and sees in the blood-red "copper sun," only the indication of another
march of weariness and thirst.


YOUTH BREATHES THE DEWY AIR,

and beholds only the roseate tints of the sunrise. Why should not its
heart rejoice? Says Lord Lytton: "Let youth cherish the happiest of
earthly boons while yet it is at its command; for there cometh a day to
all 'when neither the voice of the lute nor the birds' shall bring back
the sweet slumbers that fall on their young eyes as unbidden as the
dews." "Youth holds no society with grief," says old Euripides. Perhaps,
rather, it makes those "formal calls" which have no feeling in them.


THE LITTLE GIRL'S KITTEN DIES,

and the little human heart is inconsolable for half an hour. In half a
day, when asked to tell her greatest grief, she will relate an accident
to her doll, forgetting the poor kitten yet waiting for burial! How
could those lips and cheeks retain their delicate tints if the wet
seasons of grief set in with tropical intensity? Lord Lytton, often, in
his highly colored writings, cries out "O youth! O youth!" and there is
a world of regret in the exclamation. "O the joy of young ideas," sighs
Hannah Moore, "painted on the mind, in the warm, glowing colors which
fancy spreads on objects not yet known, when all is new and all is
lovely!"


SIR WALTER RALEIGH