Montgomery County sentinel. [volume] (Rockville, Md.) 1855-1974, 1890-11-14
In the Indian Summer.

anu lOr PROOF tneTtOl, 10 ueIt llttie, CauSu'
in the hollow of ones hand. Not enough
indeed, to turn a wheel, but TO quench
may be, a roses or robins thirst, to bap-
tie an infant love of Nature; 10 sparkle in
dews, on opening leaves of Thought"
It was in the mellow hush Of the full
noon time of such day as in which life
looses the sharp edges and angles Of care
and thought and lapses into the indistinct
sweetness OF dream that we wandered
some distance from our present home to
one of Natures quiet alcoves, which has
ever been from dreamy boyhood favorite
place of resort-a deep and extensive piece
of meadow-land, eloquent because of its
profound seclusion-one of those soft sweet
little pictures which are here and there
hung in the great art gallery of Nature.
This picturesque piece of meadow-la
energies from a deep cluster of naples,
which were then rich with their gorgeous
robes-flinging out their banners of crimson
and gold to CLEAN in the clear sunshine of
the years holiday--the season of the ripen.
ed leaf. Extending for some distance, round
ing out its arms at the centre and finally
assuming the shape of an angle, it makes its
way into dense body of pines where tall
pine trees stand dreaming in the balmy
quiet of the Autumn days; the ruddy gold
sunbeams brooding upon the vast green
roof, finding an entrance here and there,
and shooting through many tiny aperture
In long tremulous shafts of powderly light,
until among the dark boughs, they fade
away into dim grey memory of former
spendor. Here, the low deep murmur
which is never wholly hushed in a pine
wood, even at the stilliest seasons, rises fit
fully in soft swells of plaintive remonstrance
or halfchiding caress, and then sinks away
into silence broken again by some fuller
tone of meaning. On either side of this
meadow, extending Its entire length, are
running streams making music all through
the hours Of the day and the night, as sweet
as the ripple of grlish laughter. The
wild flowers which line their banks in the
glad Summertime, as though in love with
their home, whisper in the soft night winds.
From the margin of these streams swell in
graceful symmetry commanding heights
which are covered with an almost virgin
forest where the suns rays sometimes softly
linger on the grassy slope, and where the
deep-toned organ sounds its soft or grand
and ever changing symphonies, and solemn
requiems swell and die forever.
On reaching midway this meadow, our
heart awake to the slightest beating Of the
mighty pulse of Nature, we turned to take
a retrospective glance. What intolerable
splendOr everywhere greeted us! From the
woodland heights, that we have mentioned,
came the songs of birds, so plantive and
subdued their voice they seemed the echo
of golden harps swept by the fingers of the
unforgotten dead. Over all rested the rays
of round, red sun, rich ruby in the
jewelry OF God, as sweetly as the benedc-
ton that follows after prayer.
Continuing our walk for short distance
further, we reached an oak that stood i'm.
mediately on the bank of one of the streams
and near where the meadow makes into the
pine land. 1t was an aged tree, and so far had
successfully defied the rayages Of time.
Now like some mighty giant or athlete,
conscious of his power, it had stripped itself
to the waist to battle with the storms of the
approaching Winter.
Resting upon the roots of this tree, and
whilst listening to the great poem of Ma.
ture, that grand song which echoes through
all creation, what a continent of thought
memory traversed-what dreams passed be
fore our vision in rapid succession-what
quiet sorrows came stealing from soft
corner of our heart and then disappeared as
we have many times seen the cloud Of in
cense rise from the sacred altar and lose
itself in the arched roof
A calm autumnal day in the country is
great thing, a beautiful thing, thing to
thank God for a thing to make one happy,
buoyant OF spirit, full of gratitude to the
Great Creator; a thing to make one merry,
too, not with loud and bosterous mirth,
but with heart full TO overlooking with
cheerfulEess, and calm joy 70 see the
bright sun standing in his glory up in
the sky, shedding his placid light over the
earth when the air is clear, the winds
hushed, and the leaves are still and move.
less on the trees; and then 10 look along
the hilsides, aud mark the bright sunlight,
and the deep shadows, the green of the pine,
the yellow of the birch, the crimson Of the
maple, the dark brown of the beech, the
grey of the oak, the silver of the poplar, and
the varying shades Of all these mingling
and blending in all harmony Of brilliant
coloring. Talk about Springtime or Sum.
merl Green on the hillside Green in the
meadows and pastures! Green everywhere
all around is changeless and everlasting
green as if hillside and valley, forest and
field, had but a single robe for morning,
noon and night, and that only and always
green. True, there is the music of the birds,
joyous notes and variant, happy and hilari'
Gus, in the Springtime; but there is no
cricket under the fiat stone in the pasture,
his song is not heard in the stone wall or
in the corner of the fence, no music Of the
katydid, no tapping of the wookpecker on
the hollow tree or the dead limb, no chatter
ing of the squirrel as he gathers his Winter
store, no pattering of the faded leaves as
they fall quietly down from their places,
no falling of the ripened nuts, loosened from
their shucks by the recent frosts.
All these sounds belong to the calm
Autmnal days-there is nothing sad about
them. No! no! nothing sad. Dark days
there are-damp, chilly, misty, wet, and un
pleasant days in Autumn, days that make
one relish corner by an old fashioned fire
There are gusty, windy, capricious days in
Autumn which nobody cares to praise, when
the northwest wind goes sweeping over the
forest, roaring among the trees, and whrl-
ing the sere leaves along the ground, and
which to tell the truth about them, are any
thing but pleasant. But "some days must
/ - L. L q tf,o,y 10, ri