
even outwardly, at the abundant consolations with
which he outnumbers their light and momentary
afflictions; but I do not love to see a wounded
spirit, lodged in a weak body, crammed, as it were,
with the crude notions of others, who but know theo
retically what their friend is sensibly experiencing.

I am very sure that Mrs. C. was one of the
most heavenly-minded persons I ever met with.
Her rank in life did not bring her into what is
called polite society, except among those who re
cognized the tie of membership under one glori
ous Head. Her education had not been of a supe
rior order ; but alike in mind, manners and conver
sation, the indwelling Spirit shed a lustre around
her, which commanded respect from every one
There was an humble dignity in her deportment.

THE JESSAMINE. 249

that could awe the most reckless into submission
to her calm and mild rebuke: and her sympathi-
zing pastors came to her less toimpart than toreceive
consolation, encouragement, and spiritual profit:
while she, in the spirit of a little child, desired but
to sit at their feet and learn. Now, I would sooner
take the feelings of such a person for a rule where
by to judge, than the laboured conclusions of pro-
found thinkers, on a point which, after all, they
could but think upon: and I am sure that Mrs. C.
regarded pain as a positive evil, the bitter and hu-
miliating fruit of sin, judicially inflicted, to rebuke
and chasten; and by no means to be glorified in,
as an especial privilege, even by God’s children.
I have seen the tears stand in her eyes, while her
look expressed somewhat of Job’s mournful re-
proof, to the injudicious friends, who undertook to
prove that her bodily torments were so many calls
for exultation and delight: but, when left to draw
her own deductions from the Lord’s dealings with
her, as explained by his word, and applied by the
Spirit, she would sweetly acknowledge, as inthe
instance of that sleepless night, how much of mer-
cy her severest trials were made the means of
conveying to her soul. Had recovery been possible,
I make no doubt that she would gladly have used
every means to throw off her dreadful malady ;
and most touching was the fervency of her thank-
fulness to the Father of mercies, when a few

}

250 THE JESSAMINE.

hours of sleep had been permitted to refresh her
wearled body. Yet she desired to depart, and to
be with Christ, knowing it to be far better than a
lengthened sojourn upon earth; and since the Lord
had appointed that lingering and agonizing disease,
as her path to the grave, she was content. To
say that, if left to her own choice, she would
not have preferred a less torturing disease, would
be more than I should feel justified in asserting : but
I am sure that she believed that to be best for her
which the Lord had chosen; and that she never
desired it to be otherwise than as He willed it.
The Jessamine, at all times and in all places, is
lovely: but that on the antique wall, breathing
fragrance on my evening promenade, was certain-
ly the richest and the sweetest that I ever met
with. No flower can be more simply elegant in
form, more untainted in the purity of its perfect
whiteness, or more refreshingly odoriferous in its
delicate scent. There is, besides, something in
its utter inability to sustain itself, that farther illus-
trates the Christian character. The Jessamine
will aspire and grow to a considerable height, butit
must be upheld throughout, or it sinks downward,
and defiles in the dust of the earth those beauties
which were formed to expand towards heaven.
Let but a single shoot break loose from its sup-
port, and you see it straggling far away, with an
earthward tendency, the sport of every wind. Is

THE JESSAMINE. 261

not the type obvious? I once remarked a stray-
ing branch of the Jessamine, crossed in its way
by the shoot of a neighbouring ivy, and firmly
fixed to the wall by the steady progress of its
more adhesive companion. Here, the strong bore
the infirmities of the weak, by love serving another,
and becoming a fellow-helper in the faith to a less
stable believer. It was beautiful to see how, from
this point, the Jessamine shot upwards, bearing to a
great height the fragrant blossoms that would other-
wise have been trampled under foot: and the infer-
ence was cheering too. I have-often thought that
I must write a chapter on the ivy, which is really the
most patronizing of plants; though like the patrons
of this world, it sometimes destroys its protege.
But to return to the Jessamine. It is long since I
gazed upon the old wall of dear Mrs.C.’s humble
garden, and many an experimental lesson have I
since been made to learn, of the necessity both for
prop and pruning-knife, among the Lord’s weak
straggling plants. But there is something so sweet
in the recollection of my lonely walks, where in-
deed there was scarcely room for two to pace the
garden, that I rank the Jessamine, with its pointed
leaves and starry flowers, among the most precious
of my store: and if ever I possess a cottage of
my own, it shall clothe the walls, and peep into
the casements, with its well-remembered story
of patience, piety, and peace.

CHAPTER XX.

THE PASSION-FLOWER.

I nave already mentioned that I was nearly deter-
red from taking up two or three subjects, by find-
ing that Hervey had left me nothing to say respect-
ing the particular flowers connected with them.
I shall, however, venture to pursue the original
plan, at least with regard to one of these, especial-
ly as I have very little to say of the type; and a
great deal of that to which I have attached it, as a
memento.

I never could look upon the Passion-flower so
enthusiastically as some do, nor find much gratifi-
cation in following up the imaginary resemblance
to that whence its name is derived: and, strange
as it may appear, although peculiarly fond of
graphic representations, I have rather an aversion,
as well to those which assume to pourtray the
awful scene of Calvary, as to the incongruous host
of Madonnas and holy families ; which, from their
utter dissimilarity one to another, irresistibly im-
press my mind with the idea of gross fiction, and

CHAPTER XIX.

THE JESSAMINE.

Tuat dear little modest flower, the Jessamine,
with its milk-white blossoms half hid in the masses
of cool refreshing green, used to adorn the most
limited spot, in the shape of a garden, that ever I
was confined to, as a promenade. It was, in fact,
merely a gravelled walk, raised to the height of a
couple of steps above the level of the paved court,
which formed the rear of some premises where I
was an inmate. The further side, and the ex-
tremities of this walk, were bounded by an ex-
ceedingly high wall; and nothing could have been
more ruefully sombre, or more widely removed
from any approach to the picturesque, had not the
old wall possessed a mantle of Jessamine, the
most luxuriant that I remember ever to have seen.
The slender branches had mounted nearly to its
summit; then, finding no farther artificial support,
through neglect, which shall presently be accoun-
ted for, they bent downward, shooting out in un-
checked profusion, until the whole space might
21

B49 THE JESSAMINE.

with strict propriety be called a bower. The upper
part of the wall was more gaudily attired, in all the
variations of green moss, yellow and blue creepers,
and the dark red of the wall-flower. Beyond
these, nothing appeared but a strip of sky. At
the foot of the rampart some thrifty hand had ar-
ranged a narrow plantation of balm, sage, parsley,
and thyme, so close that the introduction of any
other shrub was impossible: of course, the old
wall possessed the sole claim to the designation of
a flower-garden; and, circumstanced as I then
was, I learnt to be thankful for any medium that
led my eye to the brighter world above; for, in
truth, all sublunary things were exceedingly dark
around me.

It was impossible, at least to me, to avoid iden-
tifying the Jessamine with her who owned that
narrow spot, and who was peacefully journeying
on, to take up her last earthly abode in one still
narrower. Disease had blanched her cheek to the
whiteness of the flower, and bowed her frame like
its declining branches; while the nature of her
malady forbade the continuance of her once fa-
vourite occupation of training and propping the
Jessamine. Cancer, in its worst and most excru-
ciating form, had seized upon her; and, at the
time whereof I speak, it had spread from the side
to the arm, reducing her to a state of suffering not
to be conceived but by those who have closely

THE JESSAMINE. 243

watched the progress of that deadly complaint, de-
vouring its victim piecemeal.

Often have I gone out from the presence of the
dear sufferer, to meditate upon the amazing power
of divine grace, which she abundantly possessed ;
a rich treasure in an earthen vessel so deplorably
marred as to make it doubly apparent that all the
excellency of that power was of God. I found it
hard, in an early stage of my Christian experience,
to reconcile the acuteness of her bodily anguish
with those promises of holy writ which describe
the believer as possessed of all things—godliness
as having the promise of this life, as well as that
which is to come—and the Lord as withholding
no good thing from them that walk uprightly. I
could not comprehend how such exquisite patience
should be visited with tribulation so severe; for I
had still to learn, that the tribulation wrought the
patience. Hundreds of times have I paced up
and down that confined path, murmuring against
the cross that my friend so cheerfully bore; and
questioning the love that so grievously afflicted
her. Sometimes the dumb boy, then in the first
steps of instruction, would come to me, increasing
my perplexity by showing that the same thoughts
occupied his mind. In his imperfect phraseology,
he would again and again say, ‘Poor Mrs. C.
much hurt. What? God love Mrs. C.? God
hurt Mrs. C. What? The word—what! inter-

244 THE JESSAMINE.

rogatively repeated, with an impatient shake of the
head, signified a desire for information. In this
case, I could only reply, ‘ Yes, God loves Mrs. C.
Poor Mrs. C. soon go to heaven.’ Jack, who
realized heavenly things in a way that few of us
attain to, was content with this assurance, under
the expectation of her immediate removal to glory:
but I knew that she had, probably, many a long
month to linger yet; and as weeks passed away,
Jack would come out with his embarassing ‘ What?
Mrs. C. very long pain! What—God love Mrs. C.?

I found her, one day, in her nice parlour, dress-
ed as usual, with exquisite neatness, her poor arm
supported in a sling of white muslin, and her pale
cheek wearing the sorrowful smile that rarely left
it. ‘Have you had a tolerable night, dear friend?
I asked. She replied, ‘I had no sleep at all; the
doctor dared not give me an anodyne, and the pain
was so excessive, that I could not help weeping.
However, a thought came into my mind that com-
forted me. It occurred to me that I might have
been brought up a Socinian; and oh, dear lady,
how dreadful it would have been, to acknowledge
Jesus Christ as something less than God! When
I thought of the mercy that taught me from my
early youth to confess Him as God; and the sove-
reign grace that has more lately enabled me to see
Him as my God, bearing my sins in His own body
on the tree, oh, then my tears fell much faster;

THE JESSAMINE. 245

but they were full of joy; and I learnt the value
of the pain that kept me awake to recall this mer-
cy to mind, and to meditate on the great love of
my Saviour.’ |

While she said this, her tears again stole forth ;
but her countenance wore an aspect so heavenly,
that I soon betook myself to the Jessamine walk,
to wonder why I had never thanked God for not
allowing me to be born among Socinians.

A whole year, I think, this blessed woman lin-
gered in tortures indescribable ; and latterly she
would not admit into her room any but those who
were obliged to enter it; so great was the delicacy
of her feelings for others. She, however, used to
speak from her bed to those in an adjoining apart-
ment, the door being placed ajar, and very sweet
was her conversation. One day, after a week of
dreadful agony, she asked her maid to lift her from
her bed, to try if a change of position would bring
any relief; she was accordingly, seated on a low
chair; and, laying her head on the girl’s shoulder,
in a very soft, but animated voice, she murmured,
‘Mary Heaven!’ and instantly departed thither.

I placed some delicate Jessamine flowers in her
coffin: and most delicious it was to gaze upon her
placid countenance, with a vivid recollection of her
bitter sufferings, and an equally vivid assurance of
her present bliss. Never did the beautiful hymn,
commencing, ‘Ah, lovely appearance of death,’

21*

246 THE JESSAMINE.

seem so appropriate, as when I repeated it beside
her corpse: never did the high wall of the dark
little garden, studded with shining white stars,
afford so sweet a meditation as on the close of that
summer-eve. ‘Three or four days after, Jack and
I arose very early to see her remains committed
to the ground, while the dew-drops were still upon
the grass. His smile was triumphantly joyous,
though tears stole down his cheeks, as he said,
‘Yes, God loves Mrs., C. Good Mrs. C. gone to
heaven. Yes, Jesus Christ loves Mrs. C.’

I have frequently been led to consider the asser-
tions of some Christians, that bodily suffering is
not an evil: that, when in severe pain, they could
desire still greater, as enabling them the more to
glorify God; and also that such inflictions are sent
altogether as marks of distinguishing favour, not
in punishment. I do not think that such was the
view taken by my friend; she appeared to regard
the sufferings of her body as a chastisement, not
joyous but grievous; but being to her, through
divine grace, made an exercise of faith, patience,
and love, it yielded most peaceable and beautiful
fruits. I have been startled, many a time, by the
rash and presumptuous complaints of those in
prosperity, lamenting that they had no cross laid
upon them, and envying the lot of their afflicted
friends; as though tribulation and anguish were
the determined portion of all God’s children. I

THE JESSAMINE. 247

grant that the apostle assures us we must through
much tribulation enter the kingdom of heaven;
and that all who live godly in Christ Jesus shall
suffer persecution; but I cannot see that it neces-
sarily follows that we are to doubt our adoption,
when the Lord, giving us liberally all things to
enjoy, fills our hearts with food and gladness.
Ease and prosperity are, in themselves, very try-.
ing to the Christian; and he is apt enough, when
so tried, finding his corruptions strong, and sin
struggling for the dominion, to prescribe for him-
self a course of temporal calamities, as the only
effectual remedy ; instead of applying to the sanc-
tifying aid of the Holy Spirit, who taught Paul no
less how to abound, than how to suffer need. I
have often admired the levelling simplicity of that
concise portion of our beautiful litany, which bids
us pray ‘In all time of our wealth, in all time of
our tribulation, good Lord deliver us.” One state
is not a wit more secure than the other; we are
just as prone to make a popish purgatory of our
afflictions, as we are to make a fool’s paradise of
our joys; and sinful as it is to repine under the
chastening rod, it appears even more inexcusable
to grumble at the profusion of our temporal mer-
cies. On the other hand, unless in some very
peculiar cases, it seems to me quite as unbecoming
to make a boast of our calamities, as to glory in
our worldly possessions; for what is it, in fact, but

248 THE JESSAMINE.

a covert vaunt of our patience and faith? I have
seen some dear sufferers, writhing under the most
excruciating torments of acute disease, or pining
in lengthened confinement to a sick room, or weep-
ing, in the bitterness of their souls, a sudden be-
reavment, which has left them comparatively alone
upon earth :—TI have seen them compelled to listen,
while others, in the full enjoyment of health and
prosperity, lectured them upon the enviableness of
their lot: and required of them songs of mirth in
their heaviness. Ged can, and does, give songs in
the night of sorrow, heard by himself alone; and
undoubtedly, he also enables his people to rejoice,
even outwardly, at the abundant consolations with
which he outnumbers their light and momentary
afflictions; but I do not love to see a wounded -
spirit, ledged in a weak body, crammed, as it were,
with the crude notions of others, who but know theo
retically what their friend is sensibly experiencing.

{ am very sure that Mrs. C. was one of the
most heavenly-minded persons I ever met with.
Her rank in life did not bring her into what is
called polite society, except among those who re
cognized the tie of membership under one glori
ous Head. Her education had not been of a supe
rior order; but alike in mind, manners and conver
sation, the indwelling Spirit shed a iustre around
her, which commanded respect from every one.
‘There was an humble dignity in her deportment,

THE JESSAMINE. 249

that could awe the most reckless into submission
to her calm and mild rebuke: and her sympathi-
zing pastors came to her less toimpart than toreceive
consolation, encouragement, and spiritual profit:
while she, in the spirit of a little child, desired but
to sit at their feet and learn. Now, I would sooner
take the feelings of such a person for a rule where-
by to judge, than the laboured conclusions of pro-
found thinkers, on a point which, after all, they
could but think upon: and I am sure that Mrs. C.
regarded pain as a positive evil, the bitter and hu-
miliating fruit of sin, judicially inflicted, to rebuke
and chasten; and by no means to be glorified in,
as anespecial privilege, even by God’s children.
I have seen the tears stand in her eyes, while her
look expressed somewhat of Job’s mournful re-
proof, to the injudicious friends, who undertook to
prove that her bodily torments were so many calls
for exultation and delight: but, when left to draw
her own deductions from the Lord’s dealings with
her, as explained by his word, and applied by the
Spirit, she would sweetly acknowledge, as im the
instance of that sleepless night, how much of mer-
cy her severest trials were made the means of
conveying to her soul. Had recovery been possible,
I make no doubt that she would gladly have used
every means to throw off her dreadful malady ;
and most touching was the fervency of her thank-
fulness to the Father of mercies, when a few

250 THE JESSAMINE.

hours of sleep had been permitted to refresh her
wearied body. Yet she desired to depart, and to
be with Christ, knowing it to be far better than a
lengthened sojourn upon earth; and since the Lord
had appointed that lingering and agonizing disease,
as her path to the grave, she was content. To
say that, if left to her own choice, she would
not have preferred a less torturing disease, would
be more than J should feel justified in asserting : but
I am sure that she believed that to be best for her
which the Lord had chosen; and that she never
desired it to be otherwise than as He willed it.
The Jessamine, at all times and in all places, is
lovely: but that on the antique wall, breathing
fragrance on my evening promenade, was certain-
ly the richest and the sweetest that I ever met
with. No flower can be more simply elegant in
form, more untainted in the purity of its perfect
whiteness, or more refreshingly odoriferous in its
delicate scent. ‘There is, besides, something in
its utter inability to sustain itself, that farther illus-
trates the Christian character. The Jessamine
will aspire and grow to a considerable height, butit
must be upheld throughout, or it sinks downward,
and defiles in the dust of the earth those beauties
which were formed to expand towards heaven.
Let but a single shoot break loose from its sup-
port, and you see it straggling far away, with an
earthward tendency, the sport of every wind. Is

THE JESSAMINE. 251

not the type obvious? I once remarked a stray-
ing branch of the Jessamine, crossed in its way
by the shoot of a neighbouring ivy, and firmly
fixed to the wall by the steady progress of its
more adhesive companion. Here, the strong bore
the infirmities of the weak, by love serving another,
and becoming a fellow-helper in the faith to a less
stable believer. It was beautiful to see how, from
this point, the Jessamine shot upwards, bearing to a
great height the fragrant blossoms that would other-
wise have been trampled under foot: and the infer-
ence was cheering too. I have often thought that
I must write a chapter on the ivy, which is really the
most patronizing of plants; though like the patrons
of this world, it sometimes destroys its protege.
But to return to the Jessamine. It is long since I
gazed upon the old wall of dear Mrs.C.’s humble
garden, and many an experimental lesson have I
since been made to learn, of the necessity both for
prop and pruning-knife, among the Lord’s weak
straggling plants. But there is something so sweet
in the recollection of my lonely walks, where in-
deed there was scarcely room for two to pace the
garden, that I rank the Jessamine, with its pointed
leaves and starry flowers, among the most precious
of my store: and if ever I possess a cottage of
my own, it shall clothe the walls, and peep into
the casements, with its well-remembered story
of patience, piety, and peace.

CHAPTER XX.

THE PASSION-FLOWER.

I nave already mentioned that I was nearly deter-
red from taking up two or three subjects, by find-
ing that Hervey had left me nothing to say respect-
ing the particular flowers connected with them.
I shall, however, venture to pursue the original
plan, at least with regard to one of these, especial-
ly as I have very little to say of the type; and a
great deal of that to which I have attached it, as a
memento.

I never could look upon the Passion-flower so
enthusiastically as some do, nor find much gratifi-
cation in following up the imaginary resemblance
to that whence its name is derived: and, strange
as it may appear, although peculiarly fond of
graphic representations, I have rather an aversion,
as well to those which assume to pourtray the
awful scene of Calvary, as to the incongruous host
of Madonnas and holy families ; which, from their
utter dissimilarity one to another, irresistibly im-
press my mind with the idea of gross fiction, and

THE PASSION-FLOWER. 253

rather cloud than assist the mental perception of
what is so simply and sweetly set forth in the writ-
ten word. Perhaps a consciousness of the idola-
trous purpose to which such pictures have been
perverted, may have contributed to produce this
effect.

The Passion-flower was not placed on my list
of favourites, until I met with it—can any reader
guess where ’—growing against the walls of a
Roman Catholic chapel. It then became endeared
to me indeed; and holds, to this day, a high place
among the most touching of my lovely remem-
brancers. I was dwelling in Ireland, not far from
a flourishing nunnery, which it was the fashion for
strangers to visit: but I had never felt any incli-
nation so to do, until a friend mentioned to me
that, among the children of the convent school,
there was a deaf mute, whom they could by no
means teach. My interest was excited: and, as I
knew something of the mode of instructing such,
I readily accompanied my friend to the convent, to
proffer my help. As we passed along, she laugh-
ingly remarked, ‘I did not think any thing would
have tempted you to visit such a place.’ I replied,
‘Where God is pleased to point out a path of duty,
I care not in what direction it may lie. As a mat-
ter of idle curiosity, you would not have prevailed
on me to go there.’

It was with some trepidation that I entered, for

22

254 THE PASSION-FLOWER.

the first time, a building to which the light reading
of former days had attached many romantic ideas ;
while the better instruction of a later period had
taught me to view it in its real character, as a
strong-hold of superstition and self-righteous delu-
sion. The nun, who had especially taken an in-
terest in the little dumb girl, was presently intro-
duced to me; and never did I behold a more en-
gaging creature. ‘Tall, graceful, and bearing about
her the manners of polished society, her aspect
was that of the most winning sweetness, the most
unaffected humility: and when, by a very short
process, I convinced her that every difficulty might
be overcome, and the child instructed to spell and
write, the sparkling animation of her looks, the
eager delight with which she listened to my direc-
tions, and the fervency of her eloquent thanks,
while, with glistening eyes she caressed the child
whose welfare she was planning, all attracted me
irresistibly. I donot know how far the picturesque
effect of her habit, which I never before had seen
—the loose folds of a long black robe gathered in-
to a broad belt, with its depending rosary, and the
graceful veil which, falling back from her beautiful
brow, nearly swept the ground,—might tend to
deepen the impression; but certainly I believed
her to be, without exception, the most fascinating
creature I had ever seen: and when she asked me
to walk around the garden with her, I readily

THE PASSION-FLOWER. 255

agreed, glad of any excuse to prolong the inter-
view.

She showed me her plants, and brought me to
the entrance of a building, which I supposed might
be a school-house, where a handsome flight of
stairs led to two large folding doors. These she
pushed open, and I entered: but to my real dis-
may, I found myself opposite a splendid altar,
profusely decorated with images, covered with
gilding, and variously ornamented: above all, was:
elevated the crucifix; and, on turning to look for
my companion, I saw her nearly prostrate in the
door-way, her arms crossed on her bosom, and her
head almost touching the ground, in profound ad-
oration of that idolatrous image. ‘The impulse of
my feelings was to make a precipitate retreat ; but
the nun arose, and taking my arm, led me onwards.
The chapel was very magnificent, but I shrunk
from the contemplation, and confined my remarks
to the beautiful prospect, from its window, of the
garden beneath; and hastened our return. The
nun retreated slowly backwards with many genu-
flexions : and I almost ran out, rejoicing when the
richly carved doors once more closed upon a scene
so indescribably painful to me.

My gentle conductress redoubled her attentions
to cheer me; for the sudden depression of my
spirits could net but be visible to her: and as we
left the building, she gathered a Passion-flower

256 THE PASSION-FLOWER.

from a luxuriant plant, that mantled its walls, pre-
senting it with a graceful expression of her grati-
tude, and saying it was in itself a poor token, but
rich in the sacred resemblance which it bore to
what we both held most holy.

I took an affectionate leave of her: and on
shewing the flower to a friend, with an account of
its fair donor, she replied, ‘Poor E ! It could
be no other, for she is all that you describe, and
there is not one like her in the place.’ She then
proceeded to tell me, that my nun was a young
lady, educated in the Protestant faith; but led to
apostatize under strange circumstances. What
these were, she could not inform me: but several
years after I learnt her story. It was briefly this :
her father, a Romanist, had married a Protestant,
with the customary iniquitous agreement, that the
sons should be brought up in his religion—the
daughters in hers. Daughters only were born, and
they were educated in the Protestant faith ; but,
on their father’s death, a number of priests assem-
bled, to perform offices for the departed soul, du-
ring the time that the corpse lay in the house; and
so well did they improve their opportunity, that the
widow and all her daughters renounced Protestant-
ism shortly after the funeral, with the exception of

E

To overcome her conscientious repugnance, the
most nefarious means were resorted to; a pretend-

THE PASSION-FLOWER. ps

ed miracle, performed by some relic, failed to con-
vert, though it staggered her: and they then had
recourse to one of the foul stratagems, so common
in gaining proselytes from among the young and
imaginative. They contrived that, in the dead of
night, a figure resembling her deceased father, of
whom she was very fond, should appear to her,
stating that he had obtained permission to re-visit
the earth, for the sacred purpose of solemnly as-
suring her, that the faith in which he died, was the
only passport to heaven. This succeeded—she
never recovered from the shock: but she renounc-
ed her religion, and took the veil.

Had I known this at the time, I cannot, say to
what lengths my indignation might have carried
me: but the bare fact of her having apostatized
was sufficient to rouse my zeal. I soon repeated
my visit; and faithfully told her how very far I
was from agreeing in her views; while the good
nuns, on their part, had, as I found, already engaged
the help of a seminary of Jesuits, not far off, to
proselytize me; and poor E. was permitted to fol-
low her affectionate inclination for my society,
under the charitable hope that she might save my
soul. I look back with emotions of trembling
thankfulness to that time: for I was very young
indeed in the faith, and totally ignorant of contro-
versy. I knew that popery was idolatry; and lL
knew that idolatry was a damnable sin; but be-

22*

258 THE PASSION-FLOWER.

yond this, I had not examined the subject. The
mode pursued with me was to extort a promise
that I would carefully study whatever books the
nun should lend me; and I ‘gave it, on condition
that I might write out, and that she would read,
my opinions on them. A parcel was presently
sent, selected by the Jesuits; and I sat down to
examine one of the most specious and dangerous
works ever penned; (Milner’s ‘ End of Contro-
versy.’) JI adhered to my engagement, and thanks
be to God for his unspeakable mercy in guarding
me as he did! I could not unravel the artful web
of deep and diabolical sophistry: but I saw and
felt that it was essentially opposed to the truth of
Scripture. I wept over the book, in grief and
perplexity, but the Lord led me to pray, and then,
as by a bright beam breaking forth, I saw the
mystery of iniquity in all its deceivableness of un
righteousness. Prayer had cut the knot which rea
son could not disentangle, and [ was enabled to
set forth the truth, in a latter, to the poor nun, so
as to exhibit the contrasting error in-a forcible
point of view. Other books were sent and read,
and commented on; and the Lord overruled my
perilous course of study to bringing me acquaint
ed with the depths of this fearful delusion; but,
at length, the dear nun, who had been carefully
guarded from any private interviews with me, after
they commenced operations, managed to let me

THE PASSION-FLOWER. 259

know, in writing, that she was not allowed to see
a line of my comments on the books: all being
committed, by her superior, to their spiritual ad-
visers. She justified this proceeding, it is true ;
but I have reason to think it produced a strong
effect on her naturally ingenuous and honourable
mind.

Many a time did we try to see one another
alone; and so anxious was I, that I once asked
her to go to the chapel with me, and talk there:
but an old nun was beforehand with us, and was
seated in a stall, conning her book when we enter-
ed. E. glanced towards her, made a sign to me,
and proceeded to talk of gardening. Shortly after
this, they resolved to try what effect an imposing
ceremony would have on me. I had, of course,
refused to be present at. the celebration of mass:
but now, two nuns were to profess, and take the
veil; and so resolved were they to have me, that
not only were two front seats reserved, but the
whole service was fairly written out by the hand
of E., with a full explanation of the ceremonies,
and sent to me with tickets for my mother and
myself: while all that affection could dictate, or
flattery prompt, or animated description pourtray
to excite curiosity, was said in the accompanying
letter. I felt grieved to appear ungrateful for
such kindness; I gave them credit for the most
obliging intentions, and perhaps, for a moment, I

260 THE PASSION-FLOWER.

almost wished to overcome my scurples, on so
interesting an occasion: but in proportion as I be-
came acquainted with the fearful character of a
religion clearly opposed to the gospel of Christ,
and convinced of the rank idolatry perpetrated in
its stated devotions, I felt the wickedness, the in-
gratitude, the dishonesty of sanctioning in any
way, whatever, those grievous insults offered to
my redeeming God. I felt that every Protestant
who complacently looks on, becomes a participator
in those rites; and I really dared not go intoa
place where I had no warrant whatever for believ-
ing that God would go with me, under the pre-
sumptuous expectation that He would wait for me
at the door, again to enter into what he had deign-
ed to make His temple, after its wanton and un-
called-for agreement with idols.

Accordingly I wrote as delicate and grateful a
refusal as I could; and my heart danced so lightly
in my bosom after it, that I trust there is no dan-
ger of my ever trying what sort of sensation a con-
trary line of conduct would produce.

My poor nun, meanwhile, was very rapidly
sinking: her health had never been good, from the
period of her apostacy, and she was now, at least
so I was told, confined to her apartment. I made
many visits to the convent, vainly desiring to see
her; until very shortly before I left the neighbour-
hood, I called, rather as an act of civility, than

THE PASSION-FLOWER. 261

with any hope of finding poor E.; but while sit-
ting in the parlour, I was startled by her bursting
into the room, so changed in appearance that I
scarcely recognized her; and in great agitation.
She sat down by me, and throwing her arm round
my neck said, ‘I was resolved to see you once
more.’ Before another word could be spoken,
three elderly nuns entered; and with looks that
expressed both alarm and anger, actually forced
her away, one of them saying, that Sister was
not well enough to be spoken to, and ought not to
have quitted her room. ‘The impression left on
my mind by this strange interview was painful in
one sense—in another joyous. That the interest-
ing nun was under actual constraint, and severely
dealt with, I could not doubt: that her mind was
awakened to the fearful peril of her apostate state,
I had strong reason to believe: and well I knew
that if the Lord was working, none could let it.
Often and bitterly have I reproached myself, that
I did not more boldly and more unequivocally,
during our first interviews, bear a distinct testi-
mony against her dreadful delusion; but I relied
on her performance of the promise, which she
certainly intended to fulfil, of reading my remarks
on the books that were lent to me. As it was, a
consciousness of having failed in using the means,
threw me in deeper humility at the footstool of the
Lord, in fervent intercession for my friend. I

262 THE PASSION-FLOWER.

continued thus to pray, for about a year; and was
much struck when nearly four years afterwards, I
learnt that her death had taken place at the end of
that time; and, from the same source, I also
gleaned the particulars already related, respecting
the means of her perversion from the truth—or
rather from nominal protestantism, for she was not
then in any degree spiritually enlightened—and I
rejoiced in the sweet hope, that in the struggle so
apparent at our last meeting, and in which she
probably lost her life, she had overcome by the
blood of the Lamb; renouncing the idolatrous
faith into which she had been so foully entrapped.
The secrets of her dying chamber, none can tell.
Many a recantation openly made, is no where
registered but in heaven, and in the dark bosoms
of those who suppress the tale. Beloved E! I
cannot look upon the Passion-flower, spreading
wide upon the garden wall, or climbing the trellis
before me, but I think I see the soft white hand
of my pensive nun reaching among its branches,
and behold her graceful figure, with its bend of
unaffected humility, as she gave me the memento;
her eloquent eyes bespeaking more than either ac-
tion or words could express.

I remember, also, the disgust with which I once
witnessed the grossly familiar manners of some
bulky priests, who came to the door of the room
unaware of my being in it—manners evidently

THE PASSION-FLOWER. 263

most unpleasing to E.,. who, nevertheless, was
constrained to wear an aspect of submission, when
her hand was warmly seized by those spiritual
pastors. I can likewise remember, that the coun-
tenance of the foremost became most protentously
overcast, when his eye fell on me; and that it was
the last time of my ever being permitted to con-
verse freely with the nun. In those days the the-
ological treasures of Dens had not been commu-
nicated to the laity; but their recent disclosure
has furnished me with a key to many puzzling
recollections.

Oh that I could so speak as to reach the hearts
and consciences of those parents who, while pro-
fessing the Protestant faith, can be so awfully
blinded to their sacred obligations, as to trust their
children within the blighting atmosphere of popish
lands, and popish seminaries! They know not,
because they will not investigate, the perils of
such a situation: the vain and hollow acquisition
of accomplishments, which, when gained, only
prove so many ties to bind those youthful spirits
more fast to an ungodly world, becomes, through
Satan’s devices, such a bait to them, that even the
life of the soul is overlooked in the computation,
and heaven itself cannot outweigh the importance
of artificial manners, and the fluent pronunciation
of a foreign tongue. The direst curse of old Ba-
bel seems to be reserved for this generation, de-

264 THE PASSION-FLOWER.

livering over our young men and maidens to the
fatal wiles of modern Babylon. The division of
languages thus leads to dividing many a soul from
its God; and this indulgence of the “ pride of
life,” this fulfilling of “the desires of the mind,”
will furnish a theme for endless lamentation to
many who, in their greedy pursuit of outward dis-
tinction, close their eyes to the scriptural warnings
which God has not given in vain, however little
we may regard them.

This chapter is sombre—its subject and its type
are equally so. No external brightness rests upon
the Passion-flower; but that from which it takes
its name contains even the brightness of the glory
of God. Dark, sad, and comfortless was all that
met my view, in the brief and clouded course of
my poor E., but the eye of faith, brightened by
the recollection of many a fervent prayer sent up
on her behalf, can discerna glorious beam, em-
anating from the land that is very far off, with the
figure of the nun, among a multitude of “ backslid-
ing children,” whom the Lord has reclaimed, re-
joicing in the splendours that surround the throne
of the Lamb.

CHAPTER XXI.

THE LEMON-PLANT.

WHILE engaged in writing these simple memorials,
I have often been led to think on a friend, before
whose eye the pages must frequently have brought
scenes and characters no less familiar to her than
to myself. Circumstances had parted us, many
years ago; and under the pressure of our respec-
tive cares, amid the multiplying demands on our
attention, the correspondence had died away: but

many a sweet anticipation has gladdened my
thoughts, as they dwelt ona future re-union, either
in - own green isle, or wheresoever the Lord
might permit us to renew the intercourse which,
for three years, subsisted, to our mutual delight,
almost without a day’s separation. ‘Together we
watched the fading of the interesting snow-drop—
poor Theresa! and our tears were mingled over
the tidings of her blessed transition to the world
of happy spirits: together we rejoiced over the
first manifestations of divine grace in the little
dumb boy, who was devotedly attached to her

23

266 THE LEMON-PLANT.

Her hand supplied the flowers that adorned the
cradle of the Irish baby; and often did she hasten
to present me with the first and freshest buds of
May, assuring me of her fervent prayers on behalf
of the dear though distant, and to her unknown,
antitype of those fragrant blossoms. To her I
took the Passion-flower; and the nun, whom she
personally knew, formed the theme of numberless
conversations between us; while there also, I had
the help of her persevering prayers. So intimate-
ly was she acquainted with all most interesting to
me, that I have almost marvelled she should not
have broken through the lengthened silence, won
to renew the correspondence by the touching of a
chord in her sensitive bosom, that never failed to
respond. Alas! I little thought that she had gone
to rejoice with those who had awakened so intense
an interest in us: and that the Lemon-plant, or
Verbena, a sweet shrub which I had, from the
first day of our acquaintance, held in a manner
sacred to her, was soon to be placed among the
mementos of the dead.

As I have before remarked, my floral associations
are very arbitrary. ‘They are sometimes founded
on a resemblance, traced between the individual
and the flower; but more frequently upon some
incident that has connected them: and then I love
to follow up the union, by making out some actual
point of likeness. Not a few of mv best-loved

THE LEMON-PLANT. 267

friends, thus fancifully identified, are still bright
and blooming as their gentle representatives; and
very delightful it is to behold them together ;
more particularly if the friend and the flower un-
expectedly meet, the first after a prolonged ab-
sence, the other in the earliest beauty of its an-
nual re-appearance. ‘The May-flower has greeted
me thus; and others not unconnected with the
blossom of May; and my heart has bounded with
a joy that few can realize—with a fond anticipation
of future re-appearances, even on earth; and the
more sober, but far more satisfying prospect of
eternal re-union in that better land where the
flowers fade not, and friends can part no more,
But I am wandering from the Lemon-plant,
and from her whose memory is like it, fragrant
and ever-green. Before we met I had heard so
much of her extraordinary attainments and ac-
knowledged superiority in all that is both brilliant
and valuable, that I rather expected something
more to be admired than loved: and froze myself
as hard as people can freeze, amid the sun-shine
of Irish society, under the impression that if I took
a fancy to Marie, she would prove too abstract a
person to reciprocate it. How much was I mista-
ken! Never in my life, did I behold a softer per-
sonification of all that is modest in the truly femi-
nine character; arrayed, too, in the meek and

268 THE LEMON-PLANT.

quiet spirit wherewith God loves to adorn his
dearest children.

Her dress, her manner, every feature of her in-
telligent and pensive countenance, bespoke the un-
assuming disciple of a lowly Master. Elegant,
she couid not but be, fashionable she had been,
and, as she told me, proud and overbearing. I
was forced to believe it, for Marie was infinitely
superior to the affectation of self-condemning hu-
mility ; but years of close observation did not ena-
ble me to detect a vestige of such characteristics.
It often astonished me that she, who so dearly
prized in others the gifts of intellect and superior
information, should be so utterly insensible of her
own elevated scale in both respects ; but I believe
itto have been, that having long traded in goodly
pearls, she so justly appreciated the one pearl of
great price, which she had happily found, that her
former collection faded into absolute nothingness
in the comparison.

One hour passed in her society sufficed to rivet
my regard ; for, interested by some painful cir-
cumstances that she had previously heard, as con-
nected with my situation, she iaid aside her habitual
reserve, and bestowed on me such sweet attentions
as would have won a much colder heart. It was
on that occasion that she gave me half of a sprig
of the Lemon-plant from her bosom; and find-
ing that it was a favourite shrub with me, she

THE LEMON-PLANT. 269

reared one from a cutting, to perfume my little
study. The growth of cur friendship, however,
outstripped that of the plant, so that before the
slip had taken root, Marie and I were daily com-
panions. |

Our earliest walks were beside a river, the
banks of which were fringed with tall trees; or
along a road, where the lofty mountain of Slieve-
na-man towered, many a mile to the right, while
in nearer prospect, across the river, was one of
the proudest and most ancient of Ireland’s embat-
tled castles. After a while, we became so ena-
moured of the precincts within that castle’s walls,
that our more extended rambles were given up, for
the delightful privilege of sauntering beneath the
rich foliage of its venerable trees, and talking over
tales of the olden time, dear to the children of
Erin. The noble proprietors, on leaving the
country for a time, had given me the privilege of
free entrance at all hours, by a private door, into
the grounds; with permission to extend my
rambles into every room of the castle. Often
have we availed ourselves of this indulgence to
gaze on the antique tapestry, to examine the curi-
ous reliques of other days, when one of the purest
patriots that ever drew Irish breath, held vice-regal
state beneath those battlements ; or to promenade
the long saloon, enriched by the portraits of many
generations, and terminating in a projecting window,

23*

2'70 THE LEMON-PLANT.

that, from an almost incredible height, looked com-
mandingly down upon the slow deep river which
guarded the foot of that impregnable fortress.
My beloved companion had not, in becoming
spiritual, lost a whit of her patriotism—would
that none ever did so!—and she was proud of the
castle, and looked on the waving honours of its
surrounding trees, with a depth of feeling truly
Irish. Indeed, under their shadow I seemed to
become Irish also; for it is from that spot, and
from that period, I date my fervent devotion to
dear Ireland and her cause,—a devotion which, I
hope and trust, will abide in the veins of my heart
till they cease to throb with life.

But there were traits in Marie’s character more
endearing than even her nationality. She was a
truly consistent Christian; her views of divine
things were uncommonly deep and clear; and
the powers of her fine mind were unreservedly
consecrated to His service who had so richly gifted
it. She was slow in asserting an opinion, because
she always made sure of her ground; and rarely,
if ever, had she occasion to retract it. Great
decision of character was tempered with such
softness of manner, and powerful arguments were
so modestly put forth, that even a child might feel
as if on an equal footing with her, while imbibing
the lessons of wisdom. How tender she was in
this respect, a little instance may shew: I never

THE LEMON-PLANT. 271

could forget the circumstance, nor think of it
without emotion.

We once, when setting out on a long walk
besides the river, started a subject on which our
opinions considerably differed: it was something
connected with the grand doctrine of redemption.
My notions were very crude, but I was abundant-
ly dogmatical in proclaiming them. Marie had
the better of the argument throughout ; and not a
word was spoken on either side, approaching to
intemperance of feeling.

We had not quite concluded when we reached
my door, and stood awhile to finish the discussion,
as the dinner-hour forbade a longer interview. It
ended by my conceding to her the palm of ortho-
doxy, which I did, I believe, with a good grace;
and we parted most affectionately, agreeing to
meet on the morrow, at noon. The following
morning, before I was well awake, a billet was
brought to my bedside, the contents of which
amazed me. It was from Marie, written at three
o'clock in the morning, under the most extreme
depression of spirits, occasioned by an apprehen-
sion which had seized her that she might, in the
earnestness of our discussion, have said, or looked,
something calculated to pain me: and the idea
was, she said, intolerable, that she perhaps had
added a mental pang to the many I was called on
to endure, by some seemingly unkind remark, or

372 THE LEMON-PLANT.

overbearing assumption. She had wept at the
thonght, had prayed over it; had acknowledged it
to her mother, and now took the pen to implore
my forgiveness, if such should have been the case.
A more simple, touching effusion I never perused ;
and when I had written my assurance that nothing
of the kind, nothing even remotely approaching it
had occurred, Isat down to meditate on the im-
mense distance to which the once proud Marie
had advanced on the heavenly road, beyond me,
who said a thousand peevish things almost daily to
my most indulgent friends, and rarely repented of
them.

Another distinguishing feature in her sweet
character, was the perfect absence of egotism.
With feelings exquisitely refined, she struggled to
conceal their delicate sensitiveness, lest minds of
a rougher mould might feel ill at ease in her com-
pany. This species of self-denial I have scarce-
ly ever seen practised, except by my beloved
Marie; but in her I have marked it constantly de-
veloped. Onthe same high and generous princi-
ple, she concealed her extraordinary attainments in
science : she was deeply versed in even very ab-
struse philosophy, and her acquaintance with
learned languages was at once extensive and solid.
She had books that would have graced the library
of a university professor, and used them too, but
they were never seen on her table, or her shelves;)

THE LEMON-PLANT. 273

nor did a hint of capability for, or delight in such
studies ever escape her, even to me. I verily be-
lieve that, to the day of our separation, she did
not know I was acquainted with the number or
nature of her accomplishments: yet she had no
friend so intimate as I was.

I recollect that one day she was showing me a
little circular flower-stand, where she had arranged
her choice plants, just before the window of her
favourite boudoir. I looked around me: the room
was not large, but delightfully fitted up. There
was her piano on one side, and her harp in the
corner ; her book-shelves elegantly arranged, with
drawings hung round, every one of which she said,
was a memento of something dear to her heart.
The love of a mother, who perfectly appreciated,
and almost idolized this one survivor-of her do-
mestic circle, had contrived many little useful and
ornamental appendages; while the flower-stand,
loaded with odoriferous plants, basked in the plea-
sant light of a window which overlooked her little
garden, where her two pet families of rare carna-
tions and splendid tiger-lilies flourished to her
heart’s content. I remember thus addressing her,
‘Marie, you perplex and almost make me discon-
tented. You are a child of God, yet have no
cross. She looked at me, with a short laugh of
surprize, then, while her aspect softened into deep
humility, she answered, ‘I am, by divine grace, a

Q74 THE LEMON-PLANT.

child of God, loaded with innumerable blessings
by my heavenly Father; every want supplied,
every wish gratified. But don’t doubt that, when
he sees fit, he will find a cross for me.’ She pres-
ently after brought a miniature, and laid it before
me, asking if I knew who it represented. I re-
plied, [ had seen some one like it, but could not
tell where. Her mother, who had joined us, said,
‘Five years before you met, that was a most strik-
ing likeness of Marie.’

I gazed in astonishment, comparing the lofty and
spirited mein, the brilliant glow of youthful beauty,
and deep rich auburn tint of a profuse head of hair,
as represented in the minature, with the meek
quiet aspect, the faded complexion, and the very
thin locks of pale yellow, that marked my friend.
She sat quite still during the scrutiny, then said,
‘It really was a surprising likeness, taken just be-
fore I lost my darling brother.’ Her tears flowed,
and, smiling through them, she added, while closing
the miniature, ‘You must not suppose that I had
no troubles to bring me to the cross.’

This was the only allusion that she ever made
to former trials; but the incident sunk deep into
my mind, showing me the Lord’s mercy to his
dear child, in giving her a season of calm enjoy-
ment after severe tossings on a stormy sea. Dear,
gentle Marie! it was not the combination of ex
ternal things, that, gratifying her taste, produced

THE LEMON-PLANT. O75

such an atmosphere of tranquil happiness around
her: it was the calm and holy frame of a spirit
subdued, a heart attuned, under the hand of sancti-
fying grace. She was eminently devout, and had
a method in all her exercises; a methodical ar-
rangement of her time, which conduces, beyond
any other mere means, to the consistency, the use-
fulness, the self-possession of a child of God. A
perfect knowledge of herself gave her infinite ad-
vantage over those who had more superficially, or
more partially investigated their own characters.
Beholding continually her original and actual sin-
fulness, her failures in attempting to follow the
steps of a perfect Guide, and all the secret iniquity
of a heart naturally most proudly averse from god-
liness ; beholding these things in the sight of the
Omniscient, she was kept from the fatal snare of
thinking of herself more highly than she ought to
think ; and thus no slight, no rudeness, no sevei-
ity of remark, could ruffle even the surface of her
patient temper. With all this she was exceeding
cheerful, and by her frequent flashes of genuine
humour often won a smile, when no one else could
have extorted it.

In many points, Marie, resembled D. Like
him she owed all to the sanctifying influence of
the divine Teacher; and the fruits of the Spirit
were very similarly manifested in them. He knew
her not; but I have often, in conversing with D.

276 THE LEMON PLANT.

dwelt on her character to an interested listener,
He said he should much like to meet with her :—
and they have met! It is an overpowering
thought, what a numerous company are now as-
sembled in heaven, from among, those whom I
loved on earth. Oh, that it might quicken me
more in following them, who, through faith and
patience, inherit the promises! In no instance do
I, knowingly, embellish the portraits that I sketch
in these chapters; and when comparing myself
with them, the immeasurable. distance at. which
they left me in the race, is not only humbling, but
alarming.. We are too indolent: too ready to re-
gard with complacency our acknowledged deficien-
cies, and to rest in that knowledge, as though the
consciousness of standing still would serve us as
well as pressing forward in the race. Unless we
admit the Popish doctrine of supererogatory merit
—from which may the Lord deliver us !—and con-
sider these dear children of God as having done
more than was required of them, we must needs
be startled to find ourselves doing so much less.
Neither is this a legal view: not one of those
chronicled in these pages, held any other doctrine
than that of salvation by faith alone, through grace
alone, as the free, sovereign, unmerited gift of
God; but those who adhered to it the most tena-
ciously, were invariably the most zealous of good

THE LEMON-PLANT. Q77

works, the most diligent in business, and the most
eager in following after perfectness.

It has struck me as remarkable, that, from the
time of dear Marie rearing a lemon-plant for me,
I have never been without one, until within the
last year. That which I had long nursed, died ;
and I kept the dry unsightly stalk among my flour-
ishing plants, more than half a year, in the vague
hope that it might sprout again; or under a fond
feeling of reluctance quite to lose the memento.
I plucked it up only a few days before I learnt the
fact of Marie’s departure to a better place; and
now the sweet shrub must resume its station, a
cherished memento of what I can no more see on
earth. ‘The peculiarly healthfulfragrance of those
slender leaves, their rapid growth, and the delicacy
of their pale verdure, all are in keeping with the
traits of Marie’s character, most vividly impressed
on my mind—traits that led me, from the com-
mencement of our intercourse, to place her first
and highest on my list of female acquaintance, nor
do I expect to meet with her equal among women.
Yet what was, what is she? A wretched, guilty
sinner ; saved, washed, justified, and sanctified, in
the name of the Lord Jesus, and by the Spirit of
our God. ‘Those accomplishments, to the attain-
ment of which so many valuable hours were sacri-
ficed, what were they, to an immortal being, sent

24

278. THE LEMON-PLANT.

into this world to fight her way through hosts of
infernal foes, encompassing and inhabiting a body
of sin and death? Nothing! less than nothing and
vanity !

The details connected with my beloved Marie’s
history, would far surpass, in touching and. heart-
thrilling interest, those of any individual to whom
I have yet alluded; but her character needed not
the aid of such contingent circumstances to render
it engaging in the eyes of those who knew her;
nor does it require that aid to make it attractive to
those who love to see a contemporary, adorned in
like manner as the holy women of old adorned
themselves. I could have made my readers weep
with me; but I would rather lead them to reflect
and to pray, encouraged by the exhibition of what
God wrought in my Marie, and what he is equally
able, equally willing to work in them also.

CHAPTER XXII.

THE PALE BELL OF THE HEATH.

Amone the most interesting of the many deep
mysteries that invite inquiry, above, around, and
within us, one, not the least attractive to me, has
long been the communion, that an infant soul, or
rather the soul of an infant, holds with its God.
To deny the existence of such communion would
be rash—to substantiate such denial, I think, would
be impossible. Even those who limit infant salva-
tion to the seed of believers, and to the baptized,
which I do not, must own that the disembodied
spirit of an infant can become a participator in the
joys of heaven, however early it may be called.
away; and surely, in an earthly creature, shapen
in wickedness, conceived in sin, and born under
the curse, with the latent seeds of every evil in-
herent in its nature, there must be a work wrought,
to fit it for the habitations of unsullied purity and
everlasting joy. That a soul must be regenerate
by the power of the Holy Ghost, before it can
enter the kingdom of heaven, is readily admitted :

280 THE PALE BELL OF THE HEATH.

and that God can so regenerate a child, even be-
fore its eyes have opened to behold the light of
day, we have distinct proof in Scripture. His
work accomplished, will any one venture to assert,
that, because the undeveloped state of the mental
faculties, and feebleness of the bodily organs, pre-
clude the manifestation to us of what is passing
between the soul and its God, therefore nothing
does pass? I cannot believe it. I remember an
instance of a confirmed idiot, whose faculties up
to the age of thirty or forty, had acquired no great-
er degree of expansion than was seen in the cra-
dle ; but who, during her last illness, at that age,
gave most incontestible proofs of a glorious work
wrought in her soul, by the power of divine grace,
which she seemed enabled to communicate to those
about her, for their special encouragement in tasks
so apparently hopeless: for, in other things, she
was an idiot to the last. Now, of all cases, the
infant and the idiot most nearly assimilate—I
speak, of course, of extremely young infants—and
I am assured that God can—that he does—work
in the soul, without the customary medium of the
bodily and mental faculties. Who, by searching,
can here trace his steps? No one: but itis a
very sweet thought to engage us over the cradle
of a baby; sweeter still, when we look upon its
coffin.

When the Lord has willed it, that some tender

THE PALE BELL OF THE HEATH. 281

babe should be carried to his bosom, before it has
tasted the cup of mental or spiritual distress, this
work goes on. ‘Those who choose, may limit it to
a particular class: I firmly believe it of every
child of Adam, whose days are numbered and
ended before “they by reason of use, have their
senses exercised to discern both good and evil.”
] do not suppose that an early death brings them
necessarily within the bonds of the covenant: but
I do believe that, being chosen in Christ, along
with others, before the foundation of the world,
these infants are mercifully spared the stern conflict
awaiting those who are brought up for the church
militant; they are caught away to swell the count-
less multitude of the church triumphant. In this
contemplation, I see, as it were, unnumbered vic-
tims continually rescued from the grasp of Satan,
in those regions of the earth whose inhabitants sit
in darkness and in the shadow of death: and I
rejoice, that in no quarter of this magnificent globe
is his empire perfect; his power unresisted; or
the prey safe within his iron grasp. Such views
must be, in a measure, speculative; but their foun-
dation is the sure word of God, from which this
sweet and soothing doctrine can very fairly be
educed. My own mind is not troubled with a
doubt upon the subject; and very few things does
this visible world afford that draw from my heart
such a full and fervent Hallelujah, as the tiny
24*

282 THE PALE BELL OF THE HEATH.

coffin, with its little white pall, carried perhaps,
under the arm of a sorrowful father, while the
mother or sister steps behind, in tears of natural
grief. I can weep with them, for it is a sore trial
to a parent’s heart: but over the baby I do and
must rejoice, with joy unspeakable and full of
glory.

There is a little flower of exquisite delicacy,
which springs up among the heath and rough
grass, in uncultivated spots. Its form is that of a
single bell, closely resembling the Canterbury bell
of our gardens, and its texture transparently fine.
The stem rises perhaps two inches from the
ground, and there, in the attitude of a snow-drop,
- depends this soft little cup, dissimilar in many re-
spects from the well-known blue-bell of the heaths,
and wearing the grey tint of its kindred autumnal
sky, rather than the sprightly azure of summer.
The aspect of this wild-flower is so infantile, so
fragile, so etherial, that we wonder to recognize it
among the hardy heather, and the rugged grasses
where it usually dwells. We see it in our path
one day; the next it is gone, leaving no perceptible
vacancy among its thickly-spread neighbours, ex-
cept to the eye of those who marked its lovely
form unfolding to the bleak winds, and anticipated
how short a sojourn such a thing of gossamer
would make in such a clime. |

I have loved this little flower from childhood,

THE PALE BELL OF THE HEATH. 283

and have often stepped aside to avoid placing my
foot upon its innocent-looking head: but I never
connected it, until very recently, with a living ob-
ject. That association has, however, been formed ;
and fondly shall I henceforth welcome the pale,
solitary blue-bell of the hills—it now typifies one
of the loveliest and most touching links that con-
nect this dark, rough world with the pure and
shining habitations ahaee:

They say that all babies are alike; itis not true:
for, to one who observes them with the intense in-
terest that they merit, there is, even among the
newly-born, an endless, boundless variety. There
is a trait of grandeur, proper to the offspring of
man’s majestic race, while yet unconscious of the
workings of inbred sin, that throws over them a
general aspect peculiar to that privileged age; but
it is like the sun-beam upon a garden of dewy
flowers—a general brilliancy sparkling over all,
and by no means affecting their individuality of
character. None of them have yet put on the ex-
ternal livery of Satan, though all are born in bon-
dage to his yoke: but some have received the
secret seal of adoption, and are passing onward to
the kingdom of glory, never to know the defiling
touch of the wicked one. Elect, according to the
foreknowledge of God the Father, destined for an
early entrance into the inheritance of the saints in
light, born into visible existence, washed, sanctifi-

284 THE PALE BELL OF THE HEATH.

ed, justified, by a process equally rapid, mysteri-
ous, and sublime, they pass before our eyes, and
glide away to the bosom of their God. Most hap-
py, most privileged of all created beings, save only
the angels who, having never fallen under the con-
demnation of disobedience, know not the drop of
bitterness that extorts a cry from the new-born
babe.

When I first saw the little one, who is now vivid-
ly present to my mind, she was closely nestled in
her pillow, and I hardly caught a glimpse of the
features on which day-light had shone only for
three weeks. From time to time, I was told of
her singular loveliness, but she had numbered five
months before I was able to repeat my visit.
Never shall I forget the feelings that arose as I
gazed upon that child. The aspect of perfect
health, combined with strength and sprightliness
even beyond her age, seemed fully to justify the
sanguine anticipations of a devoted mother, that
she should successfully rear the babe; but every
look that I cast upon it, brought closer to my heart
a conviction, such as I had never felt before, re-
specting any infant, that it could not be formed for
earth. It was not the exquisite loveliness of the
child, the perfection of its features, the transparent -
brilliancy of its beautiful complexion, and the sin-
gular mouldings of its delicate limbs, which any
sculptor might have coveted to perpetuate in ala-

THE PALE BELL OF THE HEATH. 285

baster of kindred purity; it was not even the tran-
quil expression of its placid brow, not the soft
smile that gently dimpled its little budding mouth,
nor the assurance of its delighted mother, that so
sweet and calm a temper she had never traced in
any infant: No: it was a character spread over
the babe, of something so pure, so holy, so far re-
moved from weak and wayward mortality, that
while I gazed on her, my tears burst forth, partly
from the irresistible conviction that I was looking
upon a thing of heaven, and partly from the un-
avoidable association of those thoughts with a
coming scene of maternal lamentation and woe.
Does any reader deem this a fanciful impres-
sion? then I will relate the simple fact, that subse-
quent to the realization of my forebodings, I met
a dear Christian friend, who told me that, having
about the same time seen the- infant, she was so
_ deeply struck by what I am vainly trying to de-
~ scribe, that she remarked to her husband, on leav-
ing the house, how strong was her conviction, that
the stamp of heaven was upon it, and that it would
' be very early removed to its home. In reply, he
expressed his surprise that her secret thoughts
should have so exactly corresponded with his own.
It may be asked, if in one case, the image of
heavenly things be visible on an infant about to be
received into glory, why not in many—inall? I
would reply, that among those who are taken

286 THE PALE BELL OF THE HEATH.

home after a more lengthened pilgrimage, we
sometimes behold extraordinary foretastes of the
joy set before them, which they are able to com-
municate to surrounding friends, who doubtless,
with the church at large, experience much comfort
and encouragement therefrom. They seem, indeed,
to be granted for that purpose: and why should
not a peculiar demonstration of indwelling grace
be occasionally afforded to the watchful eye of a
tender mother, whose infant is about to be taken
from her bosom; and to cheer, as it surely is cal-
culated to do, the hearts of many mourning parents,
who may be longing to accumulate proofs as to
the actual manifestation of Christ’s love to little
babes, even in the flesh ?

In this case, the Lord had emphatically lent the
infant heirs of glory to parental care, and very
early received them to his own kingdom. Is it
too much to believe of him whose name is ‘‘ Love,”
and whose nature is “very pitiful,” that under a
reiterated blow upon the shrinking heart of a most
fond young mother, he should vouchsafe an es-
pecial cordial? was it not a sharp trial to see five
little coffins successively borne away from her
door, leaving but two of her household flock over
whom to watch and to tremble? Mothers, per-
haps, can rightly answer this question. We do,
most shamefully, limit the Holy One of Israel;
and to Him alone is it known how many cups of

THE PALE BELL OF THE HEATH. 287

heavenly consolation are dashed from our lips, be-
cause blind unbelief cannot discern them.

One trait that I remarked in the beautiful babe,
was a peculiarly pensive softness, that it was im-
possible to regard otherwise than as the meek and
patient yearning of the soul after something that
was not found in objects presented to the outward
sense. [ traced it, during the several opportunities
that I had of observing her, and could not believe
myself mistaken. ‘The impression was that some
glorious things had been revealed, as in visions of
the night, to the baby, around whom we at least
assuredly know that those angels were busy, who
are “ministering spirits, sent forth to minister to
them that shall be heirs of salvation.” And who
will deny that an immortal and ransomed soul, un-
polluted by actual sin, and on the point of crossing
the threshold of heaven, may have perceptions,
and enjoy revelations, quite inconceivable to us, in
our depraved and darkened stage of perpetually
out-breaking iniquity ? How foolish is the wisdom
of the wise, when brought to bear upon a point of
which neither they nor I can know anything!
We cannot refer to our own infancy, because—
even if memory could, under any circumstances,
wander so far back as to our cradles—we were not
of the number of those to whom exclusively these
marks apply—infants chosen to early glory, before
the world could put in its plea for a share of them.

288 THE PALE BELL OF THE HEATH.

The tiny bell will yet spring up among the heather,
distinguished by its soft tint from the rougher and
more abiding plants around it. Not formed, like
them, to sustain the rude crush of careless foot-
steps, we anticipate its early doom in the fragile
tenderness of its aspect. It was not so with the
lovely antitype: she bore the impress of health
and longevity; and the blight that laid her low,
ere six months had passed over her, was no con-
stitutional malady. I should rather trace the re-
semblance in this, that both bore too much the
hue of heaven to abide long on earth. What I
mean by the hue of heaven, as regards the babe,
was that singular expression to which I have be-
fore alluded. Her beautiful brow was thoughtful,
even to a careless eye; and the grace that reigned
in every movement of her head and limbs, was
truly majestic. You could not study her counte-
nance without fancying that she communed with
a brighter world; and that something of a calm
sadness hung over her view of sensible things. [I
was struck by the manner in which she would
take hold of her young brother, steadying the
boy’s face between her delicate hands, and gazing
upon it with a kind of perplexed earnestness, as if
other images were floating in her mind. Be it as
it may, this we joyously know, than no sooner had
the soft lid fallen for the last time over the clear,
intelligent eye, than the spirit gained an accession

THE PALE BELL OF THE HEATH. 289

of knowledge, to which the proudest attainments
of reasoning man in his full maturity, are as the
winding of the earth-worm through his dark and
slimy crevices, compared with the loftiest flight
of the eagle towards the morning sun. It is no
questionable speculation: ‘J say unto you,” said
the Lorp Jesus Curist, “that in heaven, their
angels do always behold the face of my Father,
which is in heaven.” Oh, it is delicious to think
of the rapture that is experienced by the glorified
soul of such a one, when, mounting to the innu-
merable company of angels, and to the spirits of
just men made perfect, it sings the song of the re-
deemed, at the moment of becoming acquainted
with the mystery ef redemption! ‘Unto him
that loved us, and washed us from our sins in his
own blood,” is the sound first heard, on entering
the everlasting gates; and then to learn the story
of Christ’s cress at the foot of Christ’s throne! to
gaze on the Lamb that had been slain, while the
tale of that propitiatory slaughter is drunk in
amid the songs of heaven! ‘T'’o look back upon
the world, while its snares are first unfolded, and
know that it is fully, and for ever escaped! Oh,
ye weeping mothers! bring such thoughts as these
to the death-beds, the coffins, the graves of your
happy, happy little ones, and you will feel that
God does give vou wages for nursing, through a
few short tearful days, those children for Him.
295

290 THE PALE BELL OF THE HEATH.

TI shall not again see the sweet infant bell of
the heath rise up, without a tear for the gentle
babe, through whose blue veins flowed blood not
alien to me and mine, and whose- lovely aspect
frequently comes before me, in the silent hour, to
melt my heart into sympathy with those who
owned a much nearer tie: but I will look up, and
rejoice ; for precious is her lot, and her rest is very
glorious.

‘‘ Beautiful baby! art thou sleeping
Ne’er to unclose that beaming eye ?

Deaf to the voice of a mother’s weeping,
All unmoved by a father’s sigh!

Wilt thou forsake the breast that bore the
Seeking a lone, a distant spot,

To bid the cold, damp sod close o’er thee,
Amid the slumb’rers who waken not!”

Mother, loved mother, I am not sleeping ;
Father, look up to the soft blue sky ;

Where the glittering stars bright watch are keeping,
Singing and shining, there am I.

Warm was the tender breast that bore me;

*T was sweet, my mother, to rest with thee:
But I was chosen—thou must restore me,

To the fonder bosom that bled for me.

I lingered below, till just discerning
My father’s voice, and my mother’s smile;
Love’s infant lesson my heart was learning,
But oft my spirit was sad the while.

THE PALE BELL OF THE HEATH. 291

Hast thou ne’er marked thy baby dreaming ?
Sawest thou no radiance o’er her spread?

Oh, rich and pure were the bright rays streaming,
The songs of heaven were round my bed.

And when I waked, though thou wast bending
With looks almost like my sunny dreams,
My soul to that softer world was tending,
My home was still with the songs and beams.

My brothers—my heart grew daily fonder,
When gazing on each young smiling face,

But I yearned for the brothers, who, sparkling yonder,
Had sung to me oft, from their beauteous place.

Gh! many a lonely hour of weeping
Thou hast past by their forsaken bed ;
But sorrow no more, they are not sleeping,
They linger not with the silent dead.

Could I show thee mine, and my brothers’ dwelling,
Could I sing thee the songs we are singing here,
Could I tell thee the tales that we are telling,
Oh where, my mother, would be thy tear!

For we on milk-white wings are sailing,
Where rainbow tints surrounded the throne,
And while bright seraphs their eyes are veiling,

We see the face of the Hoty Onr.

And we, when heaven’s high arch rejoices
With thundering notes of raptured praise,
We, thine own babes, with loud sweet voices,

The frequent hallelujah raise.

And we, oh, we are closely pressing
Where stands the Lamb for sinners slain :—

292 THE PALE BELL OF THE HEATH.

Hark! ‘Glory, honour, power and blessing,”
Away! we are called to swell the strain.

Mother, loved Mother, we are not sleeping ;
Father, look up where the bright stars be ;
Where all the planets their watch are keeping,

Singing and shining there are we!

CHAPTER XXIII.

THE GUERNSEY LILY.

Tue Guernsey Lily may not be known to all my
readers; but those who have seen it will admit its
claim to rank with the most beautiful of that ele-
gant family. Rising in a slender stem of reddish
hue, without the slightest appearance of any thing
resembling a leaf, it shoots up, exhibiting a dull-
looking sort of blossom, from which, in time, es-
cape as from a cell, numerous other buds, all
wearing the same dusky aspect. So far, all is
unpromising enough; but on a sudden, out bursts
such a display of beauty, as the eye cannot soon
weary of. From the top of the single stem,
flower-stalks branch off, to the number of eight,
each bearing a lily of the most glowing rose-
colour, and rivalling in form any production that
our parterre or conservatory can bring to compete
the prize of elegance. Each flower would bea
star with six points, did not the graceful curl of
the petals bending backwards, change its character;
_ and when I contrast the splendid magnificence of
25*

294 THE GUERNSEY LILY.

the expanded cluster with its embryu appearance,
I am lost in admiration.

This beautiful lily had long been a favourite, but
for years past I had not possessed one. A dear
friend in the Lord, though personally a stranger,
inhabiting one of the lovely isles where the flower
is naturalized, was tempted by the tale of my lost
verbena, to send me one of her own rearing, across
the sea; while another sister, both loved and
known, added half a dozen roots of the Lily, just
on the point of throwing out their flower-stalks.
I potted the little treasures in a mass, and soon
after left home for a few days. Returning, I was
delighted to find my Lilies in full expansion: and
as I gazed upon the clusters glowing in beauty and
grace, I could not but exclaim, ‘‘ No; Solomon in
all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.”

The transition is so easy and natural, as to be
in my mind almost inevitable, from the contem-
plation of a folded and dusky blossom thus sud-
denly assuming its station among other plants, a
bright and perfect flower, to that of a spirit, burs-
ting its mortal enclosure, and standing, arrayed in
celestial glory, among the redeemed ones who
encircle the throne of the Most High. Propor-
tioned to the sharpness of their trials, and the
gloom of their earthly lot, is the delight that ac-
companies this consideration ; and if the flower be -
like my Guernsey Lily, of a very uninviting as-

THE GUERNSEY LILY. 295

pect until it becomes exquisitely beautiful, the
mind will revert to some of the abject poor of this
world, rich in faith, who were heirs, and are now
occupants, of the kingdom of heaven. Such a
case is forcibly brought to my recollection at this
moment: and I will not withhold it.

About four years and a half ago, I was invited
by a young friend of noble family to accompany
him into his favourite haunt—St. Giles’s. The
transition was certainly calculated to strike any
mind with double effect; for we left a splendid
mansion, in one of the great squares of the ex-
treme west, where all was princely within, and a
bright sunshine flashing as we passed into the
street from the gay equipages that rolled along,
and walked towards Bloomsbury beneath gather-
ing clouds, which, just as we approached the con-
fines of the Irish district, descended on us in a
drizzling rain, more uncomfortable than a smart .
shower would have been. Those, and _ those
alone, who have trod the mazes of St. Giles’s,
can conceive the effect produced on my feelings,
when I found myself within its narrow streets,
bordered with their dreary-looking tenements :
every fourth or fifth step bringing me on the verge
of an abrupt flight of almost perpendicular stairs,
terminating in a low-roofed cellar, the abode of as
many squalid outcasts as could congregate within
its walls; while above, wretchedness, vice, and

296 THE GUERNSEY LILY.

desperation looked out, in all their forms, from
windows, or rather window-frames, where the lit-
tle glass that remained seemed but a receptacle
for all the filth that could accumulate upon it.
There is, at this day, in some of those streets,
what may be called an improvement, compared
with their aspect four years ago: but strong must
be the nerves, or most obdurate the feelings of him
who, even now, could pace those dreadful haunts
of misery and crime without a shuddering wish to
be again beyond their boundary. To me, the
scene was not new; but I had rarely ventured far
into it; and it was witha heavy depression of
spirits that I followed closely the steps of my con-
ductor, where two’ could not find space to walk
abreast. ‘The state of the pavement, even in fine
weather, defies the most circumspect to escape
defilement from the mixture of every thing that
can render it unclean; and the effect of a shower
is apy thing but purifying in those regions. St.
Giles’s enveloped ina drizzling mist immediately
after B Square in the sunshine! Who can
describe it? _

At length my. friend paused, and to my no small
dismay, conducted me into what was evidently a
dram-shop of the lowest character. Before the
door were assembled some half-dozen of ragged
wild-looking young men, engaged in a gambling
speculation at pitch-and-toss, evidently with excited

THE GUERNSEY LILY. 297

passions, which found vent in imprecations, uttered
in Irish, with an occasional kick or blow. The
faces that laughed upon me, from within the low,
wide, well-glazed windows, were yet more appall-
ing to my sight: but I was ashamed to draw back,
—M. had told me that we were to convey relief
toa suffering child of God; and on such a mis-
Sion, to a sick, persecuted convert from popery
too, we might reckon on whatever discouragement
the enemy was permitted to cast across our path.
We walked hastily through a long passage, leav-
ing the tap-room on our left, and mounted some
wide stairs; then turned to a narrow flight, half-
way up which, all being dark, M. tapped at a side-
door. It was opened by a woman of no very pre-
possessing countenance, although her manner dis-
played the excess of servility and adulation. M.
passed her, advancing to a low bedstead, where
lay an old man, whose noble expansion of fore-
head, and singularly fine countenance attracted me
at once ; but when he put forth his hands, to clasp
that of his benefactor, I drew back with horror
from a spectacle such as I never before or since
beheld. The old man had suffered from rheuma-
tism in so dreadful a degree, that the last joint of
each finger was reversed, or bent backward, so: as
to make the ends stand out in a most frightful man-
ner, the second or middle joint being as firmly fix-
ed in a crooked position, as though the fingers

298 THE GUERNSEY LILY.

were made of metal: the thumbs also turned
back. A pair of large bony hands thus formed,
or rather deformed, and stretched out to seize be-
tween them the hand of another person, was real-
ly a terrific spectacle to one who had never beheld
such a thing, and I became so nervous, that M.
covered them with a portion of the scanty bed-
clothes, and gently requested O’Neil not to let me
see them again. His feet were, I was told, in a
more painful state of distortion. :

The room was perfectly bare, save an old chest,
a broken chair, and a stool; an iron pot for pota-
toes, and a basin, and a plate. It was perfectly
clean, nevertheless, and recently white-washed,
which gave it a more comfortable appearance than
most of the abodes in that place. My attention,
however, was soon so completely engrossed by
O’Neil’s discourse, that I had little leisure for
other remarks. He was aged; but when raised
in his bed, I thought I never had beheld a more
imposing countenance and manner: there was
much of genuine dignity, and consciousness of for-
mer respectability in station, and superior mental
endowment; much information; a flow of well-
chosen language, and sometimes a touching allu-
sion to his destitute state, as having proceeded
from the death ofan only and affectionate son,
who had contributed largely to his support. But
the one object on which O’Neil shone out with.

THE GUERNSEY LILY. 299

striking lustre was the finished work of tne Lord
Jesus Christ. It was not the studied language of
aman who can speak well on a subject where he
has thought much—it was the overflow of a full
heart, which had felt much. His utter abhorrence
of himself, as a lost sinner, his unqualified and
shuddering renunciation of all the merit-monger-
ing work of popery; his fervent, passionate ap-
peals, with uplifted eyes and streaming tears, for
more of the Holy Spirit’s teaching; and his tor-
tents of adoring thanksgiving for the redeeming
love which had paid so costly a price for the ran-
som of his soul, when no help was to be found
save in that atonement—all spoke the humbled,
convinced, seeking, rejoicing believer in Christ
Jesus. He was energetic, to a degree that would
have been deemed too vehement in an English-
man; but O’Neil was thoroughly Irish, as I soon
found, when, on my subsequent visits, I took an
Irish reader to him. He was indeed quite a
scholar in that tongue; and it was most affecting
to behold his crippled, distorted, fingers contriving
to retain within their grasp the blessed Book, and
to turn over its pages.

I soon found that O’Neil’s wife had a sad pro-
pensity for strong drink; and that the donations
bestowed, in money or linen, on this interesting
character, too generally found their way to the
tap-room below. The noble lady, whose mansion

300 THE GUERNSEY LILY.

I had just left, had placed in my hanas a sum of
money, for the use of her poor countrymen in St.
Giles’s ; and I resolved that out of this I would
regularly supply O’Neil with nutriment proper for
his weak state. I thank God, I was able, from
one source or another, to continue it up to the
time of his death, more than two years after. My
dislike of his poor crooked fingers soon vanished ;
and many, oh many a day have I run up the long
passage, and mounted the stairs, and placed my-
self on the old box, with one of those formidable
hands clasping mine, while I read or talked to the
dear old saint about his glorious Redeemer. The
daily pittance of soup, or milk, with bread, soon
nourished him into better health; and the little
service of being the medium through which the
bounty of others reached him, won for me such a
warm niche in his Irish heart, that it almost
amounted to idolatry.

To such a place I could not, of course, go
alone; but the privilege of visiting O’Neil was
sought for by so many, that I never lacked a com-
panion. The dear Pastor of the Irish Church in
that place delighted in him; and unbounded was
O’Neil’s affection for Mr. B. But though he was
exposed to so much notice as might try the Chris-
tian humility of any man, O’Neil lay quiet at the
foot of the cross, glorying in that alone. He had
some habits that gave offence to persons of vari-

THE GUERNSEY LILY. 301

ous characters; but I liked them all. One was
what is irreverently called craw-thumping. Every
one knows that the poor Romanist, at confession,
is instructed to strike hard upon his breast with
the right fist, as a sign of contrition; and this
practice O’Neil never laid aside. His self-con-
demnation, and his prayers for divine teaching,
were accompanied with so many blows from his
poor hand, that I have seen some of the Irish rea-
ders in no small commotion about it—disposed to
question the reality of his conversion, while so
shockingly popish a habit was retained. ‘To me
it bespoke the sincerity of the man, far more clear-
ly than its abandonment could have done. An-
other foible was his extreme politeness: when
friends entered, he would, raising himself in the
bed, call to his wife to place the box here, and the
chair there, and the stool beside it, and, waving
his hand with the most ceremonious and courteous
gesture, he would direct the process of seating the
company; then, from beneath his pillow, draw
forth an antique horn snuff-box, and pass it round
with an air wholly inimitable. More than one
good person has said to me, in this stage of the
business, ‘The man is all artificial: what has a
beggar to do with such absurd forms? To which
I have replied, ‘O’Neil is not going to beg of you ;
so be quiet, and take a lesson in good manners.’

{ never knew any one leave him under other im-
| 26

302 THE GUERNSEY LILY.

pression than that he was simple sincerity person-
ified.

It pleased God to let me labour among those
dear outcasts for months together; but after a
time my residence was changed, and I made few
visits there. Still, so far as my charity purse
served, through the help of richer friends, my pen-
sioners were regularly attended to; and D., belov-
ed D., was the overseer of the work. The chole-
ra came, and swept away many an Irish beggar
out of wretched St. Giles’s, and the malignant
fever carried away many more. D. fell beneath
the latter. I followed his remains to the grave ;
and seeing some of my poor people bending over
it in an agony of unrestrained sorrow, my heart
was stirred up to visit them during the few hours
of my stay in town. I took a clerical friend with
me, and plunged at once into the doubly desolate
scenes that I had too long been estranged from.

With some difficulty,.in a most wretched garret,
immeasurably inferior to his former lodging, I
found O’Neil. He lay almost on the bare ground,
without a vestige of any earthly comfort. Even
the cleanliness that had always marked his appear-
ance, was gone. He could not lift his head from
the pillow of rags; but when I spoke, he clasped
my hand within his trembling, crooked fingers, and
sobbed his blessings for the daily pittance of milk
and bread. He then told us that, during the illness

THE GUERNSEY LILY. 303

of D. he had been attacked by cholera, had been
in the hospital, as a most desperate case, had been
brought through it, and returned to his garret to
linger out as before. It did indeed appear most
wonderful that such an object could have survived
the attack; and unbelief almost repined at it. I
mean my unbelief: for O’Neil, though with scarce-
ly power to strike his withered hand upon his
breast, was as low in self-abasement, as energetic
in the faith that is in Christ Jesus, as ever: and
no less willing to stay than prepared to go.

My companion was much struck with the old
man ; he talked long, and then prayed with him;
and afterwards added his most unequivocal testi-
mony to that of the many who had formerly visited
hin. It was my last interview with O’Neil; but
I had the comfort of knowing that he enjoyed the
daily portion of nourishment, and the pastoral
cares of his beloved minister. It was a welcome
communication which told me, twelve months af-
terwards, that he had departed in a state of un-
speakable rejoicing, to be with Christ for ever.
His death was remarkable for the vivid realization
that he enjoyed of future glory, strikingly contrast-
ed with the humility and self-suspicion that had
formerly characterized him. I remember once
taking a Christian divine to visit him, who preach-
ed up personal assurance as an indispensable evi-
dence of saving faith; but all his expostulations could

304 THE GUERNSEY LILY.

not extort from O’Neil a stronger word than ‘I
hope,’ as regarded his eternal inheritance.’ ‘ Are
you going to heaven, O’Neil? ‘I hope, through
the precious blood of my Redeemer, that I am,
sir. ‘That is not enough: you must be sure of
it. ‘Iam sure, sir, that Christ came to save such
sinners as me; andl am sure I desire to be saved
by Him; and I hope He will save me, sir’
‘Why, have you not the earnest of the Spirit?
IThope I have, sir.’ At last my friend plainly,
told him that his state was far from satisfactory ;
the tears streamed from the poor old man’s eyes,
and repeatedly he struck his breast; but all that
he would utter was the ejaculation :—‘ I hope—I
hope He willsave me! I took care to run back
to his-bed side, when the others were departing,
and to tell him that his hope would never make
him ashamed; and that though assurance might
be a privilege, it was no test of saving faith.
Dear O’Neil enjoyed it at last, though if his latest
breath had been but an ‘I hope,’ I should be just
as well satisfied concerning him.

My beautiful Guernsey Lilies—what is their
exquisite dress to that in which old Patrick O’Neil,
the Irish beggar of St. Giles’s, now shines!
“Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like
one of these :” but all the glory of this gorgeous
creation affords not a type for that in which the
redeemed soul stands complete before God. I

THE GUERNSEY LILY. 305

know not the exact spot where the distorted joints
of the old Irishman now moulder into dust; but
well I know that thence shall arise a being fashioned
like unto Christ’s glorious body. The form that
wears the white robe, bleached in the blood of the
Lamb, will not bend under the burden of disease ;
the hand that tunes a celestial harp will be pained
and crippled no more; neither smite upon the
breast in the anguish of self-accusing compunction.
My poor O’Neil, now rich with inexhaustible
treasures, has already changed ‘I believe’ into ‘I
see, and ‘I hope’ into ‘I possess.’ The bountiful
lady whose alms first enabled me to nourish him,
is with him there: and D. who ministered like a
comforting angel unto him in the dark dungeons of
St. Giles’s, is likewise ‘‘ made equal unto the
angels,” and joining their hallelujahs in the courts
of heaven. Howels, whose energetic plea from
the pulpit once poured upwards of fifty pounds
into my St. Giles’s purse, is there too; ‘an in-door
servant,’ according to his own beautiful, dying
thought, rejoicing among the souls which he help-
ed to gather in. And now what matters it,
whether like that titled lady they lived in princely
halls, faring sumptuously every day, or like O’Neil,
received at the hand of charity a daily dole in a
garret: whether like Howels they formed the cen-
tre and chief of an admiring congregation, “ known
and read of all men,” or like D. paced the darken-
26*

306 THE GUERNSEY LILY.

ed streets, and obscure alleys, to do good by stealth,
concealing from the left hand the works of the
right! All were the Lord’s dear children; all
glorified Him where he had seen good to place
them. Affluence and destitution, beauty and dis-
tortion, health and disease, fame and obscurity, all
were blessed; all made a blessing, through the
grace of God in Christ Jesus. Go then, dear
reader, and give thanks unto the Lord for your lot,
whatsoever it be; and pray, like poor O’Neil, for
the teaching of the divine Spirit, that your body
may become a holy temple unto Him, and _ that
your soul may be saved in the. day of the Lord
Jesus Christ.

CHAPTER XXIV.

THE IVY.

Two winters of singular mildness had led me so
far to forget the general characteristics of that
dreary season, that when the customary blight fell,
somewhat abruptly, on the vegetable world, it
startled me to find my garden metamorphosed into
a desert. The tall dahlias stood, full-leaved as
before; but the verdant robe of yesterday had
been changed into gloomy blackness, and stems
that lately seemed to support some perennial shrub,
were indebted only to the stakes to which we had
bound them for the upright position they still
maintained. ‘The China rose-trees, with which
my garden abounds, presented a less forlorn aspect,
because their evergreen mantle was proof against
the power of frost ; but their numerous buds, love-
ly and fresh when the setting sun-beam last linger-
ed among them, had drooped their delicate heads
in death. I walked on, marking as I passed, two
little flowers of the lowly heart’s ease in untarnish-
ed beauty, smiling at the foot of one of these lofty

308 THE IVY

but disfigured rose-trees; and proceeded to the
spot where my lauristinus, lifting its vigorous head
in calm defiance of every blight, was putting out
its white buds with more than their wonted profu-
sion; and there I stood in happy reverie, thinking
of the spirit made perfect, of him whom the shrub
typifies in my imagination—that devoted old ser-
vant of Christ, Charles Seymour, who long glad-
dened the western wild of poor Ireland with the
riches of gospel promise, set forth in her ancient
tongue—until my eye wandered to the wall just
behind it, which, stretching to some distance on
either hand, wears a vestige of Ivy, the growth of
many years; of bushy thickness towards the top,
where it crowns its supporter with the dark polished
berries that beautifully accord with the whole
character of the plant. The lauristinus, mingling
its upper branches with this ancient friend, appears
as of one family, yet different and distinguished ‘n
a striking manner. I looked until my tears flowed,
for the power of imagination was irrisistible, and
the scene which opened on my mind was one of
overwhelming interest.

I am not writing fiction; the objects that I
describe are within my view at this moment, dis-
tantly visible from my window, and their relative .
position is precisely what I have stated. But,
standing close beside them, under the influence of
the wintry air that had desolated the scene around,

THE IVY. 309

while seared leaves, wafted from the tall trees
above my head, were sinking at my feet, never
more to rise from their parent earth—all these
things gave a reality to the contemplation not to
be felt under other circumstances; and I record
my feelings without expecting any reader to enter
into their depth.

The Ivy, as Ihave formerly observed, is to me
a lively representation of the work and the power
of faith. Its strength consists in the tenacity with
which it clings to something foreign to its own
substance, identifying itself, by a wonderful pro-
cess, with what it adheres to. Alone, it cannot
stand: if you tear it from its prop, down must fall
every branch, at the mercy of any trampling foot
of man or beast. The analogy in my mind was
perfect: there stood the two plants, one, rooted in
distinct individuality, needing no prop, fearing no
foe, adorned with a white, a beauteous robe, woven
by the finger of God; the other, strong only in
conscious weakness, sombre in hue, its very fruit
clad in the mourning tint of affliction, yet tending
upwards, clustering in fulness proportioned to its
growth, and braving every blast in the confidence
of its firm fixture to that which could not be
moved.—What had I before my eyes, but one
glorified member of the triumphant church above

and the afflicted, yet highly privileged body of his

310 THE Ivy.

own dear brethren, the Church of Ireland militant
here below !

Militant is the distinguishing epithet of Christ’s
church, and of each individual belonging unto it,
until the warfare being accomplished, the good
fight fought, and faith kept unto death, the crown
of righteousness is awarded, and the happy spirit
becomes incorporated with the church triumphant
in heaven. The little babe, whose short breathings
are oppressed, and its tiny frame faintly struggling
through the few days of its sojourn on earth, is
militant here below. The strong youth, robust in
health, whose eye sparkles in promise of long and
active existence, while his heart, renewed by the
secret influences of divine grace, witnesses a con-
flict hidden from mortal eye, between the law of
life written therein, and the law of sin warring in
his members, is militant here below. The man
of full and sobered age, who has numbered, per-
haps, more than half the longest probable duration
of human life, who looks round, it may be, on a
blooming family of loving and dutiful children,
while his soul, bound down by those delicious ties,
cleaves to the dust, when he would have it mount
upward to the throne of God—howsoever smooth
and blissful his lot may seem, is militant here be-
low. ‘The aged servant of Christ, who has borne
in the vineyard the heat and burden of the day—
the faithful veteran, who, in many a contest with

THE IVY. 311

his Master’s foes, has come off more than con-
queror, through him who loved him: and who,
tottering now on life’s extremest verge, is regarded
as most triumphantly secure of his crown, most
enviably nearer to heaven—he too has fightings
without and fears within; he too, while the body
still detains him, is militant here below.

The universal acknowledgement of all, whether
uttered by the lips, or secretely made in the heart’s
recesses, in that voice of which God alone is cog-
nizant, is ever, ‘‘ We in this tabernacle do groan,
being burdened.” I have known some dear self-
doubting children of Zion go heavily in perpetual
grief, merely because no outward cross was, at
that particular time, laid on them. A somewhat
closer acquaintance with God and with themselves
has never failed, in such cases, to convince them
that He, not they, was the best judge when, and
how, and of what kind the discipline prepared for
them should be. But the very apprehension en-
gendered by such supposed exclusion from the
badge of His servants, was in itself, no light
cross; and they, contending against their own
misgivings, were equally militant here below.

If such be the general experience of those
most highly favoured in external things, what shall
we say of such as, like the winter Ivy, stand ex-
posed to the fiercest assaults of blight, and blast,
and storm, and external desolation, that the ele-

312 THE Ivy,

ments of earth, directed by the permitted fury of
evil spirits, can bring to bear on their unsheltered
heads! The condition of those faithful men, who
at this moment are doing the work of evangelists
in that branch of the Protestant church established
in Jreland, will be a matter of history, for future
generations to marvel at, when the patient suffer-
ers shall be numbered with the saints in glory
everlasting, when every tear shall have been wiped
from their faces, and the Lamb be visibly reigning
in the midst of them for ever. Yet even these
ephemeral pages shall record it too; and while
suffering, as indeed I do, continual sorrow and
heaviness in my heart for our brethren’s sake, I
will not refuse the consolations that abound on
their behalf, in tracing the beautiful analogy that
certainly exists between the natural world, as
under the Providential government of its Creator,
and the spiritual world of regenerate men, as
more richly provided for in the covenant of grace.

If I look upon that which is seen, how sad is
the wintry state of my poor Ivy! Some lofty
trees planted near it have cast a goodly shadow
upon it, yielding defence, alike from the burning
ray, and the rending gale. I have seen them
stand long, like appointed guardians, and if the
defence of the Ivy had depended on their fidelity
to the trust, alas for it in this day of calamity !
The trees have withdrawn their shade—they stand

THE IVY. 313

in naked helplessness, themselves driven to and
fro, whithersoever the prince of the power of the
air is pleased to bend their denuded and dishon-
oured branches. ‘The pelting hail, the heavy
snow-drift, meet no obstruction from them, in
their full career against the unprotected Ivy. It
stands exposed, and in itself so weak a thing that
the operation of a single blustering day would
suffice to rend it piecemeal, only for the unseen
support enabling it to smile a calm defiance in the
face of every assailant. And could any type be
more impressively just, as regards the truly mili-
tant church of Ireland at this day? I shall say
nothing about the towering trees; they have the
advantage over sentient and responsible men, in
that they never proffered their patronage in sum-
mer days, nor consciously withdrew it, when the
wintry tempest began to rage. I reproach not the
innocent trees of my garden; but I acknowledge
the fitness of their station, and of their mutability,
to render the similitude perfect. The Ivy is that
wherewith I have to do; the Ivy in its two-fold
character of actual weakness, and imparted
strength—of stormy persecution applied from
without, and indestructible endurance supplied
from within.

The real and acknowledged condition of many,
and, in the south, a large majority, of the devoted

ministers of the Itish church at this day, is such,
27

314 THE IVY.

that I shrink from the picture which I am never-
theless bound to transcribe.. ‘They are impover-
ished beyond the possibility of making such pro-
vision as the meanest of our cottagers is accus-
tomed to secure, against the approach of winter.
They cannot clothe the shivering limbs of their
tender little ones—they cannot supply them with
nourishment equivalent to the scantiest allowance
of our parochial workhouse—they cannot, in many
instances, afford the luxury of a fire, beyond the hour
that it is indispensable for cooking their miserable
dole of dry potatoes. I have the fact from author-
ity that cannot be questioned, from one who, mer-’
cifully provided with the resource of a private
income, goes among his brethren to minister to
their pressing necessities as far as the claims of
his own very large family will allow. I have it
from different and distant quarters, from individuals
unconnected with each other, and unconscious of
the concurrent testimony that they yield. The Ivy
on my garden wall is not more destitute of exter

nal defence against the biting inclemency of De-
cember, than are multitudes of those whose de-
lightful work it has ever been, when they saw the
hungry, to feed them, to cover the naked with a
garment, and to bring those who were cast out to
their own hospitable homes. Their acknowledged
right—that, at least, which the government of the
country has appointed to them, and, for generations

THE IVY. 315

past, guaranteed its due payment—is withheld in
vaunting defiance of that government, which,
while meekly acquiescing in the sovereign will of
rebellious subjects, offers no substitute for what
their loyal ministers are defrauded of: but leaves
them to famish, literally to starve to death, with
their children around them, until the senators of
the land shall have enjoyed their accustomed sea-
son of repose, and an arrangement shall take
place among contending parties, by which the
question of tithe may be ultimately adjusted. I
venture not on political ground; I have but to
state the broad fact that the clergy of Ireland are
starving: and that the sole support to which they
and their numerous household can look, for the
dreary season already set in upon us, is the spon-
taneous bounty of sympathizing friends in that
part of the church which as yet tastes not the cup
of external persecution. I know, and I bless God
for it, that a stream of Christian liberality is flow-
ing towards their desolated dwellings; but even
the extremity of personal want does not end their
sufferings. ‘They dwell among those who are
confederate against their lives; and who, if the
plan of salvation be baffled by our means, may
again wet the knife, and aim the bullet, and
brandish the heavy stone—weapons that, have
each and all, within a short space of time, been
crimsoned with the life-blood of Protestant clergy-

316 THE IVY.

men. ‘These are the storms and the tempests to
which my brethren stand exposed in the defence-
lessness of individual weakness. Their children
cry for food; and that we may provide for them:
they shiver beneath the wintry blast, they shrink
from the piercing frost; and we may clothe their
limbs and rekindle their fires, from our own com-
parative abundance—but the parents’ heart, though
by grace it may be so humbled as not to reject a
gift, painful for the educated mind, will yet secret-
ly quake under the anticipated horror of that from
which we cannot interpose to rescue them. The
step of the midnight incendiary, of the sworn as-
sassin, blessed to the deed of butchery by her
who has so oft been drunk with the blood of the
saints, will be fancied in every breeze that rustles
among the branches: and the closer we examine
the picture, the darker do its shades become—the
more appalling those perils, in the midst of which
our brethren are set for the defence of the gospel.
The Gospet—precious word! It is the power
of Him who says, “The Lord hath anointed me
to preach good tidings unto the meek; he hath
sent me to bind up the broken-hearted; to com-
fort all that mourn; to appoint unto them th
mourn in Zion, to give unto them beauty for
ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of
praise for the spirit of heaviness; that they might
be called trees of righteousness, the planting of

THE IVY. 317

the Lorn, that He might be glorified.” And
glorified he is in them. The fruit which they
bear is indeed clad in the hue of affliction, for his
poor Church is militant against many foes, and
exceedingly pressed above measure, seeming to
have the sentence of death in themselves; but he
gives them a spirit of patient endurance, inexpli- .
cable in some cases but by the great mystery of
faith, whereby, adhering to the Rocx that cannot
be moved, they derive strength according to their
day. They stand, a miracle of supporting grace,
“as sorrowful, yet always rejoicing; as poor, yet
making many rich, as having nothing, and yet
possessing all things.”

Many years ago, I planted an Ivy, and watched
its growth with childish interest. Having fixed its
root firmly in the soil, it speedily put forth shoots ;
and as these grew, the short stout fibres appeared,
grasping the rough particles of an ancient wall,
plunging into every little crevice, and securing
themselves by a process that excited my wonder
beyond any thing that I can remember, at that
period of my life. I have pulled away the young
branches, endeavouring to refix them in a different
position, but in vain: the work of adhesion was
one that human skill could not accomplish, nor hu-
man power compel. The utmost that I could do
was to afford an artificial support to the detached

branch, until, having continued its growth, it put
ai”

318 THE IVY.

out new fingers, as I called them, to take a stron-
ger hold on its bulwark. This might be very apt-
ly illustrated by the past history of a Church,
where faith might have become dead, as regarded
a race of individuals; but where, by that aid from
without which may God in his mercy ever dispose
the State to extend in the Church! better days
were provided for; and the visible branch restored
to its pristine beauty and strength, through faith
newly infused into the members, enabling them to
cleave wholly to Christ. But my present business
is with the [vy in its mature state, upheld by the
might of its immoveable supporter—with the per-
secuted men of whom it is a lively type; who, in
the midst of all that renders the present agonizing,
and the future terrific, can adapt the language of
inspired Paul, “‘ None of these things move me;
neither count I my life dear unto myself, so that I
might finish my course with joy, and the ministry
which I have received of the Lord Jesus, to testi-
fy the gospel of the grace of God.” Herein lies
the mystery of that patient endurance, the deep
and general silence of which made the very exis
tence of their distress questionable among us.
“To testify the gospel of the grace of God,” was
the object and end of all their labours; and their
willing task it was, after Paul’s example, to learn,
in whatsoever state they were, therewith to be.
content—they would know both how to be abased,

THE IVY. 319

and know how to abound; everywhere, and in all
things, they were instructed, both to be full and to
be hungry, both to abound and to suffer need.
Yea, they can do all things ruroven Curist
WHICH STRENGTHENETH THEM. It is by close
communion with Him that his afflicted servants
are enabled thus to glorify God in the day of visi-
tation—to glorify him in the fires. He has taught —
them that he careth for them: and they, unreserv-
edly, cast every care upon him; yet like Paul, to
the beloved Philippians, they will say unto us,
“‘ Notwithstanding, ye have well done, that ye did
communicate with my affliction.” Oh that we
could rightly appreciate the value of such an ex-
ample at our very doors, of suffering according to
the will of God! But all cannot realize the
scenes now enacting in poor Ireland; and few
there are whom I could invite to weep with me
beneath the storm-beaten Ivy.

But what a spectacle does it present in the sight
of that great cloud of witnessess who encompass
it! They, who through faith and patience, have
already inherited the promises, how must they re-
joice over their militant brethren, marching on-
ward, through much tribulation, to swell the army
of that church triumphant? Bodily anguish,
cold, hunger, and the yet more grievous pain of
beholding those dependent on them sharing in
their privations—mental inquietude, as to the

320 THE IVY.

future lot in life of their destitute little ones, will
force itself on their anxious thought—abandon-
ment on the one hand, on the other, barbarous
exultation; the muttered curse of the vindictive,
deluded peasant, the heartless scoff, and ribald
jest of the far more degraded, though flattered and
pensioned poet—these are the lot of men of whom
the world is not worthy; and cruel they are to
poor shrinking humanity. But they endure as
seeing Him who is invisible, and though now they
prophesy in sackcloth, and by and by they may be
slain, still Christ has prepared for them a kingdom,
which, after a little while they shall receive, be-
coming kings and priests unto God.

It is of those who, like the Ivy, cling by living
faith unto the Rock of salvation, that I thus speak,
I speak not of the Church, nor of her ministry, as
though an outward profession, or formal ordination,
could knit the soul to Christ. There is dross in
the furnace no less than gold. Many suffer com-
pulsorily, who would not endure an hour’s afflic-
tion for Christ and his gospel. But the patient
servants of God are known unto Him: and they
are so many as now to characterize the whole
Church. Some straggling shoots disfigure my
Ivy, which hang upon it but to be lopped off; yet
the plant clings to its supporter, and those unsight-
ly exceptions alter it not. It looks green; and its
volished leaves, dark in themselves, reflect the

THE IVY. 321

brightness of day. I know that the appointed
season of winter must endure for a while: but I
‘also know that the spring-tide shall not fail. A
time of refreshing shall come from the presence
of the Lord, to bid his suffering saints rejoice,
“Then the ransomed of the Lord shall return,
and come to Zion with songs, and everlasting joy,
upon their heads: they shall obtain gladness and
Joy, and sorrow and sighing shall flee away.”

THE END.

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