Front Cover
 Half Title
 Title Page
 Table of Contents
 Early history of Mary
 Mary visits the castle of...
 The diamond ring lost
 Mary in prison
 The trial of Mary
 Mary's father visits her in...
 The judgment pronounced and...
 James and Mary in distress: Relief...
 Mary's happy life
 Mary's father taken sick
 Death of Mary's father
 Mary experiences fresh trials
 Mary turned away from the pine...
 Divine providence sends relief...
 How Amelia came to visit the...
 The story of the finding of the...
 The injuries acknowledged...
 Another remarkable circumstance...
 Visit to the pine farm
 The consequences of the love of...
 Mary's spirit of Christian...
 Mary's happy and useful life
 The tomb of Mary's father
 Back Cover

Title: Basket of flowers, or, Piety and truth triumphant : a tale for the young
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00001982/00001
 Material Information
Title: Basket of flowers, or, Piety and truth triumphant : a tale for the young
Series Title: Basket of flowers, or, Piety and truth triumphant : a tale for the young
Physical Description: Book
Creator: Schmid, Christoph von
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00001982
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Holding Location: University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier: ltqf - AAA2146
ltuf - ALH7633
oclc - 45392152
alephbibnum - 002237151

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front Cover 1
        Front Cover 2
    Half Title
        Page i
        Page ii
    Title Page
        Page iii
        Page iv
        Page v
        Page vi
    Table of Contents
        Page vii
        Page viii
        Page ix
        Page x
    Early history of Mary
        Page 9
        Page 10
        Page 11
        Page 12
        Page 13
        Page 14
        Page 15
        Page 16
        Page 17
        Page 18
        Page 19
        Page 20
    Mary visits the castle of the Count
        Page 21
        Page 22
        Page 23
        Page 24
        Page 25
        Page 26
        Page 27
        Page 28
        Page 29
    The diamond ring lost
        Page 30
        Page 31
        Page 32
        Page 33
        Page 34
        Page 35
        Page 36
    Mary in prison
        Page 37
        Page 38
        Page 39
        Page 40
        Page 41
        Page 42
    The trial of Mary
        Page 43
        Page 44
        Page 45
        Page 46
    Mary's father visits her in prison
        Page 47
        Page 48
        Page 49
        Page 50
        Page 51
    The judgment pronounced and executed
        Page 52
        Page 53
        Page 54
        Page 55
        Page 56
        Page 57
        Page 58
    James and Mary in distress: Relief afforded them
        Page 59
        Page 60
        Page 61
        Page 62
        Page 63
    Mary's happy life
        Page 64
        Page 65
        Page 66
        Page 67
        Page 68
        Page 69
        Page 70
        Page 71
    Mary's father taken sick
        Page 72
        Page 73
        Page 74
        Page 75
        Page 76
        Page 77
        Page 78
        Page 79
        Page 80
        Page 81
        Page 82
    Death of Mary's father
        Page 83
        Page 84
        Page 85
        Page 86
        Page 87
        Page 88
        Page 89
        Page 90
        Page 91
    Mary experiences fresh trials
        Page 92
        Page 93
        Page 94
        Page 95
        Page 96
        Page 97
    Mary turned away from the pine cottage
        Page 98
        Page 99
        Page 100
        Page 101
        Page 102
        Page 103
    Divine providence sends relief to Mary
        Page 104
        Page 105
        Page 106
        Page 107
    How Amelia came to visit the grave-yard
        Page 108
        Page 109
        Page 110
        Page 111
        Page 112
        Page 113
        Page 114
    The story of the finding of the ring
        Page 115
        Page 116
        Page 117
        Page 118
        Page 119
        Page 120
        Page 121
        Page 122
    The injuries acknowledged and repaired
        Page 123
        Page 124
        Page 125
        Page 126
    Another remarkable circumstance of this history
        Page 127
        Page 128
        Page 129
        Page 130
        Page 131
    Visit to the pine farm
        Page 132
        Page 133
        Page 134
        Page 135
        Page 136
    The consequences of the love of the world
        Page 137
        Page 138
        Page 139
        Page 140
        Page 141
        Page 142
    Mary's spirit of Christian forgiveness
        Page 143
        Page 144
        Page 145
        Page 146
    Mary's happy and useful life
        Page 147
        Page 148
        Page 149
        Page 150
    The tomb of Mary's father
        Page 151
        Page 152
        Page 153
        Page 154
        Page 155
        Page 156
        Page 157
        Page 158
    Back Cover
        Page 159
        Page 160
        Page 161
Full Text





siwl 04 stinemtam.





Tom following beautiful and useful story was Aln rad
In French, and the Idea imedately auggNad eelf to
my mind-that with ome alteratons, to make It con.
v eyr leon of clear and dedd evangelical trath, I
would be a very interesting little work for tbhe lbrad
of Banday Schools, ld every variti r e thalf neades.
Tbe story Is very tochbing, and the Imrns taught am
most Musel and Important. I have nemvr.ead eme
of practical pety dawn with morm dmpldtyr than atg
are n thi little book-from the blaml of nature. In.
deed. In almost every chapter we And, address to the
youthfb heart, mermons, whose tlet m the S ern of
the garden.
When the story Is merely trenalated, the ltaladio
s a very fiee one, and In many placi lrel oemlion
ar made and In others orsidenrble additions wll be
bound .
0. T. .



3AL.T Hitoy of Mar ..........................*

MUi7 vl the Castle ot the Cont .............. l1

The Diamond BRA iot .....................******

Mary in Prison .................................. 7

STri of Mary ................................... 45

Mry's ltthr vltts her in Pro ............... 47

e Judgment pmoun d a d ealmt .....* ... M


Jamtes md Mary In distress: rellf *Oared tem..

Uary' HAppY LI .............................. 64

Mary's Fther taken sck ........................ 7

Death of Mary's Father ....................:..... 8

Mary experiences fresh aI ....................

Mary turned sway from the PinF Cota ........

Divine Providence sends rdlie to Ma............ 104

No r Amelia came to islt the oave-yard ........ loe

The Stor the lndnof the R ............. 11

The Jnuries acmnowledged ad repaid .......... 1



Anothb nsmukab Clrcumsta"ce ao tbhi Hitoj .. 17

Vilt to the Pne Farm ..........................

bTe comequences of the Love of the World ...... 1s

Mary's spirit of Christi Forgivelness ............ s

Mary's bappry ad usefl If .................... 147

The Tomb of May's Fther ...................... 11




HE relation which we are about to give in
thi little book, is about some Intereting
transactions which occurred long time
ago, and in a country far removed from our own.
This will accopt for some manners and oestom
which re not altogether familiar to our youngred-
e ; butweshall endeavourto makethehitoryo
plain and ailiar, that allwho read may understand
the valube ilnstrctionswhichit is intended to con-
vey. Humn nature is the me in allcountrie
and the operation o divine grace are the sa
in all countries and therefore the principles
which will be developed in this history, and the
oaowt which will be described, are such as are

in constant operation everywhere about us. The
whole history is full of interest and of the most
valuable, moral, and religious instruction; one
which we are persuaded our young readers will
peruse with pleasure, and one from which they
may reap very great advantages.
James Rode, who was the father of Mary, wa
born of poor bnt respectable parents in Germany.
When he was young he went to learn the art of
gardening, from the gardener of the Count of
Eichbourg. As he was a young man of good
natural understanding, and of an amiable dispo-
sition, and distinguished for his uprightness of
character, he soon became a great favourite with
all; and insteadof going away afterhe had learned
his trade, to follow it elsewhere, the count took
him into his own employment, and so faithfully
di he discharge his duties, that ashe advanced in
li he was rewarded by the present ofa little cot.
tage, and land sufficient to afford him a decent
maintenance by gardening. While he was quite
young, James Rode had been brought to a know.
ledge ofthe truth as it is n Jesus Christ. He
had been born again of the Spirit, and these ae
the reasons why he had been enabled to discharge
his duties. He married a young woman in the.
neighbourhood, who was an orphan, but who ld
tasted of the same precious gift of God md tha
James showed his obedience to the b'l pre.
ept to marry only in the Lord.* a paept

?JIB r oAU r OW ILO MS. 11
which, being so mch neglected, brings as ded
of unhappiness to mltitudes, both al and be.
male. For several year James and hi wife
travelled the pilgrimage of lie together; in their
humble way so adorning the doctrine of God their
Saviour in all things, a not only to win respect
and affection to themselves, but even to he rel-
gion which they profesed. No matter bow hum
blethe situation any real child of God may occupy,
if he is coneltent in his walk and conversation, he
s a witness for the truth of religion, which no
enemy can be able to gainsay. Such were James
and his wife, but as there are no conditions oflie,
high or low, from which affiction and death can
be excluded, this pious people were frequently
called in the providence 9f God to bear their
portion of that discipline by which a merciful God
cures to himself the hearts of his real children.
several of the offspring of this pious pair were in
faith conigned to the cold tomb, "waiting for the
general resurrection at the last day, and the life
of the world to come :" and at length the mother
herself, after a briefand painful sickness, followed
her children to the same narrow house-the gr.
She died a she had lived, in the full hope of vew
sting glory, founded on the promises of Him
who i "the resurrection and the life." Thegrief
ef the Lheabd was softened by the resignation of
lths Cl and th blimful prospect of meeting
wnem ti wWo have loved the lord, an at-

12 TB BASKET 0. oF*t M.
their he separated from Him or one another.
When those we lose "die in the Lord," we may

Why should we mourn departed bkmds,
Or shake at deah's larm ?
Death's but the servant Jesus msnd
To eU them to his arms "
At the time when this history commences,
James Rode was more thansixty years of ge, and
his hair almost a white a the snow upon the
mountains. Of his numerous fily one daugh.
ter remained. Her he had called MARY, after
her mother. This child was but five years of age
at her mothers death. By all the neighbours she
was called a beautiful girl, and sometimes they
were indiscreet enough to call her so before her
face-a very great mistake, as all children are
naturally prone to vanity. What wa really worth
calling beautiful, was, that she dearly loved her
father, and was modest and obedient. Without
these all external appearances are worth nothing.
When Mary came to be fifteen years of age, her
father gave her the entire charge of the household
affairs, and she took such good care that every.
thing about the house was kept in the most perfect
cleanliness; even the kitchen utensils were always
scoured so beautiful, that they might have bee
mistaken for new.
James Rode, as we have already sa, was a
gardener. He made his iing by the cult
of fruits and vegetables, which once or twle i

T2n DrAtr or FLOWnI. 13
week, imlar to our custom about England, he
tried to market In the town, which was a short
distance from his farm. Hi great delight, how.
ever, was in the cultivation of flowers, and n this
delightful occupation, Mary continually arbled
him, when she could be pared from her household
concerns. he counted the hours devoted tothis
occupation among the happiest of her life, for her
father had the art of turning labour into pleasure
by his Instructingand entertaining, ad, abore aD,
his pious converstion.
Mary, whogrewupasit wre inthe midstofthe
plants, and for whom the garden itself was a little
world, had early discovered a decided taste for
flowers; and thus in the hours which she had at
her disposal, wa always sure of an agreeable oc-
cupation. She cultivated the young plants with
great care and asiduity.
The budsf every strange speaes were objeti
of delightful study. She busied her young imagin-
ation in suggesting what kind of flowers they
would produce; she was hardly able to wait till
they were expanded and then when th owner so
Impatiently expected appeared in all it splendour,
he ws filled withjoy. The old gardener used t
say," Let others spend their moneyfor jewels, -d
siks, and other vanities, I will spend mine for
wer seeds. Silks, and satin, and jewel, n.
roocrm for our children so pure a pMlere, u
u beautiful exhibitions of the wisdom and the

beneolenceof God." Introth, there wasso
day which did not bring some new plasre to th
heart of Mary. It was rre that any os pmed
the garden, without stopping to admire the bhe
ofthetowers; and eren the children of the nigh*
bourhood, a they passed by to school, neveruilsd
to peep acro the hdge, and were generally
warded by Mary with some little present of low
er as token of her goodwilL
James, u a wise tBer, knew how to dirt the
tute of his daughter towards an end the mot en-
noblin. In the beauty of the various dower
which adorned their garda-a4 the charming
variety of their formi-in the justness of their
proport*ions-l the magnifience of their colors
--nd inthe exquisite sweetness of their perames,
he taught her to see and to admire the power, the
wisdom, and the goodness of God. Thees wer
some of the great ends towards which he directed
all her pleasures; and thus may mpatically be
said to have led her contemplation
rom naure up to nature's God."
Itwas the custom of ;mes Rode to eoe ra to
prayer the first and bet hours of the morniag snd
thus to let everything begin with od. In Mrd
to accomplish this, and not to neglect his work, it
was hi constant habit to rise early-a habit a
most essential to a spiritual frma of mind. Th
life of a man is but poorly tlle out, who eaot
ind one or two hours to discour with his lM

weny either without interruption, and to oeea
his couta platinh s with t the ngs wMeh relateto
Ms .erlatnd g peace. In those bnti days of
spring and summer which charamris the dl dm
e hi country, James would lad his deuger to
n arbour in the garden, from Bwhae aeld be
hard the morning song of the feared tribes,
and from whece could be te t whole of th
arden, enamelled with dowers, and parkie with
dew-the range of vision taking n ra ih p
shin n the ys often rAn ahn. It was a
situation o fvornble to devotion a tis, that hb
deligtedto oonvere withhistender chargeothat
God, who gave the a his brightnen, who mst-
tered o'er the earth th rain ad the dewbre,
who fed the birds of the air, sad dreed the
owners in their magpiAcent vestmts. It was
here that he soanstomed the yong mid t Mary
to contemplate theAlmighty, a the ta er other
of muaklnd,-s that Father, who has meiatd
his love towards mankind in all the torks of id
creation, but till ninitely more in the gift o hbi
d nlonto die for perishiing ners. It wa her
taught her her own condition as a laer
tht heplaced in term the most affeetionate befoe
her th need o a Saviour, and gently led her to
JesusChrit. Itwashere thahe taught her to
bead herknees the God and Father oft e Lrd
J s Christ; and it was here that he had the hap-
eaMs o peroiving that, le Ldis, the Lod. *
li0 a

opened her heart to the reception f the truth.
These morning exercise, as might well be expeca
ed, ixed more and more deeply on her heart th
sentiment of piety.
In the lowers which Mary most loved, her f-
ther was accustomed to point out the emblem of
those Christian graces which adorn the female ch-
rncter. Once, in the early part of March, when
with transportsof joy, she brought the first violet,
he aid, "Let this charming violet serve a an
image of humility, of reserve, and of a ready,
though always dcreet disposition to oblige. Its
clothing has the colour appropriated to modesty ;
it loves to flourish in places retired from common
observation; and from beneath the leaves which
cover it, it embalms the air with the most delicate
perums.. So my dear child, may you be, like the
violet, a lower of silence, disdaining the show of
gaudy colours, never seeking to attract unneces
sary notice but seeking to do good withoutparade
so long as the power of your life shall bloom."
At the time when the lilies and the res were
altogether expanded, and when the garden
its splendour, the old man seeing his d
dated with joy, pointed with his aesr itris*
bhiing in the rays of the rising sm, ad side
See ain this lily, my daughter, the symbol of i
nocee; observe how neat and pr. Its leave
re of a whites which outwies that of at
richest satin, and equal that of the driea anow.

"rm WAKrrT of PLOWas. If
Happy is the daughter whoe heart is also pure
br remember who has mid that t I the pure in
hart who halslee God.' But the more pure the
colour, the more diicult to preserve it in all b
party. The slightest taintcan spoil te lower of
the lily, and it mut be touched een with the
greatest precaution, lest it retain the blemish.
Tbus also, one word, one thought, can rob the
mind of its parity. Let the rose," aid he,
pointing to that flower, "be an mage of modty.
The blush of modesty is more beantul thin that
of the rose. Happy i the daughter whom the
least approach to that which i indelicaewill ae
to blush, and thus be put on her guard agalst
the approaching danger. The cheek which readily
blush will remain for a long time with their roeate
hue, while those which fail to blush at the hamt l
delicacy will soon become pale and wan, and de.
voted to an early death." The father of Mary
gathered some lilie and roses, and made of thr a
bouquet,* and putting it into her hands he said a
"The lilies and ro are brothers ad tens,
Bj Atuig can equal the beauty of bouquetand
Where these flowers are mixed. Inno.
c in modesty are twin sisters, which cannot
beeparated. Yes, my dear child, thet knocene
might be always on her guard, God in his good-
neass has givn her modesty for a sister and oo.
plalo, to tipate the approach of danger. Be
r' ImNas BoI-Kir-- bunch ofanrwer

dslys modest aad you wll be always Atmws.
O, if te wl of God be so, wy yop arayte
abled by his gram to preser in your heartte
purty of the lily. The rose on yor cheek am t
hda, but It will be renewed again, if you bus.
tab to the rsrrection of the just, and theaittell
flourish in immortal youth."
"The morning aow'r display their wee,
And ay their dslkaleave aufold ,
As enrei of the noondy hbeati
And fuarle of tho even sold.
inpv'd by the wind's unkindly blast,
Parh'd by the sun's more fervent ray,
lsel momentary glories watS,
hor li'd beutn fade sway.
Io bloom the human face divine.
When youth its pride of beauty shows,
aer than sprig the colours shine,
And weter than the opening rose.
ut worn by dowly rolling years,
Or broke b deknesM in a day,
Th* Mdi in "ir wp Ma
And boraU7d b= tlC di $way.
Yet thee, new rising from the tomb,
With lntre brighter far shall shine;
Rorive with evor-dalian 'leaom,
dte from diseases sad decline.
Lt debloes blast sad dM t devour, '.
If heaven ball reroompeu our pains
Perish the gre sad bft the low'r.
f ama the word of God seuns."
The moat beautiful omrnan of the grdem wM
Sdwarf apple tree, not higher than a re-buah,
which grew in a little cirelar bot-bed n the d&.
de of the garden. Jam es l plna M as the

Eas n AS r O LOWM. W
birtM of his daughter, ad it a.r the m ery
yer the motlsb tifm god apples, qsptted
sed. One on it was peculiarly promim and
seared with bloessm. Mary did mot l to e.-
mi it every monag, and she would exdr h i
tay, "Oh, how beatifhl, how superb this d.
ture of red and white t One would believe tht
the little tree is but one bunch of flowers" One
morning she came at the usual hour, bt the ftet
had withered all the powers, they were bmort
brown and yellow, and were fast srivelmg up by
the n. At this dismal sight, poor Mary bm
into tea. As the frot spoil the apple b
oms," mid her judicious father, "so unholy gre
tification ar the flower of youth. Tremble, my
child, at thepossibility of departingfrom the pati
of rectitude. Ah, if the time should eer arrive
when the delightful hopes which pa hae author.
lsed should vanis, not for a year, like the hopes
dothistree, but for your whole life, alas I Ishold
shed tean more bitter than thons which trickle
from yor eyes, I shouldn't enjoys sigle hb
of pleasure, bt my grey hain would be brought
with mrrow to thegrave." At thoughts like thw
Jame himself could not refrain from tear, and
his word of aectionate solicitude made deep
impreio on the tender heart of Mary.
Brought up under the jealous and pervering
ears tf a father o wie and tender, Mar) grew up
aMog the Ofwers of thi garden, fresh the ros

-i prity like the y-modt a the violet, and
giving the most delightM hopes of future excel.
loe, u a beautiful shrub in the time of lourish-
ins. In act she was a tender spling, but $e
luating of the Lord, th he might be glorfad.
It was with smile of satihotion and gratitude
tht the old man always viewed his beautiful pgr
den, of which the fruits repaid, and amply repaid
his assidos care. But he ws enabled to epe-
riene a satisfaction the most profound, when be
beheld his daughter, in whom, by the race of
God resting on his own pious labours, the reli
glous education which he gave her seemed to bring
forth the most precious fruits to the praie Sad
glory of God. *


S oN 1n com n.
N almost all countries, the month of May
i remarkable for its charms, so much ,
sS to justify the language of the poea,-
Sweet month,
I not the mmu the uuzasor f year."
It was early in the charming month of May,
that Mary went into a neighboring wood to cut
some branch of the willowand twig of thehael
She gathered them for the use of her old hther,
for when he was not buily egaged in the garden,
he occupied his time in making baskets, partic-
larly ladies' work-baskets. He made it a point
never to be idle, for industry is emential to happi.
nes and usefulness. It is melancholy to consider
how much time is wasted by young persons and
old. Whatour Saviour saidinrelationto the food
with which he had miraculously fed the multitude
in the wilder, is in a very emphatic sns ap-
plicable to thoa little parts of time which, because

t 3 MA *SUe Or 0 LOWUS.
we may not bnve immediate ooupetion, we ae
apt to wte n dleae." "Gether up the frg.
menettht remain, tht nothing be lo." It i
nalhlable what might be gined tothe Lord's
ne, if tosewhlo all themseem Christins would
but in ome uefl form devote to Christin ben.
valencethose lamentss" of time which ms
generally wasted. James Rode was nae idle.
He knew his duty too well, to wate any portion
of that time which God had given him, and for
waich he knew he would have to reader anaccount.
It is tree, that in the days in which he lived there
were nne ofthose blessed plu of Christian be-
eveolnee which are now so vigorously i motion
for the conveion of the world, and there he
had no such object in view In the full oemaption of
his time. He was industrious because it was his
duty, and he laboured in the house in baketmak.
g when he wa not oblid to be in the garden,
beuse the habits of Industry had grown with i
growth, and stngthened with his strength and
it was while thus occupied that Mary rd to him
i God's precious book, or he talked to er about
the concerns of her immortal soul
While Mary was in the wood gatheringmthae
taerla for her after's bsket-work, sehnd som
beautiful specimn of the lily of the vauey, ad
he gathed enough of them to make twebono s,
e fr her father, and the other forherelf. When
he had ished her work, he returned home by

Tw sAssKE oFr rWm3C 2)
a mer pah series intervening meadow, and
by se doing she met the Countee of BElobourg
and her daughter Amelia, who were taking manat
tenoo walk. Mary had veryseldem sn either
f them, for they lived for the most part of their
timein the city; butwerenowspendingafewdays
at their chateau. As she could not avoid meeting
them she stepped a little on one ide, with trepo-
litBe, such a well-bred and pios young people
will, to let them pass. But when they saw the
beautiful bunches of lilies which she had, they
stopped to admire them, and wanted to buy one
This Mary would not allow. She begged thatthe
ladies would each accept a bunch, and thia he did
with suh unaffected grace and good nature, that
they could not refuse. Amelia requested her to
gather more, and bring them to the chateau every
morning, which she promised, and which she fith-
fully performed during the season in which the
lilies were in bloom.
It is aid, and the remark is justied by pei
rience, that some of the most important cirenm-
stances of our life grow out of events apparently
of the most trifing character. It provedsointhb
ease of Mary, as the whole history will fllyevince,
for to this accidental meeting, as we usually speak,
is to be traced the most of what is deep and pain
hl in thislittlestory. But Godoverruleallev~ ts,
and it is abundantly proved, that" all thingshll
work together for good, to them that love him."

.4 Ts sAssKrT oWr Lowmu.
Prom Mary's regular visits to the hateau to car.
ryher morningbunch of flowers, might have ben
expected, an intimacy grew up between her and
Amelia, for they were nearly of the same age,
and had many similar tastes, though Amelia was
destitute of that one thing which is needfu."
On the whole, it is better that there should not
be too much intimacy between those who from dif-
ference of fortune, or other accidental circumstan-
ces, are compelled to move in very differentsphemr
This remark, it is true, applies in a very limited
degree to this, our happy country, where there are
no privileged orders, and whehere ere ought to be
no distinction but that great one which God makes
between those who serve and those who serve him
not. Still friendships formed between those who
In the providence of God are placed under very
dissimilar circumstance are not much to be n.
oouraged, and especiallywhen but one of the parties
knows and feels the influence of religion. Evil is
always more powerful than goodexample, and there
are few who will not be led to envy that which
they suppose conducive to the happiness of those
who possess all that the world can give.
As the anniversary of Amelia's birthday was
drawing near, Mary determined to make her some
little rural present, but as to bunches of towan,
she had given so many already, that she wanted to
think of something new. During the preceding
winter, her father made many work-baskets, allof

superior elegance, but the mot beautiful he in-
tended for Mary herself. On it he hadworked the
design of the village, and for that kind of work it
was of remarkable perfection. Mary determined
to fill this basket with flowers, and to offer it to
the youngcountes as her birthday present. Her
father readily granted his permission, and still
more to embellish the beautiful basket, he put
Amelia's name in elegant willow-work on one side,
and the coat of arms of the count on the other.
The expected day having arrived, early in the
morning, Mary gathered the freshest roses, the
most beautiful stock-gillyflowere, the richestpinks,
and other lowers of the most beautiful colours.
She picked out some green branches, full of foliage,
and disposed the flowers in the basket, so inter.
mingled with green leaves that all the coloure,
though perfectly distinct, were yet sweetly saf
delicately blended. One light garland, composed
of rosebuds and moss, was passed around the bs-
ket, and the name of Amelia could be distinctly
read, inclosed in a coronet of forget-me-nots. The
whole appearance of the basket was really of ua-
common beauty.
Mary then went to the chatean, with her pre.
sent which she offered to the Countess Amelia,
adding the best wishes of her heart for her young
fijad's happiness, both here and herafter. The
yo0ag ountess was then sitting at her toilet. Be.
il her was her dressing-.maid, busy at a head-

dream for the birthday fast. Amelia received th
present with peculiar pleasure; and she cold
hardly And terms in which to express her delight,
a she viewed the charming towers so tuteflly
arranged in the basket. "Dear Mary," said she,
"you have robbed your garden to make me so
rich a present, and a to the basket, I have never
eenany thinglikeitinall mylife. Comeletus
go and show it to my mother." She then took
Mary fondly by the hand, and made hergop with
her to the apartments of the countess. "See, mo.
other said Amelia, if any thing can equal the
present I have received from Mary. Never have
you seen so beautiful a basket, and nowhere can
you find such beautiful lowers." The basket of
lowers highly pleased the countess. "In truth,"
mid she," this basket, with its owner yet wet
with dew, is really charming. It equals the mowt
experienced efforts of the pencil It does hoour
to the tate of Mary, but more to the kindness of
her heart. Wait a little my child," said she to
Mary, while she made a ign to Amelia to follow
h into another room.
"Amelia," said the countess, "Marymut notbe
permitted to go away without some suitablerturn.
What have you to give her ?" After a moment's
rejection, "I think," said Amelia, "that oe of
my dresses would be best; for instance, ifyou *
permit me, my dear mother, that which has red
and white flowers on a deep green ground. It is

THU *ASKnT or FLoWas. 27
lmot new, I hae worn itbut once. Itisalittle
too hort for me, but it will At Mary exactly, and
she a arrange it herself, she s so taty. Ifit i
not, therefore, too much-"
The countess interrupted her, Too much, oer-
tainlynot. When you wish to gie any thing, it
ought to be something sericeable. The green
robe with the flowers will be very appropriate for
Mary.-Go, now, my dear children," said the
countess when they returned, "take good car of
the flowers, lest they fade before dinner. I want
the guests to admire the basket also, which will be
the most beautiful ornament of the table. Amelia
will thank you for your present, dear Mary."
Amelia ran to her room with Mary, and told her
maid to bring therobe. Juliette, (for thatwaer
name), looking at her, aid "Do you wish to wear
that robe to-day, Miss?"-- No," mid Amelia," I
intend to make it a present to Mary."-" Give
that dress away replied Juliette, "does yemr
mother know that ?"- Bring me the robe," mid
Amelia, "and you need give yorselt no trouble
about the rest."
Juliette turned herself round that she might hide
her spite; and went away, her face burning with
anger. She opened the wardrobe with a pull,and
took from it the dress of the young countess. "I
wilh I wn able to tear it to piece*," mid. the
wiked girl. "This Mary has already won the
ood gras of my young mistress, and now, l I!

she steals from me this dress, for it ought to have
been mine when Amelia had done with it. I wish
I was able to tear out the eyes of this little nose-
gay girl. But 1 will be revenged." What a
wicked spirit did Juliette indulge. She ought to
have been glad at Mary's good fortune, but Ju-
liette's heart was wrong-she would never listen
to religion, and this little circumstance gave her
occasion to display her evil temper. Suppressing
her anger, however, she returned with a pleasant
air, and gave the dress to Amelia.
Dear Mary,"said Amelia, "I have had presents
to-day, much more rich than your basket but
none which gave me so much pleasure. The flow-
ers on this robe-receive it as a token of my afec-
tion, and carry my best wishes to your good old
father." Mary then took the dress, kimed the
hand of the young countess, and left the cha-
Juliette, jealous and enraged, continued her
work in silence. It cost her many a struggle be-
for she could finish the head-dress she was pre.
paring; but she could not totally dissemble her
wrath. "Are you angry, Juliette ?" said the
young counties. I should have been very silly,"
answered Juliette, to have been angry because
you choose to be generous."-" That is a sensible
speech," rejoined Amelia-" I hope you may feel
just so reasonable."
Mary ran home full of joy, but her father had

too much prudence to fel any pleasure whatever
insuch present. Gaydresses are notappropriate
to those who have been taught to consider more of
the inward man of the heart, than the outward
adorning of the body. "I would much rather,
my love," aid he, "that you had not carried the
basket to the chateau, but it cannot be helped now.
This dress is in no sense valuable except as a pre-
sent from those whom we so highly respect. I
fear this will but rouse the jealousy of others, and
what is still worse, that it may fll your own heart
with vanity. Take care, my dear child, that you
run not into the greatest of these two evils. Mod-
esty and good manners are more becoming to a
young girl, than the most beautiful and costly
garments. Remember the book of God sys, it is
' the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit,' which
in the sight of God is of great price."
Dear young reader, especially if you are a
female, bewareof fondness for dress. Neatess,
according to the circumstances in which you am
placed, is that which is most consistent with the
will of God, and most calculated to gain the real
respect of the world. Many a young person has
been lost by the indulgence of a taste for dress,
and many a young professor of religion has, on
this very rock, made shipwreck of the faith.


ARY had scarcely left the castle, when tho
countess missed her elegant diamond
ring, and a no one had been in the room
where she had laid it down but Mary, suspicia
naturally ell upon her. The young county
Ameli immediately set out for the cottage,' l
hope that she could induce Mary to rutr .t,
before the knowledge of the theft had been spread
Little did Mary think when she was trying on
the beautiful robe which Amelia had given her,
that she was suspected of being a thief, and she
was amazed at beholding the young counted enter
her little room, pale, trembling, and almost out of
My dear Mary," said Amelia, whathave yo
been doing? My mother's diamond ring is lot,
and no one was in the chamber but you give it
back quickly, and nothing further will be said."
Mary, as may well be expected, became frigh

eaed, and turned pale as death. She declared
she had not seen the ring, and that she had
not moved from the place where e se at when
she went in. But all her declarations could
not convince Amelia, and she continued to urge
her to give up the ring. She told her that it was
worth a thousand dollars, and that she mut have
taken it. Mary wept bitterly at this suspicion.
"Truly," said she, I have not the ring. I have
never ventured to touch that which did not belong
to me, much les to steal My dear fther ha
always taught me better."
At this moment the old man came in-he wasat
work in the garden when he saw the young coun-
tess running with all her might, and he returned
to the house to see what wu the matter and when
he learned the whole, he was so entirely overcome
that he was obliged to seize hold of the corner of
a table and sink upon a bench.
My dear child," sid the old man, to steal
ring of this price s a crime which, in this country,
is punished with death. But this is not all-con.
sider the command of God, 'Thou shalt not steaL'
One such action not only renders you responsible
to men, but to that God who reads the heart, and
with whom all flse denials amount to nothing.
Have you forgotten the holy commandment of
God Have you forgotten my paternal advice?
Were you dassled with the splendour of the gold
ad the precious stones? Alas I do not deny the

fact, but restore the ring-itis the only reparation
you can make."
Oh, my father," said Mary, weeping and sob.
big, be sure, be very sure, that I have not the
ring. If I had een found such a ring in the road,
I could not have rested till I restored it to its
owner. Indeed I have it not."
Look at this dear young lady," said the old
man, "her affection for you is so great, that she
wishes to save you from the hand of justice.
Mary, be frank, and do not tell a falsehood."
My father," said Mary, "you well know that
I never in my life stole even a penny, and how
should I take anything so valuable! Oh beive
me, for I never have told you a lie."
"Mary," again said her father, "see my grey
hairs. Oh I do not bring them down with sor.
row to the grave. Spare me so great an affliction.
Tell me before your Maker, in whose kingdom
there is no place for thieves, tell me if you did
take the ring."
Mary raised her eyes to heaven, filled with tears,
and in the most solemn manner assured her father
that she was innocent.
The old man was convinced of the innocence of
his daughter. "I do believe you," he cried;
" you would not dare to lie in the presence of GodS
and here before this young countess and myself.
And since I believe you innocent, take comrt
and fear nothing. There is nothing to fear an

earth but ain. Prison and death are not to be
compared to it. Whatever happen then, let s
put our trust in God. All will yet come right,
for he says, I will make thy righteounes a
clear as the light, and thy just dealings a the
/ "Truly," said Amelia, "when I har you speak
in this way, I also believe that you bave not the
ring. But when I examine all the circumstance,
how is it possible? My mother knos ezctly
the place where she put it down; and not a living
sol was there but Mary, and as soon as she went
outm my mother missed the ring. Who then could
have taken it?"
"That is impossible for me to say," replied
James. May God prepare us for this severe trial.
But whatever happens," said he, looking up to
heaven, "I am ready. Give me but thy grace, 0
God, it is all I ask."
"Truly," aid thecounte, "I return to the
chateau with heavy heart. This, for me, is but
sad anniversary. My mother as yet ha spoken
to no one on the subject but myself; but it will not
be possible longer to keep the secret. She mut
wear the ring to-day, for my father whom we ex-
pect from court, at noon, will immediately per.
eive she i without it. He gave it to her the day
I waborn; and she has never ceased to wear it
,aoa Iaoeeding anniversary. She believe tha
I W bring it back. Farewell," continued Amelia.

" I will my that I consider you are innocent; but
who will believe me ?" She went out overwhelm.
ed with sadness, and her eyes filled with tear.
Mary's father seated himself upon a bench,
rating his head on his hand, with his eyes fixed
on the earth. The tear chased themselves down
his wrinkled cheeks. Mary threw herself at his
knees, and aid, 0 my father, indeed I am inno.
cent of this affair."
He raised himself and looked a long time in her
eyes, and then said, Yes, Mary, you are innocent.
That look where integrity and truth are painted,
cannot be that of crime."
0 my father," added Mary, "what will be
the issue of this ? what is it that awaits us ? If it
but threatens me, I submit without pain; butthat
you my father, should suffer on my account is a
idea to me insupportable."
Have confidence in God," answered her father.
"Take courage; not one hair of our heads can
fall to the ground without the permission of the
Lord. All that happens to us is the will of God
it will, therefore, be for our advantage, and what
can we wish more? Be not terrified, keep to the
strictest truth. When they threaten,-when they
promise, do not depart from thetruth, not eve
the crossing of a finger; wound not your conoel
ence. A clear conscience is a good pillow, eveas
a dungeon. Without doubt we shall be separated
-your father will no longer be there to console

you ;-think only to attach yourself more closely
to your Father which isin beae, he is a powerful
protector of innocence, and nothing can deprive
you of his support."
Suddenly the door opened with a noise. The
bailiff entered, followed by other officers ofjustice.
Mary uttered a cry, and fell into the arms of her
father. "Let them be separated," cried the
officer, his eyes shining with wrath. Let the
father be also held in safe guard. Occupy the
house and the garden; search everywhere, allow
no one to enter until the sheriff has made the in.
ventory." The officers seized Mary, who clung
to her father with all her force, but they tore her
from the arms of the old man and chained her.
She fainted, and in that state was carried away.
When they conducted the father and daughter
across the street, a crowd accumulated in their
way.-The story of the ring had spread through
the whole village; the neighbours pressed around
the little cottage of the gardener, as if it had been
on ire. People were heard to pronounce judge.
ments the most opposite. Notwithstanding the
bounty of Mary and her father towards all, thee
were some to whom it gave the highest pleasure to
exercise the malignity of their language. The
comfort which James and Mary had acquired by
dint of industry and economy had attracted much
envy. "Now," said some, "we can know where
all thee good things came from; we were never

able to understand it until the present. If this is
the method, it is no great merit to live in abn*.
dance, and be better clad than their honest neigh.
bours." Nevertheless, the inhabitants of Eich-
bourg for the most part, showed a sincere compass.
sion for James and his daughter, and many a
father and mother were heard to say,-" Truly
thebet are liable to fall-who would have believed
this of these good people." Others said, Perhaps
it is not a is thought. May their innocence be
made to appear in the day of trial; and when that
comes, may God assist them to escape the terrible
evils which now threaten them."
Here and there were seen groups of children
weeping. "Alas" laid they, "if they send them
to prison, who will give us fruits and flowers I"
There areno circumstances in which the afflicted
do not find some to sympathize -But for the most
part so "desperately wicked" is the human
heart, that we are ready to believe all the ill we
hear of others, even without inquiry, and there
are few who are willing to stand up the advocates
of the distressed. There is but one friend who
will never desert those who are unjustly suspeted,
and it is He of whom it is said-" There is a Friend
who sticketh closer than a brother."

~'< Rv


ARY was almost insensible when they
took her to prison. When she recover-
ed from her swoon, she wept, sobbed,
clasped her hands, and engaged in prayer. At
length, overcome with terror, overwhelmed with
sadness, and fatigued from having shed so many
tears, she threw herself upon her bed of straw,
and a sweet sleep soon closed her heavy eye-
lids. When she awoke it was almost night.
The darkness prevented her from distinguishin
a single object. It was a long while before
she knew where she was. The story of the
ring appeared to her as a dream, and at first she
thought herself on her own little bed;-she was
consoling herself with that idea, when she felt that
her hands were chained.-Frightened by the noise
of the chains, she jumped from her bed, and all
the ad reality burst upon her mind. "What can
I do," said she falling on her knees,-" butraise
my heart to God?"

Mary then engaged in prayer. She prayed for
herself, but particularly for her dear father, that
the Lord would support him in the trouble now
brought upon him.
The recollection of her father caused a torrent
of tear to fow from her eyes.-Grief and pity
stopped her utterance. She continued for a long
time thus to cry and sob. The moon, over which
until then large clouds had thrown a thick veil,
now appeared through a little iron grating, pene-
trated to the cell, and threw on the floor the sha-
dow of the grating. Mary could easily distinguish
by moonlight the four walls of her narrow prison;
-thelarge bricks of which they were constructed;
-the white mortar which united the red bricks;-
a projection in the wall breast high, placed in a
form occupying the place of a table;--the pitcher
and lay porringer that were placed there; at last
the straw which served her for a bed. From the
time that light dissipated the darkness that sur-
rounded Mary, she felt herheart somewhat soothed.
Besides this, Mary perceived, with astonishment,
that some flowers seemed to shed over her prison
their sweet perfume. That morning she had made
a bouquet of rose-buds, and other flowers, which
remained from the basket,-and had placed them
in her bosom. It was they which shed an agree.
able odour. She untied the bonjliet, and con.
templated it by the light of the moon. "Alas!"
said she, "when this morning I gathered these

Tan BASUKT OF rfLO s. 39
rose-buds in my garden, and these forget-me.nots,
who would have thought that the same evening I
should be the tenant of this gloomy dungeon?
When I wore these garlands, who would have
imagined that the ame day I should be doomed
to bear these iron chains? It is thus that all
earthly things are subject to change. It is thus
that man never knows in how short a time his
position may be entirely changed, and to what un-
fortunate events his moat innocent actions may
give occasion. Truly there is need that we should
daily commend ourselves to the protection of the
Almighty." Sheagainwept: some tearsfellupon
her rose-buds, and upon her forget-menots. By
the light of the moon those tears might have been
taken for dew.drops. He who forgets not to
send the rain and dew to moisten the flowers, will
not forget me,"--she said, and then the recollec-
tion of her father drew tears from her eyes.
"0 my dear father," she said, "while I co-
template this bouquet, how much advice thatyea
have given me concerning flowers presents itself to
my memory. From the midst of thorns I have
taken these rose-buds. Thus joys will arise to me
from the troubles I endure. Had any one at-
tempted prematurely to expand the leaves of this
rose-bud, it would have perished. It seems that
God with a delicate finger has gradually unfolded
this purple cup, and his breath shed over it sweet
perfume. He can disperse the evils which aflict
c *

40 TEN BAS u T or FLOWN*.
me, and make tla good which seemed but evil --
I will patiently wait his time. These fowem e.
mind me of him who created them. Yes; I will
remember him as he remembered me. These ten.
der lowers I they are blue as the heavens. May
heaven be my consolation under all that I suffer
upon earth. Here are some sweet peas, with
small delicate leaves, half red, half white. This
plant grows and winds itself round a support
which it needs, that it may not creep in the dust;
and there it balance itself above the earth, and
displays its flowers, which would be taken for the
wings of a butterfly. It is thus that I will cling
to God, and by his assistance will raise myself
above the dust and miseries of this life. It is par-
ticularly this mignionette which diffses this
sweet perfume. Sweet plant, you exhiliarate by
your odour the one who tore you from the earth.
I wish to resemble you, and to shew good even
towards those who without any reason, have torn
me from my garden, to throw me into this prison.
Here is a little sprig of periwinkle, which resists
the winter, and preserves its verdre, even in the
most rigorous seasons. It is the emblem of hope.
I will also preserve hope, now that the time of
suffering has come. God who protects the fresh.
ness and verdure of this plant from the attacks of
winter, of ice, and snow, will supportmealo from
the attacks of adversity, Here again are two
leaves of laurel they remind me of that incorrup.

tible crown, which is rese d in heaven for all
those who love the Lord, and have suffered upon
earth with submision to his wilL It appears to
me that I already behold it surrounded with golden
rays, animperishable crown of glory. Flowers of
the earth I you are short-lived as its joyst you
fade, you wither in an instant. But in heaven,
after the short suffering we experience here below,
an unalterable felicity awaits us, and we shall en.
joy an eternal glory, if Christ the Saviour is our
hope." Mary consoled herself by thus talking to
herself. Suddenly a dark cloud covered the moon.
Mary no longer saw her flowers. Dreadful dark.
ness was diffused throughout the prison, and grief
re-entered her heart.
But very soon the cloud passed, and the moon
re-appeared in her first burst of beauty, It is
thus," said Mary, "that clouds can be ast over
us, but they are dissipated in the end, and we re-
appear as brilliant as before. It is thus, if a dark
suspicion now tarnishes my charater, God will
make me triumphant over every false accusation."
Then Mary again stretched herself upon her bun-
die of straw, and slept with sweet tranquillity. An
agreeable dream soothed her heart, and afforded
herpeace. She dreamed that she walked by moon-
light in a little garden quite new to her. It was
situated in a wilderness surrounded by a dark
forest of oaks, which offered to her the greatest
enjoyment. The moon until then had never ap-

p ared to her s beautiful nor so brilliant. Iln-
mined by her sweet light, the ivereied powers,
ornaments of this little garden, displayed a th.-
and charms, and filled the air with the most agree.
able perfume. She saw her father with her in this
wonderful garden. The moon illumined his ven-
erable and serene countenance, animated by a gra-
cious smile. She ran tohim,and shed sweet tears
on the old man's bosom, with which her cheeks
were wet when she awoke. It was a dream, but
It comforted her heart.


ARY was scarcely awake, when an officer
came to conduct her to the tribunal.
She trembled at the sight of the dark
room in which the court was held. The judge
was heated in a large chair covered with scarlet,
and the clerk stood before an enormous table
covered with writings. The judge asked Mary
a number of questions, and she answered them
all as truth required. She wept much, but
persisted in declaring her innocence. "Do
not attempt to make me believe this," said
the judge. "No one but yourself entered the
room-no one but you then can have the ring.
You had better acknowledge it." I can never
ay anything but the truth. I have not seen it,-
indeed I have not."
"The ring was seen in your hands,"-continued
th judge; what will you now say ?" Mary per-
sistd that the thing was impossible. The judge
tm rang a little bell, and Juliete was brought in.

Juliette, in the fit of jealousy which the dre given
to Mary had caused, and in the guilty design of
depriving her of the favour of her mistress, had
aid to the people of the castle that she had seen
Mary take it. In consequence of this falsehood,
Juliette was summoned as a witness, and lest she
!whuld be caught in alie, she determined to main-
tain it, even in a court of justice. When she was
summoned, and the judge required her to declare
the truth before God, she felt her heart beat
quickly, and her knees trembled under her. But
this wicked girl listened neither to the voice of the
judge, nor that of her conscience. "If," aid she
to herself, I acknowledge now that I have lied,
then I shall be driven away, or perhaps be impri-
soned." She persisted in her imposture, and ad-
dressing herself to Mary,-she said, with effron.
tery, You have the ring; I saw you with it."
Mary heard this calumny with horror, but she did
not suffer passion to get the better of her judge-
ment. She could not, however, refrain from
weeping,-and her tears almost choakedher utter-
ance. "It is not true,-you did not see me with
the ring. How can you assert so terrible a false.
hood, and thus cause my ruin without my having
ever injured you ?" But Juliette, who considered
her own temporal interest, and felt nothing but
hatred and jealousy towards Mary, remaieinenm.
sible. She repeated her falsehood with aggrpated
circumstances and details, and then was dimidssed

by the judge. "Mary, you are convicted," aid
be. Every circumstance i against you. The
chambermaid of the young countess ha sen the
ringin your hands;-tell me, now, what youhave
done with it." Mary still asserted that she had it
not. According to the cruel custom of those days,
the judge had her whipped ati tih blood am,
is hopes that she would confess.
Mary screamed, and wept, andcontinued to re-
peat that she was innocent, but in vain. Pale,
trembling, and torn with blows, she was again
thrown into prison. Her wounds gave her great
pain. Stretched on a bed of straw extremely ard,
she passed half the night withoutleep. Shewept,
groaned, prayed to God, who at last sent her a
sweet and soothing dleep The next day the
judge had her brought again before his tribunal.
As severity had answered no purpose, he ende.-
voured to draw from her an acknowledgment by
mildness and flattering promises. "You have
incurred the penalty of death, you have deserved
to perish by the sword of justice; but confess
where the ring is, and nothing willbe done to you.
-Consider it well, the choice is between life and
Still Mary stood to her first assertion.-The
judge, who had remarked how much she loved her
father, added, If you persist in concealing the
truth, if you will not spare your own life, spare at
lst that of your aged father ; would you sea h1

head, whitened by ag, cut of by the hand of the
executioner? Who but he could have induced you
to tell a falsehood with so much obtinacy ? Ar
you ignorant that his life as well as yours, s at
stake?" Terrified at this threat, Mary neasy
fainted. "Confess," said the judge,-" that you
have taken the ring. A single word, a syllable-
only say Yea-and you save your life, and that of
your father."
This temptation was great, and for some time
Mary was silent. It was a moment of dreadful
trial Satan suggested that she could say, "I took
the ring,butI lot it on the road." No," she
thought, afterward,-" no l-it i better to adhere
to thetruth. It isa into lie. Letit cot me
what it will, I will not depart from the truth, even
to save my own or my father's life. I will obey
God, and trust him for the rest." She then an.
swered in a loud but tremulous voice, If I say I
bad the ring, it would be a lie, and though this
falsehood should save my life, I would not utter it.
But," continued she, "If blood must be shed,
spare at least the white hairs of my virtuous fa-
ther. I should be moat happy to shed my blood
for him."
These words touched the hearts of the whole
body of the bystanders. The judge himself, with
all his severity, could not help being moved he
remained silent, and made a sign for Mary to be
taken back to prison.


Kil as Dl mul y an

HE judge found hihsaf i great dif.
culty in coming to a deoion. "To-day
is the third day," aid be, and we
have not advanced any further than the lt
hour. If Iforesaw any possibility that te g
was in other hands, I should believe this youg
girl innocent. But all the elrcmntaw es Ma
too clearly laid down against her. It if he-
possible that it an be otherwise. She mnt
hae stolen the ring." He returned to the coam
tess, and again questioned her as to the moat
minute circumstances Juliette wasalo examine
again: he passed the whole day in reviewing the
testimony; and weighed each word that Mary
uttered in her examination. In short, it ws
already very late when he sent to the prison fr
Mary's fther to bebrought to hishouse. "Jame,"
mid he, "I am known to be a rigid man-butyo
%manot reproach me of having ever intentionally
119 n

injured any one. You will believe, I hope, tat I
do not desire the death of your daughter never-
theles, all the circumstances prove that she must
have committed the theft, and the law requires her
death. The testimony of Juliette gives full
evidence of the ct. Notwithtanding, if the ring
was returned, and the damage thus repaired, we
might t nt Mary a prdon in consideration of her
youth. But if she still persists with so much
obstinacy in her guilty denial, this excess of per-
verene must ruin her. Go to her James,-
Insist upon her returning the ring, and I pledg
my word, that then, and only then,-&he will not
abide the penalty of death but will be dis*
charged with but a trifling punishment. You are
her father, and have unbounded power over her.
If you obtain nothing, what must be the conclusion
but that you are an accomplice, and have partid-
pated in the crime? And I repeat it, if the ring
is notfound, Ipityyourcase." "I will speak u
you desire to my daughter," answered Jame,
"but that she has not stolen the ring, and that she
willnot acknowledge herself guilty, I know before.
hand, although I will employ every means of
finding it out; and if it is that she perih, notwith-
standing her innocence, it is a favour that I can
behold her once more before the dreadful event."
An officer was sent with the old man tq the
prison of Mary :-he set the smoking lamp upon
the little projection of the wall which was in o

corner of her cell,-and upon which was an earth.
en pitcher full of water. The poor girl yet had
eaten nothing. She ws lying on the straw, and
with her face turned towards the wall, and was
dosing, but scarcely had she opened her eyes and
perceived the pale light of a lamp, than she turned
over, and seeing her father, uttered a cry of joy,
and raised herself with precipitation which caused
her chains to resound. Then nearly hinting, she
threw herself upon his neckt The old man st
down with her upon her bed, and premed her in
his arms; both remained for ome time silent, and
mingled their tar together. James broke dlence,
and began to speak a his commission required.
" Ah I my father," said Mary, interrupting him,
"you at least cannot doubt of my innocence.
Alua," continued she, still weeping, "is there ns
one but what thinks me guilty; no one, not eve
my father? Believe, dear father, that I am inno-
cent" Be composed my dear child, I do be.
live you.-What I have done is in compliance
with the order I received." They again remained
silent. Jameslooked at Mary, and awher cheeks
were pale and hollow with grief; her eyes red, and
swelled with weeping her hair floated in disorder.
" Poor child ," aid he, God has put thee to a
seven trial, but I very much fear the most cruel,
the most dreadful ufferings are yet to come.
Al I perhaps the head of my dear child will fall by
the hand of the executioner " Ah, my father."

mid Mary,--" I care but little for myself. Bat
you."-* Fear nothing for me, my dear chld,"
mid the hther, I run no risk."-" Oh," eried
Mry, transported with joy, and without allowing
her father time to fnish, "if that is the cae, my
heart i relieved of a great weight all is well:
myfatherbeassredI fear notdeath. Ishallfind
my God-my Saviour,--ad I shall see my mother
also in haven. Oh I what happine will this
be." V
These words made a deep impression on the
heart of the old man, and he wept like a child.
"Well, God be praised," aid he, olaspig his
hnds, "God be praised for the submiive dispo-
ltion I fnd you in.-It is hard, without doubt,
ery hard, for a man bowed down with the weight
of year, for tender father thus to loe his only
bild, the hild of hiloe, and his only cool.
tio r-h4is lMtapport, and the joy ofhis old age.
However," continued be, in abrokn Yoice, "may
the will ofthe Lordbe done." Atorrent ofter
interrupted these words. "Yet one word," ild
he, a moment after "Jullettehasdeposed again
yo. Shehu declared onher oth, tohave sen
the ring in your hands. It is her testimony that
condemns you, if you ar to perish. But yor
pardon her? Isit not o? Youdonottako
withyou any feeling of hatred? AlasI evenupon
this bed of traw, in the bottom of this dark oell
loaded with heavy chain, yo ae still more hap.

THU BASKET 01o L.OWa. 51
py than she in the palace of er master, clothed
with silk and ace, and sorronded with atteion.
It is better to die innocent than to live dihonour.
ed. Pardon her, Mary, as thy Saviour pardoned
h enemies do you pardonher?" Maryssured
hm that he did. "Well,"aid her father, who
heard the officer coming to separate them, "I
recommend you to God and bs grae, and if you
are not to see me again,-if this i thel bt time I
am permitted to holdoonvertwith you, my dagh-
tr: atleast, I will not belong in flowing you
to heaven; for I feel that I hall not erie this
parting." The officer warned the old man m t it
was necessary to depart. Mary wished to retain
him, and held him in her arms with all her
strength --but her father war obliged to disengag
himself as gently a he could, and Mary fell im-
sible on her bed. Jame was brought again be
forethe judge. As oou asheentered, bened
hi hands to heave, and cried out, almost beside
himself, She is innocent." "Iam disposed,"
aid the judge, to believe it p-but unfortunately
I cannot judge from your tatimony,- r that of
your daughter. I mut pronounce sentence Abm
the nature of the testimony, and aooording to
what's prescribed, even to the utmost rigor of
the law."



S may well be imagined, all were curious
to know what would be the issue of this
unfortunate affair in which Mary was in-
volved. Every well disposed person trembled for
her life, for atthis time the crime of theft was pun-
ibhed with rigour, and the penalty of death was
often inflicted for the theft of a sum not equal to
te twentieth part of the value of the ring. The
count wished for nothing so much as to And Mary
innocent. He himself read all the testimony, and
conversed for hours at a time with the judge,
without being able to convince himself of Mary's
innocence. The two countesse, the mother and
daughter, begged with tears in their eyes,-that
Mary should not suffer death, while her aged fa-
ther spent days and nights, supplicating, unceas-
ingly, the Lord; that he would be pleased to con-
vince the world of the innocence of his daughter.
Whenever Mary heard the offer enter with is

keys, she thought that they were going to announce
to her the time of her death. Meantime the ex-
eoutioner was engaged in preparation for the pun-
shment.-Juliette, in walking, saw him engaged
in this work; and her heart was overwhelmed
with grief. Horror seemed to deprive her of her
presence of mind; and when she satdown to sup-
per, she could not touch any thing, and every one
saw that she was notin her ordinary spirits. She
went to bed, but her sleep was disturbed, and
more than once in her dreams she saw the bloody
headof Mary. Her remorsegavehernorest,nei-
ther day nor night, but the heart of this wicked
creaturewas too hardened to confess her falsehoods,
and she was determined not to repair her hult,
by a sincere acknowledgment.
At length the judge pronounced the sentence.
In consideration of Mary's extreme youth, and
(until now,) unblemished reputation, the sentence
of death was changed to that of banishment of
herself and father, for he considered her father,
whether by the act, or whether by the bad educa-
tion he had given her, had rendered himself an ae.
complied of her crime. Their possemions were to
be sold, to contribute as far as they could, to the
reparation of thelom which the count had sustain.
ed, and to pay the expenses of the court. This
sentence wa to be carried into execution the next
morning at the break of day.
Mary and her father passed before the castle

54 THU BAIen T o0 ILOWmR11.
gate, conducted byan officer, when Jullete onm
ot. Seeing that the ,alir, contrary to all eape
station, had taken a different turn from what Ab
anticipated, this conning girl, destitute of every
goodeantimet, regained her gaiety. Shehadnow
aooomplished exactly what she wanted. She al-
ways feared, that in the end Mary would supplant
her. This fear was dissipated. Her first averion
against James's daughter revived, and she rejoiced
athermisfortnne;-in fact, her bad heart hdgain
ed the seendency. The counts, seeing Mary's
baketon the sideboard, had said to Julette, "Take
away that basket, that I may never have it before
my eyes. It arouses in me recollections so pain.
ftl that I cannot behold it but with grief." Juli.
ette bad taken it, and was going away with it Bu.
de her arm-" Stop" id he, here's yor pre.
t, yon can take it again; my mistre wishes
nodmig from such people as yo. Your glory
has paned away with e fower for which you
were so wel paid, and it is a great pleasure for me
to give you your packages "
She threw the basket at Mary's feet, reeaterd
the atle with a scornful nmile, ad sat te door
wih great violence after her. Mary tok the
basket in since, with tear in her eyes, andma
thmed her way. Her father had not en a -
to support his tottering steps. Mary possand
nothing but the basket; she turned more thI
hundred time, her ye wet withte tmars, d

Tun BASKr F rLOWUM. 55
her p-iMl root; ntil the roo, the aste, and
evmn t steep of the churh were dden by a
ll covered with tre--and disppeared from
her igt. When the officer had conducted em
tothe limits ofthe county, cont derably advanced
in the forest, the old man, overwhelmed with
anxiety and grief, heated himself upon the mos
under the shade of an aged oak.-" Come, my
daughter said he, andahe spoke, hetook Mary
n his arms, joined her hands in his, and racing
them to heaven, said, Before we go onlet us thank
God, who has taken usfrom narrow andobsore
prison, and who allows us to enjoy freely the
eight of heaven and the freshness of the air-that
God who has saed our lives, nd who has return.
ed yoa, my dear bild, to the embrace of your
father." The aged mastn then l on his knm,
and with a deep gratitude of heart, commended
them both to the protection of their heavenly Fa.
other. After they had prayed thus together, (for
Mary repeated from the bottom of her heart every
word which her father had uttered,) they felt a
wonderful consolation and a feeling of courage
and atnordinary joy was shed over their hearts.
At tat moment God's providence began to four
hem. Anthony, an old huntsman, with whom
James had been in service when he accompanied
the count his travels, had et out before day-
brmktohunt a stag. "Godblma you, James,
aidWh "it does me good to hear your vl; I

am not then mistaken, it is true that they have
banished you, but it is hard to see oneself obliged
inone's old days, to quit one's country."
As fr as the arch of heaven extends," s.
swered James, "The earth is the Lord's, and
everywhere the watchful kindness of the Lord is
upon us. Our country is in heaven."-" Tell
me," answered thehuntsman, in an accentof pity,
" have they banished you just as you are, without
giving you the necessary clothing for such a jour.
ney ?" "He who clothes the flowers of the field
will know how to provide for us also," answered
James. "Even so-you are supplied at least
with money ?" said the kind-hearted huntsman.
"We have a good conscience, and with that we
areriher than if the stone upon which I sit was
gold. My father was a basket maker, and he
taught me his trade besides that of gardening, in
order that during the winter I might have useful
occupation. This has done more for me, and has
provided better for my future prosperity,-thenif
he had left me three thousands crowns. A good
conscience,-health of body, and an honourable
trade, are the best and surest fortune that we can
have on earth." "God be praised," answered the
huntsman, that you can bear your misfortunes
so well. I am forced to confess that you are r
It seems to me, that you have yet a good rsour
in gardening: but where will you get employ-
ment?"-" Very far," answered James, "whem

we ae not known, where God will conduct us."
SJames," sid the huntsman, "take this knotty
cane: I supplied myself with it to asist me in
climbing up the mountain, but I can get another,
and here," continued he, drawing from his pocket
a little leather purse, "in it is some money, that I
received in payment for some wood in the hamlet,
where I passed the night."
"The came accept, and I will keep itin remem.
branch of a generous man, but a for the money, it
is impossible for me to accept it: it is a payment
for wood, and it belongs to the count." "Good
old James," snid he, "do not trouble yourself
about that, the count has already received his
money.-Some years past, a poor old man who
had lost his cow, couldn't pay for thewood which
he had bought. I advanced him the sum, and
thought no more of it. Now he has extricated
himself from his difficulties, and yesterday, at the
moment when I least expected it,-he returned it
tome withthanks. It istruly a presentwhich God
sends you." Well,"said James, "I accept it,
and may God return it to you. See, Mary, with
what goodness God provides for us even in the
commencement of our dreary banishment. We
have not a yet passed the limits of the county, and
see, he ends us our good old friend, who has of-
fered me a travelling cane, and who has given us
money. I had not time to quit this seat before
heaven heard my prayer. So, my daughter, cour.

age God will watch ov u." The old hunts-
man melted into tears, then took leave of them.
"Farewell, honest James," said he; "frewell,
god Mary," extending his hand to both-" I
always thought you innocent, and think so stDI.
Do not despair -do not let your probity failyoui
yes I yes whosoever does well, and has confidence
in God, may calculate on divine protection. May
God be with you." The huntsman left them, and
bent his steps towards Eichbonrg. James gotup,
took his daughter by the land, and they continued
their way across the forest, not knowing at what
spot they would stop, for they had now no frend
but God.

SJAN5 A" MMA ir DrMI3308 i
s- W AR" aOzDuD m" u
B ARY and her father still continued their
painful journey, and had already walked
more than twenty miles without being
able to ind a night's lodging. The little money
which they had was nearly ehausted, and they
knew not where to obtain subsistence. It cot
them a great trial to slicit charity, but they were
obliged to submittoit.-Theypresentedthemselve
before a great number of doors, but they scarcely
metwith any thing but repulse, accompanied by
abuse. Sometimes they could only get a little
piece of dry bread, and some water from the amnr-
eat fountain. Sometimes, indeed, they received a
little soup, or some greens, and here and there
some remains of meat or pastry. After having
ped several days in this manner, they were very
glad to be allowed to sleep in a barn.
0M day the road appeared endless, a they tra-
vwlled between hills and mountain covered with

60 TH BAS KT 0F r FLOW s.
trees, and they had walked a long time without
seeing any village, when the old man began to feel
very weak. He fell, pale and speechless, at the
foot of a hill covered with pines, on a heap of dried
leave. Mary was overcomewith fear and anxiety,
and overwhelmed with grief. In vain did she eek
a little fresh water in the neighbourhood, she could
not find the least drop: in vain did she cry for as-
sistance, the echo alone answered her. On what.
ever side she looked, no house wa to beseen. Al.
though almost worn out with fatigue, she ran to
the top of the hill in hopes of having abetter view
of the surrounding country. At last, she discover-
ed behind the hill, and quite at its foot, a cottage
surrounded by rich fields, and green meadows, and
completely shut in by the forest. She ran down,
and arrived quite out of breath at this hut. With
tears in her eyes, she asked assistance in a broken
voice. By God's providence both the peasant and
and his wife, who were advanced in years, we
kind-hearted people. Thepaleness, and tears, and
agony of the poor girl touched their sensibility.
"Put a horse to the little waggon," aid the far-
mer's wife to her husband, we will bring this sick
old man here." The farmer went out to get his
horse and to harness it; and his wife tooktwo mat.
tresses, an earthen pitcher of fresh water, and a
bottle of vinegar. As soon a Mary knew that the
waggon would be obliged to go round the hill, and
that it was a good half hour's ride, she went befbe

with the water and vinegar, the same pathby which
bse had come, and by this mon arrived sooner
where dhe had left her father. He had recovered
a little and wa siting at the foot of a pine tree,
and it was with great joy that he aw the return of
his daughter, whose absence had caused him some
anxiety. As soon as the farmer and his wife ar.
rived, they placed him in the waggon, and carried
him to the farm, where they gave him a neat little
room, a closet, and a kitchen, which wre thenun.
occupied. The farmer's wife made him nice bed,
and a bench was suffeient for Mary, who would
not quit her fathers pillow. The indisposition of
James was but a weakness occasioned by bad food,
bad rest, and the fatigue of thejourney. The good
farmer's wife spared nothing to relieve the sick
man, and even sacrificed some of their usual gra
tifications. These kind people had been in the
habit of going every year toafairin the neighbour-
ing village, but they agreed this time to remain at
home, and to employ the money which they would
havespent,in procuring medicines and delicacies
for the invalid. Mary thanked them with tears in
her eyes. "Oh I then," said she,-" there ar
kind people everywhere, and it is often in the most
unlikely places that we find the most compassion-
ate hearts." As the old man grew better, Mary
was constantly seated beside her father's bed, but
she did not sit there idle-she had not her match
for knitting and sewing, and in these employment

she occupied herself with great industry for the
former's household. She did not give herself
moment's rest. The farmer's wife was enchantd
with her taste for work, and her modest and re.
served demeanour. By the great care which they
had taken of James, and by the excellent food which
they had given him, he was so far restored, a to
be able to sit up, and a idleness had always bee
nsupportable in him, he begun again to reumehi
baket-making. Mary, a before, gathered for h
branch of willow and basel twig, and his int
production was a pretty little convenient basket,
which he offered to the farmer's wife a token of
He had exactly guessed her taste. TM basket
was elegant, but strong and solid;-branche of
willow, stained with a deep red, and interwoven in
the cover, which formed the initialsofthefarmer's
wife, and the date. The border was formed of
green, brown, and yellow branches, representing
cottage thatched with straw, on each side of which
was a pine tree. This pretty basket was the ad.
migration of the whole house. The rmer's wife
received the present withgreat joy, andtheallusion
made to her farm, which was called the "'PI
Cottage," gave her peculr p lipleasure. WhenJames
felt himself quite recovered, he sid to his host,
"We have been long enough a burden to you--
it is time I should go and seek my fortune else.
where." "What is the matter with yo, my good

James ?" said the farmer, taking him by the head-
"I hop we have not offended you. Why then
would you wish to leave us? The year is very r
advanced. Do you notseetheleaves on the tree,
how yellow they are turning? Winter iat our
doors. Do you wish to be sick again ?" James.a
aured them that he had no other motive for lear-
ing them, than the fear of being troublesome.
Troublesome, indeed," said thefarmer, don't
distress yourself about that-in the little room
where you are, you cannot incommode us in any
way, and you gain enough to supply your want."
-" Yea, yes," added the farmer's wife, "Mary
alone earns enough with her needle and her knit-
ting, and you, James, if you wish to continue to
exercise the trade ofbasket-maker, be easy. Not
long since, when I went to the pine mill, I took
with me your pretty basket. All the countrywo-
men that were there wished to have one likeit. I
will undertake to procure stomer. Luwill not
soon be in want of work."
James and Mary consented to reml and their
boasts expressed a sincere pleasure this determi-

119 a


BAMES and Mary then fixed themselves in
their habitation, their rooms furnished in
the most simple style, and only with what
was necessary. Mary thought herself very happy
in being again able to prepare the repast of her fa-
ther, and they led together a life of contentment.
While James was making baskets, and Mary was
occupied with knitting and sewing, they amused
each other withfamiliar conversation. Sometimes
they wpen eir winter evening in the front room,
and it w th great pleasure that their hosts, with
other inmates of the house, listened to thejudicious
reflections and instructive recitals of Father James,
s they called him. Winter, with all its severity,
passed with them in the most agreeable manner.
Quite near their house was a large garden, which
was not the best kept in the world; the farmerand
his wife had too much to dointhe field to givegar.
denying the necessary time, and besides it was an

Ta sAsAswT OF rLOWSIa. 6I
art with which they wwe not familiar. Jame un-
dertook to make of it a pretty lower garden.
He had made his preparations during the au.
tumn, and scarely had the warmth of spring dis
sipated the winter' snow when he begea his work,
assisted by Mary, and they were employed froum
morning until quite late in the evening. Thegae
den was divided into compartments; the beds
planted with all sorts of vegetables, and bordered
with gravel walks. Mary had no rest until beh
father brought from the village, (where he wa in
the habit of buying the seeds of vegetables,) rose
trees, tulip and lily roots, and variouskinds of glar
den shrubbery. She cultivated the most beatifu
powers, and among them were some which had
never been seen in this deserted and isolated place.
The garden soon exhibited such a burst of verdure
and richness, that the valley, until now overgrown
with dark forest-trees, assumed quite a smiling ap.
pearance. The neighboring orchard also appear.
ed to thrive much better under James's hand, and
brought forth fruit in great abundance.
The blessing of heaven was upon every thing he
undertook. The old gardener had regained his
good humour; he began again to make his remarks
on the flowers, but without recurringto his oldob.
servation, he had always something new to say.
During the first spring-days, Mary had sought for
violets along the thicket which bordered their rus.
tic ground. She wished, a usual, to offer the

66 TrI AsrlSK oFr n ew a.
fist bunch of them to herihter. At lat,she mund
ome beautiful ones which hada delghtslperfwme,
and ran, transported with joy, to present them to
him. "Very well," sadherfather, "seekandye
dull And but listen," continued he; "It is to be
remarked that these charming lowers, theme beau.
til lowers, delight to grow among brambles, and
it i hre we can find a lemon for ourselves. Who
would have thought that in coming to this dark
valley, all covered with woods, and this thatched
cottage, that we should here And happiness ? We,
so itts-there is no situation in life so thorny but
that we may therein discover a peaceful happiness
hid among the thorns. Have always, my child, a
Arm trut in God, and to whatever adversity you
may be exposed, inward peace will never forake
you." One day the wife of one of the villagers
came from the city to buy some lax of the farmer,
and brought her little boy with her. While she
was engaged in examining the sax, in choosing and
bargaining, the child having found the arden-gate
open, had gone in, and began immediately to plun.
der a full-blown roe-bush, but he scratched hh-
elf terribly with the thorns. The mother and the
farmer's wife ran to him as oon as they heard his
ries. James and Maryran also. Tbe hild, with
his little hands all bloody, exclaimed against the
rose-bush for having deceed him by its pretty
towers. "It is sometimes thus with u big chil-
drenalso," saidJamms. "Thereisno pleasuewhich

bs n itthorU u an we l asthisro Weru to-
wards it, as i to aele it with both hnda. Oo is
led away by a taste for dancing or for play. AnO.
tber by a taste for drink, or other vices sll m
shamedL Then we begin to let, and to dete
pleasure. Do not let us then be foolishly dsled
by the show ofamroe. Ma is endowed with
asmlto save; it not then necessary that we
should blindly abadon ourselves to our propensi.
site. We ought, without ceasing, to use all dil
gene to gin eternal li."
One beautiful morning which succeeded a two.
day's in, Mary and her father wet into the r.
den, and ound the frt lies i bloom, difusing
all their chrm and all their magniloce in the
rays of the rising un. Mary aled all the peo.
pe of the boue, who for a long time had beea
very anios to we the lilies In bloom. They
were in an ecstsy of admiration. "What pa-
rity I what whiteness I such neatnea entirely
without blemih, not a spot I"-"No, not oe,"
said James, agitated, and could it pleae beav
that the conscience of men were aS eempt, it
would be a pleasing sight for men and angel. A
pure beart can only clim connection with heaven.
How straight is the stem how graeflly and
obly it rai itself, a a finger that points to
hevem," added James. I am happy to se
thi aower in the arden. There ought not to be
a. grden the country where the lily is not

found. Inclined as we af eontinually to lean to-
rards earth, we are prompted to forget heaven.
The lily, which is so upright, seem to teach us,
that in the midst of our troubles and labours, we
should raise our thoughts towards the celestial
kingdom, and aspire to something better than the
productions of earth. Every plant," continued
he, earnestly, and with a penetrating look," even
the most delicate herbs, have a tendency to raise
themselves, and if there are any too weak for self-
aupport, a are these beans, and this hop, which
we see in the midst of this hedge, it entwines it-
self and clmbers around this pole. It is unwor-
thy of man that he alone in his desires and his
hopes should wish to grovel for ever in the earth."
James was one day employed in placing young
plants in a new-made bed-Mary was weeding at
a little distance from him. "This double la.
bour," sid the father, "should be the only oc-
cupation of all our life. Our heart is a garden
which the good God has given us to cultivate. It
bi necessary that we should unceasingly apply
ourselves to the cultivation of the good, and the
extraction of the evil which might there take root.
Otherwise it is but uncultivated ground. But let
s scrupulously full these two duties, and to this
end let us implore the assistance and bleaing of
that God who makes the sun to shine, the dew
and rain to fall, the plants to grow, and the fruit
to ripen. Then will our heart be a most dell.

tat BASKBT or rLOWZBa. 69
edo garden, and we shall poe a paradise
within ourselves." It was thus that Jaes and
Mary led an active and industrious life, mingling
their instructive conversations with their innocent
pleasures. Three springs and three summers had
glided away, and the happy days they had spent
at the Pine Cottage had almost caused them to
forget their past misfortunes. But at the return
of autumn, they saw their chrysanthemums dis-
playing their red and blue flowers, the last orna-
ments of the garden. The leaves of the trees were
clothed in variegated shades, and the garden
was preparing for repose during the winter.
James felt sensibly the diminution of his strength,
and felt more than once very uncomfortable. He
however concealed his feelings from Mary, fearing
to distress her; but all his observations on the
flowers were of a melancholy cast, and Mary, who
observed it, felt it from the bottom of her heart.
One day she observed a rose which appeared to
be waiting until autumn to bloom. She wished
to gather it, but the leaves of the fading flower
fell off in her hand. So it is with man," aid
her father, "In youth, we resemble a rose newly
opened, but our life fades as the rose : scarcely is
it matured ere it is passed. Pride not yourself,
my dear child, upon the beauty of the body, it is
vain and fragile, aspire to the beauty of the soul,
and piety which will never wither." One day,
toward evening, James ascended a ladder to ga-

their some apples. He handed themto Mary,who
arranged them in a basket. "How cold," aid
he, "this autumn wind is which whistles over this
stubble field; how it plays with the yellow leaves
and my white hairs. I am in my autumn, my
dear Mary, and soon you will be too. Try to re-
semble this excellent tree, which produces fruit so
beautiful, and in so great abundance. Try to
please the Master of this great garden,-which is
called the world." Mary was sowing seed for the
following spring. "One day will come," sid the
old man, "when they will put us in the ground
as you are putting those seeds; it will cover us.
But console yourself, my dear Mary, soon the
grain is enveloped in the air: when it is animated,
if I mayso speak,it sprouts from the earth in form
of beautiful flower, and raises itself triumphantly
from the place where it was buried. We also
shall rise one day from our tombs with splendour
and magnificence. Think of the future, my dear
Mary, when you will follow me to the tomb. In
the flowers which you will undoubtedly plant on
my tomb, see the image of the resurrection and
immortal life."
"What is this soD ?-Fragile, frail
As vegetation's tenderest leaf-
Transient as April's ftful gale,
And a the flshig meteor brief.
SWhat is this sonL ?--ternal mind,
Unlimited as tbougt's vast range-
By rovelling matter unoonflned ;
To same, while aste and empires change.

* When lolg this miserable ham
as vanished from life' bJy sce e,
This earth shall roll, that sun shall Lame,
As though sas OnR had never bern.
** When oans have wsned, and worlds sablim
Their aflu revolutions told,
This SOUL hall triumph over time,
As though such orbs had never rolled."


ST the beginning of the winter which threat-
ened to be very severe, and which had al.
ready covered the mountain and valley
with a verydeep snow, old father James was taken
sick. Mary begged him to allow the physician of
the neighboring village to come and see him;
and immediately the farmer, who was always on
the alert, went for himin a sleigh. Thephyscian
wrote his prescription, and Marywalked with him
as far as the door, to ask him if he had any hope
of her father's recovery. The physician answered
that he was in no immediate danger, but that his
disease would become a consumption, and that,
especially at his age, he could not be expected to
recover. At this intelligence Mary nearly fainted.
She wept, she sobbed, and could hardly be com-
forted. However, she wiped her tears, and ea-
deavoured to appear calm before she went to her
father, for fear of distressing him. Mary attended
her father with all the care that a good daughter

THl IAsKIT or rLOWnIS. 73
could bestow oM a most beloved parent. She
could read in his eyes all that he wanted. She
watched whole nights near his bed. Did any wish
to relieve her for fear she herself would be sick,
and if she, after much persuasion, consented to
rest for a few moments on her bench, it happened
very rarely that she ever closed her eyes. If her
father coughed, she trembled; if hemade the least
stir, she immediately approached him softly and
on tip-toe to know how he was. She prepared
and brought to him with the most delicate attend.
tion the food which best suited his situation. She
arranged his pillow, read to him, and prayed with
him continually. Often when he dozed for a little
while, she would stand by his bed with her hands
clasped and her tearful eyes raised to heaven
Mary had a little money which she had saved
from the work of her own hands. It was the lit.
tie she had earned in spending very often half the
night in sewing and knitting. This she made use
of to the very last penny in procuring for her fa-
ther all that she thought would be of any service.
The pious old man, although he felt himself occ-
sionally a little stronger, was only too sure that
he was on his death-bed. But he was calm and
perfectly resigned. He spoke of his approaching
death with the greatest serenity. "Ah said
Mary, crying bitterly, "do not speak thus, my
dear father. I cannot bear the thought. What
will become of me? Alas your poor Mary will

no longer have any one upon earth."-"Do not
cry, my dear child," aid her father, holding out
his hand to her. "You have a kind Father in
heaven. He will never forsake you, although your
earthly father be taken away from you. I do not
feel the least anxious about the manner in which
you will gin a livelihood; no, that distress
me the least. The birds easily find their food.
Will you not then find enough to nourish you ?
God provides for the smallest sparrow; why will
he not also provide for you ? It is quite another
thing which distresses me," continued he I t is
that you will be left in a wicked world. Alas
my dear child, you do not suspect the world of
being half so wicked or corrupted as it is, or of
containing half so many wicked people a it does.
There willbe moments when you will feel inclined
to do evil,-moments when you will allow your.
self, perhaps, to be persuaded, without much
difficulty, that sin is not so very wrong. Listen
to the advice which I now give you, and let the
last words of your dying father be for ever deeply
impressed on your heart. Forbid every action,
every speech, every thought for which you would
bave to blush if your father knew it. Soon my
eyes will be for ever closed. I shall no long be
here to watch over you. But remember you have
in heaven a Father whose ee sees everything, and
reads the bottom of your heart." After little
while, wn hene had taken breath, he con tied,

SYou would not wish to affect, by a bad action,
the father whom you have on earth; how much
more then should you fear to offend that Father
who is in heaven. Look at me once more, Mary.
Oh, if you ever feel the least inclination to do
wrong, think of my pale face, and of the tears
which wet my sunken cheeks. Come to me, put
your band into mine, cold and withered, which
will soon fall into the dust. Promise me never to
forget my words. In the hour of temptation,
imagine you feel this cold hand which you now
hold on the border of the grave. Poorchild, you
cannot see, without weeping, my pale and hollow
cheeks. Ah I know that everything passes away
in this world. There was a time when I had the
bloom of health, and the fresh and vermilion tint
which you now have. The time will come when
you too will be stretched on your bed of death,
pale and emaciated as you now see me, if God does
not sooner take you to himself. The friends of
my youthhave disappeared like the flower which
have passed away with spring, and for whose place
you seek invain, like the dew which but for a mo-
ment sparkles on the flowers, and is gone." The
next day James, believing that his end was near,
though weak, yet felt it his duty and delight to
continue hisdying advice. "I haveseentheworld,"
aid he, "as well as other people, when I accom.
pnied the young Count in his travels. Wasthere
anything in the large cities superb or magnificent,

I went there. I spet whole weeks in pleawr
Was there a brilliant assembly, or a lively convert
station, I saw and heard all, as well aa my young
master. I always had my hare in the most ex.
quisite meals, and of the scarcest wines, and always
had more than I wished for. But all these noisy
pleasmr left me with an empty heart. I here
protest solemnly, that a few moments of peaceful
contemplation and fervent prayer under our har.
bour in Eichbourg, or under this thatch that covers
us now, gave me more real joy than all-even on
my death-bed I repeat it-more than all the vain
pleasures of this world. Seek, then, your happi.
nessin the love and service of our blessed Saviour.
You will fnd him, and he will bless you. You
know very well, my dear child, that I have not
wanted for misfortunes in this life. Alas I when
I lost your mother, my heart was for a long time
like a dry and barren garden, whose soil, burnt by
the sun, cracks open, and seems to sigh for rain;
it is thus that I languished, thirsting for console
tion; at last I found it in the Lord. Oh I my
child, there will be days in your life when your
heart also will be like a dry and barren ground.
But do not feel distressed at it. The thirsty
ground calls not in vain for rain. God sends the
rain necessary for it. Seek your consolation in
the Lord. This consolation will refresh your
heart as a sweet rain refreshes the thirsty earth.
My dear child, let your confidence in God be un.

Tras ABST or V LOWUs. 77
dakeln There s nothinghwilnot doforthose
be love. He conducts us by grief to umingled
happiness. Do you recollect, my good Mary, ll
the grief which you felt when, after our painful
walk, I fell down with fatigue in the middle of the
road? Well, this accident was the mans which
the Lord made use of to procure for us the sweet
rest which we have enjoyed for three years with
thebe good people. Without this sickness we
should either not have come before their door, or
they would not have been touched with so much
compassion. All the pleasures which we have
here tasted, allthe good which we have been enabled
to.do, all the happy days which we have here spent,
are so many benefits which resulted from this
sickness. It is thus, my dear Mary, that in the
troubles of this life we can find proofs of the divine
goodness. If the liberal hand of the Lord has
scattered with flowers mountains and valleys,
forests and the banks of rivers, and even muddy
marshes, to give us every where the opportunity
of admiring his tenderness and goodness, he has
also imprinted on all the events of our life evident
traces of his grcat wisdom, and of his compassion-
ate love for men, in order that an attentive mind
may learn by them to love and to adore Him.
Every one can observe them in his own life, if he
is capable of a little attention. Never have we had
more to suffer than when you were accused of
a theft, when you were chained and likely to be

condemned to death-when we were together
weeping and lamenting in prison. Well, this evil
trial has been a source of great good to us. Yes,
It seems that now this benefit is viible; when the
young countess distinguished you from the other
young girls, did you the honour to admit you to
her company, made you a present of a beautiful
gown, and wished you to be always near her, no
doubt you thought yourself very happy. But it
was to be feared that these superfuitie, these
advantages would render you vain, trifling, fond
of the things of this world, and apt to forget God.
The Lord then consulted our interest only, when
he changed our situation, and made us unhappy.
In misery, in poverty, in prison, we have lived
near to him; he has conducted us far from the
dissipations of this corrupt world into this rude
country, where he has prepared for you a better
dwelling. You are here like a flower which em-
bellishes the most secret solitude, where it has
nothing to fear from the hand of man. It is he,
it is this good and faithful God who wishes to give
a still more happy turn to the misfortunes which
you have suffered. Yes, I firmly believe that be
has answered my prayer-yes, he will one day show
the world your innocence. When this time shall
come I shall be no more; but, convinced as I am
of your innocence, I need not to see it justified in
order to die tranquilly. Yea, Mary, the pain
which you have suffered wll yet be the means of

leading you to joy and happiness on earth, though
this kind of happiness is the least, and to ee that
God's great design in afflicting us was to prepare
us for heaven, to which we can arrive only through
suffering and tribulation. Thus in misfortune let
not care trouble your soul; believe that God's
tenderness watches over you, and that his care
will be sufficient for you, in whatever place he
chooses to conduct you, in whateverpainful situa-
tion you may be placed, say, 'it is the best place
-the most advantageous situation for me, not-
withstanding all that I suffer.' Believe that it is
exactly the place to perfect your virtue, and for
you to do the will of your Saviour who died for
you." So much exertion caused the old man to
faint; but after a few hours he continued. A
gardener assigns to each plant the spot he judges
the most suitable, and gives it the culture which
he thinks will be the most proper to make it pros.
per. In the same manner God assigns to every
believer thatstation in life which suits him best, and
in which he will make the greatest progress in
holiness. And thus, my dear Mary, as he has
until now turned to your advantage all your
misfortunes, he will also bless to you my last
sickness and death. My dear child, I cannot
pronounce the word death, without causing you
to shed a torrent of tears. Do not think that
dbath is so terrible. Let us once more speak
as we formerly did in our garden at Eiclhboug.
119 V

o0 Tnu AIASsI or FLowss.
You know what happens at the beginning of
spring; small and weak plants sprout out toge-
ther from narrow and moist beds s it is not then
supposed that they will become magnificent
flowers or precious fruits, and indeed they will
bear neither fruits nor flowers if they remain
crowded in this narrow space; they will want
room, and the'gardener who placed them there
does not wish them to remain there and die.
He wishes to transplant them in an open space,
where they may be revived by the pure air, and
exposed under the azure of a beautiful sky, td
the golden rays of the sun. At last, watered
by rain and dew, they put forth leaves and shine
in all their beauty. It was always a pleasure to
you when I transplanted these young shoots,
for you used to say they crowded one another
in the beds. You were only satisfied when they
were in an open space-now, you would say,
'they will grow finely-it appears to me that I'
see it already.' My dear daughter, we ar poor
weak plants; the earth which we inhabit is a
narrow bed; this is not our abode, here we are
but miserable vegetables; but we are destined to
become something more magnificent; that is the
reason why God transplants us into large and
superb gardens-in a word, to heaven. Cease
your weeping, my dear child; see how much
better I bear my prospect of departure. Ohi.
how I rejoice to go soon to my Saviour; what

a happiness to be delivered from this body
which ha done so much evil in the world, and
to be with Christ for ever! Dear Mary, do
you remember the great pleasure we took in
our garden on a beautiful spring morning?
Heaven is compared to the most beautiful of
all gardens, where an eternal spring for ever
reigns i t is for this delightful country that I
am going to set out. Oh! continue to serve
God, and we shall be there at last united. Here
we have been together only to suffer tribula-
tions without number, we have been separated
only to weep and lament. But there we hll
remain together in the midst of joy and beat.
tude, without the least fear of separation. Mary,
live always close to God, and if you are reserved
for a happy life here below, let not these pas-
ing joys make you forget the joys of eternity
then one day your mother and I will meet our
daughter in heaven. Do not then weep, my
dear child, but rather rejoice in the prospect of
the ftuure."
It was thus that this good father attempted to
console his daughter, who was soon to be left
alone on the earth. It was thus that he endes-
voured, by his advice, to preserve her from the
corruption of the world. Every word was a
good seed which fell on well prepared ground.
S"I have caused you much grief and many tears,
my dear child; but they are salutary tears.

Seeds sown among tears take root more easily
and thrive much better they are like grain
which when sown, is watered by the oft showers
of spring."


A2T o0r MAwr'S 7WTB.
HEN Mary found that her father could not
survive much longer, she went to Erlen-
brunn, the parish to which the Pine Cot-
tage belonged, and told the minister of the illness
of her father. This minister was an exemplary
andpiousman. He paid James a number of visits,
and had some of the most edifying conversations
with him, and failed not to console Mary with
something like fatherly affection. One afternoon
he found that the old man's debility sensibly in-
creased. James requestedMary to leave the room
for a moment, that he might converse alone with
the minister. He soon called her in again, and
said, "My dear Mary, I have settled all my
worldly affairs, and am now ready to depart and
be with Christ" Mary was distressed, and had
great difficulty in restraining her tears, for she saw
that the Atal moment was not far off. But she
immedialy recover herself, lest he should be
distress. James s the remainder of the day

84 TUIB ASKIT r rFLowIs.
and eveninginn ilent prayer. He was in a state
of holy meditation, and spoke but very little.
The next day he received at the hands of the
minister the bread and wine, symbols of the body
and blood of Christ. Faith, love, and hope of
eternal life had made his venerable countenance
radiant with celestial happiness. Tears of fervour
ran down his cheeks. Mary, on her knees beside
his bed, trembled, wept, andprayed. Thefarmer,
his wife, and all their household contemplated this
edifying scene with lively emotions. Their hands
were claped, and you might see the tears stream.
ing from every eye. "Now," said Mary, "I feel
my heart soothed, and am much consoled; it is
indeed true that the religion of Jesus Christ ad.
fords us, at the hour of death, celestial console.
tion." In the mean time James felt his end
rapidly approaching. The farmer and his wife
honoured and cherished him a their bet friend,
and blessed the hour that brought him to their
house. They tendered to him every possible ser-
vioe; and came frequently every day to the door
of his little chamber to know how he was. And
Mary wa are to ask them ach time if they did
not think he would recover. Onoe the rmer
answered her, and d, "Certainly h cannot
rvive the spring." trom that time Mary eon-
tinually st at her little window, sad, trembling,
watched the buddingof her owrn In the garda.
Until now, the reter of spdoa had always illed

Tasx lIaST OF rLOWUas.
her with joy, but now the leaves of the goose.
berry bushes and the budding of the dowers filled
her with sadness. The joyous chirping of the
chainch overwhelmed her with terror; and when
she saw the snow-drop and primrose she was
deeply affected. Ah I" aid she, "everything is
renewed--everything in nature smiles, and must
my father only die, and must there be for him
alone no hope ?" And then, checking herself, she
raised her eyes to heaven, and aid, "No hope I
no, no. Jesus has said he shall not die. He is
only divested of this earthly tabernacle, and it is
only above that he commences really to live." It
gave the old man pleasure to hear Mary read to
him, she did it in so sweet and clear a voice.
During the latter part of his illness he wished to
hear nothing better than the last words of Jesus,
and his last prayer. Once during the night his
daughter wassitting besidehis bed, the moon shed
o much light into the room that the light of the
taper was scarcely visible. "Mary," said the in-
valid, read me once more that beautiful prayer.
of our Saviour." She lighted a wax light, and
began to read. Now," said he, give me the
book, and light me a little." Mary gave him the
book, and carried the light nearer. "Now," said
he, this will be the last prayer that I shall make
for you." He marked the passage with his fin-
ger, and prayed in a trembling voice: 0 Father,
I have not long to remain in this world. I am

going, I dare hope it I am going to thee, my .a-
ther. O preserve this my child from san, for thy
name's sake. While I have been on earth I hwe
endeavoured in thy name to preserve her ft i.
But, O Lord, I am now going to thee. I4l ot
uk thee to take her to thee, but only to Vwi s
her from harm. Let thy holy truth soUlIfh
-thy word is truth. Grant, 0 heavenly r,
that the child which thou hast given me may be
at last admitted to the place where I hope to go,
through Jesus my Saviour. Amen." Mary, who
stood beside his bed bathed in tears, repeated as
well as her sobs would let her, A.4ae. "Yes,"
continued he, "yes, my dear daughter, there we
shall see Jesus in his kingdom which he had from
the beginning of the world, and there we shall see
each other."
He again lay down on his pillow to rest a little.
He continued to bold the book in his hand. It
was the New Testament; he had bought it with
the first money saved from the purchase of his
food, since he had left Eichbourg. "Dear
Mary," said he, some moments afterwards, "I
thank you again most sincerely for all the afec-
tion and tenderness which you have shown me
since my illness commenced, and which will be
the last I shall feel. You have faithfully ob.
served the fifth commandment. Trust in your
heavenly Father, Mary, and you will receive
of him your reward, poor and abandoned a

I am, obliged to leave youin this world, for I an
give you nothing but my blessing and this book.
Be always pious and good, and this blesing will
not be without effect. The blessing of a father,
with confidence in the Lord, is better for a virtu.
ous child than the richest inheritance. Take this
book, and let it be a remembrance of thy father.
It cost me, it is true, but a few shillings, but let it
be faithfully read, the precepts therein contained
put in practice, and then I shall have left you the
richest treasure. If I had left you as many pieces
of gold as the spring produces leaves and flowers,
with all that money you could not buy any thing
better; for this book contains the word of God.
Read in it every morning-no matter what work
you have to do, time should always be found for
that-read at least one passage-preserve it and
meditate upon it in thy heart during the day. If
you discover any obscurity, pray for the Holy Spi.
rit to enlighten you, as I have always practised;
what is of the most importance in this book may
be understood by everybody, and it is to that you
must attach yourself, and it is that you must prac-
tise; and it contains that which fails not to draw
down upon you the blessing of heaven. Thispaea
age alone, Consider the lilies of the field,' has
afforded me more lessons of wisdom than all the
books which I read in my youth, and besides that
it has been the source to me of a thousand plea-
sres, and my innumerable afflictions would have

beencharacterizedby an unceasing anxiety, I should
have been discouraged and dejected, if this pas.
sage had not afforded a serene and submissive
About three o'clock the next morning, James
faintly aid, I feel very ill-open the window a
little." Mary opened it, the moon haddisappar.
ed; but the sky covered with stars presented a
magnificent spectacle. "See how beautiful the
sky appears," said the sick man. "What are the
flowers of earth when compared with these stars,
whose beauty suffers no diminution? it is there I
am now going-what joy I Come, Lord Jesus-
come quickly." On saying these words, he fell
upon his bed and died the death of a Christian.
Mary thought he had only fainted, for she had
never seen any one die, and did not think he was
so near his end; nevertheless in her fright she
awoke all the family; they ran to the bed of James,
and there she heard them declare he was dead.
She threw herself upon the body of her father, em-
braced it, and wept-her lips fastened upon his
wan and pale visage. The tears of the daughter,
mingled with the cold sweat of the father tb..b had
ceased to be. Oh, my father-my good father,"
aid she, "how shall I acquit myself of all the ob-
ligations I am under? Alas I cannot-I can
only thank you for all the words, fo. all the good
advice that I received from that mouth, those lips,
now sealed in death. It is with gratitude that 1

now kia your hnd, now oold end etif, that hand
which has bestowed on me so many beneets, and
which as laboured for my ood. Oh if my soul
could at the same moment leave its tenement of
clay-f I could follow you, my father, into the
heavenly kingdom. Oh I 'let me die the death of
therighteo.' It is certain that thislife s nothing
-really nothing. What happiness murt there be
in heaven and in everlasting life That is now my
only conolation."
Tls wasa heart-rending sene. Atlusthe far-
mer's wife, after persuading Mary for some time,
prevailed upon her to lie down. Nothing would
induce Mary during the following day to lave the
body of her father. She read, wept, and prayed
until morning. Before the coffin-lid was miled
down, Mary took one more look at her father.
"Alas I" sid she, it is the last time that I shall
ever behold your venerable face. How beautiful
it ws when you smiled, and it shone withthe glory
in which you were going to enter. Farewell-
farewell, my father," cried she, sobbing aloud.
May your mortal remains rest peaceably in the
bosom of the earth, now while the angels of the
Lord are, as I hope, bearing your soul to eternal
rest." She took a bunch of rosemary, of prim-
rose as yellow as gold, and violets of a deep blue.
She made a bouquet of them, and placed them on
the bosom of her father, who during his life had
sown and cultivated so many lower. May these

lowers, these firt-fruits of the earth be," said die
"an imge of your future resurrection; and this
rosemary always green, the symbol of the pious re-
collection that will be for ever engraven on my
heart." When they began to nail down the cof-
fin-lid, every stroke of the hammer caused her so
much emotion that she almost fainted. The far-
mer's wife led her into the next room, and begged
her to lie on the bed torecoverherself. After the
departure of the funeral, Mary, dressed in a suit
of mourning, which one of the girls of the vilage
had given her, followed close to the body of her
father. She was as pale a death, and every one
pitied this poor forsaken orphan, who now had
neither father nor mother. As Mary's father was
a stranger at Erlenbrunn, they dug a grave for
him in the corner of the cemetery beside the wall.
Beside this wall were two large pine-trees which
shaded the tomb. The curate preached a touch-
ing funeral sermon in respect for the diseased.
He had taken for his text the words of Jesus:
" Except a corn of wheat fall into the ground and
die, it abideth alone, but if it die, it bringeth forth
much fruit," John xi. 24. He spoke of James's
patience, and of the resignation with which he bore
all the misfortunes which had fallento hislot, and
the good example he had set for those who knew
him. He offered consolation to the orphan, who
was overwhelmed with grief. He thanked, in the
name of the deceased, the farmer and his wife, who

had so well proveto Mary and her fther the kind
ms of their hearts. In short, he begged them to be
father and mother to Mary, who had no longer any
parents. Whenever Mary attended divine service
at Erlenbrunn, she never failed to visit the tomb.
She also went every Sunday evening, when she had
an opportunity, to visit the tomb of her father, and
to weep over his cherished remains. "Nowhere,"
would she say, "have I prayed with so much fer-
vour as here at my father's grave. Herethewhole
world is nothing to me. I feel that we belong to
a better world. My heart sighs for that country,
because I daily feel the evil of the one in which I
now am" She never left the grave without ha-
ing made good resolutions to despise the pleasure
of the world, and to live only to her God.


WAT*E .zxn ircRs TESziH

ROM the time of her father's death Mary
was always ad. The flowers had in her
eyes lost all their beauty; and the pines
near the farm looked as though they were clothed
in black. Time, it is true, moderated her grief,
but she soon had new trials to undergo. Great
changes had taken place in the Pine Farm since
the death of her father. The farmer had given the
farm to his only son, a man of a good temper and
amiahbl disposition, but unhappy in the choice of
his wife, whom he had married a short time before.
She was called handsome, and was possessed of
considerable property. But she ws ain of her
beauty, and cared for nothing bat gain pride and
avarice had by degrees imprinted oa her features
an expression of harshness so striking, that with all
her beauty her looks were repulsive. She violet-
ly opposed religion, and not havin the wholesome
restraint of the gospel, if she knew that any thing
would give her father and mother pleasure, she did

TaS BuKsCT or reOwVS. is
jut the contrary and if she ever gave the food
which was their due according to the contract, it
was always with a bad grace ad sordid parsimony.
She sought contnually to mortir them,and make
their lives completely miserable. The good peo-
pie retired nto the little back chamber, and they
seldom appeared in the front room. The young
husband was no longer at his ease this wicked
woman overwhelmed him with the grosest abse,
and ast into his teeth a hundred times a day, the
money she had brought him. If he would not
spend the day in quarrelling and disputing, he wa
obliged to suffer in silence. She wouldneer quiet-
ly allow him to visit his parents, for fear, as she
mid, he would give them something secretly. In
the evening after he had fnihed his work, he
scarcely dared go near them. He found them al-
most always sated in mednesbeside each other on
the same bench he would take a seat by them,
and complain of his hrd lot. Well," id the
old father, "so it is. You suferedyourselfto be
dasled by the brilliancy of her gold, and by her
roy cheeks; I yielded too easily to your wishes,
and thuswearepunished We shouldhavethought
of the good advice of old James he was an ex
perienoed man, and never approved of this match
when it was talked of during his life. Still re-
member every word he mid on the subject, and I
hare thought of it more than a Ibosand times.
Do you remember," said he to his wife, "of her-

94 TaI uArSK or WLOW SI.
ing one day aid, But ten thousand forlns, how-
ever, make a handsome um I' A handsome sum,'
sid James-' no, for the flowers you ee in your
garden are a thousand times more beautiful. Per-
haps you meant to say it is a large and heavy rsm.
I will acknowledgethat. Hemusthavegood shol-
den to bear it without being bowed down to the
earth, and without becoming a poor wretch, unable
to raise his head to heaven. Why then wish for
so much money? You have never wanted any
thing; so far from it, you have always had more
than sufficient. Believe me, too much money en-
genders arrogance. Rain is a useful and neces-
sry thing; but when too much falls, thereis dan-
ger of its destroying the most healthy plants of
the garden.'.
These are exactly the words of the old friend
we have lost, and I think I still hear him. And
you, my son, once said to him,' She has a charm-
ing person, and is beautiful and fresh as a rose.'
Flowers," answered the wise old man, have not
beauty only, they are good and pretty at the same
time. They make us many rich presents; thebee
extracts from them pure wax and delicious honey.
Without piety, a beautiful exterior is but a rose
upon paper, a miserable trifle, without life and
without perfume, which produces neither wax nor
honey.' Such were the reflections which James
frankly made before us. We would not listen to
him-now we know how to appreciate his aice.

IrN asKr or r7WWNUs. 95
That which appeared to us the so great a happi.
es, is now to us the height of msfortune. God
give us grace to bear our misfortunes with pa.
It was thus thattheyusedtotalktogether. Poor
Mary had also much to suffer. The old people
were obliged to occupy the back room. She
therefore gave up her place to them. The young
farmer's wife had two rooms empty, but through
wickedness she gave Mary the most miserable
apartment in the house; ill-treated her in every
possible way, and loaded her with abuse. Thre
was nothing but fault-inding from morning til
night. Mary did not work enough, and did not
know how to do anything a it ought to bedone.
It was very plain to see by the poor orphan that
she was despised, and a trouble to the house. The
old man and his wife were not in a situation to
offer her any conolation; they had enough to do
with their owngries. She thought often of going
away, but where to go was the question. She
asked the minister's advice. "My dear Mary,"
aid the wise minister, "to remain any longer at
the Pine Farm, is a thing impossible. Your father
gave you an excellent education, and taught you all
that was necessary for a village housekeeper. But
at the Pine Farm they require more than the work
of a robust man-servant. They put upon you
labour which is beyond your strength, and which
does not suit you. However, Ido not advise you
119 o

to eve there immediately, and to go ad sae
your fortune at once. The best advice I oild
give you would be, to remain where you are for
the present; to work as much u you can, and
to wait patiently until the Lord shall deliver you
from the state of oppression under whichyou sigh.
The Saviour who raised you to another condition
is still able to sustain you. I will endeavour to
get you a place in an honest and Christian family.
Pray; have confidence in God; bear with this
trial, and God will arrange all." Mary thanked
him, and promise to follow his good advice.
There was no spot on earth that she loved better
than the tomb of her father. She had planted a
rose-tree there. "Alas said she, while she
planted the shrub, "if I could remain here always,
Would water you with my tears, and you would
soon be covered with flowers and leaves." The
rose-tree was already green, and the buds began
to open their purple cups. "My father was
right," said Mary, when he compared the human
life to a rose-tree. Sometimes it is quite naked
and stripped. It offers nothing but thorns; but
wait a little, and the season'will again come when
it hall be decked anew in foliage, and robed in
the most beautiful flowers. This is now for me
the time of thorns, but God forbid that I should
be cast down by it I believe your word, best of
fathers. Perhaps I may see verified in my life
your maxim i Patience produces roses.' "

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