THE VIOLET OF THE V ALLE Y. 
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old writer, “ envietli not that which it hath never 
known, neither doth the eye covet what it hath 
never seen, and from this very ignorance cometh 
much happiness.” Spring came, and poured her 
opening buds into the valley, and let loose her 
feathered songsters amongst the trees. Summer 
followed, and, with sunny fingers, opened the flowers, 
giving freedom to a thousand imprisoned perfumes. 
Then came Autumn, with his wheaten sheaf and 
ruddy fruitage,—and when all these were gone, she 
had still Love left for her companion throughout 
the dark Winter ; and, knowing that the bright 
seasons would soon return again, there was nothing 
in the world that she coveted. 
Every one can remember some bank on which 
the Violet blows — some green lane or pleasant foot¬ 
path in which they have been stopped in spring by 
its fragrance. “Sweet Violets” is one of the earliest 
cries which greet the ear in spring, telling us that 
they have come again, like beautiful children, herald¬ 
ing in the approach of summer ; they bring joyous 
tidings of brighter days, and the return of singing 
birds, and the whispers of long leaves, and the 
memory of pleasant walks, reminding us that Nature 
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