The Denison review. [volume] (Denison, Iowa) 1867-current, 1900-01-26

AAhS SAdls SaAu 1leSOly III a u1OlC ooAS-
ly aggrieved tone than ever. You used
just to begin"
well, let me see," she said, closing
her book and folding her hands on it.
There at the foot of the 'kopje' goes a
Kafir. He has nothing on but a
blanket. He is splendid fellow-six
feet high. with magnificent pair of
legs. In his leather bag he is going to
fetch his rations and suppose to kick
his wife with his beautiful legs when
he gets home. He has right to. He
bought her for two oxen. There is a
lean dog going after him, to which,
suppose, he never gives more than q
bone from which he has sucked the
marrow. But his dog loves him, as his
wife does. There is something Of the
master about him in spite of his black
ness and wool. See how he brandishes
his stick and holds up his head!''
"Oh, but aren't you making fun?"
said Gregory, looking doubtfully from
her to the Kaffir herd. who rounded the
''kopje."
mo; am very serious. He Is the
most interesting and intelligent thing l
can see just now, except, perhaps,
Hoss. He is profoundly suggestive.
" III his race melt away in the heat Of
collision with a higher? Are the men
OF the future to see his bones only in
Museums, a vestige of one link that
spanned between the dog and the white
man? He wakes thoughts that run far
out into the future and back into the
past"
Gregory was not quite sure how to
take these remarks Being about a
Kaffir, they appeared to be of the ma
ture of a joke; but, being seriously
spoken, they appeared earnest, so he
half laughed and half not, to be on the
safe side.
1--WE often thought SO myself. It's
funny we should both think the same.
l knew we should if once we talked.
But there are other livingstone, now"
he added. II wonder if we would think
alike about that. wrote an essay on
love once The master said it was the
best ever wrote, and can remember
the first sentence still-'Love is some
thing that you feel in your heart"
THAT was trenchant remark. Can't
you remember any morew
NO." said Gregory regretfully. 1--we
forgotten the rest. But tell me what
do you think about love?"
A look, half of abstraction, half
amusement, played on her lips.
81 don't know much about love-" she
said, land do not like to talk of
things do not understand, but have
heard two opinions. Some say the dew
II carried the seed from hell and plant
ed it on the earth to plague men
and make them sin, and some say
that when all the plants in the gar,
den of Eden were pulled up by the
roots one bush that the angels had
planted was left growing, and it spread
it's seed over the whole earth, and its
name is love. l do not know which is
right, perhaps both. There are differ
ent species that go under the same
name. There is love that begins In
the head and goes down to the heart
and grows slowly, but it lasts till death
and asks less than it gives. There is an
other love that blots out wisdom, that
is sweet with the sweetness Of life and
bitter with the bitterness of death,
lasting for an hour, but it is worth
having lived whole life for that hour.
cannot tell. Perhaps the old monks
were right when they tried to root love
out; perhaps the poets are right when
they try to water it, 1t is blood red
flower. with the color of sin. but there
Is always the scent of q god about it."
Gregory would have made a remark
but she said, without noticing:
There are as many kinds of loves as
there are lowers everlasting that new.
er wither, speedwells that wait for the
wind to fan them out of life, blood red
mountain lilies that pour their volup.
tuous sweetness out for one day and lie
in the dust at night. There is no flow.
er has the charm Of all-the speed.
wells purity. the everlasting's strength
the mountain lily's warmth But who
knows whether there is no love that
holds all-friendship. passion, worshipi
Such love-" she said in her sweet
est voice, will fall on the surface OF
strong, cold, selfish life as the sunlight
falls on torpid winter world; there
where the trees are bare, and the
ground frozen till it rings to the steI
like iron. and the water Is solid, and
the air is sharp as o two edged knife
that cuts the unwary. But, when it's
sun shines on it, through it's whole
dead crust throbbing yearning wakes
The trees feel him, and every knot and
bud swells, aching to open to him. The
brown seeds that have slept deep under
the ground feel him, and he gives then
Strength till they break through the
frozen earth and lift two tiny. trem.
bling green hands in love to him. AND
he touches the water till down to Its
depths it feels him and melts. and i,
flows, and the things-strange. swee,
things-that We're locked up in it, il
sings as it runs, for love of Elm. Each
plant tries to bear at least one fragrant
little flower for him, and the WORLD
that was dead lives, and the heart thai
was dead and self centered throbs with
an upward, outward warming, and Il