ring apple-tree flowers and its
alternations of silver rain and golden sunshine, is more beautiful than
these soft winter days, full of snow-feathers and great shadows. I
love to watch the young pines take on their holiday attire. How they
robe themselves from head to foot in draperies of fleecy white, pin
diamonds in their dark branches and wind about their slender girth the
strands of evanescent pearl! I love to watch the skies at dawn when
they kindle like a flame above the bluffs and scatter sparkles of light
as a red rose scatters its petals. Where has the last year fled? It
seems but yesterday that I sat by this same window and hatched the
lilac plumes unfold on that old bush that to-day is getting ready to
don its ermine. Why, at this rate, my dear, it won't be longer than
day after to-morrow morning before you and I wake up and find ourselves
old folks. How odd it will seem to look in the glass and see wisps of
frosted stubble in place of the wavy locks of brown, and jet, and gold!
Ah, well, it is a comfort to think that some folks defy time, and are
as young at seventy as at seventeen. Beauty fades, and witchery takes
unto itself wings, but true hearts, like wine, mellow and enrich with
years.

LVII.

DID YOU EVER READ THE "LITTLE PILGRIM."

I often sit for a half hour or more in the depot waiting-room, and for
lack of anything else to do employ the time in watching the people who
crowd through the swinging doors. Did you ever read the "Little
Pilgrim?" Do you recall the chapter wherein the disembodied spirits
are represented as lingering near the gates to watch the coming in of
newly liberated souls? Sometimes while sitting in one of the big
rocking chairs I imagine to myself that the constantly opening doors
are the portals of death and I the lingering one who watches the
throngs that are constantly exchanging earth for paradise. Along comes
an old man with a shabby bundle; he cautiously opens the door and slips
in like one who offers an excuse for his presence on the thither side.
Presently he lays down his bundle and seats himself, a pilgrim whose
wanderings and weariness are over. The brilliant lights, the
comfortable surroundings, the sound of pleasant voices all fill his
heart with joy, and he settles himself back, thoroughly glad to be at
rest. Next, a beautiful woman enters, her face is lined with care and
her dark, bright eyes are full of trouble. She does not tarry, but
hur