THE VINE. 115 



rather orightened, a countenance so beaming with 

 love, that the sentiment of reverential humility was 

 at once absorbed in that of endeared fellowship 

 with one who evidently sought no homage, nor 

 claimed superiority over the lowliest of her Sa- 

 viour's followers 



That lady was Hannah More. 



My heart often melts within me, at the recollec- 

 tion of the tenderness that marked her first greet- 

 ing. There was that in my own circumstances, 

 which could not fail to engage her sympathizing 

 compassion ; there was that, in the case of my 

 companions, which powerfully awakened her most 

 serious interests. 1 had long shared the benevo- 

 lence of her love, long reaped the benefit of her 

 devout prayers, and received many a message of 

 affectionate solicitude, during a preceding period of 

 no common tribulation. She saw me then, rejoic- 

 ing in the presence of a long-lost friend, yet filled 

 with keenest anxiety for his spiritual welfare. I 

 can readily believe that the occasion called forth 

 into conspicuous display the loveliest features of 

 her beautiful character; and, assuredly, I never 

 have beheld a countenance so expressive of all 

 that can sweeten mortality. 



How quick, how perfect is the communion ol 

 spirit between those who, having often met at the 

 throne of grace, while yet far absent in body, are 

 at length brought eye to eye, beholding one ano- 



