Fort Worth gazette. [volume] (Fort Worth, Tex.) 1891-1898, 1891-09-13

was ii not in perfect time and harmony
with the lulling music of so exquisite
summer eve2 The sun was laZily sinking
into his evening couch to the lullaby hum
OF the winged orchestra and The soothing
rustic of the breeZe-stirred boughS. On
such an evening all nature INDUCES in the
luxury of repose. or perhaps in the still
keener delight we get from the gentle
activity preceding IL. rs anticipation has
often :. richer ecstasy than realization.
This sunset hour in such Il spot. with
such associations, has more of the sacred IN
it than we allow our everlasting wits the
chance to revel in. We murder natures
sweetest solaceS by Smothering them with
the dragged-in rags of convention, artificial
ism, worldlness and worry. We must
needs fool-like, carry our marhet-place
memories, our hideouS fashion-fancies with
us into Eden, turning even paradise into Il
puryatory OF haif-happiness, half
misery, when by one simple stroke
OF common sense we could realize
the ideal bliss of the angels in heaven
every time we surrender body and soul to
the exquisite spell of any Of Natures
hooks. We desecrate and insult her by
fouiing the scented summer evening air
with the fumes of the city cigar; by tread
ing the grassy aisleS Of her foliage-roofed
cathedral in our working-clotheS of French
flied dandy-cut: by jabbering i'll her pres
euce the iargon of the street and other sor-
did haunts. The garb of honest and true
simplicity is the only lifting guise for body
and for mind OF those of us who worship
nature in spirit and in truth. Our walk
must be humble and measured, our thoughts
loosened from the grip of the Stucco world
behind our dominant note that of thank
fitness and gladness mexpreSsible at our
escape from prison into bounding life, even
if only for the hour.
The golden key that unlocks the sacred
est of Natures treasures is love.
The lover knows 4 thousand interpreta-
tons of cloud-signs, bird-talk, sun acrobat
les, field and frost-lore, river and hill mys-
ticism, that are hopelessly hidden from the
unblest surface-observer. The lover is in
touch with nature in all her moods. She
can tell him nothing he does not or will not
soon know. Golden beams of bright bliss,
darkening clouds, storms, April unrest, De-
cember chills, all speak language won
drously meaningful to him. Place pair
of lovers on such an eve as this in a garden
space rounded with towering trees that
shut out the sight and thought of the man
made town, and, 10. by curious magic the
leaves begin TO do the talking and every
blade of grass, beetle, stone, and flower
transform themselves into speaking SYM
bols.
Blarnaby was not what even his own
countrymen would call poet. They are
too generous to limit the title to persons
who are poetical. But he could scarcely
claim to be either the one or the other. He
was, however, man of deep feeling, tender
of heart, so tender that he had found it ad-
visable to freeze a three-inch surface armor
Of icy reserve TO prevent all manner of dis
tressful items diving into its warm depths
But now his whole being was in state of
thaw. Every occurrence. here and there,
big and little, seemed to have conspired