Violets and Other Tales

								

is poor: but all give that assurance of something great and noble when
the bud of promise, now unfolding its petals in the morning glow of
light, will have matured into that fuller growth of blossoming flower
ere the noonday sun passes its zenith. May the hope thus engendered by
this first attempt reach its fruition, and may the energy displayed by
one so young meet the reward it merits from an approving public.



                                           SYLVANIE F. WILLIAMS.

VIOLETS.
I.

"And she tied a bunch of violets with a tress of her pretty brown hair."
She sat in the yellow glow of the lamplight softly humming these words.
It was Easter evening, and the newly risen spring world was slowly
sinking to a gentle, rosy, opalescent slumber, sweetly tired of the joy
which had pervaded it all day. For in the dawn of the perfect morn, it
had arisen, stretched out its arms in glorious happiness to greet the
Saviour and said its hallelujahs, merrily trilling out carols of bird,
and organ and flower-song. But the evening had come, and rest.
There was a letter lying on the table, it read:
"Dear, I send you this little bunch of flowers as my Easter token.
Perhaps you may not be able to read their meaning, so I'll tell you.
Violets, you know, are my favorite flowers. Dear, little, human-faced
things! They seem always as if about to whisper a love-word; and then
they signify that thought which passes always between you and me. The
orange blossoms--you know their meaning; the little pinks are the
flowers you love; the evergreen leaf is the symbol of the endurance of
our affection; the tube-roses I put in, because once when you kissed and
pressed me close in your arms, I had a bunch of tube-roses on my bosom,
and the heavy fragrance of their crushed loveliness has always lived in
my memory. The violets and pinks are from a bunch I wore to-day, and
when kneeling at the altar, during communion, did I sin, dear, when I
thought of you? The tube-roses and orange-blossoms I wore Friday night;
you always wished for a lock of my hair, so I'll tie these flowers with
them--but there, it is not stable enough; let me wrap them with a bit of
ribbon, pale blue, from that little dress I wore last winter to the
dance, when we had such a long, sweet talk in that forgotten nook. You
always loved that dress, it fell in such soft ruffles away from the
throat and bosom,--you called me your little forget-me-not, that night.
I laid the flowers away for awhile in our favorite book,--Byron--just at
the poem we loved best, and now I send them to you. Keep them always in
remembrance of me, and if aught should occur to separate us, press these
flowers to your lips, and I will be with you in spirit, permeating your
heart with unutterable love and happiness."

II.
It is Easter again. As of old, the joyous bells clang out the glad news
of the resurrection. The giddy, dancing sunbeams laugh riotously in
field and street; birds carol their sweet twitterings everywhere, and