The new Northwest. [volume] (Portland, Or.) 1871-1887, 1876-03-17
THE SILENT.
BY LAURA RosENTHAL.

by Mrs. P. L. Price, of East Portland, lady
who is well known in the educational interests
of the State. In a note which accompanied it
she says: any thought in the matter was to
encourage such efforts, and impress upon the
minds of other girls that what a girl has done,
girl can do. I am as ever for the education
and cultivation of fwomen."-ED.l
Music, in all ages of the world, has
been a favorite theme with the poet.
The songs of the morning stars, the
music of the spheres, and all growing
things-of these he has written.
But much of this is Imagination
music addressed to the soul rather than
to the ear-for all do not hear with the
poets sensitive organs.
"The Poet in a golden cline was born,
With golden stars above"
And of the sounds which are real, much
becomes Insignificant when relatively
considered. The greatest agencies are
noiseless; the grandest results are
wrought in silence.
The position might be maintained by
ingenious argument that, on the morn
ing of creation, the great Master Work
man spoke no word as He called the
the universe into being; that, in obedi-
ence to a thought, amidst universal si-
lenCe, the myriad worlds rolled into
space as noiselessly as soap-bubbles
float on the wind. But it is not neces-
sary to embark upon this sea of specu-
lation to demonstrate that the domain of
silence is great.
Astronomers have calculated that of
the worlds of our system, some are so
! far removed from the earth that light,
travelling at the rate of two hundred
thousand miles per second, would con-
sumo three millions of years in travel
ing the distance. Admitting the theory
of sound as generally received, and
granting to each world an atmosphere q
thousand times the extent of ours, there
yet remains a stretch of space almost
infinite where no sound is ever heard.
Silence the great empire of silence
That alone is great; all else is small
But we design to narrow our views,
and consider the silent as it exists
around us-the silent of which we are
cOgnizant. You stand beneath the
skies on spring morning, and remem-
Der that few days since, the earth was
naked, and cold and brown. Now Q
carpet of the purest emerald is stretched
over hill and valley. But did you heal
the sound of the wheel, as the warp anC
woof of this perfect carpet was being
spun? Was the sound of the busy loon
in which it was woven borne to youi
ear during the stiffness of some winter
night? Heard you anything of the
ceaseless flying of the shuttle ? Die
the murmur of the weavers' voices evel
reach you? Where yesterday the bare
branches of the wood lifted themselve!
clear and cold athwart the chilly clouds
you see green leaves unfolding, al
though on fieecy canvas some grea
picture is growing beneath an artists
pencil. In single day hundred mill
ions of leafy banners have fioated upor
the wind. What ear heard the foot
steps of those who unfurled the verna
pennons Whence came and whithe
have flown the noiseless workers
Myriads of flowers, blue-eyed ant
wy-bosomed, are opening arount
you. Go to that unfolding bud; stooI
down; place your ear close; listen
Do you hear it breaking its winte
casket? Do you hear the life throbbin!
through its subtle veins ? Does you
ear catch its perfumed breathings? Sil
thousand times has that emerald carpe
been spread; six thousand times hav
the woods walked into life and beauty
six thousand times have bursting co
rolIas sweetened the air; but in wha
history is it recorded that the seal of 81
{ lence which God set upon these work
was ever broken? When were thes
things done noisily? His dew drop
: muteIy on the hills. 1t comes to tn
, earth as physician, bearing healing
the scared hearts of flowers. 1t visit
the roots of the scorched plant, creep
up into its veins, and 10! the crispe
leaves expand in smiles, and put on
fresher green. Even the king of th
forest, lifting his royal head to the stars
is stronger and more beautiful for tn
! ministry of the silent dew, remindin
US that every nature, however higt
I is indebted to trifles.
: The frost is a silent worker. He visit
: the window of the invalid, and he
: wakeful eye observes the frescoing b
the moonlight growing; but her sens
/ tive ear catches no sound of the work
mans coming or going. He steals som
night into fair garden, and the flower
! droop beneath his Judas kiss; he touchC
: the green leaves, and they die; h
g breathes upon the merry brook, and il
laughter is hushed; he looks upon til
river and lake, and the tide of commerC
is stayed; he waves his hand over til
< fields and orchards, and gaunt famir
stalks through the land.
, All that is grand in nature is achieve
: in silence; all her great forces work 5
D lently. The silent sunbeam, 9TH
, source, perhaps, of the forces of nature
. visits the earth, and she is transfigure