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Copyright, 1887,
by
D. Lothrop Company.
I have read Miss Livingston’s little idyl with muchpleasure. I cannot but think that if the older andmore sedate members of the Chautauquan circles willread it, they will find that there are grains of profit init; hidden grains, perhaps, but none the worse forbeing hidden at the first, if they only discover them.Miss Livingston has herself evidently understood thespirit of the movement in which the Chautauquan readingcircles are engaged. That is more than can be saidof everybody who expresses an opinion upon them. Itis because she expresses no opinion, but rather tells,very simply, the story of the working out of the plan,that I am glad you are going to publish her little poem:for poem it is, excepting that it is not in verse or inrhyme.
Down in a rocky pasture, on theedge of a wood, ran a little brook,tinkle, tinkle, over the bright pebblesof its bed. Close to the water’sedge grew delicate ferns, and higherup the mossy bank nestled violets,blue and white and yellow.
Later in the fall the rocky pasturewould glow with golden-rod andbrilliant sumach, and ripe milk-weedpods would burst and fill the golden[2]autumn sunshine with fleecy clouds.But now the nodding buttercups andsmiling daisies held sway, with hereand there a tall mullein standingsentinel.
It was a lovely place: off in thedistance one could see the shimmeringlake, to whose loving embracethe brook was forever hastening,framed by beautiful wooded hills,with a hazy purple mountain backof all.
But t