"Be ashamed to die until you have won some victory for
humanity." In his last illness he asked his doctor how long he
had to live. On being told three hours, he replied, "I still
have something to do." As we left the town of Yellow Springs,
slumbering beneath her aged trees, we thought of these
significant words of this great man: "Lost somewhere between
sunrise and sunset two golden hours, each set with sixty diamond
minutes. No reward is offered, for they are gone forever."
Suddenly from its lofty station in the tower the clock chimed
the hours as if admonishing us to use them rightly. To some our
journey along the road that afternoon in July may have seemed
but idleness, yet we lost few of those golden moments, and every
change in the foreground gave us a new picture. Now it was a
wooded hillside with numbers of deciduous trees crowning its low
swelling top, with a faint radiance deepening into dreamy
halftones on their eastern slopes; now several giant chestnuts
lifting their proud crests of bloom above the valley; again it
was an emerald meadow in which cattle were grazing. The rich old
gold of ripening wheat and the blue haze hanging over the
distant hills all lent an atmosphere of tranquillity which the
notes of the thrush only emphasized.
Now we felt a soft breeze that stole from the forest,
deliciously tempering the oppressive air and bringing to us the
spicy fragrance of mints, basswood flowers and elder. The
country seemed to grow just a little more rugged as we proceeded
over the widening high-ways. Soon we saw several machines at the
side of the road on a grassy plot. Here we heard exclamations of
delight from the people who were gazing in admiration over the
bank of a stream at the gorge below. We soon learned that they
had ample reason for their exclamations, to which we added our
own. Below us was a chasm worn by the little Miami, ninety feet
in depth. The ground on each side of the stream was a very
garden of wild bloom. The sumac made a low border of glowing
color; back of this flaming mass grew dogwood and Judas trees;
while walnut, maple and linden, overrun with wild grape and
woodbine, made mounds of bright green foliage, from which the
ringing notes of the cardinal came to us above the song of the
water.
Every rock and ledge was cushioned with moss and ferns,
intermingled with long green ropes of woodbine, Here were vast
hanging gardens of many gradations of green, softened by gleams
of pale light from the afternoon sun.
