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• I see it, uncle, most clearly; and I also remember the striking words uttered by an eloquent speaker at the last annual meeting of the Irish Society of London. He caught at an expression in the report, that the blessing of God rested on the church of Ireland, and told us, “ If she has God's blessing, we may firmly infer that God is not about to abandon her: when a man beautifies and furnishes a house afresh, it proves that he has no intention of forsaking his customary abodewhen a vine-dresser cultures and dresses his vine, it shows that he does not give it up as worthless. So, when God has been pleased to beautify and adorn tbe church of Ireland, not with the silver, and gold, and precious stones of this perishing world, but with the jewels and precious stones of the sanctuary above, and to clothe it with the beauty of holiness, it may be confidently inferred that he is not about to forsake her. When the heavenly Vine-dresser has poured down the dews of his grace, when the youths are found to be rising up and blessing the streams thereof, does it not prove that though men threaten the church, the divine Husbandman will not forsake her? And “ if God be for us, who shall be against

us?

While I repeated this, my uncle stood smiling, and listening with the joyous aspect of a man whose dearest hopes are receiving some unexpected confirmation. At the close, he exclaimed, · Beautiful and just! Well do I remember how my heart echoed the sentiment six months ago, and very cheering it is to recall it now. This analogy, traced by faith, is a glorious thing, and eminently scriptural are both the images employed by Mr. Stowell—“ Ye are God's husbandry, ye are God's building.” No, no, no!' added my uncle with increasing enthusiasm, · He will not forsake it-the Lord will yet be gracious; he will return, and look down from heaven, and behold, and visit this vine, and the vineyard which his right hand bath planted, and the branch which he made strong for himself. Let the prayerful voice be raised, and the helping hand stretched forth, on behalf of our persecuted brethren, and I doubt not the result. This partial calamity will become a mutual blessing to the united churches-a sweet reciprocation of temporal and spiritual good things. We joy in beholding their faith—they in experiencing our service of love. Yes, our sister church is sorely tried, but, though persecuted, not forsaken. “God is in the midst of her, therefore shall she not be moved : God shall help her, and that right early.")

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THE

CHRISTIAN LADY'S MAGAZINE.

DECEMBER, 1835.

CHAPTERS ON FLOWERS.

Two winters of singular mildness had led me so far to forget the general characteristics of that dreary season, that when the customary blight fell, somewhat abruptly, on the vegetable world, it startled me to find my garden metamorphosed into a desert. The tall dahlias stood, full-leaved as before ; but the verdant robe of yesterday had been changed into gloomy blackness, and stems that lately seemed to support some perennial shrub, were indebted only to the stakes to which we had bound them for the upright position they still maintained. The China rose-trees, with which my garden abounds, presented a less forlorn aspect, because their evergreen mantle was proof against the power of frost; but their numerous buds, lovely and fresh when the setting sun-beam last lingered among them, had dropped their delicate heads in death. I walked on, marking

as I passed two little flowers of the lowly heartsease in untarnished beauty, smiling at the foot of one of these lofty but disfigured rose-trees; and proceeded to the spot where my lauristinus, lifting its vigorous head in calm defiance of every blight, was putting out its white buds with more than their wonted profusion; and there I stood, in happy reverie, thinking of the spirit made perfect, of him whom the shrub typifies in my imaginationthat devoted old servant of Christ, Charles Seymour, who long gladdened the western wild of poor Ireland with the riches of gospel promise, set forth in her ancient tongue-until my eye wandered to the wall just behind it, which, stretching to some distance on either hand, wears a vesture of Ivy, the growth of many years, of bushy thickness towards the top, where it crowns its supporter with the dark polished berries that beautifully accord with the whole character of the plant. The lauristinus mingling its upper branches with this ancient friend, appears as of one family, yet different and distinguished in a striking manner. I looked until my tears flowed, for the power of imagination was irresistible, and the scene which opened on my mind was one of overwhelming interest.

I am not writing fiction; the objects that I describe are within my view at this moment, distinctly visible from my window, and their relative position is precisely wbat I have stated. But, standing close beside them, under the influence of the wintry air that had desolated the scene around, while seared leaves, wafted from the tall trees above my head, were sinking at my feet, never more to rise from their parent earth : all these things gave a reality to the contemplation not to be felt under other circum

stances, and I record my feelings without expecting any reader to enter into their depth.

The Ivy, as I have formerly observed, is to me a lively representation of the work and the power of faith. Its strength consists in the tenacity with which it clings to something foreign to its own substance, identifying itself, by a wonderful process, with what it adheres to. Alone, it cannot stand ; if you tear it from its prop, down must fall every branch, at the mercy of any trampling foot of man or beast. The analogy in my mind was perfect : there stood the two plants, one, rooted in distinct individuality, needing no prop, fearing no foe, adorned with a white, a beauteous robe, woven by the finger of God; the other, strong only in conscious weakness, sombre in hue, its very fruit clad in the mourning tint of affliction, yet tending upwards, clustering in fulness proportioned to its growth, and braving every blast in the confidence of its firm fixture to that which could not be moved.--What had I before my eyes, but one glorified member of the triumphant church above, and the aflicted, yet highly privileged body of his own dear Irish' brethren, still militant bere below!

Militant is the distinguishing epithet of Christ's church, and of each individual belonging unto it, until the warfare being accomplished, the good fight fought, and faith kept unto death, the crown of righteousness is awarded, and the happy spirit becomes incorporated with the church triumphant in heaven. The little babe, whose short breathings are oppressed, and its tiny frame faintly struggling through the few days of its sojourn on earth, is militant here below. The strong youth, robust in

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