THE FRUITAGE OF BEAUTY. 



The scene: A maple-shaded lawn looking out upon 

 the encircling hills of Berkshire. 



The time: Sunset and the few minutes just after, 

 in late August. 



The people: The Dominie; The Wife; Lisbeth ; 

 Adelaide. 



The Dominie. Well, the summer is over and gone. 

 That rack of clouds in the west is decidedly October- 

 ish. We have come to the harvest weeks ; and it 

 seems no longer ago than yesterday that I was gather- 

 ing the marsh-marigold by the brook and the hepatica 

 in these woods. How quickly the season has gone, 

 and all the glory of it ! 



The Wife. Ah, but has the glory of it gone ? Can 

 it ever go ? Once seen must it not always live in 

 your mind, a memory at least, and a harvested joy 

 of life ? 



The Dominie. That, of course, depends. If I have 

 farmed well in the beauty of these scenes, I shall 

 carry away from them a rich freight of harvested im- 

 pressions. That I grant without question. But how 



many, do you suppose, of all the thousands who 



m 



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