and trees dyed with blood, all know that the proprietor of this manor is 
come. 
I climb the hill. I see the cattle browsing on the meadow. | hear 
the musings of winds in the trees, and look at Quaylecroft, and flush with 
pride, and stand at the gash in the woods at the hilltop and see the blue, 
far, partly surly dimness of distance that clothes valley and hill and corn- 
field and wandering of stream in beauty of dimness; and see how the 
hills are great bonfires, and seared grasses and burning sumacs make 
one hillside a regal purple. And I go down the hill and walk along my 
wood road (you ought to see it) paved with leaves multicolored and 
odorous, where shade and sunlight meet like old cronies: there | sit 
and dream, sometimes of yesterday, sometimes of to-morrow, some- 
times of that far, glad to-morrow where burdens never tire us nor any 
tears wear ruts on the face nor dim the eyes from seeing, but where 
beloved meet the BELOVED, and holy laughter fills the heart forever. 
“Lightly he blows. and at his breath they fall, 
The perishing kindreds of the leaves; they drift, 
Spent flames of scarlet, gold aerial, 
Across the hollow year, noiseless and swift. 
Lightly he blows, and countless as the falling 
Of snow by night upon a solemn sea, 
The ages circle down beyond recalling, 
To strew the hollows of eternity. 
He sees them drifting through the spaces dim, 
And leaves and ages are as one to him."’ 
—CHARLES G. D. ROBERTS. 
; = eae fs malty NZ 
A 
Lari, Shy, | ae 
i ieee i si 
