Chapter 234 SUMMER'S OBSEQUIES.

The gentian weaves her fringes,

The maple's loom is red.

My departing blossoms

Obviate parade.

A brief, but patient illness,

An hour to prepare;

And one, below this morning,

Is where the angels are.

It was a short procession, -

The bobolink was there,

An aged bee addressed us,

And then we knelt in prayer.

We trus