Dead Leaves. 
i6a 
There are few who have lived and loved who will accept 
Coleridge’s dictum, that “ in nature there is nothing melan¬ 
choly.” It is impossible for those who have suffered—and 
who has not ?—not to perceive evidences of sorrow, although 
ever counterbalanced by the sunny side in all portions of this 
mundane sphere. From the grief of man to the decay of the 
tiniest leaflet, every object in nature wears at times a melan¬ 
choly hue. It is impossible for the gayest of us not to feel 
occasionally the shadow,—for us not to mourn for 
“The rich gleaming wreathings,—oh, where are they now? 
The bloom is departed, the beauty is shed ; 
All scentless the flower, all sapless the bough,— 
Oh ! the glad night is past, and the green leaves are dead.” 
Yet we should not nurse our melancholy; but as the dead 
leaves falling from their branches are but proofs of the general 
and continual rejuvenescent workings of nature, so should we 
strive to regard our losses and troubles only as proofs of the 
grand truth that “all things work together for good.” With 
Jean Ingelow let us learn that 
“ ’T is sometimes natural to be glad, 
And no man can be always sad 
Unless he wills to have it so.” 
A bright-minded young poetess, whose premature loss it 
has already been our melancholy duty to allude to, some few 
years ago contributed these hopeful and appropriate lines to 
the pages of a contemporary : 
‘ ‘ The withered leaves, trembling, love, 
Fall to the ground ; 
And strewn over all, love, 
Lie dying around. 
Killed by the frost, love, 
The flowers scattered lie ; 
Their brightness is lost, 
And neglected they die. 
“The world it looks dreary, love, 
And thick falls the rain ; 
My heart it is weary, love, 
My head throbs with pain. 
My hopes thickly fall, love, 
Like the leaves from a tree ; 
And I cannot recall 
Their beauty to me. 
“With thy heart I am blest, love, 
So I ’ll brave the chill rain ; 
And patiently rest, love, 
Till the sun shines again. 
And I hope when the Spring, love, 
Gives leaves to the tree, 
Some flowers it will bring, love, 
For you and for me.” 
Ella Ingram. 
