Democrat and sentinel. [volume] (Ebensburg, Pa.) 1853-1866, 1866-07-19

Z
with heat. ''Brindle' and Bed stand
doing in the marsh the sheep are pant
ing in the angles of the fences the hor-
ses are grouped beneath the old tree ;
''Pedro," the faithful guardian of the
night, has crawled under the wagon for
its shadow, now and then swapping in his
| sleep at the flies that hum around his
! pendant ear; the cat has crept up into
! the leafy butternut and stretched herself
at length, upon u limb, to sleep; the ca
nary is dreaming on his drowsy perch
and even the butterflies, weary Of flick
ering in the sunshine, rest, like full blown
exotics, ON the reeds. The children Of Il
! neighboring school, all flushed and glow
I ing, come bounding down the slope in
couples, the old red pail swung up between;
! and the clatter of the windlass betokens
.'the old oaken bucket already dripping
! up into the sun, with its brimming wealth
| of water.
Twelve O'Clock and breathless noon.
! The corn fairly curls in the steady blaze.
I The sun has driven the shadows around
under the west and north walls il has
reached the noon mark on the threshold
and pours the broad beams into the hall
the morning glories have struck their col
! ors, and little vine trailed up the wall
| by string of a shroud, shows decided
| symptoms of letting 90. The horn winds
| for dinner, but its welcome pote surprises
! the mowers in the midst Of the meadow,
and they'll cut their way out like good
soldiers, despite their signal,
Back we are again to the field, aye,
| and back too, upon the threshold of child
! hood. A chance breath watts TO US the
sweet. old fashioned fragrance of the new
mOwn hay, and we are younger IN MEM
| DRY than we'll ever be again. The an
/ cry hum Of bees just thrown out of house
and home, and the whistling quail, as she
| whirled timidly away before the steady
sweep of the whetted scythes; and the
| shout of the children as the next stroke
| laid upon their summer hopes Of the day :;
| and the bell tone of the bob-o-links swing
| ing upon the willows in the E'HollOw,'' -
Can't you hear-don't you remember
them all
And have you forgotten the green knoll
under the widespread beech-or was it
maple ! And how hungry you were, at
the morning lunch, just from sympa-
thy, though you hadn't learned your
salt for a week! And the brown jug
filled with pure water, and in those olden
times, you know-the little black bottle
with something stronger just ''to qualify"
ii, as they said, that nestled lovingly to-
gather, amid the cool and dcwy grass in
the fence corner, We sure you re-
member how magnificent loads went tum-
bling into the barn, you upon the top, and
how they heaped the new made hay into
the empty ''mows" till it was half as
high as the latter-up TO the big beam
up TO the swallow hole and how you
crept up with a young group, and hid
away in n dark corner, festooned with
cobwebs, and played you were a ''paint-
err or "catamountain, and growled ter
rifcally, to the unspeaka able dread of your
little brother, or cousin, or somebody.
Or, how weary of the frolic, you lay up
on the hay, and counted the dust sun
beams, as they streamed through the GREY
ices Of the loose siding, and wondered how
they got out again, aud how many it took
to make a day, and passed your fingers
through them to and fro, and marvelled
that you felt nothing.
Many time, you know, you crept
through that same NOW with Mary Grey
don't you remember Mary? She lived in
the house just over the hill Have you
forgotten how you went strawberrying to- |
gethera You picked in her basket-don't |
deny it-you always felt happier than
when you filed your OWE, though you
never knew why. You had a queer feel
ing sometimes about the heart, though |
you never knew what. You have found |
it out all since, no doubt. And Mary
what has become of her Why, 'there
is reaper whose name is Death," that
goes forth to the harvest in sweetest Spring
at latest Autumn and deepest Winter as
well, and Mary and Ellen and Jane were
long ago bound up i'll the same sure bundle
of life.
Seven o'clock, and clear night. The
shadows and the mist are rising IN the
frogs have set up their cho-
rus in the swamp-the fire-fies are show
ing a light off the marsh-the whip-poor-
Wills begin their melancholy song-a star
olazes beautifully over the top of the
woods, and the fair beings that people our
childhood comes about us in the twilight
he fair beings,
Who set as sets the morning star. that goes
Not down behind the darkened west, nor
hides
)bscured amid the tempest of the sky.
3ut mclts away into the light of heaven"