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That lady was Hannah More.

My heart often melts within me, at the recollection of the tenderness that marked her first greeting. There was that, in my own circumstances, which could not fail to engage her sympathizing compassion; there was that, in the cases of my companions, which powerfully awakened her most serious interest. I had long shared the benevolence of her love, long reaped the benefit of her devout prayers, and received many a message of affectionate solicitude, during a preceding period of no common tribulation. She saw me then, rejoicing in the presence of a long-lost friend, yet filled with keenest anxiety for his spiritual welfare. I can readily believe that the occasion called forth into conspicuous display the loveliest features of her beautiful character, and, assuredly, I never have beheld a countenance so expressive of all that can sweeten mortality.

How quick, how perfect is the communion of spirit between those who, having often met at the throne of grace, while yet far absent in body, are at length brought eye to eye, beholding one another's faces in the flesh, which heretofore had been but dimly pourtrayed by uncertain imaginations! Our converse was unavoidably restrained, by the presence of those whose absence neither of us could have desired but every time that her sweet, quiet, yet animated eye met mine, it told me that she read my thoughts, that her soul ascended in prayer for the attainment of that which mine so fervently longed after and it spoke, in the smiling encouragement of her cheerful aspect, "fear not: only believe, and thou shalt see the glory of God."

It was, to me, a clear token for good that her very

heart seemed drawn out towards my brother, who, having long sojourned in a land of gross darknesssuch as might be felt-had recently returned, not only ignorant of the truth as it is in Jesus, but impressed with the most absurd prejudices against those whose spiritual earnestness he had been taught to consider as paroxysms of fanatical derangement. He had never been brought into contact with an open professor of serious religion, and very terrible to his joyous spirit was the phantom of melancholy moroseness conjured up by the enemy of his soul, to deter him from entering into such society. His love for me, the delight that he had ever found in promoting my gratification, impelled him to venture into what he expected to find the counterpart of La Trappe. This he had expressed to me on the road, remarking that he had no great fancy for visiting "the queen of the Methodists;" and a lurking expression of suspicious dislike clouded his bright countenance, until he had taken a deliberate view of his new acquaintance; who, being on her part, fully aware of his prejudices, was peculiarly solicitous to remove them.

It was no difficult task; for the Lord had willed it: and oh how sweet it was to me who could read every turn of those expressive features, to see the mist rolling away, and the brightest sunshine of delight overspreading them, as he listened to her interesting converse, and repaid her judicious inquiries with a mass of valuable information, on the topics most engaging to a soldier just returned from the scene of his victories. The usual period allowed to visitors passed too fleetly, and he appeared no less gratified than I was, when she told us that after taking some

refreshment, and strolling through the grounds, we must again return to her alcove, and renew our conversation.

During this interview, Jack, the dumb boy, had been standing behind a chair, his eye roving with strange delight from one to the other, fully comprehending the character of each, and bestowing on me many significant nods, accompanied with the words "Beautiful loves Hannah More: Good Hannah More loves beautiful -," while he, and the wonderful manifestation of divine grace in his soul, furnished her with many appropriate remarks, calculated to awaken my dear brother's interest on subjects quite new to him.

Sweet shades of Barley Wood! how lovely they looked to my gladdened eye, as we strolled among them-how delicious to my soul were the remarks made by my companion on their blessed owner-and with what pleasure did I observe the mutual cordiality of their greeting, when he again seated himself opposite to her, leaning over her little table, and perusing the venerable countenance which really shone with maternal love towards him. I would record it among the many instances of her christian spirit, that she endured, even to serious inconvenience, the fatigue of a most prolonged interview, for the sake of following up a manifest advantage with one in whose sight the Lord had given her unlooked for favour; and I trust that it is enrolled among her abundant labours in her Master's cause.

But the vine? Well, I was seated just opposite the window, and counted, as grapes of Eshcol, the clusters before me: for I thought that my brother was now obtaining a glimpse of the product of that

good land, concerning which unfaithful spies had brought him an evil report. Neither did I overlook the typical fitness of the plant to grace Hannah More's favourite corner: for truly she, among women was as that vine among the shrubs of her garden. Who has not attached the distinction of exquisite gracefulness, combined with noble simplicity, to the vine? Who has not acknowledged its beauty, its full, overspreading growth, its rich abundance of delicious fruit? Painters will tell us, that, to study the perfection of form, colour, light and shade, united in one object, we must place before us a bunch of grapes. Scripture refers us to their juice, as "wine which maketh glad the heart of man," selecting it also as an emblem of that choice blessing, a loving, faithful wife. Now, in Hannah More's renewed and ripened character, those who know her best will be the most eager to assert that all these qualities were clearly perceptible: to me, who had not much personal intercourse with her, the trait of graceful simplicity, evidently emanating from an humble, peaceful mind, shone paramont, as it does in the beautiful tree. There was an exquisite modesty, deprecating in every look the homage that all were prepared to render. There was something that shrank from admiration, while it courted the love, I could almost say the countenance and encouragement, of those who could only have thought of raising to her the eye of reverential observance. Yet, amid all this humbleness of mind, that asked a prop from what, in comparison, was but a bundle of dry sticks, rich clusters were perpetually looking out-thoughts that drew their being from the sap of the True Vine, clothed in the fairest diction, arranged with tasteful skill, and

touched with the peculiar grace of originality; while the unction that cometh from above, rested with freshening effect upon this fruit of the lips of a true mother in Israel.

We are, alas! so selfish, that I have often questioned whether Hannah More would have left such a delightful impression on my mind, had I seen her under circumstances less endearing to my own fond heart, than those narrated above. So very precious her remembrance would not be; but that. she was altogether equally engaging as valuable, I had the testimony of my brother, whose previous expectations had been extremely unfavourable to her. He remarked, in his usual playful manner, referring to the title that he had given her, ‘The methodists cannot be like their queen: they are poor melancholy souls, but she is the nicest, liveliest, sweetest old lady 1 have ever met with.' I well remember that, on our return to the study, on hearing us expatiate on the beauties of her luxuriant plantation, she told us she had put down every tree and shrub with her own hand; neglecting, for that employment, the more important one to which the Lord had called her: adding that she had been severely rebuked for it, by being long disabled in the right hand. "This evil hand,' she said, slapping it with the other, which left its Master's work so long undone! Well might he have caused it, like Jeroboam's, to wither and be dried up; but after a season he mercifully restored it.'

One of the last efforts of my dumb boy, with his pencil, was to complete a copy that he had commenced from a print of Barley Wood. He left it, after all, unfinished; but the window is distinctly pour

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