The weekly mountain Democrat. [volume] (Placerville, El Dorado County, Calif.) 1861-1862, 1862-09-06
what Make. Thing. Musical,

"The Sun !" said the Forest. "In the
night am still and voicelesS. A weight
Of silence lies upon my heart. II you
pass through mt, the sound OF your own
fOOtstep echoes iearfully, like the football
Of ghost. II you speak to break the
spell, the silence closes in on your words,
like the ocean or a pebble you throw into
it. The wind sighs far off among the
branches, as if he were huShing his breath
to listen. If little bird chirps uneasily
in its nest, it is silenced before you can
find out whence the sound came. But the
dawn breaks. Before q gray streak can
be seen, my trees feel it, and quiver thrO'
every old trunk aud tiny twig with joy !;
my birds feel it, and stir dreamily in their
nests, as if they were just murmuring to
each ,Other, How comfol table we are -
Then the wind awaks.>, &sa3 ru0cS my trees
for the concert, striking his hand across
one and another, unHtll ar Inrr -ta1ieIi ;%Sv-
monies are astir; the soft, liquid rustlings
Of my oaks and 1esSbes make the rich
treble to the deep, pfaintive tones Of my
pines. Thew NY carly birds awake one
W OhN, Auu duShNA tdCll OtuCt III ShttA
responses, until the Sun rises, and the
whole joyous chorus bursts into song to
the organ and flute Accomplishments of my
ever green's and summer leaves and in
the pauScs countless happy insects chirp,
and buzz, and whirl with contented mur-
muring among my ferns and flower bells.
The SuN makes me musical" said the
Forest.
WHAT MAKES THINGS MUSICAL!
"Storns !" said the Sea. In calm
weather lie still aud sleep, or, now and
then, say few quiet words to the beaches
| ripple on, or the boats which glide thro'
my waters. But in the tempest you learn
what my voice is, when all my slumbcr-
ing powers awake, and thunder through
the caverns, and rush with all my battle
music Oh the rocks, whilst, between the
grand artillery Vi my breakers, the wind
peals its wild trumpet pealS, aud the wa
terS rush back to my breast from the cliffs
they have scaled, i'll torrents and cascades
like the voices OF thousand rivers. My
music is battlc-music. STORMS make me
musical, " said the Sea.
WHAT MAKES THINGS MUSICAL?
Action" said the Stream. 81 Law
still in my mountain cradle for long
while. 1t is very silent up there. Occa-
Sionally the shadow of an eagle swept
across me with wild cry; but generally,
from morning till night, knew 10 change
save the shadows Of my rocky cradle,
which went round steadily with the sun,
and the shadows Of the clouds, which
ghded across me, without my ever know
ing whence or whittier. But the rocks
and clouds are very silent. The singing
birds did not venture so high; and the in-
scctS had nothing to tempt them near me;
because no honeyed flower bells bent over
me there-nothing but little mosses and
gray lIchenS, and these, though very love.
~, are quiet creatures, and make no stir.
| used TO find it monOtOnouS sometimes,
and longed to have power to wake the
hills; and should have found it more SO,
had not lrlt | was growing, and should
flow forth to bless the fields by and by.
Every drop that fell into my rocky basin
| welcomed; and, at last, the spring rains
ONh'N1 0bh an tOShS oCll tIlC 0On u III
tie rils on every side, and the SHOWS melt.
ed into my cup; and, at last, | rose beyond
the rim of my dwelling, and was free
Then | danced down over the hills, and
sang rs | went, till all the lonely places
were glad with my voice and tinkled
over the stoaes like bells, and crcpt among
my crosses like fairy flutes, and dashed
laughiugly over the rocks and plunged
into the pools with all my endless harmo-
nies. Action makes me musical" said
the Stream.
WHAT MAKES THINGS MUSICAL?
Suffering" said the Harp strings--
"We were dull Jumps Of silver and cop
per ore in the mines and no silence on
the living sunny earth is like the blank oi
voiceeSs ages in those dead aud sunless
depths. But, since then, we have passed
through many fires The hidden Garth
fires underneath the mountains, first
moulded US, millenniums since, to ore
and then. in these last years, human hands
have finished the training which makes us
what we are. We have been smeltcd in
furnaces heated seven times, till all our
droSs was gone; and then we have been
drawn out ON the rack, and hammered and
fused, and, at last, stretched ON these
wooden frames, and drawn tighter and
tighter, until We wonder ut ourselves. and
at the gentle hand which strikes such rich
and wondrous chord and melodies from
uS-from us, who were once silent Jumps
of ore in the silent mines. Fires and
hlnNpc h0Vn Hnna
has made US musical" said the Harp
strings.
WHAT MAKES THINGS MUSICAL?
"Union!" said the Rocks. What
could be less musical than we, as we rose
in bare cragS from the hill ltOpS, or lay
strcwn about in huge isolated bouders in
the valleys? The trees which Sprang from
our crevices had each its voice; the forests
which clothed our sides had all these
voices blended in richest harmonieS when
the wind touched them; the streams which
gushed from our stony heart sang joyous
carols 10 us all day aud all night long; thu
grasses and wild flowers which clasped
their tiny fingers round us had each somt
sweet murmur of delight as the brcezes
played with them; but we, who ever tho
there was music in US Yet now q hu
man hand has gathered us from moor ant
mountain and lonely fell, and side by side
We lie aud give out music to the hand thai
strikes US. Thus we, who had lain fol
centuries unconscious that there was
note of music in our hearts. answer ont
another in melodious tones, and combine
in rich chords, just because we have beer
brought together. UNION makes us lnu
sical," said the Rocks.
WHAT MAKES THINGS MUSICAL?
Life" said the Oak beam in the goof
ship. 81 know it by its loss. Once
quivered in the forest at the touch of ever,
breeze. Every living leaf of mine hac