Butler citizen. [volume] (Butler, Pa.) 1877-1922, 1900-05-17

fingers. Before the next wall of rock
he began to work. The height OF this
seemed infinite, and he said nothing.
The sound OF his tool rang night and
day upon the iron rocks into which he
cut steps. Years passed over him, yet
he worked on, but the wall lowered up
always above him to heaven. Some
times he prayed that n little moss or
lichen might spring up on those bare
walls to be n companion TO him, but 1t
never came"
The stranger watched the boys face.
And the years rolled on. He count
ed them by the steps he had cut-a few
for a year, only a few He sang no
more. He said no more. 4 will do this
or that he only worked. And at night
when the twilight settled down there
looked out at him from the holes and
crevices in the rocks many strange,
wild faces.
stop your work, you lonely man,
and speak to u.s. they cried.
My salvation is in work. If
should stop but for one moment, you
would creep down upon me- he re-
piled. And they put out their long
necks farther.
look down into the crevice at your
feet they said. See what lie there
white bonesi As brave and strong
man as you climbed to these rocks.
And he looked up. He saw there was
no use in striving. He would never
hold Truth, never see her, never find
her. So he lay down here, for he was
very tired. He went to sleep forever.
He put himself to sleep. Sleep is very
tranquil. You are not lonely when
you are asleep, neither do your hands
ache nor your heart And the hunter
laughed between his teeth.
Have l torn from my heart all that
was dearest? Have l wandered alone
in the land of night? Have l resisted
temptation? Have l dwelt where the
voice of my kind is never heard and
labored alone to lie down and be food
for you, ye harplesT
"He laughed f1ercely, and the echoes
of despair skunk away, for the laugh
of a brave, strong heart is a death
blow 10 them.
NeNCIluCiteb lhty NACpN Ohs ee5"AA
and looked at him.
"'Do you know that your hair Is
white they said, that your hands
begin to tremble like a child's? DO
you see that the point of your shuttle
is gone? 1t is cracked already. If you
should ever climb this STAIR they said,
it will be your last. You will never
climb another
"And he answered, I know 1t! and
worked on.
"The old, thin hands cut the stones
i'll and jaggedly, for the fingers were
stiff and bent The beauty and the
strength of the man were gone.
"At last an old, wizened, shrunken
face looked out above the rocks. 1t
saw the eternal mountain rise with
walls to the white clouds, but its work
was done.
"The old hunter folded his tired
hands and lay down by the precipice
where he had worked away his life
1t was the sleeping time at last. Be
low him over the valleys rolled the
thick white mist Once it broke, and
through the gap the dying eyes looked
down on the trees and fields Of their
childhood. From afar seemed borne
to him the cry Of his own wild birds,
and he heard the noise OF the people
singing as they danced, and he thought
he heard among them the voices OF his
old comrades, and he saw afar off the
sunlight shine on his early home, and
great tears gathered in the hunters
eyes.
"'Ah, they who die there do not die
alonep he cried.
"Then the mists rolled together again.
and he turned his eyes away.
"T have sought he said, for long
years 1 have labored, but l have not
found her. I have not rested, | have
not repined, and have not seen her.
Now my strength is gone. Where l
lie down worn out other men Will
stand young and fresh. BY the steps
that have cut they will climb; by the
stairs that | have built they will
mount. They will never know the
name of the man who made them. At
the clumsy work they will laugh; when
the stones roll, they will curse me. But
they will mount and on my work;
they will climb, and by my stair! They
will find her, and through me! And no
man liveth to himself. and no man
dieth to himself
'sThe tears rolled from beneath the
shriveled eyelids. If Truth had ap-
peared above him in the clouds now,
he could not have seen her-the mist
of death was in his eyes.
"My soul hears their glad step COM
ing in he. said, and they shall mount,
they shall mountp He raised his shriv-
eled hand to his eyes.
"Then slowly, from the white sky
above, through the still air, came
something falling, falling, falling.
Softly it fiuttered down and dropped
on to the breast Of the dying man. BE
felt 1t with his hands. 1t was feath-
er He died holding it."
The boy had shaded his eyes with
his hand. On the wood of the carving
great drops fell. The stranger must
have laughed at him or remained 81
lent. He did so.
"How did you know itr' the boy
whispered at last. at is not written
there, not on that wood. How did
you know it?"
Certainly" said his stranger, "the
whole of the story is not written here,
but it is suggested. And the attribute
of all true art, the highest and the low
est, is this-that it says more than 1t
says and takes you away from ltselr. IL
is little door that opens into an infi-
! mite hall where you may find what you
please. Men, thinking to detract, say,
People read more in this or that work
of genius than was ever written in II,
not perceiving that they pay the high
est compliment. If we pick up the tn-
ger and nail of n real man, we can de-
cipher a whole story-could almost re-
construct the creature again from head
TO foot. But half the body OF Num-
boo-iumbow idol leaves us utterly in
the dark as to what the rest was like.
We see what we see, but nothing more.
There is nothing so universally intelli-
BILE as truth. 1t has thousand mean-
ings and suggests a thousand more.
He turned over the wooden thing.
Though a man should carve 1t into
matter with the least possible manipu-
lative skill, it will yet find interpreters.
1t Is the soul that looks out with burn
ing eyes through the most gross fleshly
flament Whosoever should portray
truly the life and death of a little
fiower-its birth, sucking In Of nourish-
ment, reproduction Of its kind, wither-