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And when they came to bury little Charley,
They found fresh dew-drops sprinkled in his hair, And on his breast a rose-bud, gathered early, –
And guessed, but did not know, who placed it there.
My good old friend was very hard on fashion,
And held its votaries in lofty scorn, And often burst into a holy passion
While the gay crowds went by on Sunday morn.
Yet he was vain, old Gray, and did not know it!
He wore his hair unparted, long, and plain, To hide the handsomne brow that slept below it,
For fear the world would think that he was vain !
He had a hearty hatred of oppression,
And righteous words for sin of every kind; Alas, that the transgressor and transgression
Were linked so closely in his honest mind!
Yet that sweet tale of gift without repentance,
Told of the Master, touched him to the core, And tearless he could never read the sentence:
“ Neither do I condemn thee: sin no more."
Honest and faithful, constant in his calling,
Strictly attendant on the means of grace, Instaňt in prayer, and fearful most of falling,
Old Daniel Gray was always in his place.
A practical old man, and yet a dreamer,
He thought that in some strange, unlooked-for way, His mighty Friend in heaven, the great Redeemer,
Would honor him with wealth some golden day.
This dream he carried in a hopeful spirit
Until in death his patient eye grew dim, And his Redeemer called him to inberit
The heaven of wealth long garnered up for him.
So, if I ever win the home in heaven
For whose sweet rest I humbly hope and pray In the great company of the forgiven
I shall be sure to find old Daniel Gray.
THE MINISTER'S WOOING.
a deepening flush she answered gently, CHAPTER XVIII.
“No, Sir.” The Doctor sat at his study-table. It " What! never any doubts?” said the was evening, and the slant beams of Doctor. the setting sun shot their golden arrows “ I am sorry,” said Mary, apologeticalthrough the healthy purple clusters of ly; “ but I do not see how I can have; I lilacs that veiled the windows. There
never could.” had been a shower that filled them with “ Ah !” said the Doctor, musingly, drops of rain, which every now and then " would I could say so! There are times, tattooed, with a slender rat-tat, on the indeed, when I hope I have an interest window-sill, as a breeze would shake the in the precious Redeemer, and behold an leaves and bear in perfume on its wings. infinite loveliness and beauty in Him, Sweet, fragrance-laden airs tripped stir- apart from anything I expect or hope. ringly to and fro about the study-table, But even then how deceitful is the humaking gentle confusions, fluttering pa- man heart! how insensibly might a mere pers on moral ability, agitating treatises selfish love take the place of that disinteron the great end of creation, mixing up ested complacency which regards Him for subtile distinctions between amiable in- what He is in Himself, apart from what stincts and true holiness, and, in short, He is to us! Say, my dear friend, does conducting themselves like very unappre
not this thought sometimes make you ciative and unphilosophical little breezes. tremble?”
The Doctor patiently smoothed back Poor Mary was truth itself, and this and rearranged, while opposite to him sat question distressed her; she must anMary, bending over some copying she swer the truth. The fact was, that it had was doing for him. One stray sunbeam never come into her blessed little heart fell on her light brown hair, tinging it to to tremble, for she was one of those chilgold; her long, drooping lashes lay over
dren of the bride-chamber who cannot the wax-like pink of her cheeks, as she mourn, because the bridegroom is ever wrote on.
with them ; but then, when she saw the “Mary," said the Doctor, pushing the man for whom her reverence was almost papers from him.
like that for her God thus distrustful, “Sir," she answered, looking up, the thus lowly, she could not but feel that blood just perceptibly rising in her her too calm repose might, after all, be cheeks.
the shallow, treacherous calm of an igno“Do you ever have any periods in rant, ill-grounded spirit, and therefore, which your evidences seem not altogeth- with a deep blush and a faltering voice, er clear?”
she said, Nothing could show more forcibly the “ Indeed, I am afraid something must grave, earnest character of thought in be wrong with me.
I cannot have any New England at this time than the fact fears, – I never could ; I try sometimes, that this use of the term "evidences” had but the thought of God's goodness comes become universally significant and un- all around me, and I am so happy before derstood as relating to one's right of citi- I think of it!" zenship in a celestial, invisible common- “ Such exercises, my dear friend, I wealth.
have also had,” said the Doctor; “but beSo Mary understood it, and it was with fore I rest on them as evidences, I feel constrained to make the following inqui- I may be only a blind leader of the blind. ries :— Is this gratitude that swells my What, after all, if I be only a miserable bosom the result of a mere natural sensi- self-deceiver? What if some thought of bility ? Does it arise in a particular self has come in to poison all my prayers manner because God has done me good ? and strivings? It is true, I think,- yes, or do I love God for what He is, as well I think,” said the Doctor, speaking very as for what He has done ? and for what slowly and with intense earnestness,He has done for others, as well as for “ I think, that, if I knew at this moment what He has done for me? Love to God that my name never would be written which is built on nothing but good re- among those of the elect, I could still see ceived is not incompatible with a disposi- God to be infinitely amiable and glorious, tion so horrid as even to curse God to and could feel sure that He could not do His face. If God is not to be loved ex- me wrong, and that it was infinitely becept when He does good, then in affliction coming and right that He should dispose we are free. If doing us good is all that of me according to His sovereign pleasrenders God lovely to us, then not doing ure. I think so;— but still my deceitful us good divests Him of His glory, and heart ! — after all, I might find it rising dispenses us from obligation to love Him. in rebellion. Say, my dear friend, are But there must be, undoubtedly, some you sure, that, should you discover yourpermanent reason why God is to be loved self to be forever condemned by His jusby all; and if not doing us good divests tice, you would not find your heart rising Him of His glory so as to free us from up against Him?” our obligation to love, it equally frees the “ Against Him?” said Mary, with a universe; so that, in fact, the universe of tremulous, sorrowful expression on her happiness, if ours be not included, reflects face, — " against my Heavenly Father?” no glory on its Author.”
Her face fushed, and faded; her eyes The Doctor had practised his subtile kindled eagerly, as if she had something mental analysis till his instruments were to say, and then grew misty with tears. so fine-pointed and keen-edged that he At last she said, scarce ever allowed a flower of sacred " Thank you, my dear, faithful friend! emotion to spring in his soul without I will think about this; perhaps I may picking it to pieces to see if its genera have been deceived. How very difficult and species were correct. Love, grati- it must be to know one's self perfectly!” tude, reverence, benevolence, which all Mary went into her own little room, and moved in mighty tides in his soul,— were sat leaning for a long time with her elbow all compelled to pause midway while he on the window-seat, watching the pale rubbed up his optical instruments to see shells of the apple-blossoms as they sailed whether they were rising in right order. and fluttered downward into the grass, Mary, on the contrary, had the blessed and listened to a chippering conversation gift of womanhood, - that vivid life in in which the birds in the nest above were the soul and sentiment which resists the settling up their small housekeeping acchills of analysis, as a healthful human counts for the day. heart resists cold; yet still, all humbly, After a while, she took her pen and she thought this perhaps was a defect in wrote the following, which the Doctor herself, and therefore, having confessed, found the next morning lying on his in a depreciating tone, her habits of un- study-table:analyzed faith and love, she added,
“ But, my dear Sir, you are my best “MY DEAR, HONORED FRIEND, How friend. I trust you will be faithful to me. can I sufficiently thank you for your faithIf I am deceiving myself
, undeceive me; fulness with me ? All you say to me seems you cannot be too severe with me." true and excellent; and yet, my dear Sir,
“ Alas!" said the Doctor, “ I fear that permit me to try to express to you some of the many thoughts to which our con- The joys arising from a consciousness that versation this evening has given rise. To God is a benefactor to me and my friends, love God because He is good to me you (and when I think of God, every creaseem to think is not a right kind of love; ture is my friend,) if arising from a selfand yet every moment of my life I have ish motive, it does not seem to me possible experienced His goodness. When recol- could be changed into bate, even supposlection brings back the past, where can ing God my enemy, whilst I regarded I look that I see not His goodness ? What Him as a Being infinitely just as well as moment of my life presents not instances good. If God is my enemy, it must be of merciful kindness to me, as well as to because I deserve He should be such; every creature, more and greater than I and it does not seem to me possible that can express, than my mind is able to take I should hate Him, even if I knew He in? How, then, can I help loving God would always be so. because He is good to me? Were I not “In what you say of willingness to sufan object of God's mercy and goodness, fer eternal punishment, I don't know that I cannot have any conception what would I understand what the feeling is. Is it be my feeling. Imagination never yet wickedness in me that I do not feel a wilplaced me in a situation not to experience lingness to be left to eternal sin? Can any the goodness of God in some way or other; one joyfully acquiesce in being thus left? and if I do love Him, how can it be but When I pray for a new heart and a right because He is good, and to me good ? Do spirit, must I be willing to be denied, and not God's children love Him because He rejoice that my prayer is not heard ? first loved them ?
Could any real Christian rejoice in this? “ If I called nothing goodness which But he fears it not,- he knows it will did not happen to suit my inclination, never be - he therefore can cheerfully and could not believe the Deity to be leave it with God; and so can I. gracious and merciful except when the “Such, my dear friend, are my thoughts, course of events was so ordered as to poor and unworthy; yet they seem to me agree with my humor, so far from imag- as certain as my life, or as anything I see. ining that I had any love to God, I must Am I unduly confident? I ask your prayconclude myself wholly destitute of any- ers that I may be guided aright. thing good. A love founded on nothing “ Your affectionate friend, but good received is not, you say, incom
66 MARY." patible with a disposition so horrid as even to curse God. I am not sensible There are in this world two kinds of that I ever in my life imagined anything natures, — those that have wings, and but good could come from the hand of those that have feet, — the winged and God. From a Being infinite in goodness the walking spirits. The walking are the everything must be good, though we do logicians; the winged are the instinctive not always comprehend how it is so. Are and poetic. Natures that must always not afflictions good ? Does He not even walk find many a bog, many a thicket, in judgment remember mercy ? Sensible many a tangled brake, which God's hapthat afflictions are but blessings in dis- py little winged birds flit over by one guise,' I would bless the hand that, with noiseless flight. Nay, when a man has infinite kindness, wounds only to heal, toiled till his feet weigh too heavily with and love and adore the goodness of God the mud of earth to enable him to walk equally in suffering as in rejoicing. another step, these little birds will often
“ The disinterested love to God, which cleave the air in a right line towards the you think is alone the genuine love, I see bosom of God, and show the way where not how we can be certain we possess, he could never have found it. when our love of happiness and our love The Doctor paused in his ponderous and of God are so inseparably connected. heavy reasonings to read this real woman's letter; and being a loving man, he the darkest room into which she entered. felt as if he could have kissed the hem Mary thought, when she came in, that of her garment who wrote it. He record- she had never seen anything so splendid. ed it in his journal, and after it this sig. She was dressed in a black velvet ridingnificant passage from Canticles :
habit, buttoned to the throat with coral; “I charge you, O ye daughters of Je- her riding-hat drooped with its long rusalem, by the roes, and by the hinds plumes so as to cast a shadow over her of the field, that ye stir not up nor animated face, out of which her dark awake this lovely one till she please.” eyes shone like jewels, and her pome
Mrs. Scudder's motherly eye noticed, granate cheeks glowed with the rich with satisfaction, these quiet communings. shaded radiance of one of Rembrandt's “ Let it alone,” she said to herself ; “ be- pictures. Something quaint and foreign, fore she knows it, she will find herself something poetic and strange, marked wholly under his influence.” Mrs. Scud- each turn of her figure, each article of der was a wise woman.
her dress, down to the sculptured hand on which glittered singular and costly
rings,- and the riding-glove, embroidCHAPTER XIX.
ered with seed-pearls, that fell carelessly
beside her on the floor. In the course of a day or two, a hand- In Antwerp one sees a picture in which some carriage drew up in front of Mrs. Rubens, who felt more than any other Scudder's cottage, and a brilliant party artist the glory of the physical life, has alighted. They were Colonel and Ma- embodied his conception of the Madonna, dame de Frontignac, the Abbé Léfon, and in opposition to the faded, cold ideals of Colonel Burr. Mrs. Scudder and her the Middle Ages, from which he revoltdaughter, being prepared for the call, ed with such a bound. His Mary is a susat in afternoon dignity and tranquillity, perb Oriental sultana, with lustrous dark in the best room, with their knitting-work. eyes, redundant form, jewelled turban,
Madame de Frontignac had divined, standing leaning on the balustrade of a with the lightning-like tact which belongs princely terrace, and bearing on her to women in the positive, and to French hand, not the silver dove, but a gorgeous women in the superlative degree, that
paroquet. The two styles, in this inthere was something in the cottage-girl, stance, were both in the same room; and whom she had passingly seen at the par- as Burr sat looking from one to the othty, which powerfully affected the man er, he felt, for a moment, as one would whom she loved with all the jealous in- who should put a sketch of Overbeck's tensity of a strong nature, and hence she beside a splendid painting of Titian's. embraced eagerly the opportunity to see For a few moments, everything in the her, - yes, to see her, to study her, to room seemed faded and cold, in contrast dart her keen French wit through her, with the tropical atmosphere of this regal and detect the secret of her charm, that beauty. Burr watched Mary with a keen she, too, might practise it.
eye, to see if she were dazzled and overMadame de Frontignac was one of awed. He saw nothing but the most those women whose beauty is so strik- innocent surprise and delight. All the ing and imposing, that they seem to kin- slumbering poetry within her seemed to dle up, even in the most prosaic apart- awaken at the presence of her beautiful ment, an atmosphere of enchantment. neighbor, — as when one, for the first All the pomp and splendor of high life, time, stands before the great revelations the wit, the refinements, the nameless of Art. Mary's cheek glowed, her eyes graces and luxuries of courts, seemed to seemed to grow deep with the enthusiasm breathe in invisible airs around her, and of admiration, and, after a few moments, she made a Faubourg St. Germain of it seemed as if her delicate face and fig.