. St. Nicholas [serial]. would be possible. It was some years later, dear St. Nicholas I made your acquaintance, and since then I havepassed many delightful hours in your company. The great day, my eighteenth birthday, is approach-ing, but it is not going to be the proud moment I oncepictured it. There are too many regrets. It bringswith it such things as graduation from high school, andgraduation from the League. But this I know, and Ican be proud of it—I can take you with me. In mymemory I can store all the pleasant hours ypu havegiven me, and in that unknown grown-up-land, I can
. St. Nicholas [serial]. would be possible. It was some years later, dear St. Nicholas I made your acquaintance, and since then I havepassed many delightful hours in your company. The great day, my eighteenth birthday, is approach-ing, but it is not going to be the proud moment I oncepictured it. There are too many regrets. It bringswith it such things as graduation from high school, andgraduation from the League. But this I know, and Ican be proud of it—I can take you with me. In mymemory I can store all the pleasant hours ypu havegiven me, and in that unknown grown-up-land, I cancall upon you, and you can still comfort and help , dear League, when I say Farewell, it is only fora short time, while I step over the threshold. Whenonce across I shall still enjoy your company and readyour pages in the land of memory. And to those to whom the League is still a realityinstead of a memory, and to you, yourself, dear League, I wish, All good luck, and pros-perity for the coming years!. AT THE CORNER. BY HAROLD CAMPBELL, AGE l6 A HEADING FOR SEPTEMBER. BY LUCILLE MURPHY, AGE 15 HARVEST-TIME BY GWYNNE M. DRESSER (AGE 13) The sun shines bright on the maple leaves, Turning red as the days grow cold;The men in the meadows are binding the sheaves Of wheat, all glistening and gold. On the breath of the wind comes the wild ducks cry, As he flies to a southland clime;And the summer has faded away in the sky To the far-away portals of time. The robin is singing a sweet farewell song, For he soon will be flying away,But he says, Be cheerful—the winters not long; I 11 fly back again some day. The goldenrod grows all along by the way; She fears not the frost and the snows;I 11 laugh while I may, she seems to say, And I 11 sleep when the bright autumn goes. The apples lie ruddy and ripe neath the trees,And the pumpkins shine gold in the corn; While the wild purple asters nod gay in the breezeAnd the glow of the bright autumn morn. The harvest is gathered
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Keywords: ., bookauthordodgemar, bookcentury1800, bookdecade1870, bookyear1873
