158 THE HOLLY-BUSH. 



a world of lost sinners ! Who can hold back, 

 when invited to wash and be clean, in the purify- 

 ing fountain ? And who shall dare to exclude him- 

 self, or his fellow, from this sphere of an unlimited 

 invitation ? 



Perchance there may be some, who will trace, 

 in my fondness for this type, an approximation to 

 the popish doctrine of image-worship. We all 

 know that this abominable idolatry originated in 

 the specious contrivance of exhibiting pictures and 

 images in the churches, that, by visible objects, 

 the gazers might be stirred up to a more perfect 

 realization of what was taught from the pulpit. I 

 should be sorry to incur such suspicion ; but, as 

 the introduction of holly-boughs into our temples, 

 or the placing of a few sprigs over our fire-places, 

 has never yet issued in any thing heterodox, as far 

 as I can discover, I must still plead for the dear 

 old custom ; still wreathe the holly with the misle- 

 toe, in grateful acknowledgment of the mercy that 

 rescued my country from the darkness of heathen- 

 ism — from the sanguinary rites that once polluted 

 the shadow of her majestic oaks. That kingly 

 tree, himself denuded by the hand of winter, can 

 yield no foliage to honour our sacred festival ; but 

 sends the little misletoe, his foster-child, to do 

 homage in his stead. Alas, for England when she 

 shall discontinue the observances of her pious re- 

 formers, her martyrs, and apostles of a brighter 



