A BLUE-GRASS IDYL 



IT was in the Blue Grass country, 

 in the early summer, where one time 

 I saw the girl with the violets. And 

 there, I think, she had reached the 

 highest type of physical beauty. A 

 long ancestry, of which she was the 

 flower, stretched back into the early 

 decades of our country's settlement. 

 A child of a section she might have 

 been called. No land was as beautiful 

 to her as the wide rolling meadow 

 lands where she lived. No place so 

 dear as that country home with its 

 great trees, its house of lofty rooms 

 and open halls. In that house she 

 had been born, in it she had grown to 



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