Have you ever seen a Crown Imperial, that lovely flower which comes in the early spring-time, just after the Snowdrops have gone? You will not find it in new gardens, I fear; but in those delightful shady nooks and corners where the old-fashioned flowers seem to come and go just as they please, there it is to be found, coming up year after year in all its beauty, and yet, though so lovely, meekly drooping its velvet petals, upon which tear-drops are ever resting.

It has been said that it droops thus in humiliation, because its pride was once rebuked; but I do not think that aught so lovely could be unduly proud! Even the acknowledged queen of the garden, the stately Rose, is gentle in her beauty; and ‘Consider the lilies,’ though ‘Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed’ like them, yet how meekly they bloom beneath our feet!

Then shall the Crown Imperial tell its tale to you, and see what lesson we can learn from it? No, an old yew tree shall relate the story. Listen to what it says:-

’Many, many years have I stood on this spot, from the time that I was a tiny sapling until now, when my branches spread far and wide, covering the earth beneath with shadow. Summer sunshine has touched with its fiercely scorching breath, and winter snows have shrouded me in fleecy garments, but the old yew tree has weathered so far the storms of life, growing year by year more twisted and gnarled as time passed on. I have seen the song-birds come and depart; some have even built their nests within my leafy branches. I have watched sweet flowers blossom, then fade, but among the many lovely flowerets I have loved-for the old dry tree has a tender heart, my children-there was one whose very gentleness made me love it even yet more dearly. It was a Crown Imperial.

’The spring was commencing to gladden the earth when first I perceived it, forcing its way timidly through the soft grassy lawn of an old, old garden. Who had placed the parent bulb beneath that turf was never known, for the owners of the estate had passed with their generation from the land, and strangers had come to reside in the ancient homestead, but there was this fragile plant, outliving, as it were, those who had planted it, and coming up, year after year, to gladden other eyes than those which had first beheld its beauty-like good actions and gentle words-imperishable!

’So day by day I watched it grow, stronger and stronger, higher and higher, and, as it grew, spreading gradually its beautiful, shining leaves; but when it had reached its full height, behold, it was crowned with a diadem of the softest green-an emerald crown worthy the brow of a queen!

’Then by degrees I saw its blossoms begin to unfold, the velvet petals richer far than the feeble looms of man can weave; but, as they unclosed, to my intense surprise, they were not uplifted to the sunshine and blue sky, but meekly bowed-drooping earthward.

’"They will gaze upward by and by,” I said to myself, “and, when they know and feel the power of their beauty, will court the admiration they are sure to win.”

’But I was wrong.

’Pride had no place within their lowly hearts-never were their flowers lifted up-their glances were ever bent in sweet humility towards the green sod from which they had sprung, and, as I gazed upon them, I saw that on each lovely petal there ever rested a tear.

’"Why this sadness?” I mused. “Surely so lovely and guileless a flower can know no sorrow, since sorrow often goes hand in hand with sin; this Crown Imperial must surely be as faultless as it is beautiful!”

’Yet I hesitated to ask the reason; there was a gentle and reserved timidity about it, that checked all questionings. The cause of this unspoken grief would be revealed to me sooner or later, I felt convinced.

’The days passed on with sunshine and shadows, and, as the hours fled, I saw with regret that stern Time had relentlessly breathed with his withering breath upon my much-loved flower! Gradually and slowly its blossoms pined, the lovely colours faded,-almost imperceptibly, ’tis true, still they faded,-its fresh green crown became less purely bright, and I knew with anguish my sweet one was dying.

’Then, and not till then, did it raise its faint eyes heavenward-they were tearless now. I could restrain my wonder no more.

’"Why, oh, why wert thou weeping and gazing ever earthward when in thy peerless beauty, sad and disconsolate-and now that thou art fading from us thou art happy?” I asked in my sorrowful regret; perhaps reproach was mingled with my complaint.

’"Is it not ever so?” the gentle flower replied. “Whilst burdened with Life’s sorrows, our eyes are tear-dimmed. The cares of this world press heavily upon our hearts, so that we scarce can lift our thoughts from this earth-cold and weary though it is-to gaze upward. It is only when we are passing from all shadows into the Divine Light that we can look heavenward, yet even then the tear-drops linger. But when earthly sojourners have passed through the dark valley into the Eternal Brightness, then, and only then, will they be freed from anguish; then, and only then, will eyes be no longer dimmed by sorrow-for God Himself shall wipe away all tears!"’