Nettles may be considered the appropriate emblem of cruelty. How often, while in search of flowers, have we felt the sting of these unrelenting plants! We call that punishment cruel which visits us without our doing an injury which deserves it; and, as we never wished to be in the vicinity of the Nettles, nor, therefore, to injure them, our boyish fancy looked upon them as cruel. * * * * * Spare not the babe, Whose dimpled smiles from fools exhaust their mercy; Think it a bastard, whom the oracle Hath doubtfully pronounced thy throat shall cut, And mince it sans remorse. _Shakspeare._ * * * * * Do not insult calamity; It is a barbarous grossness to lay on The weight of scorn, where heavy misery Too much already weighs men’s fortunes down. _Daniel._ * * * * * Oh, he’s accurst from all that’s good, Who never knew Love’s healing power; Such sinner on his sins must brood, And wait alone his hour. If stranger to earth’s beauty--human love, There is no rest below, nor hope above. _Dana._ COLUMBINE.... _Desertion_. Bring Lilies for a maiden’s grave, Roses to deck the bride, Tulips for all who love through life In brave attire to ride: Bring each for each, in bower and hall, But cull the Columbine for all. “The Columbine? full many a flower Hath hues more clear and bright, Although she doth in purple go, In crimson, pink, and white. Why, when so many fairer shine, Why choose the homely Columbine?” Examine well each floweret’s form,-- Read ye not something more Than curl of petal--depth of tint? Saw ye ne’er aught before That claims a fancied semblance there. Amid those modelled leaves so fair? Know ye the cap which Folly wears In ancient masques and plays? Does not the Columbine recall That toy of olden days? And is not folly reigning now O’er many a wisdom-written brow? ’Tis Folly’s flower, that homely one; That universal guest Makes every garden but a type Of every human breast; For though ye tend both mind and bower, There’s still a nook for Folly’s flower. Then gather roses for the bride, Twine them in her bright hair, But, ere the wreath be done--oh! let The Columbine be there. For rest ye sure that follies dwell In many a heart that loveth well. Gather ye laurels for the brow Of every prince of song! For all, to whom philosophy And wisdom do belong. But ne’er forget to intertwine A flower or two of Columbine.