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myself; and

may I pull the flowers when they come on it; and what is a keepsake ; and where are you going, Martin ; will you be long away?"

“ Yes, Miss Minna, I am going to plant a nice rose for you, a pretty white moss rose; and it will be a rose that you will keep for my sake. My darling, you love old Martin, don't you?”

“Yes, Martin, I love you, and mamma, and nurse, and dear pretty baby. I like white roses best.”

“ Well Miss Minna, my last work will be to plant a white rose for you, before I go away."

“And when will you come back, Martin ?”

“Never!” said the old man, solemnly. Minna's tears began to flow.

Martin's task was soon ended. He took the seat which Mrs. Milton had left a little before; for she guessed that he would try to imprint a lesson on the mind of her child, and she knew he would feel more at ease if she were away.

He took Minna's small hand in his and drew her close to his side. “I am going away, Miss Minna's to a new home, where I hope and pray you will one day come too. Mamma has often told you about heaven, where your papa went last year.

He is there; he is not ill now, nor in pain ; God has made him well and happy. And Jesus is there, the blessed Saviour who came down to earth to die on the cross for you, and if


believe on him, and love him and serve him here, he will take you also to live with him in glory."

“And must I be ill, like you and papa, Martin, before I go away? I don't like to be ill.”

“I cannot tell you that, darling; most people are very ill before they are called to that happy home, but some go away suddenly, or perhaps the Lord Jesus may come for them himself, and take them away without sickness or death. But I want you to remember always that you cannot live here for ever; and when you go away from this world, you must go either to heaven, to be happy there with Jesus, or that other place of pain, and sin, and torment, called hell. You are but a little child, Miss Minna; but little children can love that blessed Saviour who loves them; and I want you to love Him, that you may be happy on earth and in heaven. Now look at your own pretty rose-tree. I don't think you will ever forgot old Martin, but I want you to think of all I have said to you this evening; and I want you to pray to God to teach you to love and serve Him. Will you remember this? In a short time, I trust, I shall be with Jesus; but whenever you gather roses off your tree, do not forget that the flower fadeth, but the word of our God shall stand for


Mrs. Milton joined them as he was speaking the last few words. She took Minna by the hand, and after desiring Martin to return home, she entered the house.

Minna's tea-time was passed in unusual silence; and on kneeling to say her evening prayer, she begged her mamma to tell her how to ask God to make her love Him a great deal more and a great deal better, that she might go to Him and to papa, and Martin ; "and you too, mamma, she added, “and Freddy, we must all be together, you know.”

"May the Lord grant it!” was the earnest prayer breathed softly from Mrs. Milton's heart.

A month later, little Minna went with her mother to the little neighbouring churchyard, where the body of the old Christian gardener had been laid the day before, in sure and certain hope of a joyful resurrection.

Twelve years after, as the soft genial sun of an autumn evening again shone upon the same lovely garden, Mrs. Milton was seated on the rustic chair, and Minna, no longer the playful child, but a tall and slight girl, sat beside her ; but the rose on her cheek concealed a deadly canker, and the of consumption fed at the root of what beholders pronounced a very lovely flower. The dark chestnut of Mrs. Milton's hair was mixed with silver, and the traces of sorrow were very visible on her worn cheek: her arm was round the waist of her beloved child, whose head rested on her mother's shoulder.

"Mamma," said Minna, suddenly, "do you remember an


evening like this, when I was a very little child, that old Martin Dale planted this beautiful white moss rose for me? I think it was a very little while before his death."

“I remember it well, my child. My heart went with his prayer that night, that you might early know Him, who is the Way, and the Truth, and the Life.”

“Well, dear mamma, that little occurrence I feel to have been the means, under God, of creating within my heart a desire to know Him as my Father and my friend. When you were ill and went with Aunt Grace to Italy and left me at school, it seemed after a time as if I had forgotten to care for home, or nurse, or to remember old Martin. Even you, mamma, I thought of with less concern than when we parted; for at school we had so much to engage the mind and banish reflection or thoughts of home. First, you know, I had been a sad idler, and so had to work hard to keep a respectable standing amongst the girls much younger than I. It was French, drawing, music, nearly every hour in the day, at least for the first year or two. Then I went with some of the elder girls and Mrs. Campbell to see an exhibition of wax flowers, made by a celebrated artist: amongst them was my favourite white moss rose, my own first flower. O, how vividly it brought my dear home, old Martin, and you, dear mamma, to my memory! It seemed as if my heart would break when I felt how far removed from all I was now. Then the words which he repeated that night all flowed back freshly and clearly to my memory. That night my heart told me I had not found peace in the Lord Jesus, and then I prayed0, how earnestly—that He would lead me by his Spirit to himself, guide me while on earth with his counsel, and afterwards receive me to glory. That prayer, I trust, He heard and answered. I must soon leave you, my precious mother, but you will not be comfortless; and in a little while we shall meet again. Dear mamma, you must not sorrow as mothers who have no hope.”

“ I thank God I do not, my Minna,” replied her weeping mother. “ Had you been spared, wealth and much of what is attractive would have been yours. This the world values, but they are sad snares to the young heart. God in his mercy calls you home early, and removes you, my

darling, from these temptations. My child, I shall be very lonely without

you, but I can, I trust, commit my treasure into the hands of Him who careth alike for you and for me. But the night dew begins to fall, and it may injure you.”

Still Minna lingered in the sweet evening air, which breathed a soft refreshing fragrance so grateful to the invalid. As she slowly passed along she gathered a few leaves from Martin's rose, the flowers of which had faded, and begged her mother to cherish it for her sake. Minna passed many months in her sick chamber, her heart filled with a peace which this world knows not of; and in the ensuing summer, her bed of death was adorned by the flowers of Martin's rose.

:- Tract Magazine.


ORANGES arrive at great perfection in New South Wales, and are sent in large quantities to Victoria and Van Diemen's Land, where they cannot be grown. Numerous and extensive orangeries, or orange-groves, surround Paramatta, and line the banks of the river for some distance towards Sydney. The large trees, gay with their golden fruit, and exquisitely fragrant blossoms, are amongst the noblest of all the acclimatized products of Australia. The long warm summers suit the orange. In favourable situations, the trees rise to the height of twenty-five feet. The most celebrated orangery, belonging to Mr. Suttor, near Paramatta, is one of the sights of Sydney; it was commenced in 1801 with three plants, brought by Colonel Paterson, lieutenantgovernor, from Salvador, in 1799; some of the trees are half a century hold, thirty-feet high, and are not yet at full bearing. One has yielded a hundred dozen of oranges, some of the fruit being ripe all the year round. A single avenue exceeds a quarter of a mile in length, and forms a magnificent promenade; the dark green foliage of the trees on each side, finely contrasting with the bright yellow pro

duce. Twenty thousand dozens of oranges are frequently procured in a single season from a plantation, and the fruit of three acres has brought fifteen hundred pounds sterling to the proprietor. The Mandarin orange, a celebrated Chinese kind, is said to be better at Sydney than at Canton. The tree is an elegant dwarf species, with fruit as small as an Orleans' plumb, of a fine dark yellow colour, remarkable for a highly perfumed rind, not thicker than brown paper.

Peaches are so plentiful, that the farmers feed their pigs with the wind-falls of their teeming orchards. Nothing can surpass the excellence of a peach ripened in the brilliant sunshine of Australia. The yield is remarkable for quantity, as well as for the comparative size of the fruit. A bushel full may be purchased for a trifle in the Sydney market. Peaches are now frequently met with wild in the woods, and yield a wholesome refreshment to the weary traveller; the more valued, as the native forests afford nothing whatever in the shape of fruit for the sustenance of man. If a peach-stone is planted in the ground, in any part of the country where some supply of moisture is obtained, there will be a tree laden with fruit in three or four years, without any kind of culture. Bushrangers have thus planted the stones; birds have dropped them; and removed, in some measure, the reproach of barrenness from the sands. In grateful remembrance of the refreshment thus met with in his wanderings, and for the benefit of future travellers, and also for the Aborigines, the unwearied explorer, Allan Cunningham, always carried with him a bag of peach-stones, which he carefully planted in the sterile wilderness. “I was much struck with that circumstance,” justly remarks a relator of it, “and while I could not help commending, from my very heart, the pure and disinterested benevolence it evinced; I could not help inwardly regarding it as a lesson for myself for the future, and a reproof for the past. Alas! how many spots have we all past unheeded in the wilderness of life, in which we might easily have sown good seed if we had so chosen, and left it to the blessing of God, the dew of heaven, and the native energies of the soil! Such spots we may never

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