The Somerset reporter., 1898-07-07
Here and There No. Ii.

of gay, laughing children, exnltant
youth, and good number of young old
people were likewise numbered with
the picnicers. Inasfnuch as the picture.
seen by one, was June, fiower-wreath
ed scene, twas not strange, perchance
that it should appear in vivid, bright
reality, on fair summer day. How
opportunely does memory bring forth
her exquisite pictures, also words of
pleasant wisdom, seeming only to have
awaited the rare moments when perfect,
artistic environment should not be
wanting. The fragrant blossomey clio
yer, the bright daisies and shining but
tercups, all unavailing in their endeavor
to hold the attention they have awaken
ed. The sweet magicians do not guess
the power of the spell, which all I'M
whiting they have woven, with sundry
bright eolors and these, greatly enhanced
by the odorous air which is dreamily
enjoyed.
Small wonder that in tree the fields
are forgotten, as the form of lovely
child appears and the daisie-trimmed
broad hat resting far back on the fair,
brown hair seeming halo, which lovers
of childhood are ever seeing above the
sweet cherub heads. IT'S tire children's
hour, high noon, when for them, the
,nn is never glazing, only bright, when
the summer day holds long, gladstone
hours. Garlands encirce the ehilds,
lithesome figure, while her hands are
filled with masses of white and gold
blossoms, which are joyously bestowed
upon the girlsh, darkeyed mother.
seemingly the sweet lips but express
what the eyes foreshadowed, as Sc
robustness had quickly followed their
gayer mood. 81 always want to pick
the flowers while / have them about
me-" All, child Marian, there is truly,
only gladness in this picture of sum
mertime, which the years have kept and
icy over the sweet text, which again
sends flower lover to grave, yet happy
reverie.
Today with it's precious store of joy
and happiness, the cool, calm morning
with its promise of golden sunlight, the
high hopes and aspirations which do
not depart, even with The going down
of the sun. The evening hour when
summer stars are seen above the sway
ing, shadowy tree branches; when all
pleasant sounds and sweet odors tell of
life full and Astounding. May we not
gather of its Joys while they are about
us as freely as we will?
In school life, books are not merely
IF To
hard toll, but seem to be expecting us,
and are quite the rule of the day and
year: what glorious opportunities they
offer. The mutual help and inspiration
of instructor and learner; the pleasant
healthful stimulus of rivalry in the class
room, is surely of great value. Then
the sharp, practical lessons IN the art of
getting on smoothly with others. is,
later on reviewed and practised- it is to
be hoped with joy and satsfaction-in
society's larger world. Fair indeed the
fields wherein we found the sweet flow
ers blooming, with which the school
days and years are wreathed and the
beautiful, bright garlands were made
while the blossoms were al, about us.
The dignity and the blessedness of the
home life was for all time settled by the
Father, who sent his Son into home
not as transient guest, but as dutiful
child, who was gladly subject unto his
earthly parents. That the Saviour Of
the world should have been, year after
year, in the quiet, restful home of Mary,
makes us see anew the power, as well as
the tender sweetness OF the home life
Again and again, we may need to 90
back to the simple requirements OF that
far off-yet wondrously near-humble
home. The gentle mother had, and
generously lavished, stores of love and
tenderness upon the smiling babe as
well as upon the later and fuller life of
her child. Mary's son must have had
beautiful lessons from SO deyout moth
en- The humanity of the worlds hero
was strongly developed by association
with this clear-eyed noble woman.
Possibly the world is getting much
nearer wisdom, year by year, though at
times tits rather confusing to see the
stress that is laid on the unimportant
and the trivial. But in the humblest
and the richest homes, mothers still find
that they have in large measure the pure
love which they may lavish upon their
home. One can imagine that the grave
brow of the gentle Mary lightened some
what as she pondered over her sons
future, as his smiling, untroubed face
met her gaze. Shall not the anxious
parents of this day see in the beautiful
trust of the helpless babe an answer to
doubt and fear. Does not the great,
tender Father hold parents and child in
his own safe keeping? Mothers in all
ages have counted duty as plersure and
claimed for home. the most sacred, holy
place in all the fair earth Outside of
paradise there are no sweeter flowers
than affections fragrant blossoms and
they are like unto those wondrous
blooms, as home is, We are told, like
heaven. EMMA NJ. SMITH.