

















THE BOUQUET. 

It gave new strength, and fearless mood; 
And gladiators, fierce and rude, 
Mingled it in their daily food; 
And he who battled and subdued, 
A wreath of fennel wore. 
LONGFELLOW. 
THERE 1s a period in the wreck of hopes 
By the affections garnered, calmer far 
Than an untried serenity. It comes 
With the stern conflict ever, and awaits 
The passage of that hour, as if the soul 
Were girded, and had championed suffering ; 
And it is strange, how a weak, human heart 
Will thus be quiet, like a hushing storm; 
And, with a fetter on its pulses, wait 
To measure spirits for the mastery! 
WILLIS. 




PORGET-ME-NOT, 
Myosoris ARVENSIS. 




True Love. 
THERE is a flower, a lovely flower, 
Tinged deep with Faith’s unchanging hue; 
Pure as the ether, in its hour 
Of loveliest and serenest blue. 


















