Saint Mary's beacon. [volume] (Leonard Town, Md.) 1867-1983, 1874-05-28
like the type Of those 'hsppy isles" "a
which Ulysses thought he might attain.l

I
ported to the very scene. which England's 3
nobly born. but misanthropic poet. has
immortaliscd in Manfred; aud listening.
might almost expect to hear the "Raus
s'es raches" floating downward from those
Alpine heights, or. by distance mclowed,
catch the faint and far of music Of
Pipes in the liberal air, mixed with the sweet
bells Of the sauutering herd"
l spent a most delightful hour with my
host at this point. At our very feet. half
hidden in a bosky dell, already cmbower-
ed in densest foliage.
"A burriel roompled doom the glen.''
And If the poet Laureate had never seen
1.-The Brook" which be has made famous
in song. aud had been one Of us he would
have made this very stream to say,
81 chatter over stony ways
In little sharps and trebles,
bubble into eddying bays,
bubble on the pebbles"
and so on to the end of that "word paint
ing" Of a crystal stream, except that he
could not have said that in its waters could
be found,
'' Here and there a lusty trout
And here and there a grayling.''
But the fortunate owner of this beautiful
stream intends to remedy all that and at
no distant day to stock the stream with
trout as we'll as the capacious reservoir
into which it debouches with black bass.
1t so happened that in the course of con-
versation we ascertained that sixteen years
ago. my host and myself met each other
at frontier post in northern Texas, and
the day wancd in mutual enquiries rs to
friends whose names had been locked up
in memory's storehouse for years. and IN
recalling scenes and incidents of long
line of travel. whose initial point was the
father of waters, for SO the Aborigines
styled the Mississippi. and whose furth-
crest boundary was the mighty ocean
which We could just discern through the
gathering twilight. Looking around me
ere we turned our steps homeward the
words Of the poet of the fields and forests
of America came to my memory like an
embodiment Of the scene. Well might
he exclaim.
" Oh, there is not lost,
| One OF ear'h's charms; upon her bosom yet,
After the n ght of untold centuries.
The freshness of her far beginning lies
And yet shall lie."
The further mountains showed only ghost.
ly outlines in the gathering gloom and
Twilight grey
Had in her sober livery all things clad''
as we approached the house. We had
seen the spire Of tho Episcopal church.
which forms SO pleasing feature in the
bosom of the valley. pale aud fade from
sight; the lofty walls of the old Mission
of San Gabriel were no longer visible
Suddenly from out the silence and gath
ering shades fell upon our ears a chime so
musical and sweet. so spiritually clear and
delicate. that had honest John Bunyau
heard il. he might well have deemed him
self arrived at the land Of Beulah .whcre
the sun shine,h night and day. and lis
tening to the melody of the bells where
with the Pilgrim is greeted when be
reaches that delightful country. l turned
to my companion for n solution os the
mystery. 1t was the hour Of vespers a,
the old Mission. Iu an instant ] was, in
fancy at least. I'm the Arcadiau land on
the shores of the basin Of Minas" The
rest of the picture. Is it not painted by
Longfellow in that matchless story where
in he has embalmed the memory. the life.
long sorrow, the triumphant faith. the
dca,hless love Of the sweetes, aud sadiest
woman who ever lent charm to poet
page?
'' Then came the laborers home from the Eeld
and serenely the sun sank
Down to his rest and twilight prevailed. Amor
from the belfry
Soflly the Angelus sounded, and over the roofs
| of the village
Columns of pale blue smoke, like clouds Of in
cense ascending,
Rose from hundred hear,hs, the homes Of peace
and conientment."
So ended my frs. day in the San Ga
briel. | will try and tell you something
about it in my next.