Morning journal and courier., 1884-03-04

experience. We have been there summe ! mornings under the blessing of full health l when not soul was near when the air wa | Q perfect elixir, when sitting there was 8 being bathed in an aerial bath which pene l trated and touched every nerve SO grateful ! that 1t seemed as if the mere sensation of ex istsncs was as exquisite pleasure as human ity could possibly attain and live. Still ther must always bs something to mar even tn acme of enjoyment, and this was ours-th ungratified wish that we for the time coult I be transformed into some huge giant so as tt offer greater lung capacity for the penetra ! tion of the delicious air and 8 greater body surface for 1t to envelop and hold in it invigorating embrace Then with this per feet physical enjoyment came the spiritua feast that the sun offers there az he awake the scene to light and beauty, coming from beyond the mansions and gardens of Elm street. Go with us in imagination and V, will endeayor to picture the scene. At frs the buildings, trees and shrubbery are il gloom, the wings of night still reeumbent throwing over them their shadows. whicl gradually lessen and fade, revealing nor, and more to the vision. At these early mo ments scarce 6 sound is heard, save perhaps the distant rumbling of some solitary farm
 wagon slowly entering the city, or the shr1el of 8 locomotive g mile or more away. Tn. silence is as of the country. You hear ths
 cooing of dove, the note of 8 bird or tht
 ~hir of his wings amid the lofty branehe.
 sixty or eighty feet up in the air, and some
 times the clarion notes of the cock coming
 from 8 distant square-coming over dwell
 ines and the beds of slespsrs and over flower
 beds gardens and shrubbery and droppinc
 into your ear his cheerful, triumphant note
 In your mind you see him away there swell.
 ing and strntting in the midst of his many
 hued feathery harem. How proud he is
 What does he know of original sin !? Battel
 now and then strikes in with its quarter hour
 chimes sweet and clear.
 The light grows stronger, pours slantine
 from between the buildings and discloses
 masses of mist, lightens these masses in disg
 onal golden streamers and this mist softens
 the landscape, takes from the harshness of
 the lines of the buildings near and far down
 Elm street and mellows the entire scene in
 harmony. Humanity is now awakening and
 appearing singly or it may be in occasional couples. As yet things are quiet The city is only preparing to hum. You hear the cadence of footsteps on the hard asphalt, the sounds increasing as they approach and then diminishing; and the sounds of voices hundreds of feet away also strike upon your ear. How strange it seems that you should hear those footsteps and those voices there when so far away; but remember this is in the silence of an early summers morning upon our Green. People are born here, live here to old age and die without this expert ence They never know their heritags, and many more who leave their homes every summer never will know It is pity.
 The sun is now up. He touches the vanes and they smile in glittering glory and he lights up the spires and tall roofs and throws his golden ribbands across the velVety emer aid and the whole landscape rejoices and laughs with the collaboration of the new born day Only two persons have as yet taken seats on the benches and there are vacancies for one hundred and twenty three more One is son of toii, his face is Drowned by expo- sure and the psor fellow is asleep. Bli s.ul sleep! This death while yet living! mfste Eious, transient death, the body still holding the soul within it's portals while the mind, helpless and helmless. may bs waited by the varying currents of spiritual power through the imitless regions of the great unknown But memory gone 1t gives no report, save that in some mysterious way it has noted the passage of time, can tell whether it has been wandering one hour or ten.
 The other person upon the benches is a woman. She has no home of beauty. Xvi dentiy she is poor and daughter of toil, but she is more than queen, for she is mother, and she has her babe in it's willow carriage and we look at tive always do, for babe is 8 wonderland she pleased says: My babe is in it's nisht-dress and took it just as you see it, and brought it here for a breath of
 
 she night-dress so that we could imagine how sweet it would look if it were only in it's best attire. A momeht later and the city clock from it's lofty massive tower strikes in it's deep tones, far apart, one two-three-four five six: AS the last note dies, the woman calmly arises from her seat and pushing the litt.e one before her in it's carriage slowly disap- pears from the scene, with sort of rythm in her steps and pride in her port and doubtless feeling that she had more than a kingdom. and she had. And twenty minutes later as she started the morning smoke in her little home, maybe she was cheered by the reflection that a stranger had smiled upon her heart treasure there under the elms.
 Now with the morning sun of summer upon our New Haven Green come the bicycles and the early rider1 fit in and fit out from be heath the elms, now under the shadow and now in the light, and the sun strikes the straw hats as gold and the treadng legs cease not for & moment. It is the poetry of pure ton without sound and pleasing It is all absorbing each rider solitary by himself and there is no vice, no rolI1cking, no gross com panionship there.
 You are strolling along, your back is to one, you know it not, you suspect nothing, hear nothing Anon, he has flashed by you IS an arrow, and yon then behold his back, reading legs, big wheel and it's infant guid ng follower. Go to the ant, thou sluggard, put as for you, thou silent arrow-speediug, ion of the morning thou requirest no admo- 1ition, for thou art wheeling in line, rejoicing n thy youth, quaffing in health and vigor rom the sparkle and champagne of the day. And thy beautiful 1.-the steed of elittering 'teeI, that miracle of inventive mind, which moves silent as thought, alike rejoices with ;hee-reioices in the exhilaration of his meteor like feetness, as he flashes from his ,wift revolving sides dazzling stars of silver. These are pyrotechnics of the day. rehec- ions from the great king of light himself. rreacherous bioycle You are on it and then rou may be not It gives no warning. HaI vas riding on Temple street, 8 chivairous youth full of the dare devil of impotence. when a strange lady on horseback young and pretty met him. With the instinct of gal antry he esseyed to tip his hat. UnIucky essay! in twinkling he is prostrate on the ground, his bicycle is over his limbs and that arm that he had lifted to pay obeisancs to beauty is under him limp and broken, and what is most lamentable about it is that the ady has passed by and never learns of the misfortune to give him the bliss of her sym pathJ, never learns that it was through the instinct of devotion to herself as a bewitching of 8 bewitching sex that strange youth had come to grief This was two years ago and Hal no longer walks our Acadt mic halls, but with mended arm is buried in the far western mountains where he has discovered mine, and there In rough attire with single comrade and joint owner he bends over with aching back, right there in the back bone of the continent and picks away in his hole while the cold icy water from the rocky roof above comes dripping down pat! patI striking him on the nape of the neck and running adown his spinal column Hal! to what plights will not woman and gold bring such romantic chap as you!
 The asphalt walks on the Green are nov getting alive with the hurrying figures and sach one is a study as an additional illustrs- Eion of the infinite variety Of form. gait and attire of the race, bat seat under the slns is an aged man with his shining dinner kettle by his side. Every morning he pauses Ehers for few moments of rest as he goes from his home away beyond the Derby depot to his place of work, the wheel shop at the head of Grove street near the other extreme of our city. He Is an American born, born where they milk the COWS in Scokorat, town of Woodbridge He still works, for it is yet lay with him, although verging on seventy, and his night cannot be afsr.
 The newsboys are alive and active and now as we leave the Green one little fellow ap- brooches and in most doIorous tones cries: 'Ths Morning News" Every soul in town must have heard that mournful toned news boy. His cry touches your heart and you feel like buying the edition.
 Our morning upon ths Green is now ended,
 A l, fr7f1v