The Jeffersonian Democrat. [volume] (Chardon, Ohio) 1854-1865, 1860-04-13
,iT F.n

will notice bringing up the rear Of an adj
vertisemen: the letters "tf." Probably
they never trouble him mnch he might
have regarded them as sort Of cabalis-
tic literature peculiar TO the press, and GER
tainly not ct theme for song or sermon.
However this may be, that pair OF let
ters has a significance beyond the range
Of type, and on into shadows, and out
into the sunshine OF that mosaic work we
call life.
To the uninitiated it is oaly eff" to the
printers eye it expands into "til forbid"
a reminder that the advertisement il waits
on, is to be continued from day to day,
from week to week, until ordered out by
him who ordered its publication.
The story Of how many springs that
have brought the blue bird and the violet,
has been told in that eff" Wrought 10
the green tracery OF leaves that rise and
fall on the bosom Of the air, painted on
clouds at anchor in the summer sea,
carved on the stone thresholds Of ever
going floods, silyered on the moons me-
dallion, graved on the round ruby of the
morning sun, in the scroll of storm II is
woven, on the breath Of song it is broid-
cred, and "tf"-"till forbid"-is the story
of the world.
"Tf' is written alike on the drop of dew
that satellite of sod-and on the great
world that dances in the breath, and
brightens in the smile OF God.
eff" rounds the summer OF human
hopes, il is delicately traced on beauty's
brow, you will find it in the roses blush
ing bud, you may see ii in the shining
star,
"Tf' is wrought in tho helms OF tie
sweeping Tamerlane's of all times, and
the silver thread Of the small voiced brook
will not be broken without it.
Nature has no stereotypes, all her ad-
vertisements are published with "tf,"
and the types that express !oveliness are
silently distributed" and the graves are
filled with the eloquence ofyesterday.
And even there enameled in the little
pillows Of turf that break up earth's green
swaId like q sea, there is a "till forbid :"
and so the silent swell of the sod sub.
sides where graves have been. and back
to the air, and up to the clouds, and away
in gladness, goes the dust TO be fashioned
into new expressions Of truth and beauty.
"Ti" is woven into the scarlet robe OF
Wrong. and the purple garb OF Power
ConquesI's glowing wheels are lock'd with
"tf," and the weariesl bonds that ever
bound humanity bear those letters stamp.
ed on every link.
The young mother bending with looks
Of love over the fairest "copy" her eyes
ever saw, forgets that in that little face,
hid in the dimpie of cheek, or shaded
by tress of golden hair. two words are
traced in lfe's blue autograph. that ere
long obeyed, may leave her gazing up to
full heaven, and signing that some breath
OF air has waited away forever, the sweet
est "copy" in all the world.
But the singer of the little song, that
goes into all lands wherever it is spring,
reads no ":f" upon its pinion. He knows
that il will carol on to other times, and
win a welcome /; that il will be sung when
he is dead that the olive leaf il bears will
never wither; that by and by window
will open in Heaven. and hand will be
put forth, and singing still, that tuneful
bird of bis will be touched with the "white
radiance" OF immortal morning.
And the thinker who entrusts his living
thought 10 time his thought instinct with
beauty and eloquent with truth, feels that
no "if" will prove "the end Of alp its
mission that leaving the red threshold of
bis heart, it begins an independent being,
and will stand sublimely there, in the bro
ken columns of the "proof" Of time.
This is not TO die /; this is the true
transmigration of soul clinging to no
frail tenure Of "till forbid" its type shall
never fall to dust, not syllable Of all its
utterance be lost.
There is a dignity in such work /; to
bridge the narrow breadth Of graves to
keep repaired the crumbiing ashes Of time.
This has no emblem in the drop of rain
that builds the bow upon the cloud, and
glitters down the changefal ray that gilds
stormy world.
This is to pess like some armed warrior,
unchallenged down the ages as they stand,
and hear his foot unfaltering, press the
threshold Of tomorrow. Upon its gates,
"on golden hinges turning" no "till for
bid" was ever traced, and 10 all truth and
earnest thought, bright hands are beck
oning. and the line moves on.-B. f.