THE RANUNCULUS. 227 



I know not — I have no means of knowing — 

 whether the path of that dying girl was hghtened 

 by the beams of a far brighter Sun than I could 

 point out to her ; whether the bereavements of her 

 widowed father, even then, in anticipation, child- 

 less too, were blessed to his soul's peace, by lead- 

 ing him to seek the Lord, who had both given and 

 taken away. That cloud of doubt hangs over the 

 greater number of those whose images people the 

 haunts of my infancy : the Baal of worldliness 

 appeared to reign supreme ; yet surely among 

 them the Lord had reserved to himself a remnant, 

 whose knee had not bowed to the idol, nor their 

 mouth kissed him. In many respects, there are 

 shadows resting on the past, impervious to the anx- 

 ious eye as those that veil the future ; but the 

 present is our own ; and as we use it, so we are — 

 flowers to grace the garden of our Lord, imparting 

 to others of the fragrance of his gifts, and adorning 

 the spot wherein he delights to dwell — or weeds, 

 to offend the little ones of his flock ; intruders, 

 whose desert is to be rooted out, and whose end is 

 to be burned. 



