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About The west shore. (Portland, Or.) 1875-1891 | View Entire Issue (Sept. 1, 1879)
262 THE WEST SHORE. September, 1879 MCTOttS, HV J. 1. Moaaiso. (In ami (in tlm atream of lifo ia RnvfiiiK, by day wa aak not whithar goiiiK, Yit 'mill Dm aun'a bri(ht light. Or through tin iltrknnml night, Hhortur la our leaaa of Mrth Ufa growing. Hour by hour the team of . - . t in flowing, Hay byday our handa lifo's asoila nr mwiiik. llolng that to-morrow, Ii-M of pain ami aorrow May In fnuml nuiidat lifa'a iroilm ta growing Hay by day our wimry fet are turning, Hour hy hour llfe'a luttitr triala learning, Mill Ilia hand dth gulda ua Hllll II.- wulk. beaide ua Rvrr aiding ua in nvil aiu , Hour hy hour to higher culture drifting, Day hy ilay Urn truth from fcUssbOOd aiding, Ami lo 1 In- mental aihl, from off Iho athi of rl(ht, Kiev hut rtirtalii ars tha iliailuwa lifliii. I WHY is 11 Why li ii ? nk the griefstricken wlftassha Mis in her cheerless home, whi is It, thai I .im thui robbed of all thai makes lift pleasant ? Th.it manly form which was the pride of my irl hood, is horn of all its strength and i nity. The eyes thai once iparkled with intelligence an now dim and ex protaionlaasi The arm on which I itted i" lean In patelng the struggles of lift, has la i I ci I tu support me. In him I have perished 1 What is the cause of niv disappointmonl and sorrow ? she criaai Is it rum? and the echo answers, mm. Why is i ? s,n, u. ,,., ( M s)c silently weeps orei a loved brother's Tail, why is 11 that home has os nil iis charms lor Mm w ho once thought it the (Mares) spot 04 earth ? Why must I see him i c reeling home night after night, w ith shame and degradation stamped mi every feature ? Wh.it has smiied his temper, douded hb intellect, and taken limn him tin- liylithc.ittcd MJN Whkh belongs to youth I s it tltmf And echo sends hack the SltSWcr. rum. Why s ia that our prisons, pooi. houses and orphan asylums are flllcd to overflowing ? What sends ovcrtv Mdly into oui homes, till, out hearts with aoi row and OUI lives with toil ? la it mm ? Again the echo answers, rum. A w km. -known dramatist can s.( iulc thing. Some one said to him last week, You want n new hat." "Yea, ih.u's quits true," he replied; "hut why say it ? I never told sou ou wanted a new head." An uudei taker laving dunned by a man who had a vciy aick wife, said : "Oh, let the account aland. You'll U wanting something in my line picttv aoon, ifyou have good luck." FALLEN TKUES. II V H, A I.I.I K WHITE. Come with nic to the forest, the dark, still forest. See those tall firs moving slowly to and fro, keeping time with the sad low music that conies to us as the sound of waves on a distant shore. Here is a tiny stream half fettered in crystal bonds, and the moss over which it Hows is sparkling with diamond gems. There is a vine creeping out to the sunshine from the leaves half cov ering it, and yonder in a sheltered nook is a fern with slender drooping branches. Now we come to 11 giant pine, fallen in his strength. There he lies under a soft coverlid of moss, with the golden sunlight pouring over him. 1 lis busy life is over. No longer drinks he the poisonous gas around him, and pours out the life-giving oxygen. No longer swings he gracefully to and fro in the breeze, or clashes his branches in the storm. Who mourned for him ? Were vines torn up hy their roots, and flowers crushed hy his fall ? No mat ter. He aflbrds us a pleasant scat now, and adds a pictuiescpicness to the scene. Sec, he is crumbling ! The tiny atoms arc finding other resting-places, and in the rich earth around him more flow ers now grow than could under bis shadow. And so, the trees are emblematic. We live on, stretching out our hands, and holding up our beads, Straggling, perhaps, for existence where the copse is thick, but growing year by year, (feeling new thoughts, new purposes. 1'imc flows on, and some of us may proudly gain the clear air and sunshine ?fW the crowd. What if, after years have rolled away, we totter and fall! We have had our taste of the sunshine, md now it is another's turn. All things must change. What if we arc laid to rest and forgotten ! Will not the force hoarded by us reappear in some way, if only to help the weakest ones that may coinc after us, to stand where we fell ? Hut not all may be inonarchs. As the forest is made up chiefly of smaller and medium trees, so the world is composed principally of little and middle class pMpfej and some that would have been grand, and noble, and tail, had they reached out to the sunshine, grew bent, and twisted, and small, following their own dark shad ows in the forest. And some were stricken down in the prime of their years, as by a thunderbolt. Vines of friendship twined about them, and fajr) fragile blossoms looked up to them for protection. Poor wrecks, who trusted in their own strength ! There they lie, thrown up by the great tide of humanity. There was once a grand oak who began life with a determination to win. He was meant to rule; and, one by one, the bushes, shrubs and trees bowed their heads and owned his sovereignty. Proudly he holds bis head; stately he sways his branches; but he stakes his hold against the elements wavers, falls ! All is lost, and Napoleon is crownless forever ! There was an elm tree whose grace ful limbs moved up and down on the breeze. It sheltered the flowers be neath it. It defied not the storms, but gravely bending, withstood them with dignity; and the other trees looked up to it with love and reverence. Years passed on, crowning it with new glo ries; and when its time was come, and age had loosened its hold on the earth, its long drooping branches folded round the great heart, and broke the force of its fall. The forest mourned for its head, and the country for its Washington. Then there was a tall pine who raised bis head above his companions. His rough and scraggy branches told he had passed through storms, but the dark green leaves showed that the great heart was strong as ever. Nobly he stood, supporting the trees around him ; but even as the clouds were break ing from the sky, 11 swift flash of light ning struck him. A shudder passed through all his limbs, and then the bravest of the forest had fallen ami Lincoln was gone. Yet, ah! his fall was not without glory, for his blame less life shed radiance over it; and the traitor hand that dealt the blow brought only judgment on himself. They arc fallen now; but, as the atoms of the trees live again in other forms, so they will live again in another world. It is glorious to work, to gar ner, to live. It is more glorious to to waken to a grander, nobler life to be forever fret I l.viNo about a politician never hurts the man lied about; it is having the truth told that kills him.