his hungering and thirsting mind draws food. Do you remember his spiritualizing his employment to you, the other day, when you found him scraping a very dirty lane? "This reminds me," said he, "of the ministers of the heavenly gospel. They are sent, as we are, to prepare the way, to make straight the path; and they toil and labour. Now a bit seems cleaner, and there it is a little smoother; but very soon it is all disheartening, all as bad again as ever. Well, we begin again; toil over it again: our work will be done at last, and they must wait in patience, till the great Master comes to finish his own."

His affection for his aged wife has always been extremely strong; and it is delightful to observe, how the love of Christian relations can survive all the extraneous aids of youth, interest, or personal attraction. "She asks, half a dozen times in the day, if he is not come home," said the daughter;" and he won't wait even to warm his hands, till he goes up stairs to see her, and, if she likes, to read or pray with her." The last time that she was sufficiently in possession of her senses to enjoy the word of God, as he read it to her, she expressed herself with remarkable delight and energy, as to the pleasure it had

afforded her. "It seems as if I was in heaven," said she; 66 the room seems full of heaven."

What," said her daughter, "do you see any thing?" "No," she answered, "it is not to be seen or heard; it is to be FELT!" O glorious gospel, that shines thus in the dark valley and shadow of death!

But the old man's strength is labour and sorrow; I think his toil is almost done. His spirits seem to excite him to exertions too great for his strength. And when he ceases to earn his five or seven shillings a week, for his wages are now no more, I wonder how he will be provided for. They have lived very hardly this winter; for the young women, both sickly, and one nearly blind, have almost laid aside their work, to attend to their completely helpless mother. It would be a grievous thing to send to the poor-house, that abode of misery and degradation, one whose orderly and decent habits, and whose industry, from his youth up, have surrounded his own little home with so many comforts. True, the increase of his young family, and the lowness of his wages, never could allow of his making provision for these years of weakness; and even then he often fared hardly. But there are still

the scripture pictures, in which he used to indulge once now and then, ornamenting the whitewashed wall; and his poor wife's assortment of various glass and crockery-ware, making the blue corner cupboard look so gay; and the jug of early primroses on the dresser. And his kind daughters see that the hearth is swept, and the fire-irons bright, because he likes to see it so; and they put his own armed-chair in the chimney corner; and if the meal is very scanty, affectionate care prepares it for him, and sets it before him. How different it would be at the poorhouse! I will never leave thee, I will never

66

forsake thee," says the majestic word of promise. What shall we ask more? Will the God of heaven and earth compass about his servant with his mercy, and draw near to him in loving-kindness, and does it much matter where? No; all must be well with you, poor old Isaac! A little longer to toil; once more to weep at the grave of a friend; a few more difficult and dark steps to make, and then, as you said this evening, when we wished you "good night," to be in that land where we shall never say "good night;" but it will be everlasting good morning!

March 26, 1836.

158

THE LAST LORD OF THE FOREST.

"WELL! I hope I have a friend above that will order all, and stand my friend, and keep me to the last," said old Hester Smith, as she slowly left me at our cottage garden-gate, where she and I had been gossipping longer time, perhaps, than either of us ought to have had to spare. And yet how could I stop her in the midst of the history of her anxieties, when she avowedly finds sympathy such a comfort; and when, so I am told, it will be, perhaps, but for a few weeks longer that I shall be able to sympathise with her.

My earliest recollections of Strawberry Lane -which is a very deep, and steep, and stony path-way, leading down to the river, between two rugged hills, and whose sides when I first knew it, were covered up to the very top with brush-wood, and low thorn-bushes, and maples, here and there wreathed with wild honey-suckles,

and what the children call old-man's-beardpresent to my mind a narrow foot-path from the one which was the public way, up amongst the tangled bushes, winding to the very top of the hill, on the right hand side. Whither it led we had not fully discovered, because to keep half a dozen children in the beaten and orderly way, was as much as could be expected from any one governess or guardian. We got into difficulties even then, and met with mishaps sufficiently various even there. As in other matters we were prevented till we should come to "years of discretion" from treading carelessly all the perilous paths, and from seeking, for the sake of their unsatisfying fruit, the branches that grew in difficult and forbidden places. My earliest recollection of Strawberry Lane, then, I was saying, is combined also with the figure of an old man, whom we used to see often on a summer evening supporting himself—though his short form was then hale and sturdy-on a stout oaken stick, and bearing on his shoulder a brimming pail of water for his cows. He used to descend the hill on our left hand, cross our path, and slowly ascend again the narrow winding way of which I spoke on the right.