FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 93 



as though it will not out. The heavens 

 grow black, and the waters of the river of 

 life run muddy and sullen. How horrible 

 it all is, the taint that spreads as a drop 

 of oil upon the face of the waters, until 

 every point we touch is mastered by it, but 

 in how different a fashion ! 



When, however, the hideous charin is 

 broken, ah ! then comes the light ! As now 

 the sunlight gleaming through the tender 

 gray green leaves, dancing upon the blades 

 of grass, flashing from the ripples upon the 

 water, sparkling in the blue of the sky ; 

 while the brooks murmur and the birds 

 carol as though they were but an embodied 

 joy- 



MAY 10, 1894. 



