

-^M 



J^lm0ix£* 



5$ 



p3ir. 



T)1-'T dreadful is their doom Avliom doubt has driven 

 To censure fate, and pious hope forego: 



Like vender blasted boughs by lightning riven. 

 Perfection, beauty, life, they never know, 

 But frown on all that pass, a monument of woe. 



M 



ETHINKS we stand 

 About us; and the u 

 loose, that it but want 

 leap from its hinges. 



n rum ; nature 

 iversal frame ' 

 another push 



light shed on my way, 

 pale beam has fled, 

 nd those I loved have gone for aye 

 To the cold realms of the dead. 



— Afara'a Hall. 



'T>HERE is n 

 ^ Ev'n hope' 



H 



0\V like gall and 

 The cup that we 



iormwood to the taste 



0",' 



rling, earth is wear 

 Life, without thee, sad and 

 Ocean's song a Miserere! 

 And my sun is burning low. 

 Fainter yet life's embers glow. 

 Tides will ebb that cannot flow. 

 --Jame. F, 



W 



drain may pro\-e. 



—Lydia Jane Pu-rsou. 



^HO sees laid low. 



The sweetest thing in his life. 

 What bitter ruth 

 For my heart, in sootl- 



Was born of thi 



naked, terrible truth. 



—Mary E. Bradley. 



1 



2lllU)C\LialllS puiuila. Natural Order: Rosacea: — Rose Family. 



HE Almond is a beautiful little shrub, sending forth its deli- 

 cate pink, crape-like blossoms early in the spring, completely 

 covering each branch from base to apex, while the foliage 

 is almost unseen. The ancients had a beautiful custom of 

 wreathing poetic fables with everj-thing, and there is scarcely 

 a flower but what is clothed with some affecting tale of dis- 

 appointed lovers. The Almond tree was said by them to have sprung 

 from the dead body of Phyllis, princess of Thrace, who was watching 

 for her betrothed husband's return. On the day appointed for his 

 arrival, she watched and waited anxiously, and at last, hopeless and 

 iJiV) despairing, killed herself upon the shore, and was changed into this 

 shrub. 



