“Should sorrow o’er thy brow
    Its darkened shadow fling,
  And hopes that cheer thee now,
    Die in their early spring;
  Should pleasure, at its birth,
    Fade like the hues of even,
  Turn thou away from earth—­
    There’s rest for thee in heaven. 
  “If ever life should seem
    To thee a toilsome way,
  And gladness cease to beam
    Upon its clouded day;
  If, like the weary dove,
    O’er shoreless ocean driven,
  Raise thou thine eyes above—­
    There’s rest for thee in heaven.”

“And now we will each make a contribution to Basil” said his sister, smiling on him in a manner which told how dear he was to her.

She passed the basket to Dawn, who blushed and trembled at first, not with fear, but pleasure.

“The offering,” said his sister, “is to be an expression of the sentiments, which, in the opinion of each of us, are most in keeping with his character.”

Dawn reached forth, and drew, without hesitation, a cluster of verbenas, and one white water-lily.

“Sensibility and purity of heart.  She has read him aright,” thought Miss Bernard.

  “Gentle as an angel’s ministry
  The guiding hand of love should be,
  Which seeks again those chords to bind
  Which human woe hath rent apart.”

“She has seen my brother’s very heart, his most noble self,” she repeated to herself, as she passed the basket to Mrs. Austin, who plucked a Clyconthas, and laid it on his plate, with a blossom of Iris.

“Benevolence,” said Dawn, and to her mind these beautiful words were suggested;

  “Wouldst thou from sorrow find a sweet relief,
    Or is thy heart oppressed with woes untold? 
  Balm wouldst thou gather for corroding grief;
    Pour blessings round thee like a shower of gold? 
  ’Tis when the rose is wrapped in many a fold
    Close to its heart, the worm is wasting there
  Its life and beauty; not when, all unrolled,
    Leaf after leaf, its bosom, rich and fair,
  Breathes freely its perfume throughout the ambient air. 
    Rouse to some work of high and holy love,
  And thou an angel’s happiness shalt know. 
    Shalt bless the earth while in the world above;
  The good began by thee shall onward flow
    In many a branching stream, and wider grow;
  The seed that in these few and fleeting hours
    Thy hand unsparing and unwearied sow,
  Shall deck thy grave with amaranthine flowers,
    And yield thee fruits divine in heaven’s immortal bowers.”

But one more offering, and that from his sister.  She drew the bay leaf, of which the wreath to adorn the conqueror and the poet is made, and, while the eyes of the two women rested on her, drew forth also the pale, but sweet-scented mountain pink, signifying aspiration, beautifully expressed by Percival in these lines: