126 BRAMBLES AND BAY LEAVES. 



feet was a bright tuft of the lovely Germander speedwell, covered vnth 

 a profusion of brilliant blue blossoms. E,ousseau's friend pointed to 

 the little flower, the veronica chamcedrys^ as wearing the same expres- 

 sion of cheerfulness and innocency, as the scene before them. Thirty 

 years passed away ! Care-worn, persecuted, disappointed, acquainted 

 with poverty and grief, known to fame, but a stranger to peace, 

 Eousseau again visited Geneva. On such a calm and lovely evening 

 as, thirty years before he had conversed with the friend of his bosom, 

 and had received a teaching from the simple beauty of a flower, he 

 again was seated on the selfsame spot. The scene was the same. The 

 sun went down in golden majesty; the birds sung cheerfully in the 

 soft light ; the crimson clouds floated solemnly in the western sky ; 

 and the waters of the lake were skimmed by glittering boats. But 

 the house wherein the first feelings of love and friendship, and the 

 first fruits of his genius had budded, was now levelled with the 

 ground. His dearest friend was sleeping in the grave. The genera- 

 tion of villagers who had partaken the bounty of the same beneficent 

 hand was passed away, and none remained to point out the green sod 

 where that benefactor lay. He walked on pensively, the same bank, 

 tufted with the same knot of bright-eyed speedwell, caught his eye. 

 The memories of past years of trouble and sorrow came upon him, he 

 heaved a sigh, and turned away, weeping bitterly. 



" The plant that bloomed along the shore, 



Where there in happier hours he strayed, 

 Still flourished gaily as before. 



In all its azure charms arrayed ; 

 There still it shone in modest pride. 

 While all his flowers of joy had died. 



It seemed to say, ' Hadst thou, like me, 



Contented bloom'd within the bed 

 That Nature's hand had formed for thee. 



When first her dews were on thee shed, 

 Then had thy blossoms never known 

 The blasts that o'er their buds have blown." 



It is because flowers are such lovely emblems of innocence, so like 

 the merry face of childhood, that they have a large place. in our best 

 affections. They ever remind us of our days of boyhood and buoyancy ; 

 when nature, our fond mother, sat upon the hills, clapping her hands 

 with joy, and giving us all the earth, with its landscapes and rocks, 



