The Dawson journal., 1885-04-16
HBs0SG OF TINE KATYDID.


/
The katydid has msde his first
appearance this season. He wore
the same green suit withscutaway
wings and a light overcoat and as
he struck the first notes of his
taborets everybody, exclaimed:
There is the katydid" He did
not sing very long, but his pres
ence added strength and harmo-
ny to the orchestra. The ever
popular baritone was there, and
we were glad to hear him sing.
She does not sing. Katy her.
self is voiceless. During the day
she is shy and timid, hiding away
with her master under the leaves,
q dutiful, quiet, housekeeping lit
tie: Katy. At. night when her
liage ascends the higher branahes;
of the trees and proclaims to the
world that "Katydid,". the wifely.
little mother of his little Katies is
silent. Never a word does she re-
ply, though all night long he says
she did. Should she ever lose
her temper and patience and re-
ply to his accusing song, what
thrilling revelations might we not
expect? determination and re-
elimination, in bill and cross-bill,
reioinder and sur-rejoinder, plea
and replication, it would all come
out. But calm and serene in con-
scious innocence, she answers not
a word. Sometimes, in a fit of
impatience at having his own un-
contradicted way, he declares that
"Katy didn't" man-like choosing
to contradict himself rather than
have no one with whomato quar-
rel. But, after all, 1 don't think
she did anything very dreadful.
They live together SO happily, and
he has his way SO completely, ]
think it is only little joke of his,
threatening to tell the world some
little story of their engagement
days." or how she spoiled the first
flower bud cake she tried to make
for company. Whatever it is, she
never contradicts him; she never
sings with him. 1t is a cold un-
feeling scalpel to thrust into the
spinal column of miles of good
poetry; bat the cold, steel-blue
fact is, the female katydidis voice.
less. But he would not sing, Ell
ther, if she were not there to lis
ten. She does not voice the song;
she does better, and does what he
could not do; she inspires the
singer and creates the song.
SO, he sang for us last night.
And down the shadowed paths of
life 1 walked again, the chirping
voice q talisman that opened all
the years. Down winding cow
paths, lettering underneath the
Whispering oaks; through tangled
grasses In the orchard glooms; !;
across the foot-bridge where the
little brook went singing softly
all night long, dimpling above the
clear, white shining pebbles; up
to the brow of the long hill that
in impressive majesty looked down
upon the star-lit waters. of the
sleeping lake; through opening
forest glades where the soft yel-
low rays of sunset fingered long
est and most lovingly; through all
the hallowed paths that only low
ers know and love; and through
it all the timid clasp of a little
hand, and Iove-lit eyes that caught
the starlight's CLEAN. Down into
the shadowed paths that led thro'
ways of pain, through long
dark valleys where the dsmps
were chill; through the Ways Of
tears, where the waters Of the
Marah lay black and bitter in the
pools; across the arid desert where
the heavens were brass; through
night to light, till, where the brook
went singing softly years ago, the
silent river flowed without a note
of song, and in the clear, celestial
light that kissed her eye, the star
light faded, pale and gray
Last night the katydid sang the
same old song he sang long years
ago. The same old song, The
old, old song he used to sing. 1t
was so new; | think | never heard
it sung before. He had added a
few stanzas to itsince first / heard
him sing. There was no minor
strain; there was no cadence like
n MOAN of main. M &ramalo of