THE WHITE ROSE. 87 



young to exercise faith on Christ, how precious as 

 I looked on him, was the assurance, that the blood 

 shed as a propitiation for the sins of tlie w.i^ie 

 world, embraced his case, and opened to him the 

 heavenly kingdom. My mind was engrossed by 

 the deep and clear argument of the apostle, in 

 the fiftli chapter of the epistle to the Romans, 

 which to me brings perfect conviction as to the 

 eternal safety of all who die in infancy. Like 

 the early dew, tliey just visit our earth, and once 

 brouQ;ht within the influence of the Sun of ri^ht- 

 eousness, ' they sparkle, are exhaled, and go to 

 heaven.' 



There are many flowers that speak to me of 

 early happy death. The lily of the valley is one : 

 but the fairest is the white moss-rose. I have 

 never yet attached it to any individual character : 

 but behold in its faint blush, scarcely perceptible, 

 the last delicate hue of animation quietly fading 

 from a young face where the pulse throb no longer. 

 The usual j;lan, as I have seen ii adopted among 

 the poor Irish, is to lay out the body of the dead 

 on an elevated conch, or table, in the corner of 

 a room; one wall forming the head, another the 

 side, of the temporary bed. Against these walls 

 they suspended a white sheet, pinning bouquets 

 here and there , and as the flowers begin to drop, 

 bending their heads downward, it requires no very 

 great power of imagination to read the type — 



