Cincinnati daily press. [volume] (Cincinnati [Ohio]) 1860-1862, 1860-10-11
The Spring in the Meadow and its
uIemOrfcs

Memories.
Benjamin T. Taylor thus eloquently de
scribes one spring in the meadow in tn,
columns of the Chicago journal:
Those cool shady spots in the far summer
deys with their green messy Drinks ever
brfmmiDg, or the pure element gushing
away from under some great rock that had
been snitten, and running among the ledges
and over the grasses, with a tinkling sound
Ofjoy, and quiet murmur of content-such
are the places that however we may drink
fiom marble fountains now, the soul goes
back to, all along through life's journey
goes back and sits down under the shadow,
and dips up the water in the hollow of a
hand, and is made younger and stronger
again.
Perhaps the first place you remember is
when the old homestead was cabin. and
you went Tor water to spring down in the
meadow, and close in the edge Of the corn.
II trickled out between the finger-like roots
of great maple, and little basin had been
followed for it in the earth, and gravel as
white as pearls had been strewn in it, and
little border of sand had been drawn around
it, and there it made small music all by it.
self through the summers. 1t used to seem
to you as if the roots were the fingers of a
great hand, that had let go their grasp upon
the treasure they were holding, and there it
and ran down into the bowl that the earth
was patiently holding.
a And what q nice, noiseless path it was,
that wandered so gracefully down to it, be-
81 tween the tall grass for it was not straight
and angular, but so easy and natural to walk
in, and a model for everybody's notion in
life. Beside 1t, you remember the dande-
lions grew in their season, when God coined
them out of the new gold of the spring and
- r.l Nl.,v,, I,rv,o al. II.
purse had somehow came undone, as a fairy
went down TO the maple. What clusters o.
curls you made out of the stems, and how
nicely the tip of the tongue ran through the
little cylinder of bitterness. And as the
season went on, you used to blow away the
uncombed locks from the old gray heads,
and away they few, each fiber with life in
it, for even they did not fall to the earth
without His notice, who set them beside the
meadow path, and along the dusty road.
Very old friends they were and very humble
withal, but then how can we spare them out
Of the picture?
1t was around the Spring that the children
used to gather to tell stories, of summer
evenings, when the air was full of the tWitter
of swallows, and the tinkling herds had all
come home. But you grew older all
the while, and the spring came to have other
memories. Who was lido you remember?
boris after water, and how did it happen that
you were almost always there when she
Gamer There, under the moonlight, beside
the spring that kept on with its murmuring,
as If Il heard never word, you talked with
long pauses between, Of yesterday, but
chiefly of tomorrow. But there was danger
in the panses, and danger in the moonlight
but greater than ALL in the light of her eyes
The dreams by the maple are sweet to re.
member, but then there's something missing
every-where. You have. grown old, and
come to be grandfather, but then the CIR
you met at the spring-wouldn't yon like tt
see her, though you hardly dare own it
Better not, for she is old too, and for all the
glad carols she had, when she tripped dowr
the path with her pail, her voice has g
quiver in il, and she stoops as she walks
and in fact has been younger by many q
year; for "Grandma" has taken the place o.
the Z Ellen you used to breathe so softly
by the maple.