Aftermath / Part second of A Kentucky Cardinal""

company of travellers who have lost their guide. Sylvia has already married; her brother writes me that he is soon to be; the mother visits me and my child, yearningly, but seldom, on accoun

my little boy in my arms strange faces lo

g since gone b

and blossoms; far and wide over the meadows flows the tufted billows of the grass; and in the woods the oak-tree drops the purple and brown of his leaf and mast upon the verdure of June. Everywhere a second spring puts forth between s

then the

ime in it for the fine, fresh work it brings to hand and thought, I feel that in my way I am part of it, that I can match the aftermath of

ourting days, of their happy life together. And since it becomes more probable that there will be a war, and that I might not be living to speak to him of his mother in ways not written here, I shall set down one thing about her which I pray he

lody in her voice, it made her eyes the most beautiful in expression that I have ever seen, it enveloped her person and demeanor with a spiritual grace. Honor in what are called the little things of life, honor not as

the sky in its power of changeableness from radiant joyousness to sober calm; but oftenest it was like the vault of April, whose drops quicken what they fall upon; and she was of a soft-heartedness that ruled her absolutely-but only to the un

-I set nothing further down for his remembrance, since naught could come of my writing. By words I could no more give h

lies a fragrance so pure and wholesome that the searching sense is never cloyed, never satisfied. Years after the blossoms are dried and yellow and the leaves withered and gone, this wholesom

th its life the tranquil sunshine, the autumnal notes of the cardinal passing to better lands, and all the

good I shall lay my head beside hers