The age-herald., 1899-09-24
THE MURMUR
 OF THE WORLD
c. Philostrate.

The cool breath of the years afternoon warns the blood and quickens the pulse of all such as would hie forth to the merry mazes of the dance, and age turns it's thoughts from the brown trees and grey gardens to the haunts of lovers where babbling youth and sparkling wine tell the hours that speed. The folly of young years is the true philosophy of life. There is more of truth. more of beauty, more of sweetness. light, justice and generosity more of the joy wisdom of the werld-in 1T perfumed chamber of the dance than ever yet graced senate hall or forum; more elo- quence in the laughter of a child at play in the sunshine that than ever came from the tongue of orator. Upon the dance light hearted Laughter weaves the spell that clothes joy in sweet mysteries. Music to which unweary feet keep riotous time warns the life-arteries as they are heated when spring unlocks the earth to make the flowers laugh. The dance is light as the crystal bubbles upon the wine that feeds it; as f1eeting as the notes of melody that inspire But the foam that crests the in- prisoned sunshine of the vine hills and the notes that burst from the strings of the musician are scarcely less evavescent than the dreams and passions of the young years So let the wine sparkle, let the music swell: let the dance go on and keep pace with the little hour that creates It. Let love sway to its uttermost, folly fool to it's last and the flowers that perfume blossom till fading time Flowers and song, the wine and the dance, gladden. light hearts of young years for which there IS much store of pain in the places where hfe keeps its wares. It is dance time and let there be dancing. Sorrow time Will come soon enough and hearts will break. They are the wisest of all human kind who laugh and dance and love and are glad while they may.
 One celestial night at festival of Saint Terpsichore a maiden and man rested outside the whirlpool of the dance, screen ed by palms that swayed lightly. She re- clined restfully upon the cushions; the long lashes of her eyes dropping as if charmed by her own exquisite loveliness. Her thln draperies fell carelessly, as if in sheer neg ligence to arouse his wonder and his dreams So graceful figure, picture so beautiful had not come into his life be- fore, and his nerves became tense. His sober senses fled, and he was mad to claim her as his own Still looking down, now as if she were counting the petals of the rose that served loves duty in the curve Of her gown, or sought to measure her tiny foot resting in cushioned comfort, the maiden ouivered as if she divined the thoughts that ran riot in his mind Her red lips parted. the long lashes trembled; there was an almost imperceptible bending of the head with it's wealth of fluffy hair lie wondered why all women didn't have red lips long-lashed eyes, and fluffy hair She seemed to shiVer ever so slightly. lie would not have placed her wraps about her for a kingdom. Rather he ordered Wine brought She raised herself trihe and took the brimming glass with steady hand. For an instant she looked upon the wine collectively, then reaching up to the hufty hair she drew a heartsease, which she dropped into the wine. 'I drink this to you, Master Madman.' she said; and hav- ing drunk the glass fell behind her heart and lay shattered upon the floor The poetry of it all-the old-world sentiment was too beautiful for words of his to pro- fame. The dance was forgot; the earth reeled Behind the palms was the holy of holies!
 The mouthngs of those long-faced per sons who go moping through life and would deny youth and maturity alike the enjoyment of legitimate pleasures. are not worth a whiff of smoke from a briar-root pipe. my beloved. God did not send us into the world to moan and mourn from birth to death. He did not shower upon the earth for no the unspeakable riches that are all around and about us Life was never meant by Him to be merely funeral march to the grave. Sunlight, flowers air, fields, vineyards, love-all the great gifts in the store-places of the earth are ours to enjoy. Dusky dawns, noon- times and tawny dusks of perfect days belong to us, for the Master has given them of His plenty. There is joy for children. for youth and maiden, men and women-for young ~years, old years all years, Rational beings live to love and en- joy lfe-love to live not with purpose
 To be imprisoned in the viewless winds, And blown with restless violence round
 about
 The pendent world; or worse than worst Of those, that lawless and uncertain
 thoughts
 Imagine howling!-'tis too horrible.
 The weariest and most loathed worldly life, That age, ache, penury, and imprisonment Can lay on nature, Is paradise
 To what we fear of death.
 Then, while we live let us live" There are roses for every hand to gather; daffo- dils by every pathside. There is not al- ways woe when woe is cried, not always grief when grief is spoken. And in the world it is not every one who crieth Lord Lord, that is prepared to do the Masters bidding. Ceaseless modification. of the spirit does not build a royal road to heaven. Pure religion and undefiled is not sorrow, nor wailing, nor long-facedness- is is joy fovere
 This dear doctrine of cheerfulness, preached here constantly and from an ever- deepening conviction, my beloved is merely ratonalism in its milder form. It is a nlea against intolerance biPntrv selfiSh-