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

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

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

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

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

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

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

9*

CHAPTER VIII.

THE EVENING PRIMROSE

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

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

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

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

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