Juniata sentinel and Republican. [volume] (Mifflintown, Juniata County, Pa.) 1873-1955, 1892-08-10
BESIDE THE RIVER.

The aflurement OF the cool, swee
river in these long days af June, when
the sky is blue throughout, with nc
) little heecy clouds, wheE every flower
, is breaking open and all birds sing
, the allurement is irresistible. The sun
is so hot, everything in nature seems
so painting that an afternoon of lazy
lettering by the riverside is pleasure
too sweet to be forgotten.
Take rug with you-for 1t is cool
by the river-and go down to the old
ash tree in the bayfield, by the side oi
the water. where there is such a cosy
seat in its lowest forked bough. You
can easily spring into it, and when you
are there you will see what a delightful
resting place it is. Donot take a book
with yon; you will find it impossible to
read type with Natures book lying
open before you. No one with the
love of Nature in their hearts can read
in open air. There is too much to be-
guile, too much to divert the mind. II
you sit still, the queer grey and black
flying beetles will alight on your
sleeve for rest, and will 70 carefully
hrug and tuck away their transparent
wings under their horny cases till they
suddenly fly straight off again. A tiny
green creature with brilliant yellow
legs will come and creep up and down
your page. You must move him gently
away, or you will crush his frail little
body between the leaves. Then you
will see how lovely he is, how perfect
and beautifully formed. and will fall
a-thinking.
No, leave the book behind, and go
and sit in the ash tree on the bank by
the broad shallow. where the water
nipples and murmurs along, calmly
now, in the fine weather, where il
foams and rushes impetuously by,
with waves like the sea, in times OF
food and high winds You will find a
great many sights and sounds for your
good contentment down there by the
peaceful river, whilst you rest in the
sweet air and sunshine in a bower of
cool, green leaves.
Choose the ash tree, the "Venus of
the woods" because of the natural seat
in the forked bow; because, also, of
the good chance yoa will have of espy-
! ing an even ash-leaf. II you see one,
pick it and carefully dispose of it, to
take home bye and bye, to keep and
treasure the whole season through ''for
luck"
At the foot of the beautiful tree, and
all along the bank. there is most
wonderful wild garden. Long trails of
yellow pimpernel, or wood loose-strife
/ so different from the other loose
strife. the long purples" OF the later
season-long tangles of the pretty yell
low stars struggle with the bright blue
speedwell in a confusion of blossoms.
Tall spireas, not yet in flower, overtop
the yellow whorls of the quaint bed
straw that grows so thickly there.
/ These make border to the hay field
of Natures bri liant broic cry, with a
dainty fringe of young ferns and brown
howered wood-rushes at the edge, droop.
ing over the river. The ferns and
rushes both are full of their own fresh
green smell. The scent and breath OF
the summer fills the air. If one we're
stone blind one could thrust ones
hands into the grass and feel the SUM
mer in it.
The hay field that slopes upward
from the river Is full of flowers, of but
ter cups and red clover heads, of crinl-
son sorrel spikes and "cock and hens, 1"
of dandelion seed balls, and foxtail
grasses with the bloom all ready to
burst; daisies grow tall in their upward
reaching to the light, and the little
chickweed clusters everywhere
amongst the stems of the flowers and
the bents. The tall bronze grass is
above them all, and its green-grey
h ads sway to the light summer wiud
till their simmer in the light looks
like filing vaporous cloud that earth
has caught to Its bosom-unwilling to
remain, struggling to escape back tc
the blue.
Over the river, on the other side
where the new growth of the fir-trees
CLEANS silvery against the sombre tone
of the old needles, the cushat doves are
cooling their story of love over and
over again in gentle monotony; but it
is a monotony that never wearIes, that
only soothes like the murmur of the
river. A black bird, too, is singing to
his mate
1T is the time when the fish feed un-
der the bending boughs that overhang
the stream. They rise with liquid
double-sOund, and the river carries
away on its bosom the little circles
they make, widening and widening as
they glide along, till they are merged
in the ripple on the surface. Some
times trout rushes along the face of
the water, almost seeming to fly, in
pursuit of gnat or lace-winged fly.
Far down below, round the bend, Is
the rushing sound of the fall, softenei
to a whisper by the distance, making a
soft undertone to all the music of the
birds. and the ripples of the water
uear.
Although 1t Is now the greenest time
Of all the year, when all the russell
caves have fallen and are hidden, with
last years bracken, by the new fresh
growth, there is rich and glowing color
down there by the river. Beyond the
meadows on the other side, the old
quarry of iron-rusted rock burns red
in the sunlight, und the gorse that
crowns the top still glows with golden
blossom. From the seat In the ash
Tree you can see the little tender
growth of ivy that is climbing up the
rugged sides. In the wheat-held the
charlocks shine out in their brillian
yellow, baneful but beautiful, whole
sheets of them, spread out like cloth Of
gold for the "Psgeant of Summer"
There is no workaday look on all the
lace of nature in this perfect afternoon.
a plough lies idle on its side on the
margin of the potato-feld close to the
hedge, and there is no laborer in sight.
Only the birds and the insects, the
river and the fish make the sound and
the movement of the hour.
But to see all these things you must
go and sit by the stream, amongst the
ash branches. No words can truly tell
OF them. IL. NJ GWIN-lRwIs