The age-herald., 1899-10-08
THE MURMUR
 OF THE WORLD

The lunatie, the lover and the poet.
 Are of imagination all compact:
 One sees more devils than vast hell can That is. the madman: the lover. all as
 frantic,
 Sees Helen's beauty in a brow of Egypt: The poets. eye. in fine frenzy rolling. Doth glance from heaven to earth, from
 earth to heaven,
 And, as ina gination bodies forth
 The forms of things unknown, the poets
 pen
 Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy
 nothing A local habitation and a name.
 He is poor sort of boy and worse sort of man who has not feltsthe dear affiiction of loves wild lunaey. The joy of young lover bids him to thunder passionately at the very gates of heaven; his deep dispair leads him to seek the companionship of all the devils which imagination can call forth from the deeps of the sea of shadows. He trails the clouds of glory that emblazon the Junetime sky, or limps across the dead sward of the December mournfully de- jected. He reveals many things and in spires many emotions He is the dawn, the hope of the fullflment of the prophecies. He is the living poem-all the rest are dead. Stands he at the opening of the daffodil way, and some maid of the songful years becxons him to loiter or to speed. She is the light of undimmed radiance for ever worshipful. He is the incarnation of things she comprehends not nor seeks to know. He is father to the man about to be. He filings his hands above his sunny head and claims the world to be his own. She wonders and loves, and loves and won- ders, whilst her knight of the sparrow's- plume commands all the earth to heed and obey Ah, youth, ah, maiden of the daf- fodi way! Oh beautiful madness!
 
 There comes time in the life of every daughter of the gods when she closes a door behind frer girl and opens it woman She changes in hour, and faces new world; the world she had known and loved rolling away from her into the black space of things forgot Her mad young lovers no longer concern her. Men receive her smiles and repay her with nameless fatteres which for time bear for her the disguise of truth Yet she was ltvelier with the unlengthened raiment! A heautiful young maiden is superla lively, bewilderingly attractive. To look upon her is lesson in life. She doesn't reason; she would be dull if she did; doesn't think, and is therefore saved from stupidity. She is the impersonation of sweet inconsistency, light and life and laughter, innocence and hope; the promise of things mysterious. She perceives imperfectly without know ing; hopes for things indefinitely; sings her little heart out in the sunshine the birds do, and as careless of the morrow. She peuts and frets and loves, and now and then pays to a sigh the tribute of tear which falls upon a smile fragrantly. She plays hide and seek with her flowers in denly her little feet turn into an opening in the green hedge with the white blossoms and lo she is amongst the roses of the maturer years. Music that is not the song of birds breaks upon her. and waves of emotion surge through her soul and the flush of the peachblow mantles the fair young face as the woman is led to the dance! There is pathos in the passing of the child. What there may be in the com ing of the woman none shall say until the years have told their story unto the last syllable of the 4last chapter and the lamps lighted in the even-time.
 The burden of years rests heavily upon the heart that loves not youth because dt is youth; that bows not to- beauty be- cause 1t is beauty. He is sinful who would rob either of an hour of joy. Ring the bells, sound the music, on with the riotous dance! Throw flowers to tine young Heap the violets and the roses about them and clasp them to thy soul as something pre- cious beyond all the wit of man to sur pass! Love with them-iaugh, shout, dance, grow mad in the intoxieat ton of in- neoent companioship. They will lift your burdens and cast them aside holding you as a cherished play-fellow, these lovers of the young years. An old woman is beauti- ful when she loves beauty, an old man youthful when he loves youth. To wound the young, to grieve their hearts, is a sin for which there is no power of pardon in the statutes of humanity. The love of the young weighs more in the balance of God than all the treasures ever mined from the deeps of the earth.
 
 At nightfall my beloved, a glad time was spent with Bab and Chappell boys of tender years and surpassing brightness and sweetness: dearest treasures of the heart yet gathered of childhood in years that need not be told. They chased every care from him who seeks to murmur of the world, and revels in the pastime of linking fancy unto fancy in the soothing incense that rises from the briar-root pipe. It had been long since he clasped those famous boys to him, and they amazed him, taught him new lessons needful to learn when trials beset. They had thousand things to tell and all. to be told at once. They preached sermons, told stories. sung songs, and roted in the abandon of childish hap piness. All the loves of lifetime centered m them were scarce worthy of Bab and ,Chappell Bab, proud, swaggerrng. rollick- ing Bab with the weight of five years up- on him, had done wonderful things upon the mountain far away: had come to be considered dangefous as a desperate man with his noble little heart all sunlight and