The Denison review. [volume] (Denison, Iowa) 1867-current, 1900-01-16
old Truth, never see her, neve.


tranquil. You are not lonely when
you are asleep, neither do your hands
ache nor your heart And the hunter
laughed between his teeth.
octave torn from my heart all that
was dearest? Have 1 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, We harpiesT
"He laughed fiercely, and the echoes
of despair skunk away, for the laugh
of brave, strong heart is death
blow to them.
Nevertheless they crept out again
and looked at him.
"Do you know that your hair is
white they said, that your hands
begin to tremble like child's? Do
YOU see that the point Of your shuttle
is gone? 1t is cracked already. 1t you
should ever climb this STAIR they said,
it will be your last. You will never
climb another
"And he answered, I know it,! and
worked on.
"The old, thin hands cut the stones
Ill and jaggedly, for the fingers were
stiff and bent. The beauty and the
strength of the man were gone.
cat last an old, wizened, shrunken
face looked out above the rocks. 1t
saw the eternal mountain rise with
walls to the white clouds, but it's 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
aloney he cried.
'"Then the mists rolled together again,
and he turned his eyes away.
"T have sought he said, for long
years have labored, but have not
found her. have not rested, have
not repined, and I have not seen her.
Now my strength is gone. Where 1
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.'
1.-THE tears rolled from beneath the
shriveled eyelids. If Truth had APP
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 mount! 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 1t futtered down and dropped
on to the breast of the dying man. He
felt it with his hands. It was a feath-
or. 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 ST
lent. He did 30.
Glow did you know A7' the boy
whispered at last. ''It is not written
there. not on that wood. How did
you know itY'
Certainly" said his stranger, "the
whole of the story is not written here
but it IL suggested. And the attribute
Of all true art, the highest and the low
est, is this-that 1t says more than II
says and takes you away from itself. II
10 little door that opens into an inf
mite hall where you may md what yor
please. Men. thinking to detract, say
People read more in this or that worl
Of genius than was ever written In it,
not perceiving that they pay the high
est compliment. II we pick up the fin
ger and nail of real man, we can de
cipher q whole story could almost re
construct the creature again from heat
to foot. But half the body Of a Mum
boo-jumbow idol leaves us utterly II
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 int
matter with the least possible manipu
lative skill, 1t will yet find Interpreters
1t is the soul that looks out with burn
ing eyes through the most gross fleshl
flament. whatsoever should portra