SPIRITLESS
The first cold breeze of winter blew over the country and swept from a tree the first faded leaf. Could it indeed be true that the leaves had begun to wither so early? Yes, truly, for look! the leaf is sere and trembling and almost spasmodically curled up as if it had expired in the very act of its struggle with death. And now it flutters downward through the branches of the tree which is crowned with such an abundance of green foliage that it seems as if a cloud had settled on it or a mournful pall of the future which gave no promise of spring blossoms, songs of birds or whispers of lovers. The sad little leaf had indeed fallen in the midst of all the greenness spread underneath the blue heavens and lay upon the grass where the first dying blade shivered and sighed among its mates!
“Alas! The leaves are fading!” cried a sweet young wife as she closed the window which she had opened a few moments previously in order that the fresh breath of morn might enter the sleeping-room.
She had opened it thus after the departure of her husband every morning for the last four months and, filled with delightful intoxication, she had presented
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