THE EVENING PRIMROSE. 105 



smile on me through the day, will close the eye, 

 and avert the head, at the cool hour when I am 

 tempted forth to muse among them. A feeling of 

 desertion steals on my spirit, when I look around 

 upon the folded petals, that laughed back my noon- 

 tide greeting ; and then, as if partaking in my 

 thought, the delicate buds of the evening primrose 

 throw wide their silken leaves with a haste that 

 seems to bespeak no sUght impulse of benevolent 

 sympathy. The lapse of every year gives addition- 

 al emphasis of meaning in this contemplation : for 

 each returning summer bears witness to some ad- 

 ditional bereavment, while companions long-loved 

 have gone down into the grave, or faces that beamed 

 lovingly on me have become averted in coldness, 

 or estranged by protracted absence. The flower is 

 then a precious remembrancer to tell me of one 

 who changes not — whose u.iseen hand upheld my 

 unsteady steps when gambolling in infancy among 

 the blossoms — guided me through the mazes of a 

 perplexing pilgrimage — and is still upon me for 

 good, with the cheering promise, " I will never 

 leave thee, nor forsake thee." The sudden burst- 

 ing of a bud of the evening primrose has power to 

 recall my thoughts, in the moment of inconsider- 

 ate levity, with an influence most subduing; and 

 when despondency or discontent pervade the spirit, 

 that little incident will sooth and cheer me. like the 

 words of a tender and sympathizing friend. 



