herself," and putting it to him as a request, she knew it would be
acceded to on the spot.

The light of the summer days had begun to wane. The leaves had begun to
turn. Out door pleasures were being forsaken for the seat by the
fireside The world looked as if 'twere waiting. The autumn months had a
particular effect on Honor Edgeworth, she would stand at the window, and
look sadly through the panes at the red and yellow leaves falling
softly, noiselessly down to the cold wet ground, and a shiver would pass
through her as she realized even in this the mortality that hangs like
an unseen pall over all things below. Just a moment ago, a pretty golden
leaf danced on the bough, but the cold wind, surrounding it, bore it
away on its fated pinions down into the cold stiff gutter, where it was
either trampled heedlessly down by the reckless passer-by, or wafted
farther away out of sight, left to wither and die by the roadside. But,
perhaps not, either, maybe the slender, delicate hand of an admirer of
nature stooped to gather the fallen leaf, to wipe the dust from its
golden front, and lay it tenderly by as a souvenir of the dead year, to
lie among the gathered blossoms of some dear one's grave, with bitter
tears of sad remembrance and grief to bathe it, as its evening dew. And
is not this life! How many golden leaves are hurled into the mire of
sin, and upon how much marvellous beauty the heavy foot of worldly scorn
is stamped forever! How many pretty little amber leaves drift on through
the cold wide world, until their beauty is spent, and until wrecked and
faded they lay themselves down by the withered blades to die. But oh!
there are again those stainless leaves that glide into the fingers of
the Great Gatherer of Beauty, to find in His compassion and His mercy a
refuge from the coldest blasts. The pity is that these last are, like
the leaves of the Autumn trees, the scarcest in number; or, after all is
the happy life of one summer month, price enough for a "forever" of