the generation to which they belonged has passed
away.
There is an irony in the one and only symptom of
living remembrance, for it savours more of some halfsavage
rite than of a Christian ceremony. The flickering
tapers, the burden of incense, the uncouth litany, only
deepen the isolation of those other dead. What have
they in common, but their common mortality ?
SUNSET ON TH E AR A C AN HIL LS
CH A P T E R X IV
A S ID E ISSUE
O IRIUS and Aldebaran and chivalrous Orion glisten
in the rain-washed sky. Venus hangs' like a
splendid jewel over the gateways of the dawn. At four
o’clock all is dark, save the twinkling firmament overhead.
At five, the dawn, blushing and beautiful, comes
forth, and the stars pale, and the river quickens with
swirling life.
THE MINDON ROAD
By this time I am well on the Mindon road; the
grass a-twinkle with the dew, the thickets, far as
my ear can reach, melodious with the matin-song of
doves. It seems to me as if I have come upon the
Spring and caught her unawares; Spring laughing
and astray in the territories of Summer. Pale mists lie
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