The Yakima herald. [volume] (North Yakima, W.T. [Wash.]) 1889-1914, 1891-10-22

nah, some wise man has said there are
only two great passions in nature-love
and hunger-and birds can feel them
Just rs we do"
well, didn't know he come from Q
selfish motive said Hannah, who had
begun to freshen the FIRE In the stove; ~
thought 1t did him good to get round
into your sunshine. as It does most
folks"
All the fine wrinkles In the old mans
face filled with light and his eyes glowed
softly He loved q little hattery from
Hannah because she never hattered any
one else. and the delicacy Of her praise
and affection. considering their Pc
culiar relations, made the old man
think better Of human nature. though
be was never inclined to think very III Of
II in spite Of all his losses and crosses
He philosophical on most things not bit
terly, but in the spirit Of Montaigne or
Charles Lamb, with q mildly sarcastic
smile on his lips and soft relentings in his
soul
Hannah" said he, turning about a.
far as his useless, paralyzed neck would
let him, do you ever have days, especi-
ally In the spring, when the thoughts 60
on simmering in your brain until you
feel as II you must write them DOWN.
mo, ! DON'T" said she curtly; "but
there are times when the same dull
thoughts go grindin' round and round In
my head until feel as II I must 20 out
in the lot and scream bloody murder.
But amt no hand at writin'; didn't
even learn to spell when was little. and
I'd rather do days washin' than get up
letter"
"But when you have read something
Hannah, that sets your mind to work."
"Oh, l amt no hand to read, Mr.
Rand, and never was. had only poor
chances and no schoolin' to speak Of
I'm often shamed by Dick and Sybil be-
cause they know things can't no way
get into my head. Why, I'd rather clean
house q week than study over them big
black books Of yours an hour. couldn't
make out the meanin' Of the long words
no way can read the Bible sometimes
when I'm tired. Not that understand
1t all, but the old book opens Of itself to
some Of the most soothin' Of the Psalms
or to the Sermon on the Mount, and
don't think what the words mean. Com
fort flows into all my bones, and my heart
Is eased Of its load and feel rested and
refreshed. But I've got the poorest head
to understand book learnin', and can't
even read them novels Sybil brings
home from the library. They'se all
stuff and nonsense. What's the use
Of maxim up stories out Of your
head that amt true and never
could have happened, when there
are things the most wonderful, unac-
countable, strange, sad, joyful and tragi.
cal happening all the time right around
us-things that II they were written
down in book would never be believed
because they are 30 much beyond any
thing them fiddle faddle novel writers
can think up. It's my novel to watch
folks and see how they live and die, lie
and steal, and overreach and are over
reached; to see how mean they are and
how generous, to see how goodness
breaks out like the sun and wickedness
comes to light unbeknown. Ny book is
the folks right round, their sayings and
doings, love and hate and queerness and
tears and laughter. wish ! could get
some of the other kind Of learnin' in my
head, but cant, and I'm near distracted
when try to help Dick at night with
bis sums and find my brain 60 buzzing
and humming as II q swarm Of bees had
Just lit down In It.
81 wish | could help Dick, J." said the
old man with 0 gentle sigh; ''but I've Q
worse head for figures than you have,
Hannah, and I'm afraid | never could
teach anything useful or practical. My
delight is to follow out odd trains Of
thought, to chase them into corners, up
and down In all their twistings and
twinings Did you ever hear Of one
Thomas Carlyle, Hannah"
u don't believe I ever did, said Han.
nah, unless he was one Of them old fel.
lows whose books you gave Dick to
read"
mo, no, Hannah, he was modern, q
wonderful chap, can tell you, for be
pricked more bubbles and showed mp
more shams in his time than any other
man. He wrote q book, Hannah, on the
philosophy Of clothes, and I've been read
ing II this morning, and was tempted to
try and write little piece Of my own,
not in imitation Of Carlyle's style Of
writing, for that would be presumptu-
ous, but Just to catch the overflow Of
my own thoughts and fancies. Sit down
and rest for eve minutes, Hannah,
would like to read II to you to see what
you think Of IT,"
Hannah sat down uueasily on the edge
Of q chair, and the old man cleared his
voice and took up sheet Of paper from
the table before him and read the fol-
lowing fragment;
"Oh, you little viper self, you mis-
created devili How to live with you on
decent terms know not, seeing that to
live without you ! cannot and there Il
little hope Of your amendment. Oh, the
tricks you play me, the mean, wretched
turns, the illusions you cherish, the false
hopes you raisel Your vanity Is with.
out bounds, and when you have done q
mean act you come fawning with low
and base excuses. Who can count your
subterfuges. your cunning tricks and
turnsI You are as sensitive and weak a.
. woman and as foolish as q child You
poor, ugly monster; | cannot hate you,
ought not to love you, for we must live
together and rub along through the
world a. best we can. Itry to improve
you morally. You know l do. starve
you on Q poor diet, and feed you on the
hard, dry bread Of philosophy washed
down with tears Of peniteuce, but ! can