Ch. 15 - The Mute Book - Page 2

whole of life. Where does he now
live? The leaf is preserved; friendship forgotten. Here is a foreign
conservatory-plant, too fine for the gardens of the North--it looks as
if there still were fragrance in these leaves!--_she_ gave it to
him--she, the young lady of that noble garden.

Here is the marsh-lotus which he himself has plucked and watered with
salt tears--the marsh-lotus from the fresh waters. And here is a
nettle: what does its leaf say? What did he think on plucking it--on
preserving it? Here are lilies of the valley from the woodland
solitudes; here are honeysuckle leaves from the village ale-house
flower-pot; and here the bare, sharp blade of grass.

The flowering lilac bends its fresh, fragrant clusters over the dead
man's head; the swallow again flies past; "quivit! quivit!" Now the
men come with nails and hammer; the lid is placed over the corpse,
whose head rests on the Mute-Book--preserved--forgotten!