Wreaths of Friendship Part 3

THE HERONS AND THE HERRINGS.

A FABLE.

A Heron once came--I can scarcely tell why-- To the court of his cousins, the fishes, With despatches, so heavy he scarcely could fly, And his bosom brimfull of good wishes.

He wished the poor Herrings no harm, he said, Though there seemed to be cause for suspicion; His government wished to convert them, instead, And this was the end of his mission.

The Herrings replied, and were civil enough, Though a little inclined to be witty: "We know we are heathenish, savage, and rough, And are greatly obliged for your pity.

"But your plan of conversion we beg to decline, With all due respect for your nation; No doubt it would tend to exalt and refine, Yet we fear it would check respiration."

The Heron returned to his peers in disdain, And told how their love was requited.

"Poor creatures!" they said, "shall we let them remain So ignorant, blind, and benighted?"

Then soon on a crusade of love and good-will The Herons in council decided; And they flew, every one that could boast a long bill, To the beach where the Herrings resided.

So the tribe were soon converts from ocean to air, Though liking not much the diversion, And wis.h.i.+ng at least they had time to prepare For so novel a mode of conversion.

A sensible child will discover with ease The point of the tale I've related-- A blockhead could not, let me say what I please-- Then why need my MORAL be stated?

EARLY SPRING FLOWERS.

Of all the amus.e.m.e.nts of my childhood, I can think of none which I loved so much as rambling in the woods and meadows among the flowers. What a rich treat it used to be, just after the earth had thrown aside its white mantle, and begun to be clothed in its summer dress, to get permission to spend a whole Sat.u.r.day afternoon in the woods with my brother and sister.

Oh, how delighted we all were, when we found the first wild flowers of spring! Let me see. What flowers show their pretty faces the earliest? Do you remember, young friend? Perhaps you have always lived in the city, and have never made their acquaintance. But if you have ever seen them, blus.h.i.+ng in their native haunts, I am sure you must remember how they look, and what their names are. I cannot see how any body can forget them, they are so beautiful and lovely.

One of the earliest flowers of spring, and one which grew in the woods only a few rods from my father's door, near the stream that turned my miniature water-wheels, is the _Trailing Arbutus_. Often you may find this plant unfolding its delicate blossoms before the snow has left the ground. That, in our northern lat.i.tudes, is usually among the first flowers in blossom.

Soon after she appears, you may see one and perhaps two different species of the _Anemone_. One, especially--the _Anemone Thalictroides_, as it used to be called in botany, though it is now the _Thalictrum Anemonoides_, I believe--is among the fairest of all these flowers of spring. She has a blossom as white as snow. The _Anemone Nemrosa_ is almost as fair, too, though not quite, I think. You can sometimes see them both smiling side by side, early in the month of May, nodding gracefully at each other, and smiling as if they were very happy. It does not require much imagination to fancy they are conversing together; and, indeed, I would quite as soon believe that flowers could talk, as I would believe those stories about the fairies that children hear sometimes.

There is another beautiful flower which makes her appearance very early--the _Spring Beauty_, or _Claytonia Virginica_. She is usually found in the same locations with the Anemone. Then there is the _Liver Leaf_. Did you ever find that, little girl? Very possibly you have not taken a ramble early enough in the spring to see her. She makes her visit frequently in the latter part of April, and she does not stay long. But after her flower has faded and fallen, there may be seen a few deeply notched and curious leaves, to mark the spot where she bloomed so sweetly.

The _Blood Root_, too, will make her visit, and go away again, if you delay your ramble in the woods till the first of May. The blossom of the Blood Root is a very delicate white. Hundreds of exotic flowers are cultivated in our gardens, and very much admired, that are not half so pretty as this. The leaves that appear before the plant is in blossom, are oval, a little like those of the Adder's Tongue, which is in flower somewhat later, and like those of one species of the Solomon's Seal--the _Convallaria Bifolia_. But when the flower of the Blood Root appears, you see quite a different kind of leaf, so that even close observers of wild flowers are sometimes deceived, and think that their early leaves belong to some other plant.

Every body who has been at all familiar with the forest and meadows in the spring, knows the _Violet_. There are a good many sisters in this charming family, but none, perhaps, in our lat.i.tude, that are more 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 b.u.t.ter-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 peris.h.!.+

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 repeated over his lessons in his mind, and was intent upon having them so perfect as to be able to repeat every word. He had gone nearly half the distance, and was still thinking over his lessons, when he stopped suddenly, as a voice called out,

"Halloo, Charley!"

Turning in the direction from which the voice came, he saw Archy Benton, with his school basket in his hand; but he was going from, instead of in the direction of the school.

"Where are you going, Archy?" asked Charles, calling out to him.

"Into the woods, for chestnuts."

"Ain't you going to school, to-day?"

"No, indeed. There was a sharp frost last night, and Uncle John says the wind will rattle down the chestnuts like hail."

"Did your father say you might go?"

"No, indeed. I asked him, but he said I couldn't go until Sat.u.r.day. But the hogs are in the woods, and will eat the chestnuts all up, before Sat.u.r.day.

So I am going to-day. Come, go along, won't you? It is such a fine day, and the ground will be covered with chestnuts. We can get home at the usual time, and no one will suspect that we were not at school."