The herald-advance. (Milbank, S.D.) 1890-1922, 1909-08-20

area Of hedged fields and red-tiled
farmhouses where the Cheviots slope
to the Till. But those noted agricul-
t~urists. the brothers Culley, had more
appreciation of the homely turnip than
the burning BUSH" and it was
their %grubbing and blowing that
transformed a region so wildly pictur-
esque into a fruitful land. What it
was like before their operations be-
gan may be known from the appear
ance of the land that has proved ir-
reclaimable. How familiar and yet
how impressive the broom was ma
be judged from the frequency with
which it finds a place in the old bal
lads. Long after its petals have fallen
to the ground in the south 1t contin-
ues in Highland strath and glen what
time the angler penetrates them in
search of trout.
There are several white flowers that
sweep past like visionary clouds In
the procession. First, the wee mod
est c~rimson-tipped" n that spreads
over meadow and golf course till, in
the sunny days of May when the
nightingale is in full song, they rest
like sheets of snow on the warm
ground. Following close upon them is
hat truly English flower, the haw-
thorn. 1t is unobtrusive in the thicket
and well-trimmed hedge; but when the
bushes have been allowed to grow tall
for the sake of shelter, or where in
dividual trees abound, it assume for
a brief period an unquestioned do
mlnion. The g%arlands of pure soft
white 1t hangs out make the color of
the landscape while they last, and the
fragrance it diffuses has no equal,
save 1t be that of an orchard when
the apple trees are in bloom and
resonant with the humming of innum-
cradle bees. With the decay of the
hawthorn comes a feeling of sadness.
1t was with unmixed Joy that we
hailed the early figures in the long
procession. The maids Of January
whit~x the woodland while the
trees are bare are greeted as heralds,
cowslips in the meadow and primroses
on the steep sides Of the dene are still
III 1dl hSSIo we AoNC III liltuSHJ
of the end when the marsh-marigold
shines like fire on swamps and hol-
lows gray, nor when the faint sweet
cuckoo-flower" spreads nodding over
the low-lying meadows, till by force of
numbers it's exquisite and delicate
shape and color master those of it's
companions. But the fading Of the
ho rthorD tolls ~ crr;oo, oou1, ~x
piry, and when the wild rose has bios
somed and faded we know that anoth-
err pretty ring time" has been added
to the past. No other occurrence in
the year strikes ar equal note of sad
ness, especially among those of ripper
years. 1t is the enviable privilege of
youth to live In the passing hour and
enjoy the mystic Now" and to be
ever looking forward to some new dis
covery or adventure. But as we grow
old and lose our illusions, we gain the
dismal knowledge tina. the flight of
time is much more likely to discover
the disagreeable than the pleasant, and
we also become more keenly alive to
the transient character of most things.
We know that we also are only fig
ures in a long procession of men
vending from one dark point to an
other, appearing as ~miraculously as
the flowers, and at the end, passing
like them once more to the soft arms
of earth" our Mother. And he who
realizes what is meant by ages and
aeons of time recognizes that the diff
ference between the lifetime of a flow
err and of a man is ~imperceptible.
When you are facing eternity, a day
lis as a thousand years."
Tk> H$,. n,-