I 



THE PURPLE CROCUS. 181 



of his expiring brother, what could I compare him 

 to, but the towering acacia, bending its flowering 

 branches, more graceful in humility from their riatu 

 ral elevation ; and while the lowly man, from his poor 

 Out clean pillow looked up to the countenance of his 

 beloved pastor, catching every sound that issued from 

 his lips, as a gracious message from the Lord his 

 God — then turned his dim eyes to acknowledge the 

 gentle words of encouragement added by the un- 

 known, but noble and venerable stranger, who 

 cheered him with the breathings of his own spirit 

 in the same delightful theme — what was old B. 

 but the antitype of my purple crocus, looking forth 

 from its unadorned resting-place through the 

 cloudy dispensations of a winter's day, to catch the 

 sunbeam from afar, and to prove to every beholder 

 that, in spite of adverse seasons, or any combina- 

 tion of untoward circumstances, God's tender mer- 

 cies are over all his works. 



I received the old man's blessing, and left his 

 peaceful abode, to ramble wide and long amid the 

 chastened beauties of a shining winter's day. My 

 thoughts were very sad : 1 knew that, notwith- 

 standing the frequent benefactions of those around 

 him, old B. had suffered much from poverty. His 

 little room contained a box well stored with money, 

 collected by him for the missionary work ; but his 

 own possessions were scanty indeed. He was not 

 without claims of kindred, which, with his tender 



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