Wreaths of Friendship | Page 9

beautiful than the _Viola Rotundifolia,_ or Yellow Violet, with
roundish leaves, lying close to the ground. The Blue Violet, too,
appears soon after, and is perhaps equally pretty. I recollect distinctly
where it used to grow near the little brook that ran through our
meadow--a brook that many a time has served to turn my water-wheel.
Oh, those days of miniature water-wheels, and kites, and wind-mills!
how happy they were, and how I love to think of them now! By the
way, have you ever read Miss Gould's poetical fable about the little
child and the Blue Violet? I must recite a stanza or two of this poem, I
think. The child speaks to the Violet, and says,
"Violet, violet, sparkling with dew, Down in the meadow land, wild
where you grew, How did you come by the beautiful blue With which
your soft petals unfold? And how do you hold up your tender young
head, Where rude, sweeping winds rush along o'er your bed, And dark,
gloomy clouds, ranging over you, shed Their waters, so heavy and
cold?
"No one has nursed you, or watched you an hour, Or found you a place
in the garden or bower; And they cannot yield me so lovely a flower,
As here I have found at my feet!

"Speak, my sweet violet, answer and tell, How you have grown up and
flourished so well, And look so contented, where lonely you dwell,
And we thus by accident meet?"
Then the Violet answers, and tells the child why it is so contented, and
how it is able to hold up its head, and where its pretty blue petals come
from. But I will not recite the remainder of the poem, for I am sure my
readers do not need to be told who made the flowers, and who taught
them to bloom so sweetly in their wild haunts.
The early flowers of spring! I loved them fondly when a child; but now
I am a man, I love them still more. Shall I tell you why, dear child?
There is something sad in the reason, and yet it is not all sadness. I had
a sister--I had a sister. Ah! that tells the tale. I have no sister now! The
dearest companion of my early rambles among the flowers--herself the
fairest and sweetest of them all--has fallen before the scythe of Death.
She has gone now to a world of perpetual spring, and the flowers she
loved so well are blooming over her grave. She faded away in the early
spring, and we laid her to rest where her mother had long been sleeping.
By the side of the streamlet where we used to play in the sunny days of
childhood, and where the Dandelion grew, and the Butter-cup, and the
Violet--there is now the form of her I tenderly loved.
But my strain is sad--too sad. I will sing, and be cheerful.
Alas! how soon The things of earth we love most fondly perish! Why
died the flower our hearts had learned to cherish? Why, ere 'twas noon?
I cannot tell-- But though the grave be that loved sister's dwelling, And
though my heart e'en now with grief is swelling, I know 'tis well.
'Tis well with the-- 'Tis well with thee, thou lone and silent sleeper! 'Tis
well, though thou hast left me here a weeper Awhile to be.
'Tis well for me-- 'Tis well; my home, since thou art gone, is dearer--
The grave is welcome, if it bring me nearer To heaven and thee.
I'll not repine-- No, blest one; thou art happier than thy brother: I'll

think of thee, as with thy angel-mother, Sweet sister mine.
Still would I share Thy love, and meet thee where the flowers are
springing, Where the wild bird his joyous note is singing-- Come to me
there.
Oh! come again, At the still hour, the holy hour of even, Ere one pale
star has gemmed the vault of heaven; Come to me then.

TEMPTATION RESISTED.
Charles Murray left home, with his books in his satchel, for school.
Before starting, he kissed his little sister, and patted Juno on the head,
and as he went singing away, he felt as happy as any little boy could
wish to feel. Charles was a good-tempered lad, but he had the fault
common to a great many boys, that of being tempted and enticed by
others to do things which he knew to be contrary to the wishes of his
parents. Such acts never made him feel any happier; for the fear that his
disobedience would be found out, and the consciousness of having
done wrong, were far from being pleasant companions.
On the present occasion, as he walked briskly in the direction of the
school, he