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23 



CHRISTMAS NUMBER AND ALMANAC 



only a daisy, or a spray of hawthorn, or a prinarose ; but to 

 him it was the embodiment of some sweet thought connected 

 with the particular fiower. 



I had made Charlie a promise that, on the anniversary of 

 our first meeting, he should help me gather the white lilies 

 for the wreaths, and should choose the fairest amongst them 

 for his own fiower. When the time came round : it was the 

 second Saturday in July — I am not likely ever to forget the 

 day — Charlie had been with me all the afternoon, his meiTy 

 voice sounding cheerily as he ran in and out amongst the 

 flower-beds, and was gone home to have his tea and to show 

 his mother his beautiful lily; " it will not hurt it," said the 

 child tenderl}-, " for father does not swear now." 



I promised to call at the cottage between seven and eight, 

 that we might have om- little walk and talk together. I 

 remember the evening as if it were but yesterday. I can 

 recall every look of tlie dear old home, ivith its ivy-covered 

 walls ; its porch of roses and honeysuckles, with "the little 

 cross above, proclaiming to the passers-by that the house pro- 

 fessed to be no common home. I remember the sunlight 

 gleaming through the huge elm, that with many another 

 goodly tree graced what, in courtesy, was called the park. 

 I seem to feel about me the very scent of the lily wreath that 

 was in my hand as I passed through the garden gate on my 

 sacred mission. The air was filled with the soft music of the 

 birds ; the honeysuckles that, 

 next to roses, Charlie loved 

 the best, hung in waving 

 wreaths from the ivy and the 

 trees ; and all around me and 

 above me spoke of Peace ! 



I had scarcely reached the 

 common gate when I saw a 

 poor woman running quickly 

 towards me, who called in a 

 voice of horror, " Oh. Miss 

 Marv,conie fast ; littlcCharlie 

 is killed ! " 



I cannot dwell upon this 

 hour. It was too true. There 

 was a runaway horse, a little 

 child, thinking only of guard- 

 ing a lily which he held , 

 tightly in his hand ; one blow, ^ 

 and it was over. 



I found him where he lay S^! 

 with the pale lily, still un- 

 broken, in his hand : the 

 parents and neighbours 

 standing round, stunned and 

 utterly helpless. 



We did what we could, 

 but it seemed of no avail ; 

 and then we laid him on his 

 little bed, and sat by watching till the doctor I had sent for 

 came. I wos not hopeless, for I fancied there was still life, 

 though the face was white as chiselled marble. 



As we watched, to my intense relief, I saw spreading over 

 the child's face a sudden gleam as of simshine ; and with it 

 a smile broke from the lips, of such unearthly beauty as 

 fills me with joy even now to remendjcr ; the eyes opened, 

 there was a searching look till they fell on his mother, and 

 then, with a startled happy crv-, I heard the little voice I had 

 learned to love so well, say in its whisjiering tones, " Mother, 

 mother, it is all of roses !" 



And then — Peace. 



Beneath the sheltering boughs of the larch, nestling close 

 to the side of " our graves," there is a small mound, and at 

 its head a slab of grey stone, on which there is Charlie In- 

 gram's name, and beneath it is written — 



" Yea, speedily was he taken away lest wickedness should 

 .alter his understanding, or deceit beguile his soul." 



Yes ; we laid the little laddie in his quiet resting-plaee 

 close to the spot where I had first seen him standing, and on 

 the mound we placed a crown of roses: there was seai-ce a 

 cottage garden round that did not furnish one. 



John Ingram came in as Sarah and I were weaving the 

 crown. "John," I said, " Charlie would like to have one 

 flower of your gathering." 



With his rough, worn hand he hastily brushed off a tear, 

 and turning away said, "I must be a better man to my other 

 children before I'm fit to lay a rose on Charlie's grave." 



So Charlie's mission had done its heavenly work — not done, 

 for all that is true, and good, and pure is of heaven — eternal. 



And still gaunt poverty stalked through the place, and one 

 happy home after another crumbled to ruins beneath its blast- 

 ing influence ; some of the poor drifted oft' to search for work 

 in other jjlaces : some to the over-crowded workhouse, others 

 to far-oft' lands beyond the sea, and amongst these latter 

 were John Ingram, his wife, and children. 



A marked change had fallen on John and Sarah ; not 

 shown in words, not easily perceived in deeds, and yet both 

 in words and deeds it was most surely there. I noticed the 

 quick stojiping of the hasty word ; the intense anxiety for 

 the future passing away into a quiet trustfulness. Small 

 changes they may appear to others, but to me almost as great 

 as is the distance between earth and heaven. 



It was the evening before the day on which the emigrants 

 were to leave for Liverpool. Sarah had asked me to go with 

 her to pay a last visit to Charlie's grave. 



Just as we entered the churchyard gate I saw a man's figure 

 disappearing in the distance ; the step was huiTied, whoever it 



was, and I fancied the re- 

 treating figure bore some re- 

 semblance to John Ingram; 

 the person was evidently 

 avoiding us. 



When we arrived at the 

 grave, we found lying upon 

 it one bright, fresh rose. I 

 looked at Sarah ; she under- 

 stood it in a moment, and 

 turning to me with a tearful, 

 smiling face, she said, " We 

 shall not leave him here. Miss 

 Mary, his angel will follow 

 us." These were her very 

 words. I remember them 

 distinctly as when spoken. 

 They seemed strange to me, 

 and yet I felt I understood 

 them. I understood them 

 better by-and-bye. 



And the sad parting was 

 over, and another Ingram 

 had taken to John's cottage, 

 and the dear old granny had 

 other grandchildren jdaying 

 about her cottage door, and 

 other great sorrows pressing 

 on her faithful heart that seemed to grow more and yet more 

 faithful, as outward stays were broken, and she was drawn 

 close beneath the wings of sheltering love. 



CH.4r. IV. 



'* Obedience — it is love; 

 And where love is, is Iiarmony ; 

 And all we know of angels blest 

 Is, that Ihey love, and they obey, 

 And sing alw.iy. 

 Ever sin;?ing, ever loving. 

 In the mansions of tlieii- rest, 

 Around the tlirone where God is manifest." 



WlLLIAUS. 



It was nearly sis months since the good ship " Southern 

 Cross" had sailed from Liverpool, and I was anxiously ex- 

 pecting tidings of the emigi'ants. One letter from Queens- 

 town, written by John in high hope and spu'its, was all that 

 we had yet received. When I read it to Granny Ingram — for 

 the dear old lady went by that endearing name far and near 

 — she said, in her quaint way: "What a thing it is to be 

 young, miss ; why, it sets my heart all of a tremble only to 

 think of the water, with neither top nor bottom to it, as one 

 may say, a-rolling about all higgledy-piggledy, here, there, 

 and everywhere. I went in a barge up the canal but once, 

 and that was enough for me. Do you mind how little Charlie 



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