The Denison review. [volume] (Denison, Iowa) 1867-current, 1900-01-23

"A poet, writer, needs only the men
tai. What use has he for beautiful
body that registers clearly mental emo
tons? And the painter wants an eye
for form and color, and the musician
an ear for time and tune, and the mere
drudge has no need for mental gifts.
But there is one art in which all she
has would be used, for which they are
all necessary-the delicate, expressive
body, the rich voice, the power of
mental transposition. The actor, who
absorbs and then reflects from himself
other human lives, needs them all, but
needs not much more. This is her end,
but how to reach ut? Before her are
endless difficulties. Seas must be cross
ed, poverty must be endured loneli-,
ness, want. She must be content to wait
long before she can even get her feet
upon the path. If she has made blum
ders in the past, if she has weighted
herself with a burden which she must
bear to the end, she must bear the bur-
den bravely and labor on. There is no
use in wailing and repentance here.
The next world is the place for that
This life is too short. By our errors we
see deeper into life. They help u.s.
She waited for awhile. "If she does
all this-if she waits patiently, if she
is never cast down, never despairs,
never forgets her end, moves straight
toward it. bending men and things
most unlikely to her purpose-she must
succeed at last Men and things are
plastic. They part to the right and
left when one comes among them NOV
ing in a straight line to one end.
know it by my own little experience"
she said Long years ago | resolved
to be sent to school. 1t seemed a thing
utterly out of my power, but lwaited.
watched, ! collected clothes, wrote,
took my place at the school. When all
was ready. bore with my full force
on the Boer woman, and she sent me
at last. 1t was small thing, but life
is made up of small things, as body is
built up of cells What has been done
in small things can be done in large.
shall be- she said softly Waldo lis
tened. Toahim the words were no con-
fession, no glimpse into the strong,
proud, restless heart Of the woman.
They were general words with a gen.
eral application He looked up into
the sparkling sky with dull eyes.
"Yes." he said: but when we lie and
i think and think we see that there is
nothing worth doing. The universe is
SO large. and man is so small
She shook her head quickly.
s.sRut we must not think so far. 1t
is madness: it is a disease. We know
that no mans work is great and stands
forever Moses is dead and the propl
cts. and the hooks tina, our giandnoth
ers fed on the mold is eating. Your
poet and painter and actor-before the
shouts that applaud them have died
their names grow strange: they are
mflestones that the world has passed.
Men have set their mark on mankind
forever, as they thought. but time has
washed it out as it has washed out
mountains and continents" She raised
herself on her elbow. "And what if
we could help mankind and leave the
traces Of our work upon it to the end?
Mankind is only an ephemeral blossom
on the tree of time There were others
before it opened; there will be others
after it has fallen. Where was the
man in the time Of the dicynodont and
when hoary monsters wallowed in the
mud? Will he be found in the cons
that are to come? We are sparks. we
are shadows, we are pollen, which the
next wind will carry away. We are
dying already 1t is all a dream.
81 know that thought. When the
fever of living is on us, when the de
sire to become, to know, to do, is driv
ing us mad. we can use it as an ano
dyne to still the fever and cool oul
beating pulses. But it is poison, no
food If we live on it. it will turf
our blood to ice. We might as wei
be dead We must not. Waldo.
want your life to be beautiful, to enc
in something. You are nobler ant
stronger than L. she said, land a.
much better us one of Gods great an
gels is better than a shining man
Your life must go for something"
"Yes; we will work." he said.
She moved closer to him and la.
still, his black curls touching be
smooth little head.
Doss, who had laid at his master
side, climbed over the bench and curl
ed himself up in her lap. She drew
her skirt up over him, and the tire
sat motionless for long time.
"Waldo," she said suddenly, "the
are laughing at u.s."
"Who?" he asked, starting up.
'They-the stars" she said softly
"Do you not see? There is little
white, hooking finger pointing dow
at us from each one Of them! We ar
talking of tomorrow and tomorrow
and our hearts are so strong; we ar
not thinking Of something that ca
touch us softly in the dark and max
us still forever. They are laughing q
us, Waldo"
Both sat looking upward.
"Do you ever pray?" he asked her /
low voice.
"No."