The Newtown bee., 1900-04-20

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 used to think their slender tops
 Were close against the sky.
 It was a childish ignorance,
 But now 'tis little joy
 To know I am farther of from Heaven
 Than when was boy.
 The joy and gladness of childhood's happy time, the earthly emblem of heav- en.
 It was no knowledge of good or evil. It has no regrets, no memory. The world is all pure, and good, and beauti- ful. The grass is just as green, the stars are just as bright and the flowers are just as fair as in the morning of Time. The morning and the evening come snd go as they did then, the same sun shines by day and the same moon by night. The earth does not grow old, only the eyes that behold it. Spring time comes every year to renew 1t; but no sprir z time comes to renew the age of man. The winter frosts that gather on his locks find no summer sun to melt them away. The fountain of youth lies forev- CT in hillsides and valley of that undis- covered country from whose bourne no traveller returns. The grim warnings of the past are flung in our faces, but we push them aside to follow in the foot 1 steps our fathers have trod. Experience is the teacher we employ, and we trust no other. Age may give advice and tell Of hidden dangers, but each one must learn for himself the lesson of his life.
 To the young eyes the future is always cosy, grand and glorious. Wisdom has no words of learning Fthat can teach us that the flowers under our very eyes shall wilt and fade, even as the hand reaches forth to gather them. Our moth- CT Eve lost the Garden of Eden, but she plucked the fruit before she left a, d thereby gained worldwide reputatie n for curiosity, which all her children imi- tate and deplore.
 love the fancy, If such it be, that ey- cry shuman soul begins the journey of life in the paradise of old. It may be a delusion, dream, an idle fancy of the brain, and yet it is a pleasing thought to me, and l shall always wish it true.
 The fairest picture of the Garden of Eden ever yet presented to mortal eyes was painted by blind old man. Actusl paradise was lest, but new paradise was created. He could not see the flow CTS that blossomed in the field; but the flowers of the dreaming poet rivaled the rainbow in all it's gaudy colors. Flow CTS of his fancy, plucked from the Gar den of God. He had no garden on the ground; he had no wealth to buy no eyes to see; so he made one in his mind and flung it in the air. The trees of the field may perish and decay, the flowers may wither and die, but the trees and flowers which The lanted shall grow and blossom in perennial bloom. The cas- ties built by the glad hopes of youth may exist only in the ideal, yet the actual joy they bring is none the less real. Those who have no room to build their houses of brick and mortar on the earth will find room enough above. There is room enough for all in that dark, mysterious vale whence no traveller returns. This brings us to another reflection. Wheth- CT our journey thitner is but one step across an inperceptible frontier, or whether an interminable ocean, black, unfiuctuating and noiseless stretches be- tween these earthly coasts and those in- visible shores, we do not know. Wheth- CT on the morning or evening after death we see more glorious sunrise or sunset with unimaginable splendnr above a celestial horizon or whether our apa- thetic and unconacious ashes still sleep in insensible oblivion, we do not know. Whether our passions, ambitions and affections still sway, detract and re. pei; whether we remember others as they remember us, we do not know. These are the unsolved and insoluble problems of mortal life and human des- tiny, which prompted the troubled patri- arch to ask that momentOus question to which the centuries have given no an. swer. If man die shall he live again ?" Every man is the center Of 8 circle whose circumference be cannot paes. Within it7 narrow confines he is poten- tial; beyond it lie perishes; and if i'm
 
 dream; If the incompleteness of every career even the longest and most fortu. nate, be not supplemented and perfected after its termination here, then he who dreads to die should fear to live, fer life is 8 tragedy more desolate and inexplic. able than death.
 Nor shall we find the castles the young man inteLda to build any more unsubstantial than those in later years he thinks he might have built. Hope what might have been.
 A number of years ago, then country lad, while in the city of New York, I stood gazing at Broadway, watching and waiting fer the crowd to go buy. It was an eager, restless, hurrying throng. Not one had time to rest or stop to look aside, but he always kept moving on, yet never passing by. Day by day I watched 1t and day by day ap- peared that everlasting stream of human life. Several years had passed and stood again in the same place and that living stream was flowing on with en. hanced energy towards that invisible sea of purpose, each individual representing a distinct and independent lmoleeule, an abstract purpose, which, lin the concrete forms that restless, seething tide of met ropolitan activity. Trinity church was there, it's long forefiger pointing to the sky and the same old clock that had l kiokod avav the nassing years. At the