How Terrible The Scenes Of Devastation And The Toll Of
Life!
Waste were the golden fields of grain upon which we gaze
with such rapt admiration.
Waste, too, were these mills with
their whir of industry. The fury of war fell on those sunny
acres like a great pestilence, and their usefulness and beauty
became desolation. The only grist mill not burned by Sheridan
and his men when they went through is still pointed out to the
traveler. But Nature has again asserted her right and on this
delightful morning the valley smiles beneath its veil of dreamy
blue like the peaceful glow that spreads over the countenance of
some great and beneficent soul.
The high range of the Blue Ridge was seen stretching along the
sky like a vast purple wall, while, nearer, the lower hills rose
impressively up from the plain. How clean and pare and shining
the woods appear this lovely morning! The glorious old chestnut
trees reflect the sunlight and shimmering masses from their
shining green leaves, while their creamy white flowers make a
grand display amidst the various tinted foliage of all the
forest; and the stately basswood, covered with light yellow
bloom filled with the hum of innumerable bees, heightens the
picture. The shadowy hemlock and fragrant pine swaying in the
breeze still tell their age-old songs. The sunbeams spangled on
the broad green leaves of the sycamore tree, their tracery of
white boughs relieved against the dense groves of evergreens,
made studies in light and shade worthy of an Innes; while
beneath these grand trees tall ferns and velvety mosses
contrasted their various shades of green over which rose spikes
of flaming cardinal flowers and blue mists of mints making the
picture complete.
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