'~262'.7 GRASS IS I A AORTAL! 



Lying in the sunshine among the buttercups and the dandelions 

 of May, scarcely higher in intelligence than the minute tenants 

 of that mimic wilderness, our earliest recollections are of grass; 

 and when the fitful fever is ended, and the foolish wrangle of the 

 market and forum is closed, grass heals over the scar which our 

 descent into the bosom of the earth has made, and the carpet of 

 the infant becomes the blanket of the dead. Grass is the forgive- 

 ness of nature — her constant benediction. Fields trampled with 

 battle, saturated with blood, torn with the ruts of cannon, grow 

 green again with grass, and carnage is forgotten. Streets abandoned 

 by traffic become grass-grown like rural lanes and are obliterated. 

 Forests decay, harvests perish, flowers vanish, but grass is immortal. 

 Beleagured by the sullen hosts of winter, it withdraws into the 

 impregnable fortress of its subterranean vitality, and emerges upon 

 the first solicitation of spring. Sown by the winds, by the wander- 

 ing birds, propagated by the subtle horticulture of the elements 

 which are its ministers and servants, it softens the rude outline 

 of the world. Its tenacious fibers hold the earth in its place, and 

 prevent its soluble components from washing into the wasting sea. 

 It invades the solitude of deserts, climbs the inaccessible slopes 

 and forbidding pinnacles of mountains, modifies climates and deter- 

 mines the history, character and destiny of nations. Unobtrusive 

 and patient, it has immortal vigor and aggression. Banished from 

 the thoroughfares and the field, it abides its time to return, and 

 when vigilance is relaxed, or the dynasty has perished, it silently 

 resumes the throne from which it has been expelled, but which 

 it never abdicates. It bears no blazonry of bloom to charm the 

 senses with fragrance or splendor, but its homely hue is more 

 enchanting than the lily or the rose. It yields no" fruit in earth or 

 air, and yet should its harvest fail for a single year, famine would 

 depopulate the world. 



(From a copy-righted article by the late Senator J " o J a m e s 

 Ingalls, of Kansas, by special permission of Mrs Ingalls.) 



