TWO friends were walking together beside a picturesque mill-stream.While they walked, they talked of mortal life, its meaning and itsend; and, as is almost inevitable with such themes, the current oftheir thoughts gradually lost its cheerful flow.
"This is a miserable world," said one; "the black shroud of sorrowoverhangs everything here."
"Not so," replied the other; "Sorrow is not a shroud. It is only thecovering Hope wraps about her when she sleeps."
Just then they entered an oak-grove. It was early spring, and thetrees were bare, but last year's leaves lay thick as snow-driftsupon the ground.
"The Liverwort grows here, one of our earliest flowers, I think,"said the last speaker. "There, push away the leaves, and you willfind it. How beautiful, with its delicate shades of pink, andpurple, and green, lying against the bare roots of the oak-trees!But look deeper, or you will not find the flowers; they are underthe dead leaves."
"Now I have learned a lesson that I shall not forget," said herfriend. "This seems to me a bad world, and there is no denying thatthere are bad things in it. To a sweeping glance, it will sometimesseem barren and desolate; but not one buried germ of life and beautyis lost to the All-seeing Eye. I, having the weakness of humanvision, must believe where I cannot see. Henceforth, when I amtempted to complainings and despair on account of the evil aroundme, I will say to myself, 'Look deeper, look under the dead leaves,and you will find flowers.'"
THE END.
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