Helena weekly herald. [volume] (Helena, Mont.) 1867-1900, 1885-09-03

would go in, and the kindly, gray-headed
sexton would be sure to point ID little
roofess church, covered with ivy, Of course,
and tell you that the REV. Charles Wolfe
was buried there The old man seems tc
take it for granted, since he cannot read,
that he ought 20 be very proud d nis poet
parishioner We once met stately-looking.
rsy-beaI ded gentleman at the grave OF
this young Irish curate "takin' notes. He
said to US: He wrote The Burial of Sir
John Moore Ii is one Of the finest epic5 in
the English language Now, il you should
wand about the churt hyard aNhile you
woull see dark tablet with this strange in
scriptioa: Here lies the greas, great, great
grandiaughter Of Margare.. second daugh-
te- Of Johl o. Ghent, Duke os Lancaster"
Gime-lon ,rsd Lancaster0 Bat hardly far
back enough, one would think.
BY this time you would remember that
you hal to walk mile or two to reach
Queenstoan. and start thi her hut not,
am sure, without lingering 20 listen to the
IN .lancIOly moan of the water in pretty
valey-brOok, which. in this country, seems
especially unhappy, AID 70 take last, long
look al the low lonely mountains in their
blue wells, suggesting American lady tourists,
on the one side, ami the everlasting sea-
w.ta is glimmer OF restless ships ON the
ether.
Iuring our walk you cJul1 not fail every-
where 10 see with a lmiration what Gold
smith ha7, think, beel pleased to call the
eide iurze, unprohtably gay" But quote
from mpmory, AMI not my own memory
either. 1 fear that poor, dear old Oliver
was too often idle himself, and he must
have been ''unproiitably gay in his gold
laced purple cloak, for instance. He was,
by the way, once no. very remote neigh
Dor of ours, and we shall try sometime to
look up his now haunted early haunts. 1t
does seem unkind however, in the kindliest
Of souls TO say such unpleasant things Of the
furze. In the first place it must be the
busiest thing alive or it could not
blossoms. Then IT is not unproftably gay,
for it lightsns every heart with its CHEEKY
color and honeyed fragrance. once saw a
single clump of furze all in bloom in a de-
serted gariel close TO what Cecil said
looked like an old ruin, but was only
house broken down" Nothing could be
lovelier than its gracious simmer in that
lonely waste OF green. 1t must have COM
forted-for there was not much else to COM
fort them-the family OF peasants in the
wretched little hut beyond, where / saw
water shoe-deep Sc re near the door, inside,
among some spades etc, while the smoke
escaped from a great hole in the thatch
above. But, n spi-e Of al this a round
and rosy chllj, in single thin garment,
with a beautiful face and mass of curling
/ golden-brown hair, rushed, singing, out to
meet a merry crowd Of sisters and brothers,
who had been on a Sabbath days journey.
| Perhaps we should stop an instant TO look
into deep, dark, lonesome lakslet that lies
ON our path, half way up the hill Gle, sur
] rounded. it Is true, by everything charming,
/ and overlooking valley, meadows and pas
tures, and yet in this country, where crime
seems almost as common as wildfowers,
/ sure TO suggest shiver. Freddie, the hand
some, delicate, half weird little pet Of his
| English mother, and the great grandson of
/ the first United States consul at Cork,
/ who sometimes walks with u, once
| told US that whenever people did anything
wrong they rad TO have ropes put around
their necks and be thrown into the water
there He said If we would 'oniy look long
enough" we could "see hundreds OF themn
wish that, in company with my Irish
flowers, could send you bird or two.
Yesterday we saw real robin for i hear
that Ours at home, which love better, are
not robins at all, but what Louis calls false
birds !; that IS birds that are not wha. they
pretend to ben showing its red waistcoat
against the leaves OF the budding elms. We
also saw an heard some linnets and thrushes
and meadow-iarks / shall never forget our
first sight Of skylark. Ii was the last day
of April but one. and we Glanced TO say
something about Shelley's poem, Higher
Still and Higher" when all at once we heard
the music no poet could ever catch, and as
il TO illustrate the poem, We saw it rise with
fast fluttering wings, till, only dark atom,
| il was lost in the clouds. OF course, it was
easy enough as we listened to il TO fancy
that far below us we saw:
This earth spin like fretful midge"
At last, however. the bird, having left its
song in the skies, dropped like a spent arrow
in the meadow below us.
But am trying the patience of the trans
Atlantic steamer. which has been waiting
for my letter. Some day hope it will wait
for me. SALLIK NJ. b. PIATT.