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Mitchell, Donald Grant, 1822-1908

"Dream Life A Fable Of The Seasons"

The grass was never so green, the buttercups
were never so plentiful; there was never such a life in the leaves. It
seems as if the joyousness in you gave a throb to nature that made every
green thing buoyant.
Faces, too, are changed: men look pleasantly; children are all charming
children; even babies look tender and lovable. The street-beggar at your
door is suddenly grown into a Belisarius, and is one of the most
deserving heroes of modern times. Your mind is in a continued ferment;
you glide through your toil--dashing out sparkles of passion--like a
ship in the sea. No difficulty daunts you: there is a kind of buoyancy
in your soul that rocks over danger or doubt, as sea-waves heave calmly
and smoothly over sunken rocks.
You grow unusually amiable and kind; you are earnest in your search of
friends; you shake hands with your office-boy as if he were your second
cousin. You joke cheerfully with the stout washerwoman, and give her a
shilling over-change, and insist upon her keeping it, and grow quite
merry at the recollection of it. You tap your hackman on the shoulder
very familiarly, and tell him he is a capital fellow; and don't allow
him to whip his horses, except when driving to the post-office.


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