A CARNIVAL OF GOLD 



IF ever the face of nature smiles it does so in harvest 

 time. The scant acres of suburban prairie don a gypsy 

 garb of ripened grains, and lie peaceful and contented in 

 the sunshine of the long afternoons. It is too soon for 

 scattered burs and scratching thistles, and one may stretch 

 full length in the grass, nestle the head on a fragrant tuft, 

 and become part of the sweet idleness of the day. 



Life is so short that we may count it among the sins of 

 omission if the hours go by and we fail to make use of the 

 best that summer gives, staying within city walls when 

 nature calls at the end of a suburban car line. Of course 

 there is the effort of making a rush at the noon hour of 

 Saturday, but shortly the thick of the city is left behind, 

 and we may be in the heart of the woods. 



The country friend, owning a farm, little realizes the 

 gifts he bestows upon the city prisoner in a week-end holi- 

 day. The getting away from the pressure of noise, of 

 thick atmosphere, of the bustling crowds, puts new spirit 

 into the soul, freshens the point of view, adds to the stock 

 of experience, and stores the memory with a thousand 

 things seen and heard, as nothing else can do. 

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