Accession No.
Memory college library^
OXFORD, GEORGIA.
REGULATIONS. \
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I 3. Any person taking books from the Library will bc~held responsible tor their
I loss or injury. No pen or pencil marks bhall be made In the books, and no books
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5, Any person willfully violating an" of the foregoing rules shall thereby forfeit
all right to the use of the Library.
HEART-BLOSSOMS
FOE
tilth Dnttglrtm.
By Mrs. JANE T. H. CROSS,
EDITED BY THOS. 0. SUMMERS, D. D.
itktl!
published by e. stevenson & f. a. owen,
FOB THE METHODIST EPISCOPAL CHURCH, SOUTH.
1855.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1852, by
JOHN EARLY;
in the Clerk's Office Of the District Conrt of the Eastern District of
Virginia.
STEREOTYPED BY £. JOHNSON AND CO.
PHILADELPHIA.
PRINTED BY A. A. STITT,
SOUTHERN METHODIST PUBLISHING HOUSE, NASHVILLE, TENN.
PREFATORY NOTE.
The following beautiful pieces were written
for the Sunday-School Visitor, and appeared
in the successive numbers of the first volume
of that paper. They were much admired at
the time of their publication, and a general
desire has been expressed for their re-issue in
book-form. It has afforded the editor great
pleasure to comply with that desire by adding
this delightful volume to the Catalogue of our
Sunday-School books.
i*
5
CONTENTS.
FAGS
The Man-Angel 9
"God's Acre," 15
To my Little Step-Daughter, whom I hate
never seen 20
The Young Hebrew 21
The Hill 29
Aunt Annie 31
The Irish Mother 36
"She, Beautiful Raven, She!" 43
My Work-Basket 48
The Dream-Earth 55
Birth-day Story. ...» 61
The Spanish Maiden 66
7
8 CONTENTS.
PAGE
Segonax 75
The Elf of the Box-Eldee 82
The White Tombstones 91
The Lady of the Fountain 94
Que Bishop 101
HEART-BLOSSOMS.
®jlt Jta-Slitgil.
The heart-blossom that I pluck this evening,
to weave into your little garland, is a very sweet
one—a pale floweret of memory that often opens
and sheds its fragrance around me in the night
time. It is my recollection of an angel that I
once knew. Now I see your eyes begin to twinkle,
and a smile play around your rose-bud lips; for
you do not believe that I ever indeed knew an an¬
gel, and think that I intend to " make up" a story
only to amuse you; but I am serious: I once knew
an angel, and used to go to see him, and sometimes
he would come to see me.
How do you suppose he looked ? Do you thinly
his long sunny curls fell over shoulders as fair as
moonlight) that his delicate feet were like mother-
of-pearl ; and that his wings rustled softly as he
folded them together, as the "leaves of the aspen
do; that his words flowed forth a perpetual music
9
10
HEART-BLOSSOMS.
—an unceasing song of joy; and that he made his
home in some bright star, such as Sirius, to which
he would float off in the evening, looking, in the
distance, like a silvery cloud amid the blue air ?
You are all wrong. He was nose of that. It is
true he had a lovely face, because it was full of
love for every thing; and his lips were beautiful,
because they spoke comfort to everybody; and
his eye was full of light, which it had drawn from
heaven, and which it shed upon earth; but when
I knew him his hair was white, for the sorrows of
many years had bleached it; and his feet were
encased in stout leather shoes, which were covered
with dust in travelling from house to house on
his errands of charity; and his clothes were very
plain,.for the money which would have bought
him finer was given to clothe the naked.
His house was an humble one—a long, low,
brick dwelling, that had three rooms. One of
these was his school-room; for' be spent man}'
years among those dear little beings who are the
only things in all our world of which Christ has
said'—" Of such js the kingdom of heaven/'
In his room you would find a bed and a table,
a cupboard and a few chairs. If there were other
pieces of furniture, they were usually lent to
others, who perhaps may not have needed them
so much. Upon the wall hung a few pictures of
THE MAN-ANGEL,
11
his friends. One was a miniature of Thomas Jef¬
ferson, given hy the hand of the President him¬
self to this Man-Angel; and I have often thought
that the great author of the Declaration of Inde¬
pendence might veil his face before this—his early
friend.
In the windows of his room were sweet and
blushing verbenas, and "lady's ear-drops," and
blowing roses; and upon the table, under the win¬
dow, lay the old Bible. This was his casket of
jewels, and hence he drew the ornaments that
made him so glorious.
How often in this room have I looked at the
dear old man and his gentle wife, while their two
grandchildren played about the door ! and I have
tried to think of somebody in history ot in ro¬
mance to whom I could compare him. Some¬
times I have thought of the Vicar of Wakefield,
but the Vicar was not so pious, and I have said
to myself, "No, he is a Man-Angel;" and I have
felt there was something awful in the presence of
such sublime virtue.
On one occasion, after a severe illness, I heard
him say, " Death looked me in the face, and I
thank Grod, I could look him in the face." Think
of that! To be able to look death in the face!
and with that serene, high look! Was it not
beautiful ?
12
HEART-BLOSSOMS.
I might tell you many stories that would in¬
terest you, and make you love this being, and
make you love virtue more. I could tell you how
often, when I have been weary and dispirited,
he has come, and, sitting quietly beside me, has
spoken to me like a messenger from heaven, so
encouragingly and kindly, that he has left my heart
gladdened, as he has gone forth on his mission to
pour the bright waters of consolation on some
other drooping head. He was an apostle, baptiz¬
ing every heart with joy.
I had not known him long, when a dreadful
sickness swept through our town. Many of the
people fled in terror—many remained 'trembling
every hour, lest death should enter their dwell¬
ings. Then might be seen at all times, this
Man-Angel—" unhasting, unresting"—making his
rounds amid sickness, and suffering, and death.
The perverse patient who refused to. take medicine
from all others, received the bitter draught from
his hand. " When the ear heard him, it blessed
him; and when the eye saw him, it gave witness
unto him."
It seems but yesterday that he was^here " with
US, but not of us." At last, one sad morning, it
was said, "He also is ill/' and every physician
in the place was around his bed, and his lowlv
dwelling was crowded with those that loved him;
THE MAN-AtiGEL.
13
and every (jde felt it a privilege to be permitted
to hand him a drink of water, or to adjust "his
pillow, or to wipe the cold' sweat from his brow.
There the ritib and the poor met together to do
him honour, and they tried very hard to'save him;
but he said, " Nay, if it be' Grod's will, I would
rather die." Add one would not wonder at this;
for it was natural that he should not wish to stay
with us, because he was not like us; but he wanted
to go where his Father was, and where his bro¬
ther angels were, and where his fortune was, that
he had " sent before him in the shape of alms."
Was he not right ?
I looked on the face of the dying saint; and
my soul kept praying silently to Grod, that the
mantle of this Elijah might fall upon me; but oh,
I am not like him !
They dressed him in a suit of clothes which the
ladies of the town had given him, and which he
would not wear while he lived, because he would
wear nothing he had not paid for himself, so in¬
dependent was he; and then they spread a white
sheet over him; and when the people were gone,
and the house was hushed, I reverently turned
down the sheet and gazed on the face of death.
Oh, I have seen most beautiful things ! beautiful
painting, and beautiful sculpture ! I have gazed
upon the face of a lovely woman, until my heart
2
14
HEART-BLOSSOMS.
has " reeled with its fullness." In nature and in
art I have seen much that is a delight to look
upon. But never, never, have I seen any thing
more solemnly beautiful than the dead face of that
u Man-Angel."
god's acre.
15
<Wj5 %m.
This is the name given by the Germans to what
we call a grave-yard. It is a sweet appellation.
I love to think, that though Satan is called " the
prince of this world"—though, " as a roaring lion,
he goeth about seeking whom he may devour,"
annoying the children of God, and never allowing
them to enjoy a moment of happiness when he can
prevent it—yet there is one still place where the}r
can rest, where their wounded and broken hearts
are quiet, and where the unslumbering eye of
their Heavenly Father watches. Satan dares not,
disturb them there, for it is " God's Acre."
I know of nothing more affecting than the voices
of children among the graves. We contrast the
silent sleepers below with the joyous prattling
creatures above, to whom life is so new and so
grand. Then we think how dim those bright eyes
may become, how faltering those lively footsteps,
and how hollow those rounded cheeks, before the
careless children shall have found their resting-
place also in God's Acre.
Whenever a grave-yard is mentioned, it brings
16
HE ART-BL 0 SSOM S.
to nly mind the first one I ever saw—the one
where I too wandered when but a child, lit¬
tle heeding, however, the solemn sermons that
were preached to me from the gray headstones
and footstones, which were often so near to¬
gether. I loved those little graves the best, for
beneath two of them Jay two dead children, whom
I still remember with a sweet sadness. The grass
that grew above thorn was fairer to ipe than all
the japonicas and roses and dahlias pf the hot¬
house ; and the simple paling around them, better
than the walls of the most spacious and splendid
dwelling.
The grave-yard of which I speak was on, a rocky
hill, west of the village. This hill was the site
of an old fort, built when the country was new
and wild, to. protect the white man from the In¬
dian. But, long before I can recollect, every
vestige of the fort was gone, and its place was
occupied by three or four very ancient apple-trees,
below which burst ^brth, a beautiful spring, by a
two-story log-house, which we called the haunted
house, with the. town seminary, and last of all,
this " God's Acre/' It was the place where the
sun's rays shone first and lingered longest; and
I have often sat and watched the clouds in the
western sky, as they formed themselves into fes¬
toons of gorgeous drapery above our milage dead.
GOD S ACRE.
17
Few eyes in that village but turned with a
mournful interest toward the scene; for there
were few families where some chair had not been
left vacant, and where some soft pillow had not
been exchanged for a harder, but less restless one,
on " the grave-yard hill." There lay the young
wife, whose heart had sickened at the first bitter
draught of life's cares, and who had " folded her
pale hands" and said, "1 can drink no more, take
it away !" Just beyond was the bustling man of
the world, who was toiling to secure glory for
himself and riches for his family, when the thread
of being was snapped asunder: all his honours are
in the dust, and now his grounds do not exceed
six feet. That grave, which lay somewhat apart,
contained the poor shattered tenement which once
held the soul of a meek old saint who passed
through much tribulation, ever viewing the rain¬
bow of promise through a shower of tears; but at
sunset the clouds dissipated, and a flood of glory
was shed around her couch. Lower down, be¬
neath a marble slab, " lay a maiden young and
tender," whom death took suddenly, while she
was still wandering amid the fairy mazes of youth.
Perhaps " the Lord saw some good thing" in her,
and. took her before her eyes had learned to weep,
or her heart to ache.
In the midst of the burial-place rested the little
2*
18
HEART-BLOSSOMS.
ones of whom I have spoken—a brother and sis¬
ter—sunny-haired children, sleeping side by side,
until the trump of Grod shall awaken them. The
brother is to me an indistinct dream; but the
sister—
" Not all the scalding tears of care,
Shall wash away that vision fair :
Not all the thousand thoughts that rise,
Not all the sighs that dim mine eyes,
Shall e'er usurp the place
Of that little angel-face."
Whenever my own heart is pierced by the
thorns of life, I can smile triumphantly and say,
" Thank Heaven, they are safe—those happy
ones!"
Away in a neglected corner, might, perchance,
be seen the grave of some poor African, who had,
all his life long, " groped his way by a wall/'
Did you ever, my daughters, stand by the death¬
bed of a pious African ? It is a lesson worth
learning. I have stood there. I have longed to
penetrate the dark curtain as the departing soul
passed behind it. I have felt eager to press on¬
ward until the cold waves of Jordan should lave
my own feet, that I might witness the transition.
View, for a moment, that pallet of straw, that
patched linsey bed-quilt, that tin-cup of cold
water on a wooden stool at his head : his mind all
god's acre.
19
untaught, faculties untrained, conceptions dark¬
ened, and then—heaven! 0 what a change ! I
could catch up some falling note of the angels,
and send after him' a " hallelujah!" to cheer him
on his passage.
But I have talked long enough to you of "God's
Acre." The dead, who lie so silent beneath us,
say many things to us. They speak of sin, for
death is the fruit of sin. They speak of holiness,
for holiness is the only preparation for death.
They speak of Jesus, who has " abolished death,"
and "brought life and immortality to light."
They speak of weary toils, and broken hearts, and
a long, long, dreamless sleep, from which the good
shall awake to life eternal.
I love to think of the dead. I take leave of
them and their resting-place reluctantly. My
heart turns yet to the old " grave-yard hill," and
I seem to see the old thorn-tree that grew there
in my childhood; and sometimes I long for the
season when I may lay me down beside the pale,
cold sleepers.
20
mtj ITittlrlhp-lUttgjrtu,
whom i hate never seen.
My little Bird of Paradise,
I've often ponder"d in my heart,
The colour of thy hair and eyes,
And altogether what thou art.
. I've fancied that some shining star
Thy loving eye to me reveal'd :
Thy voice I hear, when, from afar,
The wood-lark carols in the field.
Thy cheek I view, when in the morn,
The opening rose begins to blush;
Thy lip I see, when, newly born,
The " blood-drop" blooms with deeper fiush.
But when thy features all 1 trace,
I'd learn the love that lights thy brow,
Then turn I to thy father's face—
And lo ! the picture's finish'd now.
the young hebrew.
21
€\i Wtfom.
It was evening in Jerusalem : the flashing sun
of a Syrian sky was vailing itself behind clouds
of rose and amber in the west—only an occasional
glance illuminated the figure of the Armenian
monk who paced the terraced roof of his convent,
or was reflected from the dark cupola and glitter¬
ing blue ornaments of the Mosque of Omar.
Upon the flat roof of a small stone house in the
Christian quarter of the city, sat a young boy,
twisting baskets of osier. The beautiful face that
bent over his work showed him to be a son of Is¬
rael, and the jetty curls that hung far down on
his moist neck and shoulders gave a richness to
his appearance seen only in an oriental. But an
air of languor was spread over his countenance,
and his little fingers moved wearily, and at length
fell with the basket in his lap. Just then lifting
his lustrous eyes, they encountered the white and
blue cupolas that cover the Church of the Holy
Sepulchre, and he murmured to himself: " The
Saviour did not stop when he was tired; and how
very tired he must have been sometimes! No, I
22
HEART-BLOSSOMS.
cannot stop working in sight of the Holy Sepul¬
chre : not until my work is done." And he com¬
menced singing softly, and his fingers moved more
nimbly, and soon he had finished his work
"And now, mamma," he said, turning to a
lady who sat beside him, " I may take my evening
walk ?"
" Yes, love," she replied, u but do not remain
late in the open air: you know the dew is heavy."
With a buoyant step the little fellow threaded
the narrow street; and giving but a glance to the
Greek convent, whose walls reared themselves
above him, he did not stop until he had passed
out the Jaffa gate, and was beyond the enclosure
of the city: then going southward, he came to
the Christian burying-ground. Here he paused.
Clasping his hands and looking upward, he so¬
lemnly said: " Blessed are the dead who die in
the Lord! I should like to lie so near where the
Saviour slept. This bare rocky earth would be a
sweeter burying-place than the grand old forests
where I was born in the western world, because
his hallowed feet pressed it; and, may be, the
angel that rolled away the stone from his tomb
may be upon these too." He then pursued his
way more thoughtfully around the walls of the
city, until he came to the bridge that crosses the
brook Kedron. Going over this he commenced
THE YOUNG HEBREW.
28
.the ascent of the Mount of . Olives. - As he was
foiling upward toward the " Oratoryof the Ascen¬
sion/' a Turkish boy came bounding down the
path; and with the contempt which the Mussul¬
man feels for the Christian, rudely pushed him
aside. At first the eye of Helon flashed with
anger, and the blood which flowed down from the
veins of Abraham mounted on his cheek. It was
but a moment. Then in a subdued tone he said:
"Being reviled, He reviled not again/' and kneel¬
ing down in the path where he was, he exclaimed,
"0 Lord, bless that little boy, and forgive him,
and make him good and happy." After this he
rose and walked onward with a face cheerful and
beaming.
When he reached the summit of the mountain,
his eye wandered eastward, until in the distance
it rested upon the dark mass of waters, spread out
like a sea of molten lead, above the cities of the
plain, and the child's heart was pained as he re¬
membered the terrible chastisement that fell upon
those wicked places. Centuries rolled back, and
he eould see, yet standing there, the fine palaces
and towers, the beautiful flower-gardens and airy
halls, with children's feet pattering over them,
and the merry laugh of children ringing through
them; and those children had mothers too: not like
his own meek-eyed mother, it is true, for they were
24
HEART-BLOSSOMS.
wicked women, and could not look like his mother j
but then they must have loved their little children,
at any rate. And then he saw Lot and his mourn¬
ful family passing through the gate, and the angels
with drooping wings—they have disappeared—and
now the storm-clouds gather—the lightnings flash
—the cities are in flames—the earth yawns—there
is a shriek, and oh, how dreadful! but above all,
the voices of the little children! Helon could
hear no more. He pressed his eyes and exclaimed:
" 0 Grod, thou art terrible : thou art!" The illu¬
sion was gone, but he mentally resolved, " I will
never be wicked: no, never while I can gaze upon
that sea !"
Looking farther to the north, he saw the valley
of the Jordan, through which the sacred river
flows, swift as a messenger of mercy; and his
thoughts took another direction. He remembered
that his mother had told him that there the Saviour
had been baptized, and he had inquired of her:
" And what was he baptized for, mamma ?"
She answered him, " It was a ceremony, dear
Helon, through which the priests passed in enter¬
ing on their office."
" And what did the priests do, mamma ?"
"They offered sacrifices for the sins of the
people."
" And was the Saviour a priest ?"
THE YOUNG HEBREW.
25
"Yes, dearest, our High-Priest."
"What sacrifice did he offer?"
He remembered how serious his mother looked,
as she replied: He was himself the' sacrifice.
Christ loved us and gave himself an offering and
a sacrifice to God for a sweet-smelling savour."
How much he must have loved us!
But Helon saw that it was growing late, and
he remembered what his mother had told him, and
turned his step homeward, for he said, " The Sa¬
viour teaches me that I must mind what my mother
tells me. I dare not disobey him, nor her, on the
Sacred Mountain, where he has been so often."
And he wended his way down the western side of
the mountain, gazing sadly upon the city below,
and saying to himself, " 0 Lord, the heathen
have come into thy heritage !"
As he came down, he found the spotted lily of
Palestine, which had elicited those beautiful re¬
marks' of Jesus, so familiar to every one. He
plucked it, saying, "I will take this to mamma.
She loves it because the Saviour noticed it. I
can keep it alive a long time with fresh water;
and whenever I look at it I shall think of the
blessed Christ, and then I shall be a good boy."
He did not return the way he went, but turned
toward the northern wall of the city, and came in
at the Damascus gate. As his eye glanced down
26
HEART-BLOSSOMS.
the " Via Dolorosa," he thought of the sorrowful
steps the Son of Grod had taken over that ground,
when his own blood had sprinkled it, and the
plowers made long their furrows, upon his back.
The young boy exclaimed : " And this was done
by my unhappy people, and mamma says the
curse of Grod rests upon us, and for that we are
'scattered and peeled.' Oh, if they would only
be good, that the curse of Jehovah might be taken
away, and we might be G-od's people once more!"
And his eyes filled with tears.
When he arrived at home he gave his mother
the lily, and told her of all his rambles; and the
widowed Christian mother listened with delight
to the pious thoughts of her child, and she men¬
tally said, " Surely the Lord is a wall of fire round
about him, and surely he will be the stay of my
last days. Oh, may those pure teachings that he
now receives from the sacred places around us,
never be succeeded by the gross lessons of the
world!"
I have tried to describe to you one evening of
Helon's life, because that is but a specimen of
the rest. And thus passed the days of this Chris¬
tian Hebrew child and his mother. But toward
the close of summer he began to droop: his eye
had a burning light, and a round red spot came
on his cheek: a cough troubled him: he could
THE YOUNG HEBREW.
27
run races with the butterfly no more, nor climb
the palm-trees, nor bound over the hills.
One evening he was more unquiet than usual,
and said to his mother : " If I could go down to
the garden of Gethsemane, and you would take
your guitar and play for me, I could rest beneath
one of the olive-trees.'" She answered, "Nay,
my son, it is too far for you." But he replied:
" No, no, that is the best place." So she had him
taken thither. As he passed into the garden he
discovered a vine of passion-flowers, which his
mother plucked, and wove into a wreath for him.
with which he decorated his brow. Then throw¬
ing himself upon a mat, which had been "placed
on the ground for him, he rested his head upon a
pile of the stones that are around the base of the
olive-trees. "Now, deafest mamma," he said,
"play for me, and sing me that sweet song about
how the Saviour suffered here to save us, and an
angel came to strengthen him; and I will think
that I hear an angel in the leaves above me, and
I shall be still and happy."
The mother commenced singing these lines:
Here, beneath the olive-trees,
Jesus bent upon his knees :
Bow'd beneath our guilty load,
Sank the suffering Son of God.
But the weight of grief he bore
Now he feels no more, no more.
28
HEART-BLOSSOMS.
While the blood-sweat fell around,
Like the dew-drops on the ground,
Mercy's angel to his lips
Press'd the cup—the God-man sips ;
But, the hour of anguish o'er,
Now he sighs no more, no more.
By that night of wo and grief,
Came our breaking heart's relief:
From that groan so deep and long,
Rises our triumphant song :
"We may greet that blissful shore,
Where they weep no more, no more."
Suddenly she ceased. The child had grown
alarmingly quiet. She bent over him. The moon
had risen, shedding a melancholy light in showers
through the trees upon the pale passion-flowers
that lay upon the paler brow of the gentle boy.
His large dark eyes were fixed upon the leaves
above. He heard the angel. A smile of ineffable
joy lingered on his features, and almost seemed
to move the lip. But the breath was gone. From
the garden of his own suffering the Saviour had
taken his suffering child.
THE BILL.
Hill
Adown a sunny mountain side,
A streamlet rippled gay and proud;
And, fast and faster as it hied,
It smiled, and sang, and laugh'd aloud.
For 'mid the rocks and woods, its home
Was in that mountain hid from sight;
And it had come abroad to roam,
And revel in the golden light.
" Now, Ocean, ho ! now, Ocean, ho!"
It sang with many a merry wink:
" Dark home, unloved, from thee, I go,
Into the ocean's lap to sink !"
But, lo! a precipice so deep,
It makes the little wavelets whirl!
It pauses—now it takes the leap,
And falls below in showers of pearl!
Then on it goes, o'er many a mile,
Nor seeks the sun, nor fears the cloud;
And " Ocean, ho !" it cries the while,
" Old Ocean, ho !" and laughs aloud.
30
HE ART-BLO S SOMS.
Nor valleys green, nor smiling meads,
Can turn it from its steady way;
Nor flowrets fair, nor flaunting weeds,
Can tempt it in its course to stay.
And now it rolls a river wide,
While forests rear themselves around;
And goodly cities stand beside
The ever-smiling, ocean-bound.
Nor rolling car, nor rattling dray,
Nor puffing boat) the current heeds;
But onward still it wends its way,
Still onward to the ocean speeds.
As thus unheeding flows the rill,
To mingle with the boundless sea,
The earnest spirit upward tstill
Directs its course, 0 God, to thee!
aunt annie.
31
StttHi %\ttlh
In my life-pilgrimage, I tarried one tranquil
year in the town of M——, on the banks of the
Ohio. Had there been nothing but the river to
give interest to the place, that would have been
sufficient. As I have looked down into its mys¬
terious depths, I have murmured to myself, " Is
there not indeed a soul in the bright waters that
flow beside me ? And that ever-moaning time-
song, is it not the voices of the undines that come
gurgling up V' And as I have stood upon the
hill-top above "it, beneath the pale Christmas ber¬
ries that shine among the leaves of the misletoe,
I have lo.ved it as if it had been a human being,
and a human heart had swelled its waves. But
there were other attractions. The town itself stood
serious but cheerful. The dark green window-
shutters, and red brick houses, which, indeed, had
become brown from time and coal-smoke, seemed
to say, " We are in no hurry to avail ourselves of
modern fantastical improvements—we are well
enough as we are." And so they were. My
heart always warms toward people who "let things
32
HEABT-BLOSSOMS.
alone." Behind the town were high hills, which
stood protectingly, like the cherubim above the
mercy-seat, or like great birds of Paradise, with
outstretched wings—their green pinions laving
in the waters of " La Belle Rivi&re."
It was a pleasure, too, to walk along the streets
and down the narrow alleys, and hear the children
as they came from school—the grave disdain with
which one spoke of Ancient History, or the glee¬
ful exclamation of another, " I have trapped up
head, and stand next to a girl !" There was
something of good in that boy. First, you saw
his ambition to excel, and then, what he consi¬
dered the reward for his efforts—to " stand next
to a girl." He felt the force of female influence
early; and, with a fair chance, he will make a
clever man. I smiled, one day, as I passed by,
to hear a little fellow cry out, 11 Come here, Bill,
come and see this horse, how it like to have fell!"
Children are wonderful little creatures. Every
thing they say strikes upon the tympanum, not
of the ear merely, but of the heart.
And in this town were souls who sighed, to be
the regenerators of a world, and hearts that
throbbed as high as those in senate halls, or on
the plains of Hungary. In one of the most quiet
nooks of this quiet place, I used, once a week, to
meet some of those people. We met for the pur-
AUNT ANNIE;
33
pose of religious improvement. The place was a
small room that' hid itself away behind the
church: and, with its grave papering and carpet,
its little stove, and seats covered with green, its
table with a single light, and the Bible , and
hymn-book upon it, it was a place as comfortable,
ay, and a great deal happier, no doubt, than the
palace of St. James's. .
The first time I -visited these apartments, I, was
surprised to find, seated on a low chair in a corner
of the room, an old coloured woman ! I fairly con¬
fess that I was startled, and all my educational
prejudices were taking the alarm; but I soon
learned that -this was Aunt Annie; and that being
knortn, I had not another word to say; rather,
for I had not said a word before, not: another
thought to think. We were not amalgamationists,
nor abolitionists; but Aunt Annie was an ex¬
ception to all general rules. "We saw Othello's
visage in his> mind." I soon found thatdn gazing
at her the direction of my glances had to be
changed. I looked up instead of down. As I
have sat by the little window through which the
light of the evening star entered—a-silent visitor,
like a messenger from G-od to us-^I have felt
that" beneath the dusky form and the coarse gar¬
ments of " Aunt Annie,'/ there beamed a light as
pure and holy.
34
HEART-BLOSSOMS.
She was punctuality itself. At the appointed
hour she was there, whether the rain fell or the
snow. If the moon lent her light, she was thank¬
ful ; if not, a lantern supplied its place. Once,
on entering the room, we found no one there hut
her, and we said to her: " What, Aunt Annie,
are you alone here ?" " No," she replied, " not
alone, for God has been with me."
Even when tempted, as I have sometimes been,
to smile at her original English, I have respected
the heart that dictated it; and when she was
called upon to speak, and I have heard her say :
" Bress de Lor'! I feel his Spirit into my heart
dis night, crying, Abby Fader, Susannah I" or
when, in telling her experience, she has said, ",I
try all the churches : I try de Baptises, I try de
Bresbytierns, but no people suit me like the Meto-
dises,"—I have felt that her zeal was as pure, her
aspirations as fervent, her prayers as acceptable,
as were those of Jeremy Taylor, when inditing
his most eloquent sermon.
Aunt Annie's religion was with her an abiding
principle. It governed her at home/and made her
happy abroad. As soon as the sermon commenced,
you could hear her voice from the gallery, not
loud nor boisterous, saying: "Bress de Lor' !"
While others were struggling with doubts, and
wrestling with temptations, she, in the simplicity
AUNT ANNIE. 35
of her faith, was going quietly forward, looking
straight onward, and never even perceiving the
lions that were chained by the wayside.
You will now inquire what became of "Aunt
Annie ?" Next Monday night, if you will station
yourself by the church in M , I suppose,
about six. o'clock, you would see her come hob¬
bling along, with her stick and h<pr lantern; yet it
may be but few years before she will lay aside her
stick and lantern, and will be supported by the
angels, perhaps, that bore Lazarus to heaven, and
the light of G-od's countenance will lead her; and
although she speaks brokenly here, she will, no
doubt, speak the language of the heavenly Canaan
hotter than many others.
36
HEART-BLOSSOMS.
Srisjj
The morning was gloomy and out of humour.
No ray of sunshine smiled along the face of the
heavens ; but great drops of rain, like sullen
tears, fell, and rolled down the glass of the win¬
dows in the stern of the steamboat. We lay at
rest by the banks of the beautiful Sewanee. But
it was an unpropitious season of the year. The
leafless trees stood shivering in the cold. The
sycamores, like spectral guardians, tossed their
white arms wildly across the stream; and though
the cane along the margin nodded its green plumes
at you, it looked like a sickly effort " to make the
best of it," and made one feel sorry. The spot,
too, at which we were stopped, was unpromising.
It was beside one of those uncomfortable-looking
villages that are often found scattered along our
rivers. There were three hills, and the houses
on their sides and in the ravines between them
seemed to have been washed down by some freshet
and lodged there.
I sat a while and read my Bible. Then glanced
over the eloquent pages of Bossuet, and then I
looked out upon the village. A tavern stood in
THE IRISH MOTHER.
37
front of us—a magnificent " exchange/' or some¬
thing of the kind, if one might believe the adver¬
tisement over the door; but its pretensions seemed
sadly out of keeping with its condition. A muddy
road wound around the side of the hill to the
river. My eye rested upon this road. The rain
kept falling, and dimpling the puddles, and
making the mud softer and deeper. A shabby-
looking man, with a slouched hat, and his panta¬
loons pushed into his boots, came down and looked
at the river, and then walked back. Then came
a pig, walking along as if he cared for nothing
in the world, gazing on the river and the boat
with the greatest unconcern, anxious neither for
time nor for weather, but /'just letting it rain on
him."
Now I had exhausted all the interest out-doors;
but what should I do ? If I returned into the
cabin, it would only be to say to some passenger,
" What a disagreeable morning !" and she would
answer, " Yesor, she would say to me, " What
a disagreeable morning!" and I should answer^
" Yes." Just then the chamber-maid passed along
the guards. Her face was true Milesian; and one
would say, in looking on it, to use her own ex¬
pression, that she "had been lucky to every
thing." No little meandering channels- had been
worn in her cheeks by currents of tears, and no
4
38
HEART-BLOSSOMS.
hidden anguish had compressed the lip or wrinkled
the brow. Of course, nothing of interest could he
here found to be added to the " lowly annals of
the poorand if I had asked her for the story
of her life, I should have expected her to answer,
with Canning's " knife-grinder," " Story ! La,
bless you, I have none to tell, ma'am!" So little
do we know the characters that Time has graven
with his scythe upon the human heart; and as he
has engraven them, the little drops of blood have
oozed out, and oozed out, but we see it not.
A chance remark touched the Irish heart of
this poor woman, and her story flowed forth with
an Irish eloquence which I cannot imitate. She
told me she had kept a Jjoarding-house for sailors
in Boston. Her husband was a Frenchman, and
a sailo£ He was a Roman Catholic, and she a
Protestant. Yet this difference in religion seems
not to have touched her affections; neither did
his bad habits, for she confessed hesitatingly, that
" he had been led into bad habits." How wife-
like ! "had been led!" "But," she said, "ma'am,
I worked for him like a major, to keep him at
home, and had put eleven hundred dollars in the
bank, when he got into a drunken frolic, and took
all the money, and took my oldest boy, Joseph,
who was but three years old, and ran off and left
me." I can see yet the mother's blood that came
THE IRISH MOTHER.
39
up into her face and neck as she said, "Took my
oldest boy, Joseph, from me!" My daughters,
you are far too young to know the deep anguish
expressed in that simple sentence—to know the
ocean of bitterness here compressed into a single
drop. Only by a mother may it be understand¬
ing^ read.
" Well," she proceeded, " my heart was in-
tirely broken for the child; and after some months
I was told he was in Baltimore, and his father
had there deserted him. So I pawned every thing
I could spare, for eight dollars, and started for
Baltimore, and I didn't know any thing, ma'am, I
was so distracted about the child. At last I got
to Baltimore, and found him in the house with
some very bad people, who refused to give him
up. Then the mayor took me with himself, in a
carriage, and said I should have him; and the
people of the city tore down the house, until there
was not one timber left upon another; and the
next morning, at ten o'clock, the child came. I
was so glad, I couldn't see him." And as she re¬
peated it, the moment seemed to come back, and
the blinding tears of joy were again wiped away
with the corner of her apron.
God raised her up friends in Baltimore and on
the road. One gentleman gave her seven dollars
and a half, and another, on the boat, gave her
40
HEART-BLOSSOMS.
little son five dollars, and the directors of the
railroad would receive nothing from her, and she
was again back in Boston—the poor deserted wife,
with her two babes ! But her lost lamb was again
in the fold, and she toiled on as only a woman
can toil—hoping ever.
" My babe," she said, " was beautiful, oh, so
beautiful, made purposely for the Lord ! He fell
ill of scarlet fever, and I knew he was to be taken
from me; for in my dreams I had seen him in
the arms of a beautiful lady, who was always look¬
ing down. He died, and I was distracted for him.
When he died I had no money, but that morning
X found a pocket-book with twenty dollars in it.
I tried, but could find no owner for it. The coffin
was given to me, and a place to bury him would
have been given too, but it was a wet place, and
I did not feel right to have my baby put there.
So I took the twenty dollars and bought him a
nice, dry grave, and it is mine foriver ; and I am
glad now, when I think of it, and remember my
baby is in a dry grave."
She then told me of her struggles in Boston,
and how a good young lady had befriended her,
and procured her sewing, and how, at last, she
had come around from Boston to Mobile; "and,"
she said, " as I was coming around,- the thunder
seemed to, say-to me, and the wind and the sea
THE IRISH MOTHER.
41
seemed to say to me continually: Pear not at
all; and God put courage into my heart, so that
now I fear nothing hut Him."- She then told me
how she had gone to St. Louis, restless with the
restlessness of misery; and how she there, one
day, had seen, her worthless husband; and when
he exclaimed: " If there a'n't my wife !" she re¬
plied, " Yes, but I wish to say nothing to you :
I have your child; and I am working for him and
supporting him, and he is more like a gentleman's
child than a blackguard's, so do not trouble me."
"And now, madam," she added, in conclusion,
" I believe, if heaven is for anybody, it is for me."
Poor weary heart! " When I see one doing
wrong," she said, "I am sorry for him, and think
of myself always as the greatest sinner of all, and
trust alone in God."
The boat launched once more into the stream;
and again commenced the duties of that toiling,
trusting, hoping woman. Perhaps few of the pas¬
sengers whom she serves, will ever know that one
tiny boy, one flickering flame of life, gives force
to the arm, and buoyancy to the step of the Irish
mother.
And now, from this story, I would Rave you
learn two lessons: First, How wonderfully God
provides for his children, leading them a step at
a time ! How tenderly He handles the bruised
4*
42
HEAET-BLOSSOMS.
reed, lest it should be broken, and its melody grow
silent! How sweetly the oil of his mercy is
poured into our wounds, as fast as the world can
inflict them! Second : I would have you tread
lightly, very lightly, my children, in passing
through the world, lest you ba trampling on a
breaking heart. The poor uncultivated foreigner,
who, we are too apt to fancy, has nothing in
common with ourselves, may be capable of heroic
self-denial, from which our feebler natures would
shrink. Her life-history may contain more of en¬
nobling virtue, and of actions that ally us to the
angels, than could be found in that of all the gay
and polished creatures around us, upon whom we
look with so much admiration.
The Jews were careful never to tread upon any
slip of paper, lest they should, inadvertently tram¬
ple upon the name of God. But the Divine name
is inscribed upon every human heart, and in let¬
ters of light upon the hearts of God's children.
How careful should we be, then, never to tread
upon it with unhallowed feet—never to touch
with rash hands this mysterious receptacle of his
glory!
" she; beautiful raven, she !" 43
Emit, #ju!w-
In the recent persecution of the Protestant con¬
verts in the Island of Madeira, a certain gentle¬
man was proscribed by the government, for his
religion. The inhabitants were forbidden to afford
him any refuge or succour.
In the twilight, concealed in the neighbouring
bushes, he saw his father's family torn from their
beloved home, to be taken to prison and to tor¬
ture. He Saw the faltering steps of his aged
mother urged onward by an ox-goad. Hungry,
and faint, and weary of life, he retired to a cave,
and laid himself down to wait for death. Hearing
the approach of footsteps, the instinctive love of
life returned with the consciousness of present
danger. He sprang to his feet, and prepared him¬
self for the last desperate struggle—supposing,
without doubt, that the officers had traced him to
this sole remaining refuge from their fury. What
was his surprise to behold, instead of the surly
ruffians he expected, a gentle girl of twelve years
old! The noble little creature came running
through the dark, with her apron filled with
44
HEART-BLOSSOMS.
wheat-cakes, to relieve his necessities. While her
own family had been scattered through the coun¬
try, hunting down the fugitive, she had gone into
the store-room, taken thence the flour, made up
the dough with her own tiny hands, baked it, and
folding it in her apron, ran with it, like an angel,
as she was, to the relief of the suffering exile. He
ate the bread and was strengthened; and next
day made his escape from the island in a ship
that sailed for the United States.
But you will be sorry when I tell you that the
poor little girl was discovered. Her family loved
her very much, but they dared not resist the
commands of the church. She was given up to
its tender mercies. With a blindness and delu¬
sion which we should pity, my children, they took
the child and scourged her until the red blood
trickled down her delicate limbs, and dark-blue
and bruised stripes crossed each other on her fair
shoulders. But Glod strengthened her; and she
clung to the faith her Bible had taught her, with
more tenacity than to life. Perhaps she thought
of the words of the blessed Christ: " Fear not
them which kill the body, and after that have no
more that they can do; but I will forewarn you
whom ye shall fear: fear Him, who, after He
hath killed, hath power to destroy both soul and
body in hell: yea, I say unto youj fear Him."
"SHE, REATJTIFUL raven, SHE." 45
They then put her into a dark, loathsome pri¬
son •, but Christ was there with her to keep her
from fear, and her soul was full of light amidst the
darkness. After awhile she also made her es¬
cape, with many other Protestants, and was. taken
to another island, where she was free from perse¬
cution. But there she was attacked by a fever.
In her delirium she would sometimes imagine that
she was again at her sweet home in Madeira:
again she played about her father's house,; again
she sat upon his knee, and his arm was placed
caressingly around her, and his lips were pressed
to her brow. Then she was again suffering under
the cruel scourge, and her piercing cries filled
every heart with anguish; and then her soul
would grow calm, and she would repeat the pre¬
cious promises that God has been so good as to
give us. At length God said, " It is enough I"
and the child-martyr slept in Jesus.
The touching story which I have told you this
evening, was related to Mr. C., in New York, by
the gentleman himself whom this good little girl
had relieved at so painful a cost; and when Mr.
C. reminded him of Elijah, who in somewhat
similar circumstances had been fed by ravens, a
glow of enthusiasm lit his bronzed features, and the
big tears started in his eyes, as he clasped his hands,
and exclaimed, " She, beautiful raven, she
46
HEART-BLOSSOMS.
I have written the following lines for
which X wish you to commit to memory, that
may never forget the story :—
Pursued and weary, faint and worn,
I laid me in a cavern wide,
And sigh'd that I was ever born,
Or such ill chance should me betide
And wish'd—ah! sadly wish'd—to die;
When lo I a raven flutter'd nigh—
Such raven as we seldom see—
A raven beautiful to me!
Her eyes were like the gentle ray
Of Yesper shining in the west;
And as she came along the way,
I heard the panting of her breast—■
Panting with feelings such as warm
An angel's heart, an angel's form !
Sure, Grod had sent this glad surprise,
This lovely raven from the skies I
The voice was not a raven's voice,
But like the nightingale's at even;
It bade the fainting heart rejoice,
It spoke of peace and trust in Heaven;
And soon the gloomy night was gone,
And freedom hail'd me at the dawn;
But then I saw—ah ! sadness sore !
My raven messenger no more !
"she, beautiful eaven, she."
She bore the pangs I should have borne :
They pierced her young and noble heart
Yet do I not too sadly mourn
That she has learn'd the martyr's art ?
Away, away, I watch her flight,
She bathes her wings in heaven's light:
I see, amidst the spirits blest,
My raven beautiful—at rest.
48
heart-be0ss.0jv1s.
Let me call your attention, this evening, to my
work-basket. Do you not think it a pretty oRe ?
Is it not nicely woven? And does not the top
fit down snugly ? I will take hold of the ring
and open it, because it may he that we shall find
a heart-blossom in it. But first, do you know why
this basket is one of my pets ? There are several
reasons. One is, that it is destined to hold the
articles intended for those I love, upon which I
shall employ, for many hours, my fingers and my
eyes—yes, and my heart too; for when my fingers
have stiffened and grown cold, and hay eyes can
no more beam with joy at the sight of my littlfe
children, nor my heart hound at the sound of
their voices, the stitches in some trifling piece of
work may bring to their minds the affection of
her, who, " having loved them, loved them unto
the end."
Another reason why I love my basket is, that
I have a dear friend who has one just like it.
They were both bought for us by another friend,
"a nearer still and a dearer one." And that
brings to my mind the evening they were pur-
MY WORK-BASKET.
49
chased. It was an afternoon in the early spring¬
time. The trees had not yet put forth their
foliage, hut their green swelling buds looked as
if they were ready to burst with joy. The blue
periwinkle was looking up, quite saucily, from
amidst its evergreen leaves, by the side of the
warm brick wall, and seemed to say, "I am out
for the season." The sun was shining with all its
might, peeping into every cold corner, and fairly
laughing old winter out of countenance.
This was the afternoon that we chose to visit
the Asylum for the blind. The Asylum for the
blind ! When you have heard the old stories of
Greece and of Rome, of their beautiful statuary,
and lofty marble porticos, and great flower-gar¬
dens, and grand villas and palaces, their silk hang¬
ings and their perfumed baths, perhaps you have
thought: " How I should like to have lived then,
and have seen all those fine things I" But do you
know that if you had lived then, you never would
have seen an asylum for the blind, nor for the old
and maimed, nor for the deaf and dumb ? No,
never ! although the gold-dust, with which a Ro¬
man lady powdered her hair, might have given a
home to a blind boy, or to a little girl who could
not talk nor hear.
But you will say I have forgotten our walk to
the Asylum. No, I have not. We strolled along
50
HEART-BLOSSOMS.
the street until we came to a plain brick house,
which had an humble portico and a narrow yard
in front. We rang the bell, and a lady came to
meet us, who was the matron of the establishment.
She asked us to walk into a very tidy room, where
some little girls were sitting quietly at work.
Some were knitting articles of worsted, and some
were making baskets of gold and various bright-
coloured beads. And beautiful things were ar¬
ranged about the room—beautiful things, that
their own fingers had wrought. But the poor
girls that made them can never look upon them.
They add shade to shade, and mould their work
into a thousand forms of beauty, but their eyes
are never gladdened by a sight of their own
labour. And when they grow weary and sad over
their work, as we all do sometimes, they cannot
lay it down and look at it and feel encouraged. It
is commenced, and it goes on, and it is finished, in
quiet and darkness ; and in quiet and darkness it
is laid away, and they never see. it. And they
may listen to the red-bird that sings outside their
window, and it may be a spirit-song to them, for
they never see the songster. And the odour of
flowers floats up to them, like fragrance from a
far-off land, like the gale from the spice islands to
the home-sick mariner, far out at sea; for they
never look upon the flowers.
my work-basket.
61
But, thank Heaven! there is one thing that
these children of misfortune are not denied. The
Word of God, which cannot enter through the
eye into the spul, has found another way, and
thrills from the finger-tips to the heart. Are you
net glad that this is so ? Oh, you would have
been so glad, if you could have seen the young
girl read it, as I did! She sat upon a bench be¬
fore the desk, on which lay the open Bible. She
ran her trembling fingers along the raised lines,
and read aloud and distinctly, in a voice that was
not unmelodious, the precious words that God has
spoken to the blind, as well as to others . It was
a picture to look at! She sat with her head in¬
clined, and her eyelids drooping : her rich auburn
hair fell upon her very white neck, and her cheek
reminded me, in its colour and, texture, of a leaf
of that rose which we call the "maiden's blush."
Had I come upon this picture suddenly, I should
have said : " Oh, when she raises those eyes, how
gloriously blue they must be !" But no, when
she raised them, you could see they were hazel—
and how lustreless ! In the middle of each was
a white spot, that pained the heart to look upon.
And somehow this made me think of her mother;
and what a pang it must give her to look upon
this darling child; for though she may have
many children, this doubtless is the darling one.
52
HEART-BLOSSOMS.
And then I thought of my own bright-eyed chil¬
dren, and my soul said, " 0 Lord, I will praise
Thee !"
After hearing this girl read, we noticed the
others at their work, and admired the nimbleness
with which their fingers moved, almost as if they
said to the eyes: " We have Bo need of you."
Then we examined their maps made with raised
lines, and their slates with raised figures on little
blocks of lead, which are moved at will. Then,
after that, we went into the next room to hear a
blind young gentleman play on the piano. He
played so that we were all charmed. I have seen
very few persons, enjoying all the advantages of
sight, who played better. When we wondered at
their skill in music, he said: u Sound is our
sight."
Then we went to the workshop, where the blind
boys were at work. And now I come to my
work-basket. There I found it. One of the blind
boys made it, and I desired to have it, because I
wanted something to remind me of this very
pleasant visit—something to bind me to those
poor unfortunates—to make me more grateful
for my own eyesight, and to make me doubly,
doubly grateful that I had no child in the u Blind
Asylum."
The boys were all at work, quietly, but cheer-
MY WORK-BASKET,
53
fully. Indeed, I noticed, with, some surprise,
that all the blind seemed cheerful—all but little
Jesse, who was sick, and stood in a corner by
himself, while the tears stole from his sightless
eyes. Every one seemed kind to him, but he had
no mother near, to lay her soft hand on his brow.
A little girl too, the least in the house, laid her
head very often on the desk, as if she were
weary, and thought it a long, long time to be in
the dark.
When we returned from the workshop, the
boys came with us to the girls' room, and they
all sang together a great many hymns for us.
They sustained the different parts, and it was
delightful music. A little boy, the smallest in
the company, who appeared to be about seven
years old, sang second most sweetly. He had a
bright, happy-looking face, and was quite pretty.
A minister, who was with us, offered up a prayer
for them before we left; and when we arose from
our knees, the blind commenced singing the dox-
ology—
" Praise God, from 'whom all blessings flow."
Then I noticed that little fellow, standing alone
in the next room, singing courageously, and look¬
ing quite happy; yet I felt sorry for him, just be¬
cause he was so small.
5*
54 HEART-BLOSSOMS.
And now, have we not found a heart-blossom
in the basket ? And no doubt, my children, yon
understand the language of flowers sufficiently to
know that this teaches us the duty of gratitude.
the ebeam-earth.
55
Inam-fartjb
One sultry afternoon, feeling weary, I strolled
into a summer-house; and resting myself in a
garden-chair, I laid my head against its hack, and
sat looking upon the roses that hung in large
blushing clusters about the arbor. They were
full blown, and as the hot rays of the sun fell
upon them, they looked redder and brighter, I
thought, than I had ever seen them. While
gazing on these flowers, a sense of drowsiness
came over me, and my eyelids closed. Still, there
were the roses before me; and, instead of becom¬
ing paler, and fading from my sight, they grew
redder and larger; and they kept growing in this
strange manner, until each rose became greater
than the largest magnolia-blossom; and fresh buds
came out and unfolded; and they commenced
growing also, and continued until the whole bower
was covered with great roses, and they grew red¬
der and brighter, until each rose-leaf seemed a
separate flame, and I discovered, to my horror,
that I was surrounded by a mass of roses of fire.
I expected every moment to be consumed, but
the flames came no nearer; and although I could
56
HEART-BLOSSOMS.
feel their warm glow on my face, they did not
burn me. Yet they seemed to destroy every thing
else around them. The vines on which they had
grown withered in the intense heat. I saw the
green bark turn yellow, and blister, and break
apart with a sharp, crackling noise. The leaves
curled up, and the brown worms that had taken
shelter beneath them crawled out and lay writh¬
ing in the flames. Then large bunches of the
roses would break off; and wherever they fell the
grass was scorched, and the little flowers were
burned, and the solid earth itself seemed to take
fire. The shrubbery, too, was destroyed, and the
fences, and the great forest-trees roared as the fire
crawled up their, trunks and spread over their
branches. A strong wind arose, and catching the
burning boughs, whirled them aloft, and carried
thpm to great distances, setting fire to every thing
they touched. My heart stood still at this terrible
sight. The red waves, like the waves of the
ocean, were surging on every side.
I seemed to be alone in the world, for I saw no
other human being • but there were habitations
everywhere that had beeri built for man, and
these were swept as by the breath of the whirl¬
wind, One moment I saw the small uncertain
flame as it caught the. roof: the next, the walls
fell in with a crash, and the solid masonry was
THE DREA-M-RARTH.
57
consumed in the fire as you have seen a piece
of tissue-paper. All the cities of the world arose
before me, and each in its turn was consumed.
The oldest monuments of art, which time and flood
had spared, crumbled into dust. The beautiful
cathedrals at Rouen and at Rheims, and the mar¬
ble palaces of St. Petersburg, and the old church
of Notre Dame at Paris, and St. Paul's at London,
and St. Marc's at Yenice, and St. Peter's at Rome,
all dissolved, as you have seen fanciful figures
dissolve in the fire at night, or changeful clouds
in the evening sky. And ever and anon the
earth trembled at some terrible explosion. The
black clouds of smoke rose and darkened the sun.
The beasts of the field rushed madly through the
fire, and by their cries of pain added to the con¬
fusion. The birds wheeled aloft with fruitless
screams, and then fell back to be destroyed. The
Wind howled and shrieked, as it bore on its wings
the burning brands. The streams dried up, and
the ocean roared as a boiling cauldron.
All this while I stood in mute amazement. 1
feared to move. I trembled to stand still. But
now the flames neared my native village, and the
cottage where I had played in childhood was re¬
vealed by their lurid glare. Involuntarily I
stretched forth my arms to save it, but in a mo¬
ment it was gone; and the sweet-brier, too, that
58
HEART-BLOSSOMS.
Lad stood by tLe porch. Then I saw the grove
where my dear little children had played, and I
wrung my hands in agony, as I beheld the eld
elm burst into a thousand pieces and burn up like
a bundle of dry twigs, and the grape-vine swing
scorched as a thread of flax.
But as the flames approached the sacred spots
of earth, the places where I had buried my loved
ones, and watered their graves with my tears, and
held communion with their spirits by my sighs—■
oh, I could look no longer! My heart was break¬
ing. I covered my face with my hands, and sobbed
alotid in the extremity of my anguish. For a while
I was insensible to all around me; but when I be¬
came calmer, I could hear no more the howling
winds, nor the rustling fires, nor the crackling
trees, nor the cries of the beasts.
A soft air passed over my feverish frame. It
came up as the breath of new-blown flowers, and
sweet grass, and clover, after a gentle rain. I
feared to trust my senses. I feared to take my
hands from before my eyes. After a long time I
ventured gradually to remove them. There stood
the earth—the same, dear, old earth; but beauti¬
fied a thousand, thousand times—Oh, so beautiful,
I can. never tell you I The grass was green like
emerald, and the trees were loaded with blossoms
'and fruit intermingled^ and the flowers I had
THE DREAM-EARTH.
59
plucked in childhood were growing again, so fresh
and fair—no withered stems, ho drooping heads!
And there was my bed of violets that I had planted
long, long ago. And over them all were little
dew-drops/ shining with an unearthly lustre. The
light did not dry them up—I say simply the light,
for the sun was gone; but in its place was a most
heavenly golden light diffused everywhere. I ex¬
amined these dew-drops closely, because they were
so much likg jewels; and by a sort of inward
knowledge, which I cannot explain to you, I knew
them to be the tears which I had shed on earth,
when the earth was but a tearful world. Now it
was strange how much these tears added to the
beauty of this New Earth. And the breezes were
singing the most wonderful tunes, like the music
of silver bells; and I knew too, that these had
been the sighs of sorrowing and penitent hearts.
And the rills went dancing through the green
meadows, gurgling songs of praise; and I could
understand now what they said. They had been
the blood of martyrs. And there was the sweet-
brier, and the old elm again, and the grape-vine
swing.
But the graves were gone. They were nowhere
to be seen; for the whole earth was like " the
garden of the Lord." No, there were no graves;
and I knew there would be no more for ever. On
60
HEART-BLOSSOMS.
every side I was surrounded by glorious beings.
Their vestments were shining, and whiter than
the snow, as it first descends from the clouds.
The blessedness of immortality was upon their
brows. Their heads were encircled by golden
crowns, and some of the crowns had many stars
in them. I looked into their faces, and found, all
around me, the dear friends for whom I had shed
SO many fruitless tears; and I was glad to be
among them. ^
Just then a hand was laid upon me, and I
awoke, for it was a dream ; and yet, my children,
" it was not all a dream," for I said : u 0 Lord,
show me, shall these things be ?" And the Word
of the Lord answered me, and said: " Behold, I
create a new Heaven and a New Earth !"
birth-day story. 61
Sirtji-iuij JHnrtf.
It is the sweet month of April. The Spring is
in her prime, and a great coquette she has grown
to be : now veiling herself in a dark cloud and
• shedding large tears from her lustrous eyes—be¬
moaning the departure of Winter,* and anon, peep¬
ing from amidst the roses and welcoming Summer
with her warmest smiles. The sun has hung his
golden mantle on the horns of Taurus, and the
impatient animal is shaking from it showers of
light upon the earth.
It is the sweet month of April, and it brings to
mind another April, fourteen years ago. Upon a
green eminence stood a white house. From its
windows might be seen the spring-house on the
hill-side, where the waters were gurgling and
saying the strangest and most incomprehensible
things to the milk^and butter; and the milk and
butter did not say any thing in reply, but just
sat there and listened. And then the waters
crept softly out of the spring-house, and went
stealing down the hill to play in the "branch''
that was at the bottom. Along this branch wound
6
62
HEART-BLOSSOMS.
a road that was shaded by big forest-trees, and in
one place stood a clump of them, which was
called " The Sibyl's Grove," because a fortune¬
teller once made it her home.
In the white house sat a young mother. She
was not looking at the spring-house, nor the bright
sunshine out-doors, and I doubt whether she even
heard the birds singing in the trees that were
growing so green. Her eyes rested upon the
babe, newly washed and dressed, which lay on
her lap. Its long white frock, and the snowy
shirt-bosom which turned over and was tied under
the arms, leaving the plump neck bare, and the
short dark hair which curled in little rings over
the head, had more charms for her than all the
flowers, and birds, and trees. But she looked
chiefly at the eyes—not because they were blue
and beautiful, though they were, but because
through them the soul seemed to speak.
Did you ever look a long time into the eyes of a
baby, one who cannot pronounce a word ? What
an awe steals over you as you gaze into those mys¬
terious depths! The mother kept looking into
her babe's eyes, and through them into the future;
but that, you know, is a land of mist, so she could
see nothing clearly, but she knew the child would
have to pass there. No visions of magnificence
came up before her, no dreams of earthly , glory
BIRTH-DAY STORY.
63
arid riches—oh, no: these were all too poor and
mean for her first-born! but she prayed for the
dear little creature, that it might have much bet¬
ter things. She asked tbe All-Father to shield it
from suffering, and to save it from sin, and to
guide its feet in the way of peace, and to fill its
hands with works of righteousness, and its heart
with His divine love and His divine nature, and
to make the world more blessed because it *was
in it.
Weeks, and months, and years have rolled away.
The lady has left the white house, and she is now
in a bird-nest cottage, embowered with trees and
shrubbery. The babe has grown to be a healthy,
sprightly girl, bounding over the lawn, and play¬
ing beneath the shady beeches, with'her two sis¬
ters, who are younger, swinging in grape-vine
swings, climbing fences and apple-trees, tearing
her dresses, paddling barefoot in the creek, and
brave enough, if need be, to throttle a garter-snake.
She can read stories, too, for her younger sisters,
and they can all laugh till their shouts of mirth
ring though the old woods. The mother's eye
beams with pride, as well as affection, while "she
gazes on them) and the ray of pride and affection
is softened by a tear, as she prays the All-Father
to shield them from suffering, and to save them
from sin, and to guide their feet in the way of
64
HEART-BLOSSOMS.
peace, and to fill their hands with the works of
righteousness, and their hearts with His divine
love and His divine nature, and to make the world
more blessed because they are in it.
Yet the children knew sorrow; and the mother
knew it too, more than they; but " God tempers
the wind to the shorn lamb." Weeks, and months,
and years have rolled away. The mother is in a
fair city. Stately buildings surround her. The
tall cedars spring up from the rocky soil, and
stand amidst the brick and mortar, monuments of
ever-during beauty. A noble river flows beside
the city, and she hears the puff of busy boats. A
dear kind friend is ever with her; and they are
not altogether tears of sorrow that fill her eyes,
for she feels that she has a great many things for
which to be grateful, and she says in her heart,
" I will praise the Lord with a new song." But
the babe that was born in the white house, where
is she, and her two sisters? Alas, they are far
away, and this is the drop of bitterness that falls
into the mother's cup of thankfulness, as she pre¬
sents it to the Lord. Yet, they have grown to be
grdkt girls, and God has given them health and
strength, and His? " goodness and mercy have fol¬
lowed them all the days of their lives;" and what
is better than all, He has given them loving hearts,
and they write sweet letters of affection home,
BIRTH-DAY STORY,
65
and their souls, as hers, mock at mountains and
streams and dales, and fly to join her in her own
peaceful room, and she sits joyful, by the side of
her friend, and her children are there, for her one
heart holds them all; and still she prays to the
All-Father to shield them from suffering, and to
save them from sin, and to guide their feet in the
way of peace, and to fill their hands with works
of righteousness, and their hearts with His love
and His divine nature, and to make the world
more blessed because they are in it.
6*
66
HEART-BLOSSOMS.
$Jri ipnisli 3&aifan.
My children, you have never been at Ma¬
drid. Well, neither have I! So far I have none
the advantage of you. But stir up the fire, and
we will look into the glowing embers; and our
fancies must be dull, if, amidst the strange forms
that they present, we cannot trace the palaces, the
towers, the steeples, and the over-hanging balco¬
nies of the fair metropolis of Spain.
It was a dark, dark night! The rain poured
down as if there were a great sea above the city.
The little children pulled the cover over their
heads to keep them from hearing the Storm-king
shout " Ha! ha \" as he rode past on the black
clouds. It was fearful to see the broad flashes of
lightning that fell upon palace and tower, as the
Bible tells us the fire fell from heaven, that burned
up the wicked towns of Sodom and Gomorrah;
and the nuns in the convent were all in the cha¬
pels, with their hands clasped, and their pale faces
turned toward heaven, praying that the lightning
might not destroy their city too. The beggars,
THE SPANISH MAIDEN.
67
with their drenched garments, crept close to the
palace walls for shelter, and murmured, " Holy
Virgin ! what a night!" A gipsy girl sat within
the vestibule of an old church, looking, with her
wild, black eyes, upon the storm •, and from time
to time touching the strings of her guitar. She
was not frightened, like the delicate children of
the rich and the noble. She had listened to the
thunder in the Sierra Morenaj and when a bright
flash of lightning came, she elapped her hands
and laughed for joy.
Just then, in one of the hotels of Madrid, Mr.
Wilson, an American gentleman, came to the door
of his room, and was closing it after him, when a
female figure rushed up to him crying, a Save me,
—senor, save me !" He exclaimed, " What is the
matter ? What ails you ?" But she only kept
crying, " Save me ! save my life ! oh, hide me !"
Mr. Wilson had a sweet little daughter at home;
and when he thought of her, the tears came into
his eyes. He took the young girl by the hand,
led her into his room, and locked his door: then
turning to her he asked, "Now, how can I save
you?" She had fallen upon her knees. Her
little white hands clasped one of his. Her black
curls, heavy with the rain, dropped to her shoul¬
ders. Her cheek was like the leaf of a lily. With
her earnest eyes she gazed up into the face of
68
HEART-BLOSSOMS.
her deliverer, and the tears that kept running
over, fell and mingled with the cold rain-drops in
her hair. And oh, how sweet were the words of
gratitude that fell from her tongue, spoken in
that sweet Spanish language! Very often she
would stop and say, "But I knew Grod would take
care of me !"
I wish I could tell you how that Spanish girl
looked—not like the people we see around us in
the day-time j but like those beautiful sad faces,
that come before us in our dreams—faces that
make us love to live, if it is only to think of
them!
Mr. Wilson, raising her up, said: " My poor
child,"—for she seemed to be not more than four¬
teen years old,—" how do you know that Grod will
protect you? You are not yet safe. Alas, I
know not that I can save you." But she looked
into his face and smiled brightly; and he thought
of his own little girl away across the waters, as
she replied : " Oh, yes ! I am sure he will. My
Bible tells me so. Does it not say that 'as a
father pitieth his children, so the Lord pitietL
them that fear Him ?' And a father will not for¬
sake his own child—will he ?" and she lifted her
eyes trustingly to his.
It was the first time he had heard the Bible
quoted in Spain, and his interest in the maiden
THE SPANISH MAIDEN.
69
began to grow stronger. He said to ber : " Will
you tell me your story? and then I can judge if
it be possible to assist you."
" Yes," she replied, " I will tell it to you."
And then she began, and told him that her name
was Inez de Cordoba; that her father had been
a nobleman; and how she had lived in a palace,
among the orange-groves of Granada, as happy
as the birds that nestled in the green boughs;
and how she had sat among the ruins of the Al-
hambra, and looked at the sunshine as it played
amidst the broken fountains and tangled flowers,
and wished that some genie would appear and
show her the treasures of jewels that lay hid
among those grand old ruins—buried there long
ago by the IVJoors; and how she had stood upon
the hill where Abdel el Chico turned and looked
for the last time at the beautiful house from which
they were driving him, and wept; and how sorry
she was for the poor prince, and how she wept
too, to think of him.
And then she told him how, when she was
twelve years old, she was one day wandering in
the gardens of the Alhambra,. and saw sitting
under the shade of a promegranate, by the side
of a fountain, a youth who was reading, and some¬
times laid down his book and looked very sorrow¬
ful; and she went to him, and asked him what
70
HEART-BLOSSOMS.
was the matter, and what hook he was reading ;
and he told her it was the Bible, and if she would
sit down beside him, he would read it to her; and
he read, and she thought it very beautiful, and
the young man promised to read it to her every
day, if she would come; and she went every even,
ing and listened to him; and after a while he told
her his name was Alonzo de Aguilar, and he was
a Protestant, and his father had driven him away
from his house because of it; and she was afraid
that it was very wicked to be a Protestant, but
then Alonzo was a Protestant, and he was not
wicked, he was very good; and then she was so
sorry for him, because his father had treated him
so cruelly; and when she grew -older she became
a Protestant too, but she dared not }pt her father
know it, for she feared if would break his heart,
and at last her good father died, and she had no
one to love—no one but Alonzo; and her uncle
came and took her away to Madrid; and he was
a cold, harsh man; and he told her she must be
a nun, but she told him that she could not, that
she was a Protestant; and then he treated her
very unkindly, locked her up, and would not let
her see any one, but made her stay alone, and
live on bread and water; and she had cried her¬
self nearly hlind, but still prayed to Grod to pity
her and take her out of that dreadful place; and
THE SPANISH MAIDEN.
71
Alonzo followed her to Madrid, and found the
place where she was imprisoned, and climbed up
to the window and let her out; and her uncle
had ascertained that she was gone and sent the
officers after her; and the storm came up and
she and Alonzo were separated; and the officers
would have iaken her, but they lost sight of her
in the storm.
" And now," she said, as she finished, " you
will save me! Will you not 1" and she looked
up so pleadingly into his fa«e, that he felt as if he
would be willing to risk his life a thousand times
for that sweet girl. But where should he put
her ? There was a small closet in his room. He
asked her is she could stay in that ? " Oh, yes !
anywhere ! Let me be anywhere, only do not let
them take me back I"
He then shut her in the closet, and turned the
key. He seated himself by the table, and took
up a book, but he found that he was too anxious
to read. His heart was in the closet with that
poor defenceless girl. His blood ran faster when¬
ever he heard a step on the corridor, and he
trembled every moment, lest the police should
come. He prayed God to protect her from her
enemies, as he did Elijah. And Grod did protect
her. No one came.
Mr. Wilson sat and thought a long time. He
72
HEART-BLOSSOMS.
kept thinking how he could save her. At last
his face brightened; for he remembered there
was in the city an American seaman to whom he
had been kind; and he thougl^ if he could only
find Alonzo, the sailor would take them both in a
little boat down the Tagus, till they came to an
American ship, that was lying at Lisbon, whose
captain was a friend to Mr. Wilson, and under
whose protection he could place them, until Inez
was safely lodged with Mrs. Wilson in the United
States; for the ship Was' to sail in a few days.
But poor Inez would be very hungry and very
tired before all these arrangements could be made,
and how was he to get her food ? He was afraid
to go to a confectioner's and buy food publicly;
for he knew that the Spaniards were watching
him, because he was a stranger; but the next
day he went to a fruit-shop, and bought a roll of
bread and some fruit, which he pretended to be
eating, but which he slipped into his pocket for
Inez. He made her describe Alonzo to him. She
told him she was sure he would know him by a
scar over his right eye; and handing him a ring,
she said : " Show him that." And while she lay
crouching in the closet, like a frightened fawn,
Mr. Wilson went out to look for Alonzo. He
found him on the banks of the river, looking
mournfully upon the shining waves, as they rip-
THE SPANISH MAIDEN.
73
pled at his feet, all bright and unconscious of the
breaking heart which was bending over them.
But Grod is good, and the night-time of sorrow
does not last always. Mr. Wilson went up to
him and asked if his name was Alonzo de Agui-
lar ? He started and laid his hand on his poniard;
but Mr. Wilson told him he was his friend; and
when he showed him the ring from Inez, the
young man's face grew bright and smiling as the
merry waves that went singing by.
Night came again over Madrid. The moon
threw her silver net-work over the city, and made
it look as if it had been created by the wand of a
magician. You could not believe that people
suffered in that beautiful place. The streets were
filled with persons, laughing, jesting, throwing
sugar-plums at one another. A form, muffled in
a gentleman's travelling cloak and hat, passed,
silently and swiftly, through the crowd. It might
have been a boy. The Spaniards thought so.
But no : it was Inez. Her poor little heart was
beating till you could almost hear it, and she
thought every one she met was an officer; but
her soul kept praying through her silent lips.
At last she was safe with Alonzo ! He placed
her in the boat. She looked back at the gay city
and the blue mountains that lay, shadowy as a
dream, in the distance. She murmured, half
74
HEART-BLOSSOMS.
sadly, " Adios! Adios !" and then, as the hoat
glided down the river, she turned to Aguilar and
said: " Did I not tell you, Alonzo carissimo, that
God would take care of us?"
segonax.
75
ijgnnal
Segonax sat upon a large rock that hung over
the sea. It was a great many years ago. The
youth was clothed in a long white robe, the folds
of which were slightly stirred by the breeze. A
golden girdle encircled' his waist; and his hair,
which was almost of as bright a gold, fell in flowing
and exuberant curls about his person. His face
was of an intellectual cast, but was now over¬
shadowed with sadness as with a dark cloud. His
right elbow rested upon a projection of the rock,
and his hand partly shaded the face that it sup¬
ported.
Behind him was a thick forest of oak, and
through the dark green leaves might be seen an
altar of stone, which looked almost white amidst
the dense and gloomy foliage. This was a crom¬
lech—a place where the Druids, or ancient priests
of Britain, sacrificed their human victims. A few
miles to the left, where the timber began to be
interspersed with elm, an opening might have
been seen in the forest, with a group of rude huts
in the centre. Here the ruder inhabitants were
76
HEART-BLOSSOMS.
preparing their morning meal, and milking their
cows, which they always guarded in the same
enclosure with themselves. But Segonax sought
not human society, nor human comforts. The
sun had arisen, and was brightening the white
caps of the green waves that kept nodding to
each other so mysteriously. Still the boy sat
there, and seemed, from the expression of his
face, to be striving to solve some distressing
doubt.
He was a young Druid; rather, one who was
being initiated into the rites and ceremonies of
Druidism. A month before, he had covered his
face with his hands, and fled into the thickest
recesses of the woods to hide himself from the
horrible spectacle of a number of human beings
burned alive within a huge figure of wicker-work.
How the Druids punished him for this, I may not
say, for their secrets were locked up in mystery
as deep as the gloom of their own groves.
The day before that of which I speak, Segonax
had been called to witness a human sacrifice, and
in some sort to participate in the bloody rite. He
dared not disobey; but his cheek blanched as if
he himself had been the intended victim, when
the Arch-Druid appointed him to hold one end
of the white woolen cloth to receive the sacred
mistletoe, as the officiating priest pruned it off
SEGONAX.
11
with his golden knife. His relations were deeply
incensed and mortified at what they considered
his weakness, for he had been a hoy of great pro¬
mise, and in learning the twenty thousand verses
required of young Druids, he had outstripped all
the youths of his age. They had said : 11 He will
one day be Arch-Druid, and then the tide of
battle will always turn in our favour." But it
seemed, now, as if their hopes would be fruitless.
In spite of his education, he had not the firmness
to be a priest; and they stigmatized him as a
woman, nay, worse:—for did not their prophesy¬
ing women, with stained bodies and dishevelled
hair, mix in all the bloody scenes of sacrifice ?
But how can man efface what God has written
on the heart ? Will a piece of gum-elastic rub
out the tracery of the sun-beams ? As the victim
was placed upon the cromlech, and his head ad¬
justed in the cavity prepared for it, and the priest
raised aloft the golden knife which had severed
the mistletoe, poor Segonax felt all the pain of
the descending blow. And then the soul of the
sacrificed one came struggling forth with the
gushing blood; and its last farewell to earth was
uttered in groans of anguish that seemed to the
young Druid to say reproachfully, " And you, my
brothers !"
He turned away sick at heart. A spirit of
78
HEABT-BLOSSOMS.
unrest possessed him. He wandered far through
the wbods ; hut no quiet came to his feverish
frame. The rustling leaves around him seemed
to echo the groan of the victim; and over and
over they repeated, "And you, my brothers!"
And through the woods he caught glimpses of the
dying face, everywhere, everywhere; and the
whole universe looked as if prepared for a great
funeral. The moon shone with a sorry, sickly
light, and seemed to envelop every object in a
dismal shroud; and then light clouds hurried
across her face, as if there were confusion and
distress above; and the noises of the wild beasts
sounded like the wails of unhappy spirits who had
lost their way in eternity. He tried, to repeat
some of the Druidical verses; but, at the end
of each one, he thought he heard the words, like
a melancholy chorus, " And you, my brothers !"
AH night long did poor Segonax wander, tor¬
tured in spirit. At break of day he threw him¬
self upon the ground, and gave vent to his an¬
guish in a flood of tears. He could but wonder
that he suffered so much, while others had viewed
the scene unmoved and then gone home to bar¬
baric feasts, from which they had sunk into deep
and undisturbed slumbers. He believed, as all
the Druids did, that when a man died, his soul
went into some other animal, and gave it life;
SEGONAX.
79
and so be concluded that in some other state of
existence he had been a great criminal, and that
his present sufferings were the just punishment
of his former crimes. This, you will say, was but
little consolation; particularly, when he had no
remembrance of the crimes for which he seemed
to suffer. But he knew not where to turn for
comfort. He only felt how miserable he was, and
how insufficient his religion to make him other¬
wise. To think of gaining peace in the usual
way, by sacrifice, was to him more horrible than
what he already endured. He dared not kill
himself,, because he supposed his soul would pass
into another being, to undergo fresh inflictions of
misery.
The young Druid dreamed not that G-od was
thus preparing him for such glorious things, For
as Christ himself wronght out the salvation of the
world by wrestlings, and stragglings, and bloody
sweat, and piercing cries, he has ordained that
the souls who attain to his blessedness shall pass
through agony and strife—through fearful agony
and strife. But that makes it the more beautiful;
and at the end the angels are always singing,
" Peace, and good-will."
Segonax arose from the ground and pursued
his way to the sea-shore. There he seated him¬
self, where we first saw him. And there he sat,
80 HEART-BLOSSOMS.
lost in a thousand distressing doubts, until he was
aroused from his revery by approaching footsteps.
He raised his head, and saw, coming toward him,
a venerable old man, dressed in a foreign garb,
and having a foreign air. His hair, which had
once been black, now fell in thin, snowy locks
Upon his shoulders. His eyes were dark and full
of vigour, forming a striking contrast with a cheek
that seemed to have grown pallid from constant
fastings and vigils. His frame was much smaller
than that of the Briton, and he slightly stooped,
but apparently not from decrepitude. Indeed,
though rather slight, his frame seemed sinewy
and active, and he looked as if in his day he might
have " fought with beasts at Ephesus." His pre¬
sence was so commanding, that the youth arose
involuntarily to his feet. The old man approached
and saluted him kindly; then, taking a seat by
his side, he opened a small package which con¬
tained his morning meal, and insisted that the
young man should partake with him.
They talked on pleasantly, for the old man un¬
derstood the language of the country j and it was
not long before Segonax, With the characteristic
ingenuousness of youth, told him of all his doubts
and miseries, and despairing search for peace.
The old man's face was lighted with unearthly
joy, as he said : "That which you seek, I bring
SEGONAX.
81
you !" Then he began, " and preached unto him
Jesus." It would have formed a scene for a
painter—that eager young Briton, drinking in,
with the avidity of the extremest thirst, the divine
lesson taught by that holy apostle. Then the old
man took from his bosom a scroll, and read to
him some passages from the prophet Isaiah. The
sun mounted high in the heavens, and poured
down his direct beams upon them: still the old
man read on, and the youth listened. And the
sun declined in the west, and made their shadows
long behind them; and still the old man read on,
and the youth listened. And when the twilight
came on, the youth threw himself at the old man's
feet, and clasped them in his arms, and bedewed
them with tears of gratitude; and the old man
raised him and embraced him, and then they
parted, but not for ever. Segonax was brother to
the prince of that part of the country, and through
him the apostle was introduced to the prince; and
soon from the cromlech was preached the gospel
of Christ, and the old oak woods resounded with
the beautiful psalms which centuries before had
awakened the echoes of the Judean hills!
82
heart-blossoms.
€§t €ii of tljx
»
Lucy was out of spirits, and out of temper. It
had been a sultry day in summer. There seemed
to be something in the air that made her feel fret¬
ful. Every thing had gone wrong all day ; and
the whole world appeared to have conspired to
spite her—poor Lucy !
First, she had tried to hem a pocket-handker¬
chief, but the hem went zig-zag, all in and out,
like a Western farmer's fence, only not so regular;
and her thread knotted : then she grew extremely
vexed; and her hands were wet with perspiration,
and the needle went creaking through her work.
So she threw it aside and took up her books.
But her lessons %ere harder than ever. In¬
comprehensible questions in Arithmetic, about a
man buying so many cheeses for so much, and
paying for them in so many barrels of flour, worth
so much a barrel, and then exchanging again
some of the cheeses for a portion of the flour, and
selling the remainder of the cheeses for so much,
THE ELF OF THE BOX-ELDER.
83
and how much did he make by the transaction ?
Now, she did not believe that the transaction bad
ever taken place, and if it had, how could it con¬
cern a little girl like her ? It must have been
written purposely to puzzle her. Then her Geo¬
graphy was still worse. Instead of "Rocky Moun¬
tains" and "Blue Ridge," and words that people
might remember, there were " Dhiwalighari," and
" Chumularie," and all sorts of outlandish names.
She said to herself: " It is not worth while to try
my Natural Philosophy, for no person can under¬
stand that, and it is of no use if one could." Her
mamma excused her from her Philosophy, but
told her she must practice an hour on the piano.
So down she sat upon the music-stool, weary and
warm enough, to practise her last song. She
played, and played, and cried from vexation, and
wished that Mr. Henry R. Bishop had never been
born. Oh, those first lessons in music, how melt¬
ing ! when the dullest "variation" has power to
draw tears from the eyes.
Nothing gave Lucy any pleasure, except the
mention made in her " History" of the burning
of the Alexandrian Library, at which she gave a
sigh of relief, to think there were so many books
clean gone for ever, and which she would never
have to learn.
In the afternoon her mamma walked out, but
84
HEART-BLOSSOMS.
as Lucy had gone through her tasks so unsatis¬
factorily, she was obliged to remain at home.
She took her seat, in a very disconsolate mood,
by the open window, near which grew a box-
elder. She sat there and watched the fresh
green leaves as they quivered in the breeze. They
seemed to be whispering together, and then, for a
moment or two, there would be a merry flutter,
and then the whispering grew quite soft, and you
could just see a gentle twinkling, as if they were
moved by a spirit of mischief and fun.
A delicious feeling of repose began to steal
over poor, weary Lucy; and as the evening came
on, and she was still looking at the tree, she
saw walk forth from among the leaves the
strangest little lady imaginable. She resembled
the forms that sometimes arise before us just
as we close our eyes—so beautiful and dim!
The garments that floated about her were like
the silvery vapour that arises from boiling water,
and her hair was like faint wreaths of golden
smoke curling about her head. A mantle of
the most delicate green flowed from her shoul¬
ders ; and around her brow was a wreath of
"lilies of the valley." Her pearly feet kept
dancing and dancing among the leaves. As Lucy
looked upon her, she thought she had never seen
ao lovely a face.
THE ELF OF THE BOX-ELDER.
85
The lady spoke to her and said: " My fair
little maiden, why are you so sad ?"
Lucy answered: " Every thing has been so
hard to-day. And everybody has tried to vex
me, I believe. And now mamma has gone to
walk, and would not let me go with her."
"Well," said the lady, "come walk with me,
here among the green leaves. Come, this is my
home—this box-elder—did you ever see such an
emerald palace ?"
But Lucy replied : " I dare not walk with you,
little lady. I should fall from those slight houghs
and be killed."
The lady smiled, and rejoined: " Courage!
cohrage! G-ive me your hand !" And she ex¬
tended her own hand so kindly, that Lucy was
Bomehow emboldened to lay hold of it, and leap
from the high window among the boughs.
Then she and the elfin lady went swinging to
and fro in the branches, and Lucy danced among
the leaves too, and the leaves rustled more joy¬
ously than ever, and the lady, reclining among
them like a Turkish lady on her divan, drew Lucy
down beside her, and said : " Let's catch the sun¬
beams as they fall among the foliage." They
gathered them until their laps were full of the
shining threads. Lucy then spoke, and said to
8
86
HEAKT-BLOSSOMS.
her : " What will you do with all these sunbeams,
now we have gathered them ?"
"Do with them !" she replied with a merry
laugh, " oh, I shall do grand things with them !
I shall weave the most beautiful coronets, and
necklaces, and armlets, for the sad ones of earth,
that are forgotten by every one but me—me
and," she added, lowering her voice, " the All-
Father."
Lucy asked: "And do you know the All-
Father, too?"
The lady replied: " Did He not send me to
cheer yo^r drooping heart this evening—and does
He not send me to all the sorrowing ?"
When she had gathered up her sunbeams, she
seemed to descend into the trunk of the tree,
where she deposited them, and soon returned.
Then she broke off a twig of the tree and held it
before the eyes of Lucy. The leaves grew large
and translucent, and through a thousand pores,
she saw them respiring the air, and drinking in
minute particles of water, and a beautiful liquid
was circulating through many veins.
Lucy clapped her hands, and cried: " Wonder¬
ful ! wonderful!"
The lady explained to her how the tree grew
and drew substance from the earth; and how
THE ELE OF THE BOX-ELDER.
87
the leaves were formed 5 and more things than 1
can tell you.
She then took Lucy by the hand, and they
leaped lightly to the ground, without being hurt.
They went into the garden, and when they looked
upon the earth, it was like, crystal, and through
it they beheld the brown seeds opening and dis¬
closing their white lining and delicate yellow
stems and twin leaves pushing up with a merry
haste, to see which should get first to the sun¬
shine ; and great roots crawling out from the trees
and embracing the stones, and interlacing with
one another.
The lady showed her the honey cells in the
flowers; and showed her the roses magnified, so
that she could see the myriads of little people
that dwell in their rose-curtained tents \ and the
white lily, like a fairy palace, with its pearl walls
sprinkled with the yellow dust from the chapiters
of its golden pillars.
She led her to a mountain, where, through the
transparent earth, she could see tfie streams
trickling, and gently flowing in subterranean
coolness. And in some of the streams were pre¬
cious stones, and in some were sparkling particles
of gold.
Then she conducted her down by thu sea-side,
and told her to look into the water. Lucy
88
HEART-BLOSSOMS.
looked down, down, many fathoms, far beyond
the depths where " the purple mullet and gold¬
fish rove." She saw great fishes stretching their,
sides along like islands, and millions of smaller
fishes, admirable for their variety of forms. Many
of them were of the brightest green, and red, and
yellow, and blue; and as they swam about and
intermingled, their colours blended, and resem¬
bled broken rainbows, that- had fallen into the
sea. She saw forests of coral, and various petri¬
factions ; and beds of many-coloured shells that
seemed interminable, mixed with masses of shin¬
ing amber; and large pale pearls gleamed up
through the waters; strange marine plants clam¬
bered about the rocks; and clusters of sea-flowers
hung deep in the water, or sported idly upon the
top of the waves: treasures lost in the sea, dia¬
monds, and emeralds, and rubies, and sapphire,
and gold, and silver, lay scattered in lavish con¬
fusion, safe from the cupidity of man.
Then she led her away from the sea, and taking
her upon a high hill, told her to look upward.
No blue firmament seemed to shut them out from
further inquiry, but an illimitable^ expanse of
ether was around them. In this thin atmosphere
were numberless globes of light, many of them
much larger than our earth, all revolving, as in a
religious dance, and as they whirled with slow
THE ELF OF THE BOX-ELDER,
89
and graceful motion, they kept time to an un¬
earthly harmony that filled the air.
All these things, and many more, the lady ex¬
plained to the child, and Lucy said: " Oh, what
a beautiful, happy world! Would that I could
live in it for ever ! Charming lady, where is this
you have brought me ? What world is it V'
The lady looked musingly on her, and smiled.
" Have you never," she said, " dear Lucy, seen
this world before ?"
The little girl shook her head, and replied:
" Never any thing so fair and wonderful!"
The lady then kissed her and said: " This is
the world where you were born, and these are
the things that have been around you all your
life. But you have never before talked to the
Spirit of Nature, nor listened to her lessons.
Thus, you have never considered the blessed
things that G-od has placed about you. Come
to me each evening, that I may teach you with
cheerful eyes to look upon the glories of creation,
and with thankful heart to bless the Creator.
The twilight was deepening, and the lady looked
more and more shadowy. She floated through
the air with a waving motion, but so rapidly that
Lucy could not keep pace with her. Then she
looked back smiling, and seemed to beckon to
the child. Lucy ran forward. She saw the green
8*
90
HEART-BLOSSOMS.
mantle, she thought, fluttering upon the limba
of the box-elder, but when she arrived at the spot,
there was nothing but the leaves rustling and
whispering.
the white tombstones.
91
CjlE WfyiU Cnmbinra,
Beside our dwelling is a yard
Of tombstones wbite and fair)
And through the day and night they stand,
Like pallid mourners there.
And ever from the morn till eve,
Amid the city's hum,
The ceaseless chisel seems to say,
With solemn accent—" Come!"
And still
I hear the summons—" Come 1"
And when I pass along the way
Unshadow'd by a tree,
These white sepulchral monitors
Are pleasant things to me.
I look upon their carvings quaint,
Their groups of sculptured flowers:
I feel, and yet without complaint,
They wait for me some hours—
Ah, yes!
'Tis but a few short hours.
HEART-BLOSSOMS.
One day I saw upon a stone,
A wreath too fair to tell:
Within its leafy circlings, carved,
Was this : " Our Little Nell."
And theil I felt how many tears
Would fall upon that stone;
And how the mother's heart would faint
To think: " I am alone!"
0 God,
'Tis sad to be alone!
Another monument display'd
A little lamb asleep—
So sweet an emblem, that J thought-
O'er that I could not weep.
It stands, as yet, above no grave,
No mourner stands beside;
But there it waits—the sleeping lamb-^—
'Till some dear child has died—
Alas!
Some lamb-like child has died.
Another show'd an angel's harp
Mid flowers of fadeless bloom;
For sorrow seeks some fair device
To deck the loved one's tomb.
And then I pray'd: While o'er the dead
Our fruitless tears we pour,
THE WHITE TOMBSTONES.
May our departed teach us, Lord,
To love the living more—
0 Lord,
To love the living more !
94
heart-blossoms.
€\n t&M nf tjrt $nunt&in.
Once upon a time there was a prince named
Zalma. He was a glorious boy, was this young
Zalma!—a child of the sun !—the incarnation of
the spirit of joy! As he passed through the
thronged streets of the city which surrounded his
father's palace, he brought light and comfort to
the sorrowing, and the bowed head was lifted up
to bless him.
At his birth, the fairies had encompassed his
cradle, and with their fingers had woven those
chaplets of invisible flowers^ with which they
sometimes deck the brow of childhood, which
throw around it a hq,lo and an unearthly fra¬
grance, and the world looks on and wonders, but
does not comprehend it. As the odor of those
flowers floated on the air about him, and as their
soft petals rested on his temples, and mingled
with his curling hair, he felt that it was a glad
thing to live, and much he marvelled to see so
often the dimmed eye, and the wrinkled brow,
and the step that was slow and weary; and his
dancing heart would stop to ask, " Why is there
the lady of the fountain.
95
bo much care around me, and nothing seems
happy but the twinkling stars, and the little birds,
and I?"
It was a summer evening, calm and quiet as
the broken heart's dream of heaven. But the
boy was not chasing the fire-fly, nor pressing his
white feet amidst the dewy moss, nor sending
back on the evening air the echo of the night-
bird's song. TVithin his father's chamber—the
chamber of the dying—he stood, all drooping:
the fairy flowers that crowned his head sent forth
a fragrance sweet as ever, but the fair, pale hand
of sorrow had passed over them, and their cups
were closing, and their buds and leaves were tend¬
ing downward. The dyjpg king looked up into
the face of him who was to reign after him—anx¬
iously he gazed into the face of the fair child,
whose tears were falling like rain-drops into the
goblet which the Angel of Death was pressing to
the old man's lips, and bitterer still was that
draught from the young boy's tears that mingled
with it. *
The gentle eye of the angel, whose lot it is to
look only on suffering, was turned aside as he
emptied the last drop from the crystal cup: his
prayer was sent up to the Eternal for comfort to
the mourner; and then he passed noiselessly
forth, through the glittering guard, which filled
96
HEART-BLOSSOMS.
the magnificent saloons, that had once echoed to
the royal step of him who now lay within-—silent.
The old monarch slept with his fathers; and for
many days his tomb might be seen engarlanded
by flowers, shining mournfully through the dew-
drops of grief which had fallen from the eyes of
the prince. But Time, with his friendly wing,
brushes the stains of sorrow from the heart; and
when the shout of "Long live the king S long live
King Zalma I" rent the air, shall we wonder if his
blood coursed more freely through his veins, if
his eye glowed with a brighter light ?
Shall we wonder that, surrounded by the gay,
and the glittering, and the gorgeous, he sank be¬
neath the sweet intoxication ? Shall we wonder
that he tarried long at the banquet, which was
served to minister to the most fastidious taste,
which was enlivened by the scintillations of wit,
the glow of eloquence, and beauty of song ? Or
shall we wonder if he drank deep of the wine-cup,
that sparkled with mirth to the briA ? Or that
the soft words of flattery shed through his soul a
delicious languor, and that his whole being was
lost in the pleasure of sense? It is no wonder,
but, " Oh the pity of it!" Beneath the midnight
lamp those fairy flowers cannot flourish, and the
fumes of wine will overpower their delicate fra¬
grance. They hang all withered : their radiance
THE LADY OP THE FOUNTAIN.
97
is fled: they emit but a sickly odor; and thus
crushed and blighted by revel and carousal, they
but add mournfulness to the brow they were in¬
tended to decorate.
The eye which had flashed with delight became
sullen and bloodshot, the face bloated and flushed,
the hand tremulous, the countenance filled with
disgust. His father's counsellors fled from him,
or remained to sigh over the wreck of what had
once been so fair. His subjects turned from him,
sickened and disappointed.
To hush his regrets, and stifle the voice of con¬
science, and forget the sweet days of childhood,
and the lesson of his father's instruction, he en¬
gaged in the excitements of the chase. Hour
after hour he had been in pursuit of a noble stag,
which had eluded him. He had far outstripped
all his courtiers, and when evening came on, he
found himself alone and exhausted, in the midst
of an extensive forest.' He alighted from his
weary steed, and throwing himself upon a green-
bank, slaked his thirst from a pellucid fountain,
which welled up by his side, then wended its way
through the forest, with its low music quietly,
like the life of a gentle woman.
The young prince sat-long upon the bank. The
days of his childhood came up before him, like
the dream of a purer world. He could scarcely
9
98
HEART-BLOSSOMS.
believe that he was the innocent boy whose brows
the fairies had enwreathed with flowers. He felt
that he had grown very wicked, and he was very
miserable.. He buried his face in his hands, and
the scalding tears of repentance trickled through
his fingers, <ind fell in the fountain below; and
as they kept falling, the low music of the water
became merrier, the leaves fluttered above him
as with an emotion of joy, and the winds which
had been his play-fellows in childhood came
dancing through the forest, and with their deli¬
cate fingers affectionately lifted the curls from his
flushed brow.
An almost, impalpable vapor ascended from the
fountain, and formed itself, amidst the rosy light
of evening, into a shape of astonishing beauty.
Yery kindly did she look upon the young prince,
and her voice was as the sound of a lute, when
she pronounced his name—" Zalma !" The young
man looked up. Never had such a vision of love¬
liness burst upon him. He lay in a delicious
trance, almost fearing to breathe, lest the heavenly
apparition should vanish. Again she pronounced
his name—" Zalma !" His eyes were veiled be¬
neath their lids; and his trembling lips could not
speak in the presence of the spirit of purity, but
humbly did his heart reply : " Fair spirit, what
wouldst thou with me V' She answered in tones
THE LADY OP THE POUNTAIN.
99
of love, sweet as the words which the mother
speaks to her first-born—" Zalma, awake, arouse
thyself! Taste not the treacherous wine-oup: re
fresh thyself from this fountain; and the days of
happiness shall come back." Then approaching,
she offered him a goblet filled with pure water
Eagerly he drank ; and such was its marvellous
virtue, that already the fever in his veins began
to subside, and the fairy flowers once more shed
forth a faint and delicate perfume.
Bending to his knee, he offered back the cup,
and pressing his hand upon his heart, said, " Fair
Lady, I here swear eternal fealty to thee!"
" Then wear thou this," she said, and fastened
a rose upon his bosom; "if.thy resolution falter,
it will droop : if thy virtue give way, it will wither;
but be thou firm, and it will bloom upon thy bo¬
som ever—blushing and fragrant."
" And thy sweet face, shall I gaze upon that
again ? Shall I see thee often ?"
" Thou wilt always find me in the fountain,"
she replied; then descending slowly, the rippling
waves closed over her—down—down she sank ;
yet bending over the fountain, the young prince
could still see, through the limpid waters, her
beauteous face looking up smilingly.
Often did Zalma return to that spot, and as
his eye rested on the fair creature, and as his ear
100
HEABT-BLOSSOMS.
drank in the tones of her voice, his soul became
enamored. The wine-cup and -the wassail were
forsaken; and though at times, when surrounded
by the blandishments of dissipation, the rose upon
his bosom for a moment would droop, the image
of the Lady of the Fountain would rise in his
mind, and the rose would revive.
No longer did he shun the eye of his father's
counsellors: again they floeked around him: once
more he brought light and eomfort to the sorrow¬
ing ; once more the bowed head was lifted up to
bless him.
It was evening. Zalma sat beside the fountain.
The fairy flowers about his brow bloomed fresh :
the rose was blushing on his bosom: his rapturous
gaze was fixed upon the Lady of the Fountain;
and, " Tell me," said he; " wonderful being, thou
who hast saved me, who art thou ?"
She bent over him smilingly, and said, " I am
the Spirit of Temperance."
our bishop.
101
dN-r ^iajrnp.
When I was a very small child, I remember
to have seen, gliding about the house, the figure
of a man, who was even then past middle age.
This person was different from all others whom I
saw. In the first place, his costume was unlike
that of any one else. His coat was round-breasted.
His cravat encircled his throat like a wreath of
snow. His breeches reached to the knees, and
there they were met by a pair of stockings, that
fitted smoothly and beautifully to the leg. His
shoes were always shining. I believe they were
of leather, but his footsteps sounded as if he were
shod with list.
But, apart from his apparel, there was some¬
thing very peculiar in him. He looked to me
like a sanctified one, walking among men. Per¬
haps this impression was strengthened by the fact
of his being with us only at rare intervals—as
if an angel came and went. Then his coming
always spread such pleasure through the house¬
hold ! There was no running, and shouting, and
hallooing, as on some occasions, but we told each
102
HEART-BLOSSOMS.
other in an undertone of hushed delight; and
then " we children" approached and shook hands
with him, with timid joy, while he spoke so kindly
to us, that our little hearts beat the lighter for it
long after. I remember we used to look upon
him with a sort of curious wonder. The tones of
his voice were indescribably sweet, as one might
imagine the voice of the fairy Ariel to have
sounded to the shipwrecked sailors. It may seem
a strange comparison to you, but his face always
reminded me of the 13th chapter of the first
epistle to the Corinthians. The eye, particularly,
seemed a crystal lens, through which Charity
poured a flood of light, and it appeared as if the
eye itself would dissolve and become liquid. The
very thickened milk which he ate for supper, did
not look, to my childish eyes, like ordinary thick¬
ened milk, but like a sort of " ambrosia," fit only
for superior beings.
I cannot recollect when I first saw him; for
beyond the point where my memory reaches, he
had been at the house. A table had been set,
with a bowl and pitcher of water, and a white
napkin, and beside them a Bible and hymn-book.
After he had sting and prayed, I, a poor helpless
infant, was brought to him, clothed in a long
white dress, and a cap of needle-work upon my
head. The old man took me in his arms, and
OUR BISHOP.
103
sprinkled the water of baptism upon me, and
consecrated me to God. And then, no doubt, he
laid his hand upon my head and said, " God bless
the child!" What a sweet spell to be placed
upon one that was about to enter a world of so
much sorrow! Oh, how often since, has the re¬
collection of that saintly figure come up before
me ! and I have felt the baptismal drops upon
my upturned face, and the old man's sweet words
have come to me, uttered in his sweet voice,
" God bless the child !" And I have thought:
" To be lost with that solemn consecration to God
upon me, I should be more miserable than all
those around me. For those drops would be drops
of fire; anJthose words would be an eternal curse;
and that touch would be converted into the touch
of a viper."
Let it be unto me, then, a warning and a talis¬
man ! May the recollections of it ever linger
around me—a perpetual presence—preserving me
from evil, and fostering in my heart all good!
and may it be the means of enabling me to reach
a station in heaven somewhat nearer to the blessed
saint who performed it!
I have since slept far from the place of my
birth, in a room that was once occupied by him.
and is still called his room. His cane hangs in
one corner, and a small velvet brush, that was
104
HEART-BLOSSOMS.
used for brushing his clothes. I slept the more
sweetly because that holy man of God had rested
there. In the parlour opposite hangs his portrait,
as he stood preaching, perhaps his last sermon.
At length he came to our home no more. Earth
had possessed him long enough, and Heaven had
taken him to another mansion. You may wish
to know how he liked his new home. All I can
tell you is, that in passing into it, his serene
spirit uttered, "All is well !"
He sleeps in a quiet spot in the forests of
Tennessee. No marble marks his resting-place,
but could we see the things that are invisible,
perhaps we should behold patient angels, with
folded wings, watching the precious dust. In the
eloquent words of another I may say: " To the
casket that contained this gem, men gave the
name of" McKendree. " We shall know his true
name in that day."
Editorial Note.—The foregoing beautiful tribute
to departed worth will be accredited by a great many
of the fathers and mothers of our young readers. Hav¬
ing been favored with the friendship and benefited by
the ministry of that true successor of the apostles, they
cannot but have him in affectionate and lasting remem¬
brance. Every thing about such a man is interesting
and instructive: his costume, look, voice, manner, as
well as his works and virtues, are cherished as hallowed
OUR BISHOP.
105
things in the memory, and very pleasant are the asso¬
ciations which they awaken in the mind. We never
saw " Our Bishop," but we have slept in his room, which
was ornamented and hallowed by his portrait, we can
sympathize in the sentimentalism of the preceding
souvenir, and we hope soon to be made better acquainted
with the holy man,5 as another of our bishops has been
for several years engaged in writing his biography.
Charles Wesley touchingly says:—
We gather up with pious care
What happy saints have left behind,
Their writings in our memory bear,
Their sayings on our faithful mind :
Their works which traced them to the skies
For patterns to ourselves we take,
And dearly love and highly prize
The mantle for the wearer's sake.
We dare say Elisha set a high value upon the gar¬
ment bequeathed him by his ascending master, though
he'had too much good sense, not to say, too much or¬
thodoxy, to allow him to worship it. If we may not
worship the saints, surely we may not worship their
velice—but we may greatly esteem the former, and
highly prize the latter.
THE END.
PUBLICATIONS OF THE M, E, CHURCH, SOUTH.
THE SUNDAY-SCHOOL TEACHER; or, the Catechetical
Office. By Thos. 0. Summers. 18mo, pp. 144.
Price 30 cents.
This work discusses the most.interesting questions con¬
nected with the Catechetical System—the Teacher's Quali¬
ties! tions, Difficulties, and Encouragements. It exhibits
the obligations of pastors and teachers to the children of
the Church, and shows how they may be discharged.
TALKS, PLEASANT AND PROEITABLE. By Thos. 0.
Summers. 18mo, pp. 146. Price 30 cents.
The topics of these dialogues are Orphans, May-Day,
Birds, Temperance, Peter and the Tribute Money, Retribu¬
tion, Recognition of Friends in Heaven. The style is
adapted to the minds of intelligent youth. The engravings
are handsome.
SEASONS, MONTHS, AND DAYS. By Thos. 0. Summers.
18mo, pp. 110. Price 25 cents.
The design of this book is to make the reader acquainted
with the origin and import of the names by which the
seasons, months, and days are designated, including some
of the historical, mythological, and poetical relations of
the subject, and suggesting such moral reflections as may
lead the contemplative mind through nature up to nature's
God. The embellishments are beautiful and illustrative.
OLD MICHAEL AND YOUNG MAURICE; or, Country
Scenes in England. 18mo, pp. 178. Price 30 cents.
A truthful, fascinating, and instructive volume.
THE WORLD OF WATERS, By Fanny Osborne. With
Illustrations. Two vols. 18mo, pp. 186, 224. Price
60 cents.
A couple of fascinating and instructive volumes. The
tales and narratives beguile, like sailors' yarns, the voyage
over the world of waters. The descriptions and anecdotes
biend the charm of romance with the credibility of truth.
TRACT SERIES OF WESLEY'S SERMONS.
Each Sermon has a full title-page, and many of them suit
iible hymns appended. The whole collection is put up in four
beat packages, duly catalogued; price for Sunday-schools
and gratuitous circulation, $1.25. This is, perhaps, the
cheapest and best series of Tracts ever published.
SONGS OF ZION: a Supplement to the Hymn Book of
the M. E. Church, South. Edited by T. 0. Summers.
This work, so loudly called for, has. been received with
great favour,- the press of the Church pronounces it just the
thing that was in demand. It should everywhere accompany
the Hymn Book.
THE DAIRYMAN'S DAUGHTER. By Rev. L. Richmond.
With an Introduction, containing Interesting Notices
of the Dairyman, and a further Account of his Daugh¬
ter, by Thomas 0. Summers. Price 30 cents—to Sun¬
day-schools, 20 cents.
This work is got up in admirable style; it contains a beau¬
tiful engraving of the Dairyman's house. The editor of the
Richmond Christian Advocate speaks of the Introduction as
a "really valuable contribution, heightening the attractions
of this incomparable work." Every family and every Sun¬
day-school library should he furnished with it.
SUMMERS ON HOLINESS. Price, neatly bound in
muslin, 22 cents, with the usual discount to whole¬
sale dealers.
"Ability, perspicuity, precision, characterize his perform¬
ance. His method and proofs are eminently striking. * *
The work is valuable as a doctrinal treatise, and is a season¬
able addition to Methodist Theological literature. "We com¬
mend it to the Church, to all whose views are unsettled on
the subject, and especially to those who differ with us con¬
cerning it."—Southern Methodist Quarterly.
METHODISM IN EARNEST. With an Introduction, by
T. 0. Summers. Tenth edition. Plice, retail, $1.
" It is enriched with a valuable introductory essay by the
general book editor of the Church. In this, Dr. Summers
discusses the subject of revivals in connection with such a
style of ministry as that of Mr. Caughey. We commend the
views he presents to the earnest consideration of the ministry
at large, agreeing fully with him that if there be one time
more opportune than another for the publication of such a
volume as ' Methodism in Earnest,' it is the present time."—
8. G. Advocate.