The River Falls journal. (River Falls, Pierce County, Wis.) 1857-1861, 1857-08-05
Childhood.

Ifpoets are the only ones who retain
''poetical apprehension of their youth"
B. F. Taylor is surely Poet. We ex-
tract the following from an article from
his ever ready pen, and let our readers
Judge for themselves.
Back we are again to the field; aye,
and back too, upon the threshold of child
hood. A chance breath watts to us, the
sweet old-fashioned fragrcnce Of the new
mown hay, and we arc younger in mem
DRY than well ever be again. The angry
hum of the bees just thrown out OF house
and home; and the whistling Of the quail,
as she whirled timidly away before the
steady sweep of the whetted scythes; aud
shouts of the children, rs the next stroke
laid open her summer hopes to the day
and the bell-toncs of the Bob-o'links
swinging upon the willows in the Hollow
Can't you hear-don't you remember
them all
And have you forgotten the green
knoll under the the wide spreading beech
or was it maple ?-and how hungry
YOU were, at the morning lunch, just from
sympathy, though you hadn't earned
your salt for weeks. And the brown jug
filled with pure cold water, and-in those
old times, you know-the little black bot
tie, with something stronger, just TO quail
ify' it, as they said, that nestled lovingly
torether, amid the cool and dewy grass
in the fence-corner? We are sure you
remember how the magnificent loads
went tumbling into the barn, you upon
the top, and how they heaped the new
hay into the empty 'mow,' till 1t was hall
as high as the ladder-up to the big beam
up to the swallow-hole; and how you
YOU crept up with young troop. and
hid away in a dark corner, fostooned with
cobwebs, and played you were pain
tar or catamountain, and growled ter
rificllv, to the unspeakable dread Of your
little brother, or cousin, or some body
Or. how wearied of frolic, you lay upon
the hay, and counted the dusty sunbeams
as they streamed through the crevlce IN
the loose siding, and wondered how they
Got out again, and how many it took to
make day, and passed your fingers
through them, to and fro, and marvelled
that you felt nothing.
Many time, you know, you have crcp'
through that same meadow with Mary
Gray-don't you remember Mary !-she
Evad in the house lust over the the hill
strawberrying. You picked in her basket
don't deny it-ande yos felt happier
than when you filled your own, though
YOU never knew why. You had queer
| feeling sometimes about the heart, though
Won never knew what. You have found
It all out since, no doubt.
And Mary-what has become OF her
WHY. There is Reaper, whose name Il
Death that goes forth to the harvest II
sweetest Spring and latest Autumn ant
deepest Winter as well, and Mary ant
Ellen and Jane were long ago bound VI
in 1.-THE same sure bundle of life"
Seven o'clock and clear night! Tn
shadows and the mists are rising in tn
valleys-the frogs have set up thel
chorus in the swsmp-the fre-fies ar
showing light off the marsh the whip
poor-wills begin their melancholy song
q star blazes beautifully oqer the top Q
| the woods, and the fair beings that PEG
pie our childhood, come about us it tn
twilight-the fair beings
aWho set as GETS the morning star, that goes
Not down behind the darkened west, nor moe
Obscured amid the tempest of the sky,
But melts away into the lights of heaven