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Various

"The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 14, No. 82, August, 1864"


She had just stopped. Nobody moved. The silence was broken only by the
rustling of the lilac-bushes, as the night-wind swept over them.
"The whispering of angels!" said Emily, softly.
I was pleased that she closed the door. It showed that she felt his
unfitness to enter our little paradise. I took heart for David. And yet
it was only the next day that came the crowning with hop-blossoms.
I had returned home early, and was in my own room, waiting for tea.
Casting my eyes towards the garden, I saw Mary Ellen sitting beneath a
tree, leaning against the trunk. Near by was a hop-pole, laden with its
green. And near by, also, stood Warren Luce, holding in his hand a thin,
square book. He had gathered a quantity of the beautiful hop-blossoms
and tendrils, and was directing her how to arrange them about her head.
It appeared to be his object to make her look like a picture in his
book. "A little more to the right. A few leaves about the ear," I heard
him say; and then, "They must drop a little lower on the other side. In
the picture, the tendrils touch the left shoulder. Now hold the basket
full of them, in this way.


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