Front Matter
 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 takes 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 lots of...
 Mary's spirit of Christian...
 Mary's happy & useful life
 The tomb of Mary's father

Title: Basket of flowers, or, Piety and truth triumphant
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00056989/00001
 Material Information
Title: Basket of flowers, or, Piety and truth triumphant
Physical Description: Book
Creator: Schmid, Christoph von,
Publisher: Milner and Sowerby,
Copyright Date: 1853
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00056989
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: amf2471 - LTUF
002447217 - AlephBibNum

Table of Contents
    Front Matter
        Front Matter
    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 takes 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 lots 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 & 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
Full Text

110 B ald win bn u
XmB o









Tom following beautiful and useful tory wa rst read
In French, and the Idea Immediately suggtel ef to
my mind-that with some alterations, to make it con.
vey lessons of lear and decided evangelical truth, ti
would be a very interesting little work for the lbruade
of Sunday Schools, and every vriet youthful readers
The story is very touching, and the lesson taught ae
most useful and important. I have neverread lesson
of practical pety drawn with more sdmplidty, than they
are in th little book-from thebeati ofnatren. In-
deed, In almost every chapter we find, addread to the
youthfl heart, sermons, whose tEt are the bowera of
the garden.
Where y he toy s merely translated, the tanasto
is a very ree one, and In many planes arge omissions
me made, and in others ousiderable additions wif be
G. T. B.


EAILY HtW Y of Xty .......................** *

Mary vlt the Castle of the Count .............. 31

The Diammond Iing lot .......................... M

Mar in Prison .................................. 7

The Tril of Mary................... ........ 3

My's Fathbr viit her in PriL ......... .... 47

The Judgment pronounced and e ted ........ 2U


James and Mary In distress: relief albrded them.. ap

Mary's Happy Life .............................. 6t

Mary's Father taken sick ........................ 71

Deth of Mary's Father .................... ..... 83

Mary experiences fresh T l ....................

Mary turned way fom the Pine Cottae ........ 9

Divine Providence sends relief to Mary............ 104

How Amelia came to visit the Grave-yard ........ lo1

The Stor o the ending of the Rmg .............. II

The Injuries acknowledgel and repaired .......... 1t


Another remarble Circumstance of this Histo y.. 127

Visitto the Pine Fam ............. .. ....... 182

The consequences of the Love of the World ...... 137

Mary's spirit of Christian Forgiveness ........... 143

Mary's happy and useful Lif .................. 147

The Tomb of Mary's Father ...................... I51




I HE relation whichwe are about to give In
this little book, is about some interesting
transactions which occurred a long time
ago, and in a country far removed from our own.
This will accoqpt for some manners and customs
which are not altogether familiar to our youngred-
s but we shall endeavour to make the history so
plain and familiar, that allwho read may understand
the wiaable inatructionswhichit is intended to con.
vey. Human nature is the sme in all countries,
and the operations of divine grace ar the 'ame
in al countries and therefore the principles
which will be developed in this history, and the
condut which will be described, are such as ae

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, was
born of poor but 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 instead of going away afterhe hadlearned
his trade, to follow it elsewhere, the count took
him into his own employment, and so faithfully
did he discharge his duties, that ashe advanced in
fe he was rewarded by the present of a 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 of the truthas it i in Jesus Christ. He
had been born again of the Spirit, and these are
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 had
tasted of the same precious gift of God* and thus
James showed his obedience to the d. Il pro.
cept to marry only in the Lord a precpt

tin BAssr O W nWaeL. 11
which, being so much neglected, bring a t ded
of unhappiness to multitudes, both male and fe-
male. For several years James and his wife
travelled the pilgrimage of life 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 the rell.
gion which they professed. No matter bow hum.
blithe situation any real child of God may occupy,
if he is consistent in his walk and conversation, he
is 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 of life,
high or low, from which affliction and death can
be excluded, this pious couple were frequently
called in the providence of God to bear their
portion of that discipline by which a merciful God
secures to himself the hearts of his real children.
Several of the offspring of this pious pair wer in
faith consigned 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 brief and painful sickness, followed
her children to the same narrow house-the grand.
She died as she had lived, in the full hope of ever
lasting glory, founded on the promises of Him
who is "the resurrection and the life." Thegrief
of the husband was softend by the resignation of
atthe gspll, and the blisful prospect of meeting
where f de who have loved the Lord, can ne-


their be separated from Him or one another.
When those we lose die in the Lord," we may
"Why should we mourn departed Mends,
Or shake at death's alarms?
Death's but the servant Jesus sends
To eil them to his arms "
At the time when this history commences,
James Rode was more thansixty years of age and
his hair almost as white a the snow upon the
mountains. Of his numerous family one daugh.
ter remained. Her he had called MARY, after
her mother. This child was but five years of age
at her mother's 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 was 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 been
mistaken for new.
James Rode, as we have already said, was
gardener. He made his living by the cultivate
of fruits and vegetables, which once or twice i

Tha BAlS o rLOWERS. 18
week, similar to our custom about England, he
Mcaried to market in the town, which was a short
distance from his farm. His great delight, how.
ever, was in the cultivation of flowers, and in this
delightful occupation, Mary continually assisted
him, when she could be spared from her household
concerns. She 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 instructing and entertaining, and, above all.
his pious conversation.
Mary, whogrewup asit were in the midst ofthe
plants, and for whom the garden itself was a little
world, had early discovered a decided taste for
flowers; and thas in the hours which she had at
her disposal, was always sre of an agreeable oo
cupation. She cultivated the young plants with
great care and assiduity.
The budsof every strange spece were objete
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 the fower so
impatiently expected appeared inall its splendour,
he was filled with joy. The old gardener used
say," Let others spend their moneyfor jewels, and
sill, and other vanities, I will spend mine for
wer seeds. Silks, and satins, and jewel, tan.
a proure for our children so pure a pleasure, a
ias beautiful exhibitions of the wisdom and the

14 THns ASuKT oF Mswm .
benevolence of God." In truth, there was note
day which did not bring some new plasre to the
heart of Mary. It was rare that any one pesed
the garden, without stopping to admire the bhaty
ofthedower; and even the children of the nigh
bourhood, as they psaed by to school, newv build
to peep across the hedge, and were generally re.
warded by bMry with some little present of Bow.
en as a token of her goodwilL
James, as a wise father, knew how to direct the
tate of his daughter towards an end the most en-
nobling. In the beauty of the various powers
which adorned their gaden-ia the charming
variety of their forms-in the justness of their
proportions-in the magnificence of their colours
-and in the exquisite sweetness of their perfumes,
he taught her to see and to admire the power, the
wisdom, and the goodness of God. Thee were
some of the great ends towards which he directed
all her pleasures; and thus may emphatically be
said to have led her contemplation
"From nature up to nature's God."
It wa the custom of James Rode to conmesoe to
prayer the first and best hours of the morning, and
thus to let everything begin with God. In rider
to accomplish this, and not to neglect his work, it
was his constant habit to rise early-a habit al.
most esential to a spiritual framm of mind. Te
life of a man is but poorly filled out, who en1t
and one or two hours to discourse with his be

van AsxaT or snLOWNs. IS
mvedy father without intarruptiL and to oeaspy
his catemplations with th things whih rlate to
s everlasting peoe. In those beautifl days of
pring and summer which chareteris the elimt
of his country, James would lad his daughter to
an arbour in the garden, from whmae eold be
heard the morning song of the fathered tribe,
aad from whence could be een the whole a the
garden, enamelled with lowers, and sarplg with
dew-the range of vision taking i ic plain,
shining inthe rays of th rising mn. It was a
situation so favourable to devotion a tis that he
delighted to oonvere with his tender charge o that
God, who gave the sun his brightane, who sat-
teed o'er the earth the rain and the dewdrops,
who fed the birds of the air, and dreme the
lowers in their magnifcent veatment. It was
hers that he accustomed the young mind f Mary
to contemplate the Almighty, a the tender Father
of maalind.-a that Father, who has manifsted
his love towards mankind in all the works of hie
creation, but still infinitely more in the gift of his
d todie for perihing inner. Itwasher
lu ght er her own condition a sinner
tha he placed in terms the mot affectionate before
her the need of a Saviour, and gently led her to
Ja Christ. It wu here that he taught her to
bend her knee tthe God and Father of ar Lord
Jsma Chrit; and it was here that he had the hap-
Inims of perooving that, Wke Lydia, the Lord
119 B

opened her heart to the reception of the trth.
These morning exercises, a might well be expect
ed, fixed more and more deeply on her heart thh
sentiment of piety.
In the flowers which Mary most loved, her f-
ther was accustomed to point out the emblem of
those Christian graces which adorn the female cha-
racter. Once, in the early part of March, when
with transports of joy, she brought the first violet,
he mid, Let this charming violet serve as an
image of humility, of reserve, and of a ready,
though always discreet 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
perfumes.. So my dear child, may you be, like the
violet, a lover of silence, disdaining the show of
gaudy colours, never seeking to attract unneces-
a-ry notice, but seeking to do good without parade,
so long a the lower of your life shall bloom."
At the time when the lilies and the roses were
altogether expanded, and when the garden
its splendour, the old man seeing his
dated with joy, pointed with his anger tra My
shining in the rays of the rising sua, and said
" See in thi lily, my daughter, the symbol of baw
nocence; observe how neat and pre. Its leave
are of a whitenea which outvies that of tbh
richest satin, and equals that of the driven snow.

tgnR WAGRT ofr nLOWK if
Happy is the daughter whose hart is also pure
fbr remember who has aid that It Is the pre in
heart who shall see God.' But the more pure the
colour, the more difficult to preserve it in all its
purity. The slightest taint can spoil the dower of
the lily, and it must be touched even with the
greatest precaution, lest it retain the blembh.
Thus also, one word, one thought, an rob the
mind of its purity. Let the rose," aid he,
pointing to that flower, "be an image of modesty.
The blush of modesty is more beautiful than that
of the rose. Happy is the daughter whom the
least approach to that which is indelicate will are
to blush, and thus be put on her guard against
the approaching danger. The cheeks which readily
blush will remain for a long time with their roseate
hue, while those which fail to blush at the let in.
delicacy will soon become pale and wan, and de-
voted to an early death." The father of Mary
gathered some lilies and ros, and made of thm a
bouquet,* and putting it into her hands he said
"The lilies and roses ae brothers and ister,
IS taking can equal the beauty of bouquetsand
Where these flowers are mixed. Inno.
ot and modesty are twin sisters, which cannot
be separated. Yes, my dear child, thatinhoenoe
might be always on her guard, God in his good.
nes, has given her modesty for a sister and com.
paulon to anticipate the approach of danger. Be
SPreaasdni BIo-.gr-s beach of Anwenr

Ialwa modest and you will be always vhrtmo
Oh, if the will of God be so, may you alwayste
enabled by his gres to preserve in your beart the
parity of the lily. The rose on your cheek mst
fadbut t willbe renewed again, if you butt
tain to the resrrection of the just, and the it shall
flourish in immortal youth."
The morning flower display their "weet,
And ay their silke leae t aurolds
At career of the noonday heats,
And fearless of the evening sold.
rinp'd by the wind's unkindly blast,
Pareh'd by the sun's more fervent ray,
Thio momentary lories waste,
The short liv'd beauties fade away.
o8 blooms the human face divine,
When youth its pride of beauty shows,
fairer than spring the colours shine,
And sweeter than the op'ning rose.
But worn by slowly rolling years,
Or broke bv siekness in a day,
The fding glory dilppean,
And short liW'd biamti die away.
Yet these, new rising from the toob,
With Inqtre brighter far shall shine;
Iterie with ever-dorinx 'loom,
sfe from diseases and line.
Let clkneso blast and death devour, -
If heaven ball rooompease our painse
Perish the Fgra and oIe the low'r,
U fIm the word of (Gd remains."
The moet beautiful ornament of the garden was
a dwarf apple tree, not higher than a roe-bash,
which grew in a little circlar bot-bed in the mid-
die of the garden. James had plbsd it oe the

birthday of hib daughter, and it gave thm.mry
year te mostbeatifel golden apples, sptedwith
red. One season it was peculiarly promaing, and
veered with bloom. Mary did not hil to.a.
amine it every morning, and she would aexiam I
eatasy, "Oh, how beautiful, how sperb this ix.
ture of red and white I One would believe that
the little tree is but one bunch of powers." One
morning she came at the usual hour, but the fst
had withered all the flowers, they were almost
brown and yellow, and were fat hrvelling up by
the an. At this dismal sight, poor Mary burs
intotears. As the frost spoils the aphe Ue.
soms," sid her judicious father, "so unholy ia .
tifications mar the flower of youth. Tremble, my
child, at the possibility of departingfrom the path
of rectitude. Ah, if the time should ever arrive
when the delightful hopes which yp have author.
ised should vanish, not for a year, like the hopes
of thistree, but foryour wholelife, alss I should
shed tear more bitter than those which trickle
from your eyes. I should not enjoy sile hour
of pleasure, but my grey hairs would be brought
with borrow to the grave." At thoughtslike these
Jam himself could not refrain from tears, and
his words of affectionate solicitude made a deep
impression on the tender heart of Mary.
Brought up under the zealous and persevering
ar of a father su wise and tender, Mar) grew up
among the wers of tla garden, fresh a the roe

--in purity like the lily-modet as the violet, and
giving the most delightful hopes of future excel.
lance, a a beautiful shrub in the time of florish-
ing. In fact she was a tender sapling, but the
planting of the Lord, that he might be glorified.
It was with a smile of satisfction and gratitude
that the old man always viewed his beautiful gar-
den, of which the fruits repaid, and amply repaid,
his aiduous care. But he was enabled to expe-
rience a satisfaction the most profound, when he
beheld his daughter, in whom, by the grace of
God resting on his own pious labours, the reli.
glons education which he gave her seemed to bring
forth the most precious fruits to the praise and
Igor of God.


N 0of m l COnIe .
N almost all countries, the month of May
is remarkable for its charms, so much so,
s to justify the language of the poet,-
Sweet month,
If not the ir.a the Rus'of the year."
It was early in the charming month of May,
that Mary went into a neighboring wood to cat
some branches of the willow and twigs of the hase
She gathered them for the use of her old fther,
for when he was not busily engaged 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 esential to happi-
ness and uefulness. It is melancholy to consider
how much time is wasted by young persons and
old. What our Saviour mid in relation to the food
with which he had miraculously fed the multitude
in the wilderness, is in a very emphatic ene ap-
plicable to those little parts of time which, because

we my not have immediate occupation, we are
pt to -wat n idlenem." Gather up the frag
ments that remain, that nothing be lot." It is
ncalculable what might be gained to the Lord's
s e, if those who callthemses Chritians would
ut in some usefl form devote to Christian ben-
volene those "fragment" of time which are
generally wasted. James ode was never idle.
He knew his duty too well, to waste any portion
of that time which God had given him, and for
waich he knew he would have to render anaccount.
It is true, that in the days in which he lived their
were non of those blesed plans of Christian be-
neolence which are now so vigorously I motion
for the conversion of the world, and th fore he
had no such object in view in the full occupation of
his time. He was industrious because it was his
duty, and he laboured in the house in baket-ak.
fng when he was not obliged to be in the garden.
beuse the habits of industry had grown with Mh
growth, and strengthened with his strength and
it was while thus occupied that Mary read to him
in God's precious book, or he talked to her about
the concerns of her immortal soul.
While Mary was in the woods gathering them.
trials for her father's basket-work, shefound 1om
beautiful pecimens of the lily of the valley, and
she gathered enough of them to make twobanohes,
em fr her their, and the other forheelf. When
he had fniahed her work, she retrnad hoe by

a aeaer path acorr an intervening meadow, and
by s doing she met the Countes of Eichbourg
and her daughter Ameli, who were taking an af-
ernoon walk. Mary had veryeldm seen either
of them, for they lived for the most part of their
timein the city; but were now spending afew days
at their chateau. A she could not avoid meeting
them she stepped a little on one side, with truepo-
liteness, such a well-bred and pious 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 that the
ladies would each accept a bunch, and this she did
with such affected 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 hefaith-
fally performed during the season in which the
lilies were in bloom.
It is said, and the remark is justied by epe
rience, that some of the most important circum-
stances of our life grow out of events apparently
of the most trifling character. It provedsointhe
case of Mary, as the whole history will fullyevince,
for to this accidental meeting, as we usually speak,
is to be traced the most of what is deep andpain-
fl in this little story. But Godoverrulesallevqts,
and it is abundantly proved, that "all thingsshall
work together for good, to them that love him."

24 THE BASI ?T o0 FLOWEra.
From Mary's regular visits to the chateau to car-
ryher morning bunch of flowers, as might have been
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 needful."
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 differentspheres.
This remark, it is true, applies in a very limited
degree to this, our happy country, where there are
no privileged orders, and where there 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 circumstances are not much to be en-
couraged, and especiallywhen but one of the parties
knows and feels the influence of religion. Evil is
always more powerful than good example, 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 powers,
she had given so many already, that she wanted to
think of something new. During the preceding
winter, her father made many work-baskets, all of

superior elegance, but the most beautiful he in-
tended for Mary herself. On it he badworked 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 young countess as her birthday present. Her
father readily granted his permission, and still
more to embellish the beautiful basket, be 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 roes, the
most beautiful stock-gillyflowers, the richestpinks,
and other flowers 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 colour,
though perfectly distinct, were yet sweetly ad
delicately blended. One light garland, composed
of rosebuds and moss, was passed around the bas-
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 un-
common beauty.
Mary then went to the chateau, with her pre-
sent, which she offered to the Countess Amelia,
adding the best wishes of her heart for her young
fried's happiness, both here and hereafter. The
ponag countess was then sitting at her toilet. Be-
hind her was her dressing-maid, busy at a head-

dress for the birthday feast. Amelia received the
present with peculiar pleasure; and she could
hardly find terms in which to express her delight,
as she viewed the charming flowers so tastefully
arranged in the basket. "Dear Mary," said she,
"you have robbed your garden to make me so
rich a present, and as to the basket, I have never
en any thing like itin all my life. Comeletus
go and show it to my mother." She then took
Mary fondly by the hand, handmade hergoup with
her to the apartments of the countess. "See, mo.
their 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 flowers." The basket of
towers highly pleased the countess. "In truth,"
sid she, this basket, with its dowers yet wet
with dew, is really charming. It equals the most
experienced efforts of the pencil It does honour
to the taste of Mary, but more to the kindness of
her heart. Wait a little my child," said she to
Mary, while she made a sign to Amelia to follow
her into another room.
"Amelia," said the countess, Marymust not be
permitted to go away without some suitablereturn.
What have you to give her ?" After a moment's
reflection, "I think," said Amelia, "that oa of
my dresses would be best; for instance, ifyou will
permit me, my dear mother, that which has red
and white flowers on a deep green ground. It is

almost new, I hae worn itbut once. Itsa little
too short for me, but it will fit Mary exactly, and
be can arrange it herself, she is so tasty. If it is
not, therefore, too much-"
The countess interrupted her, Too much, cer-
tainly not. When you wish to give any thig, it
ought to be something serviceable. 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 care 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 the robe. Juliette, (for that was her
name), looking at her, said Do you wish to wear
that robe to-day, Miss?"-" No," said Amelia," I
intend to make it a present to Mary."-"Give
that dress away I" replied Juliette, does yur
mother know that?"-" Bring me the robe," said
Amelia, "and you need give yourself 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
wish I was able to tear it to pieces," said. the
wicked girL "This Mary has already won the
good races of my young mistress, and now, lo 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 I 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 hadpresents
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 affec-
tion, and carry my best wishes to your good old
father." Mary then took the dress, kissed 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-
fore 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 ofjoy, but her father bad

too much prudence to feel any pleasure whatever
insuch present. Gaydressesarenotappropriate
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," said 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 fill 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 says, 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. Neatness,
according to the circumstances in which you are
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.


ARYhad scarcely left the castle, when tih
countess missed her elegant diamond
ring, and as no one had been in the room
where she had laid it down but Mary, suspicon
naturally fell upon her. The young eounte
Amelia immediately set out for the cottage,' i
hope that she could induce Mary to tore it,
before the knowledge of the theft had been spread
Little did Mary think when she was trying on
the beautiful robe which Amelia bad given her,
that she was suspected of being a thief, and she
wa amazed at beholding the young countess enter
her little room, pale, trembling, and almost out of
My dear Mary," said Amelia," what have yoa
been doing? My mother's diamond ring is lest,
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 fright

eaed, and turned pale as death. She declared
she had not cen the ring, and that she had
not moved from the place where she sat 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 must have
taken it. Mary wept bitterly at thi suspicion.
"Truly," said she, "I have not the ring. I have
never ventured to touch that which did not belong
to me, much less to steal My dear father has
always taught me better."
At this moment the old man came in-he wasat
work in the garden when he saw the young comn-
tess running with all her might, and he returned
to the house to see what was 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," said the old man, to steal a
ring of this price is 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 false denials amount to nothing.
Have you forgotten the holy commandment of
God? Have you forgotten my paternal advice?
Were you dazzled with the splendour of the gold
and the precious stones ? Alas I do not deny the

fact, but restore the ring-it is the only reparation
you can make."
Oh, my father," said Mary, weeping and sob-
bing, be sure, be very sure, that I have not the
ring. IfI hadeven foundsuch a ringing theroad,
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
1 never in my life stole even a penny, and how
should I take anything so valuable! Ohbeieve
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 God,,
and bere before this young countess and myself
And since I believe you innocent, take combrt
and fear nothing. There is nothing to fear on

earth but sis. Prison and death are not to be
compared to it. Whatever happens then, let s
put our trust in God. All will yet come right,
for he says, 'I will make thy righteousness as
clear as the light, and thy just dealings as the
/ "Truly," said Amelia, "when I hear you speak
in this way, I also believe that you have not the
ring. But when I examine all the circumstances,
how is it possible? My mother knows exactly
the place where she put it down; and not a living
soul was there but Mary, and a soon as she went
out 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," said thecountess, "I return to the
chateau with a heavy heart. This, for me, is but a
sad anniversary. My mother as yet has spoken
to no one on the subject but myself; but it will not
be possible longer to keep the secret. She must
wear the ring to-day, for my father whom we ex-
pect from court, at noon, will immediately per.
celver e is without it. He gave it to her the day
Iwas born; and she has never ceased to wear it
onechesoceeding anniversary. She believes that
I willbring 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 killed with tears.
Mary's father seated himself upon a bench,
resting his head on his hand, with his eyes fixed
on the earth. The tears chased themselves down
his wrinkled cheeks. Mary threw herself at his
knees, and said, 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 am
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 the truth, not even
the crossing of a finger; wound not your consci
ence. A clear conscience is good pillow, evenia
a dungeon. Without doubt we shall be separated
-your father will no longer be there to consul

you ;-think only to attach yourself more closely
to your Father which is in heaven, he is a powerful
protector of innocence, and nothing can deprive
you of his support."
Suddenly the door opened with a noise. Twh
bailiff entered, followed by other officers of justice.
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 fire. People were heard to pronounce judge.
mental the most opposite. Notwithstanding the
bounty of Mary and her father towards all, there
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 these 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 abun.
dance, and be better clad than their honest neigh-
bours." Nevertheless, the inhabitants of Eich-
bourg for the most part, showed a sincere compas.
sion for James and his daughter, and many a
father and mother were heard to say,-" Truly
thebest are liable to fall-who would have believed
this of these good people." Others said, Perhaps
it is not as 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 said they, "if they send them
to prison, who will give us fruits and flowers I"
There are no 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 suspected,
and it is He of whom it is said-" There is a Friend
who sticketh closer than a brother."

'.A ^.i'


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 sad reality burst upon her mind. "What can
I do," said she falling on her knees,-" but raise
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 tears 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 clay 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 boni let, and con-
templated it by the light of the moon. "Alas!"
said she, "when this morning I gathered these

rose-buds in my garden, and thee 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 same 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 most innocent actions may
give occasion. Truly there is need that we should
daily commend ourselves to the protection of the
Almighty." She again wept: some tears fell upon
her rose-buds, and upon her forget-me-nots. 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.
S"0 my dear father," she said, while I con.
template this bouquet, how much advice that yea
have given me concerning flowers presents itself to
my memory. From the midst of thorns I have
taken these rose-buds. Thus joys will ariseto 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 a sweet
perfume. He can disperse the evils which aflict
C, *

40 THa BsASK* or rLowIds.
me, and make Itat good which seemed but evil;-
I will patiently wait his time. These flowers re
mind me of him who created them. Yes; I will
remember him as he remembered me. These ten-
der flowers 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 balances 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. Itis par-
ticularly this mignionette which diffuses 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 verdure, 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 support me also from
the attacks of adversity. Here again are two
leaves of laurel; they remind me of that incorrp-

tible crown, which is reserved in heaven for all
those who love the Lord, and have suffered upon
earth with submission to his will. It appears to
me that I already behold it surrounded with golden
rays, an imperishable crown of glory. Flowers of
the earth I you are short-lived as its joys; 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 cast 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 character, 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-

pared to her so beautiful nor so brilliant. Iln-
mined by her sweet light, the dverrified fowern,
ornaments of this little garden, displayed a theua
sand 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 to him, 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 seated 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
say anything but the truth. I have not seen it,-
indeed I have not."
The ring was seen in your hands,"-continued
the judge; what will you now say ?" Mary per-
disted that the thing was impossible. The judge
then rang a little bell, and Juliette was brought in.

Juliette, in the fit of jealousy which the dream given
to Mary had caused, and in the guilty design of
depriving her of the favour of her mistress, had
said 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
bh Uuld 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, remainedhinen
sible. She repeated her falsehood with aggravated
circumstances and details, and then was dismied

by the judge. "Mary, you are convicted," aid
he. Every circumstance i against you. The
chambermaid of the young countess has sen the
ring in your hands ;-tell me, now, what you have
done with it." Mary still asserted that she had it
not. According to the cruel custom of those days,
the judge had her whipped util th blood eamM,
nl hopes that she would confess.
Mary screamed, and wept, and continued 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 hard,
she passed half the night without sleep. She wept,
groaned, prayed to God, who at last sent her a
sweet and soothing sleep. The next day the
judge had her brought again before his tribunal.
As severity had answered no purpose, he endea-
roured to draw from her an acknowledgment by
mildness and flattering promises. "You have
incurred the penalty of death, you have deserve
to perish by the sword of justice; but confess
where the ring is, and nothing will be 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
least that of your aged father ; would you see his

head, whitened by age, cut off by the hand of the
executioner? Who but he could have induced you
to tell a falsehood with so much obstinacy ? Are
you ignorant that his life as well as yours, is at
stake ?" Terrified at this threat, Mary nearly
fainted. "Confess," said the judge,-" that you
have taken the ring. A single word, a syllable-
only say Yes-and you save your life, and that of
your father."
This temptation was great, and for some time
Mary was ilent. It was a moment of dreadful
trial. Satan suggested that she could say, I took
the ring, but I lost it on the road." No," she
thought, afteward,-" no I-it is better to adhere
to the truth. It isa sin to lie. Letit cost 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
had 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 most 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.


2W HE judge fonnd himself b great dil-
culty in coming to a decision. "To-day
is the third day," laid he, '"and we
have not advanced any further than the Aot
hour. If I foremw any possibility tha the ring
was in other hands, I should believe this young
girl innocent. But all the circumstances a
too clearly laid down against her. It is ia.
possible that it can be otherwise. She muat
bave stolen the ring." He returned to the comun
teas, and again questioned her as to the most
minute circumstances Juliette was also examined
again he passed the whole day in reviewing th
testimony; and weighed each word that Mary
uttered in her examination. In short, it wa
already very late when he sent to the prison for
Mary's father to bebrought to hishouse. "James,"
aid he, I am known to be a rigid man-butyou
cannot reproach me of baring ever intentionally
119 D

48 THa J ASKET Or tLOWIa .
injured any one. You will believe, I hope, that I
do not desire the death of your daughter: nevr-
theless all the circumstances prove that she must
have committed the theft, and the law requires her
death. The tetimony of Juliette gives full
evidence of the fat. Notwithstanding, if the ring
was returned, and the damage thus repaired, we
might grant Mary a pardon in consideration of her
youth. But if she still persists with so much
obstinacy in her guilty denial, this excess of per.
verseness must ruin her. Go to her James,-
insist upon her returning the ring, and I pledge
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 partic-
pated in the crime? And I repeat it, if the ring
is not found, Ipityyour cse." I will speak as
you desire to my daughter," answered James,
"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 perish, 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 om

corner of her cell,-and upon which was an earth-
en pitcher full of water. The poor girl a yet had
eaten nothing. She was 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 a precipitation which caused
her chains to resound. Then nearly fainting, she
threw herself upon his neck. The old man sat
down with her upon her bed, and presed her in
his arms; both remained for some time silent, and
mingled their tear together. James broke silence,
and began to speak as his commission required.
"Ah I my father," said Mary, interrupting him,
"you at least cannot doubt of my innocence.
Alas," continued she, still weeping, "is there no
one but what thinks me guilty; no one, not even
my father? Believe, dear father, that I am inno-
cent." "Be composed my dear child, I do be-
lieve you.-What I have done is in compliance
with the order I received." They again remained
silent. James looked at Mary, and saw her cheeks
were pale and hollow with grief; her eyes red, and
swelled with weeping; her hair floated in disorder.
" Poor child ," said he, God has put thee to a
seven trial, but I very much fear the most cruel,
the most dreadful suferings are yet to come.
Ala I perhaps the head of my dear child will fall by
the hand of the executioner." "Ah, my father,"

aid Mary,-" I care but little for myself. Bat
you."-" Pear nothing for me, my dear child,"
mid the father, I run no risk."-" Oh," eried
Mary, transported with joy, and without allowing
her father time to finish, "if that is the came, my
heart io relieved of a great weight: all is well
my father be assred I fear notdeath. I shall fnd
my God,-my Saviour,-and I shall see my mother
also in heaven. Oh I what a happiness will this
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, olasping his
hands, God be praised for the submirive dispo-
sltion I fnd you in.-It is hard, without doubt,
very hard, for a man bowed down with the weight
ofyears, for t tender father thus to lose his only
child, the child of his love, and his only eonsola-
tion -his lat support, and the joy of his old age.
However," continued he, in broken voice, "may
the will of the Lordbe done." A torrent of tear
interrupted these words. "Yet one word," sid
he, a moment after t "Jullette h deposed against
yo. She has declared on her oath, to have see
the ring in your hands. It is her testimony that
condemns you, if you are to perish. But you
pardon her ? Is it not so ? You do not take
with you any feeling of hatred? Alas even upon
this bed of straw, in the bottom of this dark cell,
loaded with heavy chaan. you re still more hap.

py than en n the palace of her muter, clothed
with silk and lace, and surrounded with attention.
It is better to die innocent than to live dishonour.
ed. Pardon her, Mary, as thy Saiour pardoned
hi enemies; do you pardo her?" Mary aured
him that she did. Well," id her father, who
heard the officer coming to separate them, "I
recommend you to God and bis grace, and if you
are not to see me again,-if this is thelast time I
am permitted to holdoonverawith you, my daugh-
ter: at least, I will not be long in following you
to heaven; for I feel that I shll not survive this
parting." The officer warned the old man hat it
was necessary to depart. Mary wished to retain
him, and held him in her arms with all her
strength;-but her father was obliged to disengage
himself as gently as he could, and Mary fell bse-
sible on her bed. James was brought again be.
forethe judge. Assoon s heentered, herased
his hands to heaven, and cried out, almost beside
himself, "She is innocent." "I am disposed,"
mid the judge, to believe it d-but unfortunately
I cannot judgefrom your testimony,-nor that of
your daughter. I must pronounce sentence fom
the nature of testimony, and according to
what is prescribed, even to the utmost rigour of
the law."


S may wel 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 at this time the crime of theft was pun-
ished with rigour, and the penalty of death was
often inflicted for the theft of a sum not eqdal to
the twentieth part of the value of the ring. The
count wished for nothing so much as to find 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 countesses, the mother and
daughter, begged with tears in their eyes,-tat
Mary should not suffer death, while her aged fa-
ther spent days and nights, supplicating, unceas-
ingly, the Lord; that he would be please to con-
vince the world of the innocence of his daughter.
Whenever Mary heard the ofoer enter with his

keys, she thought that they were going to announce
to her the time of her death. Meantime the ex-
ecutioner was engaged in preparationfor the pun-
ishment.-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 sat down 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
head of 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 fault,
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 ac-
compliee of her crime. Their possessions were to
be sold, to contribute as far as they could, to the
reparation of the loss which the count had sustain-
ed, and to pay the expenses of the court. This
sentence was to be carried into execution the next
morning at the break of day.
Mary and her father passed before the castle

54 T9I BASlKT 0 o 1OWmo n,.
gte, conducted by an officer, when Juliette Coas
out. Seeing that the aflir, contrary to al expee
station, had taken a different turn from what si
anticipated, this conning girl, destitute of every
goodsentiment, regained her gaiety. Shehadnow
aooomplished exactly what she wanted. She l-
ways feared, that in the end Mary would supplant
her. Thil fear was dissipated. Her firstaveron
against James's daughter revived, and she rejoiced
father misfortune;-in fact, her bd heart hadgain.
ed the ascendancy. The countess, seeing Mary's
baketon the sideboard, had said to Juliette, "Take
away that basket, that I may never have it before
my eyes. It aroues in me recollections so pain-
ful that I cannot behold it but with gref." Juli.
ette had taken it, and was going away with it un-
der her arm-" Stop" aid she, here's your pre-
sent, you an take it again; my mistress wishes
nothing from such people as you. Your glory
hai passed away with the lowers for which you
were so well paid, and it is a great pleasure for me
to give you your packages."
She threw the basket at Mary's feet, re-entered
the castle with a scornful mile, and shut the door
with great violence aft er. Mary took the
basket in silence, with tears in her eyes, and e-.
tined herbway. Her father had not even a
to support his tottering steps. Mary posseead
nothing but the basket; she tuned more thib
hundred times, her eyes wet with tarm, towards

bar palal roof; until the roof, the castle, and
even the steeple of the church wee hidden by a
hill covered with tree,--nd disappeared from
her eight. When the officer had conducted etem
to the limits of the county, considerably advanced
in the forest, the old man, overwhelmed with
anxiety and grie, seated himself upon the mor
under the sbade of an aged oak.-" Come, my
daughter," aid he, and as he poke, hetookMary
in his arms, joined her hands in his, and raising
themto heaven, said, "Before wegoonlet usthank
God, whohas taken us from a narrow andobcure
prison, and who allows us to enjoy freely the
sightof heaven and the freshness of the air-that
God who has saved our lives, and who has return.
ed you, my dear child, to the embraces of your
father." The aged man then fell on his knees,
and with a deep gratitude of heart, commended
them both to the protection of their heavenly Fa-
ther. 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 extraordinary joy was shed over their heart.
At tht moment God's providence began to favour
them. Anthony, an old huntsman, with whom
Jams had been in service when he accompanied
the comt in his travels, had set out before day.
break to hunt stag. "Godble you, Jams,"
amihe, "t doea me good to her your voice; I

56 THX BAsKBT or VLUWO as.
am not then mistaken, it is true that they Imso
banished you, but it is hard to see oneself obliged
inone's old days, to quit one's country."
As far as the arch of heaven extends," an-
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 the huntsman, in an accent of 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
are richer 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 a useful
occupation. This has done more for me, and has
provided better for my future prosperity,-thanif
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 anrigh~
It seems to me, that you have yet a good resource
in gardening: but where will you get employ.
ment?"-" Very far," answered James, "where

we are not known, where God will conduct us."
" James," said the huntsman, "take this knotty
cane: I supplied myself with it to assist me in
climbing up the mountain, but I can get another,
and here," continued he, drawing from his pocket
a little leather parse, in it is some money, that I
received in payment for some wood in the hamlet,
where I passed the night."
"The cane I accept, and I will keep itin remem-
brance of a generous man, but as 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," said 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, could not pay for the wood 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
tomewiththanks. It istrulyapresentwhichGod
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 sends 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 over us." The old hunts-
man melted into tears, then took leave of them.
"Farewell, honest James," said he; farewell,
good Mary," extending his hand to both,-" I
always thought you innocent, and think so till.
Do not despair:-.do not let your probity fail you;
yes yes I 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 Eichbourg. James gotup,
took his daughter by the hand, and they continued
their way across the forest, not knowing at what
spot they would stop, for they had now no friend
but God.

a 1Ss a n lu ar zur j1s^se
11L;4 AJ71OID3 TREE.
ARY and her father still continued their
painful journey, and had already walked
more than twenty miles without being
able to find a night's lodging. The little money
which they had was nearly exhausted, and they
knew not where to obtain subsistence. It cost
them a great trial to sblicit charity, but they were
obliged to submittoit.-Theypreaentedthemseles
before a great number of doors, but they scarcely
met with any thing but repulses, accompanied by
abuse. Sometimes they could only get a little
piece of dry bread, and some water from the near-
est fountain. Sometimes, indeed, they received a
little soup, or some greens, and here and there
some remains of meat or pastry. After having
passed several days in this manner, they were very
glad to be allowed to sleep in a barn.
One day the road appeared endless, as they tra-
velled between hills and mountains covered with

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 speechlss, at the
foot of a hill covered with pines, on a heap of dried
leaves. Mary was overcomewith fear and anxiety,
and overwhelmed with grief. In vain did she seek
a little fresh water in the neighbourhood, she could
not find the least drop: in vain did she cry foras
distance, the echo alone answered her. On what-
ever aide she looked, no house wastobeseen. 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, were
kind-hearted people. Thepaleness,and tears,and
agony of the poor girl touched their sensibility.
Put a horse to the little waggon," said 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 as 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 before

with te water and vinegar,the sme pathby which
she had come, and by this moans arrived sooner
where she had left her father. He had recovered
a little, and was sitting at the foot of a pine tree,
and it wa with great joy that he aw the retar of
his daughter, whose absence had caued 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 were then un-
occupied. The farmer's wife made him nice bed,
and a bench was sufficient for Mary, who would
not quit her father's 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 to a fair in 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 are
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
farmer's household. She did not give herself a
moment's rest. The farmer's wife was enchanted
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, as to
be able to sit up, and a idleness had always beea
insupportable in him, he began again toresumehis
basket-making. Mary, as before, gathered for hi
branches of willow and hasel twigs, and his Ant
production was a pretty little convenient basket,
which he offered to the farmer's wife as token of
He had exactly guessed her taste. The basket
was elegant, but strong and solid;-branches of
willow, stained with a deep red, and interwoven in
the cover, which formed the initials of the farmer's
wife, and the date. The border was formed of
green, brown, and yellow branches, representing a
cottage thatched with straw, on each side of which
was a pine tree. This pretty basket was the ad.
miration of the whole house. The farmer's wife
received the present withgreat joy, andthe allusion
made to her farm, which was called the "Pine
Cottage," gave her peculiar pleasure. When James
felt himself quite recovered, he said to his hosts,
"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 withyou, my good

James ?" aid the farmer, taking him by the hand-
"I hopo we have not offended you. Why then
would you wish to leave s ? The year i very far
advanced. Do you not see the leaves on the trees,
how yellow they are turning ? Winter is at our
doors. Do you wish to be sick again ?" James as
sured 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 wants."
-" Yes, 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 of basket-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 customers. u willnot
oon be in want of work."
James and Mary consented to re and their
hosts expressed a sincere pleasure I this determi-

N4" eol~


MArt's xAPPT LIr.
M AMES and Mary then fixed themselves in
B\ their habitation, their rooms famished in
Sthe 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 with familiar conversation. Sometimes
they spenaeir winter evening in the front room,
and it waJth great pleasure that their hosts, with
other inmates of the house, listened to thejudicious
reflections and instructive recitals of Father James,
as 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; thefarmerand
his wife had too much to do in the field to give gar.
dening the necessary time, and besides it was an

art with which they we not familiar. James un-
dertook to make of it a petty flower garden.
He had made his preparations during the au-
tumn, and scarcely had the warmth of spring dis
sipated the winter's snow when he began his work,
assisted by Mary, and they were employed from
morning until quite late in the evening. The gar
den was divided into compartments; the beds
planted with all sorts of vegetables, and bordered
with gravel walks. Mary had no rest until hae
father brought from the village, (where he was o
the habit of buying the seeds of vegetables,) rose.
trees, tulip and lily roots, and variouskinds ofgar
den shrubbery. She cultivated the most beautiful
flowers, 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 orchardalso 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, as usual, to offer the

first bunch of them to heratber. At ost,she found
some beautiful ones which uada delightflperfme,
and ran, transported with joy, to present them to
him. "Very well," said her father, seek, and ye
shall And: but listen," continued he; "It is to be
remarked that these charming flowers, these beau-
tiful flowers, delight to grow among brambles, aad
it is here we can find a lesson 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 find happiness ? WeB,
s it is,-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
firm trust in God, and to whatever adversity you
may be exposed, inward peace will never forsake
you." One day the wife of one of the villagers
came from the city to buy some flax of the farmer,
and brought her little boy with her. While she
was engaged in examining the flax, in choosing and
bargaining, the child having found the garden-gate
open, had gone in, and began immediately to plun-
der a full-blown roe-bush, but he scratched him.
self terribly with the thorns. The mother and the
farmer's wife ran to him a soon a they heard his
cries. James and Mary ran also. The child, with
his little hands all bloody, exclaimed against the
rose-bush for having deceived him by its pretty
towers. "It is sometimes thus with us big chil-
dren also," said James. "Thereis no pleurewhich

b ot i thorns a wel asthis roe. Wern to-
wards it, u if to eize it with both hands. One l
led away by a tate for dancing or for play. Ano-
ther by a taste for drink, or other vice still more
hameful. Then we begin to lament, and to detest
pleasure. Do not let us then be foolishly dazled
by the show of fSe ros. Man i endowed with
a sol to save it not then necessary that we
should blindly abandon ourelves to our propensi-
ities. We ought, without ceasing, to use all dili-
gence to gin eternal life."
One bentiful morning which succeeded a two.
day's rain, Mary and her father went into the gar.
den, and found the rst lilies in bloom, diffusing
all their charm and all their magnifcence in the
ray of the rising sun. Mary called all the peo.
ple of the house, who for a long time had been
very anious to see the lilies in bloom. They
were in an easy of admiration. "What pu-
rity I what whiteness I such neatness entirely
without blemish, not a spot I"-" No, not one,"
said James, agitated, "and could it please heave
that the conscience of men were as exempt, it
would be a pleasing sight for men and angel. A
pure heart can only claim connection with heaven.
How straight is the stem; how gracefully and
nobly it raies itself, as a finger that points to
heaven," added Jame. I am happy to see
thi Sower in the garden. There ought not to be
a garden i the country where the lily is not

6a TrH B A&sJt o0 pLOWKU.
found. Inclined as we ar eoutinually to lean to-
erards earth, we are prompted to forget heaven.
The lily, which is so upright, seems 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-
support, as are these beans, and this hop, which
we see in the midst of this hedge, it entwines it-
self and clambers 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," said 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
is 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
us scrupulously flfil these two duties, and to this
end let us implore the assistance and blessing of
that God who makes the son to shine, the dew
and rain to fall, the plants to grow, and the fruit
to ripen. Then will our hearts be a most del.

lous garden, and wo shall posse a paradise
within ourselves." It was thus that James 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 spet
at the Pine Cottage had almost caused them to
Ibrget their past misfortunes. But at the retain
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 telancholycast, 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," sid
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,
towards evening, James ascended a ladder to ga-

other some apples. He handed them to Mary, who
arranged them in a basket. How cold," said
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," said 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 may so speak,it sprouts from the earth in form
of a 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 aonw P-Fragile, frail
As vegetation's tenderest leaf-
Transient as April's fitful gale,
And as the fashiug meteor brief
U What is this soUL P-Eternal mind,
Unlimited as thought's rast range-
By grovelling matter unoonflned;
The same, while states and empires change.


* When long this miserable frme
las vanished from life's busy cene,
This earth shall roll, that sun sha flame,
As though maxs nps had never been.
" When suns have waned, and worlds sublime
Their final revolutions told,
This soUL shall triumph over time,
As though such orbs hd never rolled."


T the beginning of the winter which threat-
ened to be very severe, and which had al-
ready covered the mountain and valley
with a very deep 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. The physician
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 en-
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

could bestow on 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 he made 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 occa.
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," said 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 gain a livelihood; no, that distresses
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; "t is
that you will be left in a wicked world. Alas I
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 as 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
have to blush if your father knew it. Soon my
eyes will be for ever closed. I shall no longer be
here to watch over you. But remember you have
in heaven a Father whose eye sees everything, and
reads the bottom of your heart." After little
while, when he had taken breath, be continued.

SYou would not wish to aflict, 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 youth have disappeared like the flowers which
have passed away with spring, and for whose place
you seek in vain, like the dew which but fora 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 his dying advice. "I have seenthe world,"
mid he, "as well as other people, when I accom.
panied the young Count in his travels. Was there
anything in the large cities superb or magnificent,

I went there. I spent whole weeks in pleasure.
Was there a brilliant assembly, or a lively conver-
sation, I saw and beard all, as well as my young
master. I always had my share in the most ex-
quisite meals, and of the scarcest wines, and always
had more than I wished for. But all these noisy
pleasures 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 find 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 fund it in the Lord. Oh I my
child, there will be days in your life when yonr
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-

shaken. There i nothing hewill not do for thbo
he loves. He conducts us by grief to unmingled
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 means 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 to 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 great 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 visible; 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 superfluities, these
advantages would render you vain, trailing, 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 he
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. Yes, Mary, the pain
which you have suffered wil yet be the means of

leading yon to joy and happiness on earth, though
this kind of happiness is the least, and to me that
God's great design in afflicting us was to prepare
as 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 Bare
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 Eichbourg.
119 w

You know what happens at the beginning of
spring; small and weak plants sprout out toge.
their from narrow and moist beds i 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, ta
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 crowdred 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 *
see it already.' My dear daughter, we are 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. Oh .
bow I rejoice to go soon to my Saviour what

a happiness to be delivered from this body
which has done so much evil in the world, and
to be with Christ for ever I 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 it 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 shall
remain together in the midst of joy and beati-
tade, 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 pass
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 future."
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 endea-
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.
"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 soft showers
of spring."


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
and pious man. He paid James a number of visit,
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 requested Mary 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 fatal moment was not far off. But she
immediately recovered herself, lest he should be
distressed. James spit the remainder of the day

84 Trns BA1UT OFr LOWES.
and evening in silent 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, and prayed. The farmer,
his wife, and all their household contemplated this
edifying scene with lively emotions. Their hands
were clasped, 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 af-
fords us, at the hour of death, celestial consola-
tion." In the mean time James felt his end
rapidly approaching. The farmer and his wife
honoured and cherished him us their best friend,
and blessed the hour that brought him to their
house. They tendered to him every possible ser-
vice; and came frequently every day to the door
of his little chamber to know how he was. And
Mary was sure to ask them eah time if they did
not think he would recover. Once the farmer
answered her, and said, "Certainly he cannot
survive the spring." Prom that time Mary con.
tinually at at her little window, sad, trembling,
watched the budding of her lowers in the garda.
Until now, the return of sprng had always flled

TaH BASKu T or rLOWIS. 85
her with joy, but now the leaves of the goose.
berry bushes and the budding of the flowers filled
her with sdness. The joyous chirping of the
chaffnch overwhelmed her with terror; and when
she saw the snow-drop and primrose she was
deeply affected. Ah I" said 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 said, "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 was sitting beside his bed, the moon shed
so 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 Fa-
ther. O preserve this my child from sin, for thy
name's sake. While I have been on ea th I hav
endeavoured in thy name to preserve her from it
But, 0 Lord, I am now going to thee. I do ot
ask thee to take her to thee, but only to plwrve
her from harm. Let thy holy truth su jer
-thy word is truth. Grant, 0 heavenly wber,
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, Aen. 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 hold 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 bad left Eichbourg. "Dear
Mary," said he, some moments afterwards, "I
thank you again most sincerely for all the affec-
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 as

I am, obliged to leave youin this world, for I can
give you nothing but my blessing and this book.
Be always pious and good, and this blessing 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 manypieces
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. Thispas.
sage 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-
sures, and my innumerable afflictions would have
7 *

beencharacterizedby an unceasing anxiety, Ishould
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 haddisapptar-
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. had
ceased to be. Oh, my father-my good father,"
said 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 I

now kiss your hand, now cold and stiff, that band
which has bestowed on me so many benefits, and
which has labored for my good. Oh if my soul
could at the same moment leave its tenement of
clay-if I could follow you, my father, into the
heavenly kingdom. Oh I let me die the death of
the righteous.' It is certain that this life ii nothing
-really nothing. What happiness must there be
in heaven and in everlasting life I That is now my
only consolation."
Ts was a heart-rending scene. Atlastthe 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 leave the
body of her father. She read, wept, and prayed
until morning. Before the coffin-lid was nailed
down, Mary took one more look at her father.
" Alas I" said she, it is the last time that I shall
ever behold your venerable face. How beautiful
it was when you smiled, and it shone with the 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 owners. May these

flowers, these first-fruits of the earth be," aid se,
"an image 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 to recover herself. After the
departure of the funeral, Mary, dressed in a suit
of mourning, which one of the girls of the village
had given her, followed close to the body of her
father. She was as pale as 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 xii. 24. He spoke of James's
patience, and of the resignation with which he bore
all the misfortunes which had fallen to his lot, 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 andhis wife,who

had so well proved to Mary and her father the kind-
ne 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 visitthe 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. Herethe whole
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 har-
ing made good resolutions to despise the pleasure
of the world, and to live only to her God.



ROM the time of her father's death Mary
was always sad. 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
amiable 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 was vain of her
beauty, and cared for nothing bat gain pride and
avarice had by degrees imprinted oa her features
an expression of harshness o striking, that with all
her beauty her looks were repulsive. Sheviolent-
ly opposed religion, and not having the wholesome
restraint of the gospel, if she knew that any thing
would give her father and mother pleasure, she did

just the contrary; and if she ever gave the food
which was their due according to the contract, it
was always with a bad grace and sordid parsimony.
She sought continually to mortify them,and make
their lives completely miserable. These good peo-
ple retired into 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 abase,
and cast 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 was
obliged to suffer in silence. Shewouldnever quiet-
ly allow him to visit his parents, for fear, as she
aid, he would give them something secretly. In
the evening after he had finished his work, he
scarcely dared go near them. He found them al-
most always seated in sadnessbeside each other on
the same bench he would take a seat by them,
and complain of his hard lot. "Well," aid the
old father, "so it is. You suffered yourself to be
dasled by the brilliancy of her gold, and by her
rosy cheeks; I yielded too easily to your wishes,
and thus we are punished. We should have thought
of the good advice of old James; he was an ex-
perienced man, and never approved of this match
when it was talked of during his life. Istill re-
member every word he aid on the subject, and I
have thought of it more than a thouand times.
Do you remember," said he to his wife, of hay-

ing one day said,' But ten thousand forins, how-
ever, make a handsome sum ' A handsome sum,'
said James-' no, for the flowers you see in your
garden are a thousand times more beautiful. Per-
haps you meant to say it is a large and heavy sum.
I will acknowledgethat. Hemusthavegood shoul-
ders 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-
sary 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; the bee
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 advice.

That which appeared to us then so great a happi.
nes, is now to us the height of misfortune. God
give us grace to bear our misfortunes with pas
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. There
was nothing but faultfinding from morning till
night. Mar) did not work enough, and did not
know how to do anything as it ought to be done.
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 consolation; they had enough to do
with their own gries. She thought often of going
away, but where to go was the question. She
asked the minister's advice. "My dear Mary,"
sid the wise minister, "to remain any longer at
the Pine Farm, is a thing impossible. Yourfather
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, I do not advise you
119 a

96 THu BASKETr or rFIIwM .
to leave there immediately, and to go md seek
your fortune at once. The best advice I could
give you would be, to remain where you are for
the present; to work as much as you can, and
to wait patiently until the Lord shall deliver you
from the state of oppression under whichyon 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 promised 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 I" 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 shall 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.' "

Tas BA sT or FLOWms,. 07

Tkh Mary cooled herself in her direa, Iand
hi the language of the poet she oould ay-
Thou art, O Lnrd, my only trust,
When friends ae iiniled with the dust,
And all my love are gone.
When earth has nothing to bestow,
And every flower is dead below.
I look to thee aloOn."

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