AUGUST 207 



spot by the sea, some nook in the country, where happy days 

 were spent, when care sat upon the heart as lightly as thistle- 

 down ? To some, no doubt, it brought back to memory many 

 golden days. Ah, the seasons are the milestones of life ; they 

 are books of remembrance between whose pages are laid the 

 flowers of happiness, the petals of the rose of love. For is 

 not life made up of sweet remembrances ? The griefs we can 

 count, but its joys are innumerable ! 



But Summer is passing away as silently and as gently as it 

 came, just as calmly as it bestowed its beauties so it withdraws 

 them, and with the last day of August " good-bye " must be 

 said to Summer. 



