The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1900-05-27
BEAUTIES OF BROWN COUNTY.

BEAUTIES OF BROWN COUNTY.
Every county has some spot that is more
beautiful than the rest. Germany has its
Rhine, its sloping hills and emerald val
leys; Scotland has its Trosachs, Loeb Lo-
mond and Benvenu; Switzerland has its
Alps; Italy its Apennines and its Adriatic
sea; but Indiana has Brown county. While
Brown does not lay claim to great wealth,
and is never annoyed by the rush of the
wheels of commerce, or from the panoramic
view of the coming and going Of new faces,
and variation of prices, it stands solitary
and alone as the most beautiful and restful
dreamland. Ii seems that when the Lord
finished all of Indiana but this one place,
there was still an aching void on the bosom
OF nature. The rich soil OF the ''Hawpatch'
and the valleys of the Blue were off yonder.
Far to the north were the great grain
fields, promising the never-failing harvest,
and beneath them, in the interstices of the
trenton rock, the volume of gas stored
in the bed Of the first ocean. The silver
threaded Wabash had ground out the
great valley from western Ohio to the Ohio
river All of this was replete in its way,
but more was needed-a land of rest, a
region of beauty, where nature would ever
wear an enchanting smile, and every sound
would send back the echoes of peace. In
the hollow of His mighty hand He nodded
the hills and with His infinite fingers
smoothed down the countless dells of
Brown.
1t is well worth anyone's journey from
Morgantown over the backbone" into the
interior of this almost unknown region
unknown compared with the rest of
Indiana, and If the traveller would see
Brown at its best he must look at it in
the evening and in the autumn. Under the
failing light Of the setting sun the hills Of
Brown present a picture quite uncom-
mon to the eyes of city men. and one not
to be forgotten. Thick woods mostly of
small trees, cover every hill and DELL save
VI hoR hn 40 G n rAd q fr14a 10 nb
and hewed the logs for that mansion of
primitive humanity, the Hoosier cabin, and
where, about the log fire, the loves and
hopes and fears of these children of the
dawn and mist of the slowly. approaching
day of progress took their turns in words
and songs and tears-the circle of human
life. Primitive humanity is a little sunny
island surrounded by an ocean or tears.
When 1t spreads its sails and drifts away
Ike the enchanted barge that car
ried the more enchanted body of King
Arthur to the distant sea, 1t never returns.
Once seen in the autumn the hills of
Brown will always remain a dreamy picture
framed in the longings of the heart to
them again. No magical variety of colors
could be more beautifully blended wide
~ diffused. Over the sloping hills throw a
soft, thick mantle of rich, bright colors,
each spot fitted to another spot as If they
had grown together, and marked only by
seam, like a creeping vine it's different
sides taking the color of the pieces it holds
together, and the picture is before you.
September lips. blush to scarlet. Near by
the bronzed oak stands like an antique
membrance of the millions of years resting
on the hills of Brown, all the time waiting
for-what? For humanity to wake out of
the vast past, rub its little, surprised eyes,
wonder awhile at the strange scenes about
1T, cry because something hurts it, put
little cold water upon Its fevered brow, and
go to sleep again. Yonder the old elm,
with it's yellow, falling leaves, whispers
that the summer is ended. This variegated
garment has cabins here and there for
buttons, and the cleared spots look like
plain, half-worn patches on new, prettiy-
Colored cloak.
When man touches nature. beauty fades.
Is the city, or the ruins Of a city, as
Beautiful as the forest before mans de-
spelling hand smote it's trees? Can any
flower garden, be ii ever so artistic, vie
with the beauty Of the effiorescent prairie
before the plow has marred the virgin sod?
Did the hand of man ever raise shaft so
grand as the mountains. polished by the
tireless hand of time, towering above the
plain till their heads bump the cleaning
stars?
In Brown nature is at her best The
trailing vines, the red pods and fall flow
| ers, the piping quail, the brown squirrel
hieing to the old beach tree, whose half
purple leaves almost make one think of
| southern France. All this, wrapped in the
golden light OF a declining sun, gives a
ways the afternoon. Through this scene
| Of beauty the white, bare arms of the
/ SycamOreS In the valley below reach forth
| Is IL to embrace the sky. Watch the day
| fade like a departing smile on the loved
face of nature; shadows deepen I'm the val
| leys and lengthen on the hills the tops
| of which are for moment crowned with
| flame of sapphire. mingled with gold, then,
| like a dying dolphin, all is gray, and
| nights great, black banner waves victori-
ously over the field. and the day is van
| pushed. 1t Is night glorious, beautiful,
| sublime night, when the tired brain folds
| its weary cares away like we lay aside Our
dusty coat Egypt has the voices OF night
across the Nile, and the moonbeams on
| the pyramids. AT night in Greece "the
| stars look down upon Marathon, as Mara
thon on the sea" In Spain night brings
| the shadows of the Pyrenees, and the throb
| of the nations musical heart when the
/ beat OF the harp is in tune. In Venice
| on the wings OF night, floats the song Of
the gondolier. But surprising all their
| beauty and rest. is the night in Brown. 1t
| comes like the touch OF mothers hand
| to the tired eyes of sleeping child. or the
/ lullaby song Of love over the cradle where
| sleeps the first token Of plighted faith-a
| little animated link of fidelity that holds
| two divergent hearts In one. This is
| heaven. and these the trinity of humanity
/ father. mother, child: and divine, because
| they are human-humanly divine and d.
! vinely human. When God created man He
| and eat. sleep and rest; man got very
1 tired OF this, and got cross and dissatisfied
and complained. and the Lord said: II
viii remove the troubles you hate by Civ
Il
| woman and a child. and the cup OF his
| Joy ran over.
Brown is the only land where humanity
| will not bend for gold Though IL has no
| railroads, telegraph. telephone or express
| office In all the county. IL has brooks roll
ing over the sands of gold. and hills decked
| with this cleaning god of civilization
When gold is placed above humanity the
heart becomes dross. The strife of selfish
| greed has not yet broken through the
| walls of these rocky barriers. and that
| highest point I'm Indiana, THE Weed
1 Patch" stands alone in the solemn grand
eur OF its silent beauty to catch the first
| dawn OF the sun and welcome the footsteps
| Of night In the land Of rest.
When you are weary OF the hustle and
| rush, the turmoil, and the heat Of the city
| and the dust from its noisy streets, HE We
! to Brown. where the warm throb OF kind
hearted people will welcome you 10 the
Apennines of Indiana. Away, my lads. TO
| the Land Of Brown. where the silver brooks
| ripple DER pebbles Of gold. as musical as
| the laughter OF your first sweetheart.
4 4 A kI0YYoun ~