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tree of life ; and wondered why she too was not glad 
to see every thing so brilliant, and to chase the dry 
leaves, as the wind drove them before her. Would 
not spring come again, and with it many more 
leaves? Therefore the wind that sighed through 
the rustling foliage, and made a melancholy sound 
to the ear of one whose many sorrows lent it a tone 
of sadness, was music to the little child, who saw 
only the beauties of every season, and could perceive 
no resemblance between faded leaves and withered 
hopes. 
A maple leaf that hung on a low branch, and was 
tinged with scarlet and yellow, bright as ever were 
seen in flowers themselves, came off into her hand 
on the slightest touch, for she did not pull it. 
“ I should have fallen to the ground in a few hours 
if you had not plucked me from the bough,” said 
the leaf in answer to the surprised look in Mary’s 
