And yet--wait here an instant--stir not till my return." He went to his little garden, and returned with a half-blown rose.

"Thou hast made me shed a tear, the first which has wet my eyelids for many a year; for that good deed receive this token of gratitude.

It is but a common rose; preserve it, however, and do not part with it.

Come to me in your hour of adversity.

Show me that rose, or but one leaf of it, were it withered as my heart is--if it should be in my fiercest and wildest movements of rage against a hateful world, still it will recall gentler thoughts to my bosom, and perhaps afford happier prospects to thine.