THE LEMON-PLANT. 277 



works, the most diligent in business, and the most 

 eager in following after perfectness. 



It has struck me as remarkable, that, from the 

 time of dear Marie rearing a lemon-plant for me, 

 1 have never been without one, until within the 

 last year. That which I had long nursed, died ; 

 and I kept the dry unsightly stalk among my flour- 

 ishing plants, more than half a year, in the vague 

 hope that it might sprout again ; or under a fond 

 feeling of reluctance quite to lose the memento. 

 I plucked it up only a few days before I learnt the 

 fact of Marie's departure to a better place ; and 

 now the sweet shrub must resume its station, a 

 cherished memento of what I can no more see on 

 earth. The peculiarly healthful fragrance of those 

 slender leaves, their rapid growth, and the delicacy 

 of their pale verdure, all are in keeping with the 

 traits of Marie's character, most vividly impressed 

 on my mind — traits that led me, from the com- 

 mencement of our intercourse, to place her first 

 and highest on my list of female acquaintance, nor 

 do I expect to meet with her equal among women. 

 Yet what was, what is she ? A wretched, guilty 

 sinner ; saved, washed, justified, and sanctified, in 

 the name of the Lord Jesus, and by the Spirit of 

 our God. Those accomplishments, to the attain- 

 ment of which so many valuable hours were sacri- 

 ficed, what were they, to an immortal being, sent 



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