AND FLOWERS OF POETRY. 219 
Better confide and be deceived, 
A thousand times, by treacherous foes, 
Than once accuse the innocent, 
Or let suspicion mar repose. 
f. s. o. 
SWEET REMEMBRANCES. 
PERIWINKLE. 
Through primrose tufts in that sweet bower, 
The periwinkle trailed its wreaths; 
And ’tis my faith that every flower 
Enjoys the air that breathes. 
Wordsworth. 
There is an agreeable softness in the delicate blue colour of 
the periwinkle, and a quietness in the general aspect of the 
flower, that appears to harmonize with the retired situations 
where it loves to grow. It prefers the shady banks of the 
grove, rather than to meet the meridian sun in the society of 
the gay plants of the parterre. 
In-France this flower has been made emblematical of the 
pleasures of memory from the circumstance of Rousseau’s say¬ 
ing, in one of his works, that, as he and Madame Warens were 
proceeding to Charmettes, she was struck by the appearance 
of some blue flowers in the hedge, and exclaimed, “ Here is the 
periwinkle still in flower.” He then tells us, that thirty years 
afterward, being at Gressier, with M. Peyron, climbing a hill, 
he observed some in blossom among the bushes, which bore his 
memory back at once to the time when he was walking with 
Madame Warens, and he inadvertently cried, “Ah! there is 
the periwinkle.” Rousseau relates this anecdote as a proof of 
