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    A Chautauqua Idyl
    A Chautauqua Idyl
    A Chautauqua Idyl
    Ebook32 pages36 minutes

    A Chautauqua Idyl

    By Grace Livingston Hill

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    About this ebook

    “A Chautauqua Idyl,” Grace’s first book as a young adult, was written in 1887 to earn enough money for a family trip from her Florida home to the summer Chautauqua gathering at Chautauqua, New York. That illustrated allegory of a Chautauqua gathering held by the flowers, tree, and animals was published in time to be offered for sale that summer and brought enough earnings to take the family there.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherClassica Libris
    Release dateDec 10, 2018
    ISBN9788829572090
    A Chautauqua Idyl
    Author

    Grace Livingston Hill

    Grace Livingston Hill was an early–twentieth century novelist who wrote both under her real name and the pseudonym Marcia Macdonald. She wrote more than one hundred novels and numerous short stories. She was born in Wellsville, New York, in 1865 to Marcia Macdonald Livingston and her husband, Rev. Charles Montgomery Livingston. Hill’s writing career began as a child in the 1870s, writing short stories for her aunt’s weekly children’s publication, The Pansy. She continued writing into adulthood as a means to support her two children after her first husband died. Hill died in 1947 in Swarthmore, Pennsylvania.

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      Book preview

      A Chautauqua Idyl - Grace Livingston Hill

      IDYL

      Copyright

      First published in 1887

      Copyright © 2018 Classica Libris

      Introductory Note

      My dear Mr. Lothrop,

      I have read Miss Livingston’s little idyl with much pleasure. I cannot but think that if the older and more sedate members of the Chautauquan circles will read it, they will find that there are grains of profit in it; hidden grains, perhaps, but none the worse for being hidden at the first, if they only discover them. Miss Livingston has herself evidently understood the spirit of the movement in which the Chautauquan reading circles are engaged. That is more than can be said of everybody who expresses an opinion upon them. It is because she expresses no opinion, but rather tells, very simply, the story of the working out of the plan, that I am glad you are going to publish her little poem: for poem it is, excepting that it is not in verse or in rhyme.

      Believe me,

      Very truly yours,

      Edward Everett Hale

      A Chautauqua Idyl

      Down in a rocky pasture, on the edge of a wood, ran a little brook, tinkle, tinkle, over the bright pebbles of its bed. Close to the water’s edge grew delicate ferns, and higher up the mossy bank nestled violets, blue and white and yellow.

      Later in the fall the rocky pasture would glow with golden-rod and brilliant sumach, and ripe milk-weed pods would burst and fill the golden autumn sunshine with fleecy clouds. But now the nodding buttercups and smiling daisies held sway, with here and there a tall mullein standing sentinel.

      It was a lovely place: off in the distance one could see the shimmering lake, to whose loving embrace the brook was forever hastening, framed by beautiful wooded hills, with a hazy purple mountain back of all.

      But the day was not lovely. The clouds came down to the earth as near as they dared, scowling ominously. It was clear they had been drinking deeply. A sticky, misty rain filled the air, and the earth looked sad, very sad.

      The violets had put on their gossamers and drawn the hoods up over their heads, the ferns looked sadly drabbled, and the buttercups and daisies on the opposite bank, didn’t even lean across to speak to their neighbors, but drew their yellow caps and white bonnets further over their faces, drooped their heads and wished for the rain to be

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