A garden is an awful responsibility. You never know what you may be
aiding to grow in it. I heard a sermon, not long ago, in which the
preacher said that the Christian, at the moment of his becoming one, was as
perfect a Christian as he would be if he grew to be an arch-
angel; that is, that he would not change thereafter at all, but only
develop. I do not know whether this is good theology, or not; and I
hesitate to support it by an illustration from my garden, especially
as I do not want to run the risk of propagating error, and I do not
care to give away these theological comparisons to clergymen who make
me so little return in the way of labor. But I find, in dissecting a
pea-blossom, that hidden in the center of it is a perfect miniature pea-pod,
with the peas all in it,--as perfect a pea-pod as it will ever be, only it is
as tiny as a chatelaine ornament. Maize and some other things show the same
precocity. This confirmation of the theologc theory is startling, and sets me
meditating upon the moral possibilities of my garden. I may find in it yet the
cosmic egg.
And, speaking of moral things, I am half determined to petition the Ecumenical Council to issue a bull of excommunication against
"pusley." Of all the forms which " error " has taken in this world, I think that is about the worst. In the Middle Ages the monks in St. Bernard's ascetic community at Clairva
aiding to grow in it. I heard a sermon, not long ago, in which the
preacher said that the Christian, at the moment of his becoming one, was as
perfect a Christian as he would be if he grew to be an arch-
angel; that is, that he would not change thereafter at all, but only
develop. I do not know whether this is good theology, or not; and I
hesitate to support it by an illustration from my garden, especially
as I do not want to run the risk of propagating error, and I do not
care to give away these theological comparisons to clergymen who make
me so little return in the way of labor. But I find, in dissecting a
pea-blossom, that hidden in the center of it is a perfect miniature pea-pod,
with the peas all in it,--as perfect a pea-pod as it will ever be, only it is
as tiny as a chatelaine ornament. Maize and some other things show the same
precocity. This confirmation of the theologc theory is startling, and sets me
meditating upon the moral possibilities of my garden. I may find in it yet the
cosmic egg.
And, speaking of moral things, I am half determined to petition the Ecumenical Council to issue a bull of excommunication against
"pusley." Of all the forms which " error " has taken in this world, I think that is about the worst. In the Middle Ages the monks in St. Bernard's ascetic community at Clairva