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In a little while the lid will be placed upon the coffin, and he will have sweet rest in the grave!" The cloth which covered his face was lifted up; the dead man's face expressed peace- a sunbeam fell upon it. A swallow flew with the swiftness of an arrow into the arbour, turning in its flight, and twittered over the dead man's head. What a strange feeling it is- surely we all know it- to look through old letters of our young days; a different life rises up out of the past, as it were, with all its hopes and sorrows.

How many of the people with whom in those days we used to be on intimate terms appear to us as if dead, and yet they are still alive- only we have not thought of them for such a long time, whom we imagined we should retain in our memories for ever, and share every joy and sorrow with them. The withered oak leaf in the book here recalled the friend, the schoolfellow, who was to be his friend for life. He fixed the leaf to the student's cap in the green wood, when they vowed eternal friendship.

He fixed the leaf to the student's cap in the green wood, when they vowed eternal friendship. Where does he dwell now? The leaf is kept, but the friendship does no longer exist. Here is a foreign hothouse plant, too tender for the gardens of the North. It is almost as if its leaves still smelt sweet! She gave it to him out of her own garden- a nobleman's daughter. Here is a water-lily that he had plucked himself, and watered with salt tears- a lily of sweet water. And here is a nettle: what may its leaves tell us? What might he have thought when he plucked and kept it? Here is a little snowdrop out of the solitary wood; here is an evergreen from the flower-pot at the tavern; and here is a simple blade of grass.
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