The age-herald. [volume] (Birmingham, Ala.) 1897-1902, 1902-04-20
THE r1URr1UR OF THE WORLD.

apparently pleased at my interest in the
trees.
OF course I was not satisfied by his
answer; and SO moving on 1 came to two
other gardeners, whom I asked for the
names of the trees.
"Maganolias," they said.
This was SO unsatisfactory that I pro-
ceeded to tell them of our own Southern
Magnolia, that most wonderful wild flow
er of the New World, and probably I
became somewhat enthusiastic on the
subject At any rate. they appeared to
be- greatly Interested and after I had
paid somewhat long, as well as loving
tribute to the Southern Magnolia, which
in Central Alabama and elsewhere grows
into very large trees one of the garden
ers exclaimed:
"Oh, yes There is one back there be-
hind the house-a little one-doesnt
bloom; but these trees here also are Mag
anolias. What kind, l can't tell you"
The persistence of the gardeners in
saying 'Maganolia" for Magnolia dis
turbed me no little, and so l passed on
uniformed as to the botanical or COM
mon-name designation of those two re-
markable Towering but leafless trees in
the front lawn of the White House.
The White House grounds and the park
in front presented scenes almost Arcadian
In their peacefulness and lovliness Scores
of large blackbirds were feeding on the
turf undsturbed by the many men at
work. The thrush, called here the cat
bird, was making music in the trees.
and wrens were calling one to another in
the shrubbery. Even the English spar
row which twittered about the conserva-
tory and on the roof of the white old
mansion, had for the moment ceased to
be obnoxious. The few crows that cawed
in the tops of the tall trees had forgot
ten the power to be extensively discord-
ant, their cawing sounding but family
In the great burst of music from the in
Vulnerable songful birds, many of which
were to me unfamiliar.
Rising clearly above all other notes In
this morning hymn Of the birds at the
White House was the exquisite voice of
little robin redbreast, singing out his lit
tie heart there In the sunshine.
AS listened entranced by the riotous
bursts of bird gladness In the song of
the perfect morning of the perfect day,
listening most intently to the sweetest
notes of all, the robins thrilling trill,
remembered the old legend of the little
redbreast. 1t has long, long been related
that when the Saviour was dying on the
cross a robin flew to the summit of CAL
vary and speeding to the cross plucked
from the bleeding head of the Nazarene
one thorn from the crown of mockery
and suffering. The birds breast was red
dened and ever since then the robin has
been red5reasted and gifted with the
glory Of the sweetest and most joyous
song.
morning hymn of the winged choristers
looking around upon the wonderful wealth
of flowers and trees and up toward the
vast blue of the sky, there came to the
listener a blessed breath of the peace
that passes understanding.
Into the White House flowed ceaseless-
" a thin stream of men and out of 1t
there ebbed another stream: and found
myself wondering why no one paused out
side to listen to the birds and to look at
the flowers. What were place. power. pol
tics in the sound Of the bird-hymn and
fiower-song of the morning! I found my
self coming Tennyson's old-age plaint;
Lying politics neer at rest as this poor
earths pale history runs.
What Is 1t all of 1t worth? A trouble of
ants in the CLEAN Of million mil
lion suns