The Canadian Horticulturist. 185 



THE INFLUENCE OF A WHITE ROSE. 



HE far-reaching influence of a little act of kindness, accompanied by 

 " just a white rose," is beautifully shown in the following story told 

 in The Silver Cross. Kindness and sympathy are rarely wasted on 

 the unfortunate : 



A wealthy lady, young and beautiful, who had lately experienced 

 genuine conversion, was so overflowing with love for the Saviour 

 that she was drawn to visit those who were in prison. One day, 

 before starting on this errand of mercy, she went to her conservatory and her 

 gardener gathered her up a large box of flowers and was about to tie it up for her 

 when she noticed a perfect white rose untouched, and asked that it be added. 



" Oh, no !" he said, " please keep that for yourself to wear to-night." 



" I need it more just now," she said, and took it with her on her journey. 



Reaching the prison she commenced her rounds among the women's wards, 

 giving a few blossoms to each inmate, with a leaflet, a text, or a message of sym- 

 pathy and Christian hope. 



" Have I seen all the prisoners here ?" she asked the jailer. 



" No ; there is one whom you cannot visit, her language is so wicked it 

 would scorch your ears to hear it." 



" She is the one who most needs me," she answered. " I have one flower, 

 the choicest of all I brought ; can you not take me to her ?" 



Then when they confronted each other on either side of the grated door, the 

 visitor was greeted with curses, and the only reply she gave was the beautiful 

 white rose, which was left in the woman's cell. As she turned away she heard 

 one heart-breaking cry, and the voice that had breathed imprecation moaned 

 over and over again the one word, " Mother ! mother ! mother !"' 



The next week she came again. The jailer met her, saying : " That 

 woman whom you saw last is asking for you constantly ; I never saw a woman 

 so changed." 



Soon the two were alone in the cell, and the penitent, her head resting on 

 the shoulder of her new found friend, told, with sobs, her sad story — 



"That white rose was just like one which grew by our door, at home in 

 Scotland, my mother's favorite flower. She was a good woman ; my father's 

 character was stainless, but I broke their hearts by my wicked ways, then drifted 

 to America, where I have lived a wicked life ; is there any hope for me ?" 



And so the dawning of a better day came, as the two " reasoned together." 



Many visits the lady made in that narrow room, until she seemed an angel 

 of light to its inmate. When the time came for the woman's release, the love of 

 Christ constraining her, she went out into the world to devote her life to the 

 saving of such as she had been. 



