“PANSIES FOR THOUGHTS."

White Ribbon, Volume 39, Issue 462, 18 March 1934, Page 6

“PANSIES FOR THOUGHTS."

(Contributed.) “YV'hat lieautiful pansies,” the visitor exclaimed as she was ushered into the room.” “Yes, I picked these for you, said the President. “Pansies for thoughts, you know.” “Thank you, 1 love pansies; I always imagine they are human faces, and when in the garden 1 sometimes kneel and kiss their velvety faces,” said the visiting lady. Hut when she arrived home, having forgotten to bring away the pansies, she was saddened, as if she had lost something. She wondered what she would have done with them —“Thoughts,” thoughts which pansies bring crowded thick and fast. Another gift of pansies from a friend given last year—no, many years ago, and their big round faces still full of colour, lying lietween the leaves of the big dictionary which she has had ever since she was a little girl, a Sunday school prize in those far-off days of youth. Another pansy taken from the hand of a friend and lying l>etween the t..n leaves of her Bible. How many times has she kissed the face of that pansy, because she could not kiss the face of that friend. She must look at it again. Ah! what is this, a bit of heather. Yea, given her by a bright young girl of her Bible Class. Where is she? Away in the big city with her two fatherless bairns. Yes. her husband was killed by the earthquake. She recalls how. when the sweet girl was married, the prayer was raised. “No matter what shadows fall on thes*. two. may none fall between them.” “Who knows?” she asks herself, "if the prayer was answered?” “I'ntil the day break and the shadows flee away.” A spray of

maidenhair fern falls out, and thoughts crowd thick and fast. It is raining on the hillside, a blinding rain, as a broken-hearted woman bends down over the new-made grave of her first-born, and lays a huge bunch of violets, with maidenhair fern, on the wet mound. The pages fall away as she sits idly thinking, and a bright leaf, filling the whole page, appears through the mist and rain of other years She glances on the leaf, and the memory of the sunshine of another land, warm and penetrating. The smell of sweetscented tropical flowers and scenes are the “thoughts” which come crowding in upon her. Another leaf, yes, it has a date on it, Septemlrer, 1917. A different kind of leaf, straight, thick, furry. . ent by a husband away from home at the seaside. It brings thoughts of the family life, its difficulties, its strain in those difficult war days. Next a tiny everlasting white flower, still white as the day it was put there. YY’hat a day of grief and parting brought that little flower into her possession. iSh<* sees them all. White Riblron sisters filing, one by one, past the gru'e of their beloved District President, and as the Vice-President lays their wreath upon the casket which covers that silent form, a daisy falls at the Secretary’s feet, and she picks it up. Ah! how the years pass. Dried carnations, Oh, yes, a day of glorious sunshine, a lovely lawn and Ireuutiful gardens, and the Dominion President looking just a little worn —just a little anxious, as with a huge bouquet of carnations held in front of her she sits for the photographer for the Convention group. As the delegates move away chattering, a Southern lady stoops and picks from the grass se\eral fallen flowers from

the bouquet. Ah! there is the doorbell, and “pansies” and thoughts ar* set aside. Just ?. moment. Pansie.* adorn our local YV.C.T.U. banner, a dear emblem ot love, courage, &nc thought.