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Bless you! a woman would have filled the hedge with violets and cowslips. Nobody else but my friend Moss could have written that description." SQUIRE. "I don't know; there's a simile about the waste of corn-seed in hand-sowing, which makes me think he must be a farmer!" "A farmer! In hobnailed shoes, I suppose! I say it is a woman." MRS. HAZELDEAN. "A WOMAN, and A MOTHER!"
Bless you! a woman would have filled the hedge with violets and cowslips. Nobody else but my friend Moss could have written that description." SQUIRE. "I don't know; there's a simile about the waste of corn-seed in hand-sowing, which makes me think he must be a farmer!" "A farmer! In hobnailed shoes, I suppose! I say it is a woman." MRS. HAZELDEAN. "A WOMAN, and A MOTHER!"
There was a time, says the Iroquois grandmother, when it was not needful to plant the corn-seed nor to hoe the fields, for the corn sprang up of itself, and filled the broad meadows. Its stalks grew strong and tall, and were covered with leaves like waving banners, and filled with ears of pearly grain wrapped in silken green husks.
This stable is the house of God, the very gate of heaven: under this dusty roof, inside those narrow walls, He lodges whom the heaven of heavens cannot contain: the tenant of this manger is the Son, who, leaving the bosom of His Father to save us, here pillows His head on straw; of this feeble babe the hands are to hurl Satan from his throne, and wrench asunder the strong bars of death; this one tender life, this single corn-seed is to become the prolific parent of a thousand harvests, and fill the garners of glory with the fruits of salvation.
Then he frowned more and more, and uttered complaints against Heaven because there was no rain; against the earth because it was so dry; against the corn because it had not sprung up. And the Master's discontent was whispered all over the field, and along the ridges where the corn-seed lay. And the poor little seeds murmured: "How cruel to complain! Are we not doing our best?
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