And now, reader, Benedicite! 'Hail—and farewell!'
Decidedly thine,
Ollapod.
[LAMENT]
OF THE LAST OF THE PEACHES.[21]
'Lone, trembling one!
Last of a summer race, withered and sere—
Say, wherefore dost thou linger here?
Thy work is done!'
W. G. C.
I.