The weekly Butte record., 1867-11-16
Change.
There's change. Ben Bolt in the things that we're e

There's change Ben Bolt. in the things that were
It's singular fact that there is not living or
inanimate object on the earth, with which We are
acquainted bat is undergoing continual mutations :
and it seems to be wise dspensaton OF the Great
Lawgiver of creation for the well being and happi-
ness of humanity, for man soon grows weary OF an
eternal sameness in things-even pleasures OF the
mos; exquisite nature will pail on our sensibilities
By long continuance. Hence we change from
pleasure to pain from pain to rapture from rapture
to sadness from sadness sunny smiles and reioic-
ing from rejoicing to grief, and from grief we rush
into the brilliant fields of hope. Thus it is seen
that our mental feelings are susceptible Of contin-
ual change.
But in the material world, what wonderful shift
ings reyerssls and revolutions forever occur
ring. The mountains, those mighty upheavais OF
earth, are continually crumbling down and seeking
a common level dense forests of vast dimensions
are falling to decay, and upon their decompesing
ruins springs another class Of vegetation great
rivers that bsect continents in their course TO the
ocean, are incessantly in the process of changing
their channels and the mighty ocean itself, that
changes its eternal voice from the rolling thundcrs
that would drown the din of battlefield, to the
low lnonot onous tones of mothers lullaby Is al
WAYS advancing, retreating, or encroaching, and
changing its bed like an uneasy sleeper fiery
throated volcanoes, with tongues of living flame.
vomit rivers of molten rock from their capacious
caverns, and then relapse into sullen silence and
inaction, only for the purpose OF gaining new en-
orgy to burst forth again.
The atmosphere that surrounds our earth is also
subject to variety of changes, not only from hot
to cold, from cool to warm and balmy, but in its
motions it rushes with such terrible fury as to
PROSTATE whole forests and pile the waters OF the
ocean into lofty mountains then it sinks into
gentle breeze, and from that to low murmuring
zephyr that creeps from leaf to leaf"
The moon is changing-and even the great sun
himself varies thirtythree and third degrees from
the equator producing the four seasons of the year;
and in fact all nature presents wonderful pano-
rama Of dissolvng views.
Bat there are changes in the scenes we once knew,
over which. at times. we feel sad. Let go back
to the home of our childhood, to the place where
the budding hopes of youth were fist cherished
to the sunny hills where chased the red squirrel
hoard away for the winter time-to the old log cab
in school house, where struggled up from the
fag end of long line of rustic girls and boys. to
gain proud eminence at the head of the spelling
classic the bright sparkling river, whose waters
babbed such eloquent music that it sounds yet il
the depths os memory. like the sweet tones of a
long forgotten melody-to the vine embowered nook
by that river, where We gathered the grapes and
the muscadnes-to the romantic glen, where we
strolled in the twilight with our sweetheart
Nancy and murmured sweet nothings not dream
ing that those pleasant times would ever have
end But Oh. how changed are all those scenes
now Those once familiar hills now leveled
down for a railroad track !: and as the locomotive
rushes along the way with Is train of commercial
and human freight, though it marks the progress
of an advancing age, it awakens soul emotions in
our hearts, The bright, fowery woodland has dis
appeared beneath the axe mans strokes, and the
red squirrels and beautiful birds that once made
it their home, have sought habtation in distant
forest; the log-cabin school house has tumbled
down. and on its ruins stands a brick church
the rustic girls and boys, my schoolmates OF the
long-ago. have grown to be men and women, and
taken divergent courses in the world my sweet
heart Nancy, has ripened into mature matron,
"begirt with growing infancy that bright. spark
ling river has been shorn of its beautiful border of
vine-c clad trees, and in one place, it has been d.
verted from its natural course and made subservi-
ent as a motive power to prope the machinery of
an immense cotton factory; that romantic glen
has been converted into vineyard by company
of Guis bo vap6t tha iuic of he wh
once we listened to the midnight hootings of the
lonesome owl In fact, everything is so changed,
that we feel like stranger in our native home
The Protean hand of Change seems to grapple
with the brightest and most cherished forms we
know. The laughing. artless boy, whose innocence
and credulty we so much admire is, in few short
years converted into the grim and relentless war
rior, moving amid fields of carnage The sinless
maiden, whose sunny smile falls upon US like radi-
ance from brighter world, is destined to be
come the good and almost perfect woman, or the
proud and naughty lady of fashion, or, perchance.
the heartless coquette, going round the country
breaking human hearts with professional skill
that almost exctes our admiration. And here, in
conclusion, wish to say, parenthetically to the
lady readers of the RECORD that if they believe in
a hereafter-if they believe in future rewards and
punisbments, they should be very careful how they
trfe with the unappropriated affections of warm
and confdng heart. It's an awful thing TO break a
mln's heart! and, if we believe half we read,
there has been lots of il done. ALP.
Butte Greek Nov. lst, 1867.
TEor tha