Democrat and sentinel. [volume] (Ebensburg, Pa.) 1853-1866, 1863-07-01
VOL. lO---NO. 80.

great green trees IN summer. We then
feel his meaning, where he describes ar5ors
that are not the work of art, ''but by
the trees own inclination made" We
look up at the great network of branches,
and think how silently they have been
fashioned. Through many quiet night,
and many q golden dawn, and all day
long, even when the twilight threw her
grey veil over them, the work advanced,
from when the warp was formed of ten
der sprays and tiny buds, until a woof of
leaves was woven with shuttle of sun
shine and showers, which the unseen wind
sent in and through the branches. No
human eve could see how the work was
done, for the pattern of leaves was woven
motionless-here a brown bud came, and
| there dot of green was thrown in; yet
no hand was visible during the workman
| ship, though we know the greet Power
that stirred in that mysterious loom, and
wovc the green drapery of summer. Now
/ in the woods, like n fair lady of the Oh
den time peeping through her embowered
lattice. the tall woodbine leans out from
among the leaves, as if to look at the
procession that is ever passing, of golden
bclted bees, and gauzc-winged dragon
flies. birds that dart by as if sent with
hastv messages, and butterflies, the gandy
outridcrs, that make for themselves a way
between the overhanging blossoms. All
these she sees from the green turret in
which she is imprisoned. while the bees
90 sounding their humping horns through
every fowery town in the forest. The
wild roses, compelled to obey the COM
mands of summer, blush as they expose
r their beauty by the wayside. and hurry
to hide themselves again amid the green
when The day is done, seeming as ii they
tried & to slut and become buds again"
Like pillars Of fire, the foxgloves blaze
through the shadowy green of the under
wood, as If to throw light on the lesser
flowers that grow around their feet
Pleasant is il now after long walk to sit
down on the slope of some Hill, and gaze
over the outstretcled landscape from the
valley ut our feet, TO where the river loses
! itself in the distant sunshine. In all
: those widely-spread iarnhouses and cot
p tagcs-some 80 far away that they appear
. but little larger than mole-hills-thc busy
stir of every day life is going on, though
neither sound nor motion are audible or
visible from the green slope. From these
e quiet homes, muYe christening, marrying.
, and burTying professions. Thousands
:, who have TILED the earth withinthe space
:, our eye commands, ''now sleep beneath
= it, There is no one living who ever saw
yondcr AGED oak look younger than it does
- now. The head lies easy which erected
that grey old stile, that has stood bleach
:, INC 50 many years IL S IN and wind; 1t looks
like dried bones. the very step is Worn
=. hollow by the feet of those who have
!. passed away forever. How quiet yondcl
-. fields appear through which the brown
=; footpath stretches; there those that have
! gone walked and talked, and played and
:, made love. and through them led then
;, children by the hand, to gather the wilo
! roses Of Julc, that still flower as they did
in that very spot where their grandfather:
81 gathered them, when, a century back the,
of were children. And yet it may be tha
these fields, which look 50 beautiful in on
ewes, and awaken such pleasant memo
rics OF departed summers, bring back III
NJ such remembranccs to the unlcttcrcd hind
I'VE that he thinks only of the years he la
ID toiled in them, of the hard str,'gglc he ha
as. had to get bread for his family, and th
ny aching bones hc has gone home with {:
night. Perhaps wheE he walks out wit
the his children. he thinks how badly he Wa
all paid for plas!ing that hedge, or repairin
that fcwery cmbankment how long
took him to p!ow or harrow that field
; how cold the days were then, and whe
his wants were greatest, what little wag
ycd he received. The Haunting woedbiI
!; may have no charm for his eye, nor II
as bee hnmming round the globe of crimsC
mol, clover perhaps he pauscs not TO listen
the singing of the birds, but with cy
car. bent on the ground, . he homeward, plo
,utl his weary way" Cottages buried
woodbinc or covered with roses are II
It t" the haunts of peace and homes of 10
which poets so often picture, nor arc I'll
aco' :Ne the gloomy abode which some cyni'
-. politicians magnify into abodes OF III
cry.
cath We now hear that sharp rasping sou
halls IN the fields which the mower makes eve
with time he whcts his Scythe, tcEEing us that
oses, has already cut down myriads of thc
e up beautiful wild flowers and feathered gr
hlch scs which the morning sun shone up
as"n We enter the field and picl, a few fad
ith 4 flowers out of the great swaths a
MON while watching him at his work, see h
5a@@eS at one sweep he makes a desert, where
We moment before all was brightness
lsers beauty. How one might moralIze G
Z the j Continued on Fourth Page