XXXIV 



THE DEAD CAMP-FIRE 



A HEAP of ashes, a few half-burned 

 brands, a blackened pair of crotched 

 sticks that mark the place of the once 

 glowing heart of the camp, furnish food 

 for the imagination to feed upon or give 

 the memory an elusive taste of departed 

 pleasures. 



If you were one of those who saw 

 its living flame and felt its warmth, the 

 pleasant hours passed here come back 

 with that touch of sadness which accom- 

 panies the memory of all departed pleas- 

 ures and yet makes it not unwelcome. 

 What was unpleasant, even what was 

 almost unendurable, has nearly faded out 

 of remembrance or is recalled with a 

 laugh. 



It was ten years ago, and the winds 



and fallen leaves of as many autumns 



have scattered and covered the gray 



heap. If it was only last year, you fancy 



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