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122
THROUGH SOUTH WESTLAND.
give place before the fire and the axe, but the memory of it, as I saw it in my brief sojourn, can never pass away.
So, as the sun sank behind the purple barrier of the western mountains, out-lining their edges in gold: and their long shadows stretched across the plain: and the harvesters came back in the gloaming: I said. Farewell.
