Belmont chronicle. [volume] (St. Clairsville, Ohio) 1855-1973, 1862-11-20
Fallen Leaves.

How they are mixed up, of all species =
oak and maple, and chestnut, and bircli!-
But nature is not clustered with them; she
| stores them all. Consider what vast crop
is thus annually shed on the earth. This,
more than any mere grain or seed, ~ the
harvest of the year. The trees are now re-
paying the earth with interest what they
have taken from it. They are discounting.
They are about to add leafs thickness to
the depth Of the soil This is the beauti.
ful way in which nature gets her muck.
while | chatter with this man and that, who
talks to me about sulphur, and the cost OF
eating. We are all the richer for their de.
cay. / am more interested in this crop
than in the English grass alone or in the
corn 1t prepares the virgin mould for fu-
ture corn. fields and forests, on which the
earth fattens. II Keeps our honesteais IA
good heart.
For beautiful variety no crop can be com
pared with this. Here is not only the plain
yellow of the grains, but nearly all the col
ors that we know, the brightest blue not ex
cepted. The early blushing maple, the
poison sumach blazing its sins as scarlet,
the mulberry ash, backs are painted like
those of sheep. The frost touches them. or
jarring Of earth's axle, see in what showers
they come heeting down. The ground is
all parti i-colored with them. But they still
live in the soil whose fertility and bulk they
increase, and in the forests that spring from
1t. They stoop to rise, to mount higher in
coming years, by subtle chemistry, climb
ing by the sap in the trees, and the sap
lines first fruits thus shed, transmitted at
last may adorn its crown when, in after
years, it has become the monarch of the
forest.
1t is pleasant to walk over the beds of
these fresh, crisp and rustling leaves. How
beautiful they go to their graves! how gent
ly lay themselves down and turn to mould!
-panted Of "a thousand hues and fit to
make the beds Of US living. SO they troop
to their last resting place, light and frsky.
They put on no weeds but merrily they go
scamperng over the earth, selecting the
spot, choosing lot, ordering no iron fence,
whispering all through the woods-some
choosing the spot where the bodies of men
are mouldering beneath, and meeting them
half way. How many futterings before
they rest quietly in their graves! They that
scared so lottily, how contented they return
to dust again, and are laid low, resigned to
lie aud decay at the foot of the tree, aud
afford nourlshment to new generations of
their kind, as well as to tlutter on high J.
They teach US how to die. One wonders if
the time will ever come when men, with
their boasted faith in immortality, will lie
down as gracefully and as ripe-wth such
an Indian summer serenity will shed their
bodies, as they do their hair and nails.
When the leaves fall the whole eartn is a
cemetfy pleasant to walk in. 1 love to
wander and muse over them in their groves.
Here are no lying nor vain epitaphs. What
though you own no lot at Mount Auburn?
Your lot is surely cast somewhere in this
vast cemetry, which has been consecrated
from of OLE. You need attend no auction
to secure a place. There is room enough
here. The lOose-strife shall bloom and the
huckle- -berry-bird sing over your bones. -
The woodman and hunter shall be- your
sections, and the children shall tread upon
the borders as much as they will. Let us
walk in the cemetry of the leaves--this is
your true Greenwood Cemetry. Atlantic
Monthly,