The courier. (Lincoln, Neb.) 1894-1903, 1901-10-19


slightly cIouded brain and very wakeful
eyes. Scraps Of song still hum about
me. fragments of simless conversation
still linger, and the whole has engen.
dered sort of dissatisfaction with myself
and my friends for which nobody and
nothing can be held responsible, unless.
indeed, am mean enough to blame the
rabbit which was, il the truth be told.
q bit too stringy. We discussed Almost
everything twixt heaven and earth. in q
misty, unfinished style where 9th the
rabbit We. deceived ourselves into the
fiattering belief that We were uncom.
monty deep and clever. On sober Sec
ond thoughts here in my sahctum. free
of the blue smoke, l am convinced that
even our cleverness was shallow and
that the depth wasn't there at all.
Some one finally wanted to know
what constituted sense OF humor or
what sense of bumor presuppoeed or
involved on the part Of the possessor.
and there We were introduced to our
Waterloo. No one was able to satisfy
the anxious inquirer, and 80 am con-
strained to pass it on to your clear, de-
cisive intellect. Can't you help ne?
These brooting Indian summer days
are full Of a mysterious sadness to me.
They force in upon me all the things l
meant to be and do, which have never
been or done. The air seems just soft
winding -sheet for hundreds Of dead
hopes. In the spring when the pulses
leap as the cap began to stir, We were
very gay and joyous, my heart and l.
We said: I'VE have planted many ten
der seeds of beautiful things. and as the
soft rains fall and the suns warmth
grows, they will take root, AID We will
watch and love them into full, strong
life; and when the summer comes they
will break into bloom and beauty;
they will perfume all our way with
their sweetness. But We must have
forgotten, we must some way have neg
lected them; for the heat OF summer
scorched the tendrils and the leaves and
there grew no flowers. Now in the
golden harvest-time We found only
rustling, shivering Stake to garner.
Oh! tender, tiny seeds! What did we
fail to do? How did We neglect you.
that DOW when the winter draws nigh,
my heart and l sit among barren fields?
There is no JOY to me in the beauty of
this time in Nature. Like the last
hectic flush Of the consumptive, it hints
too plainly OF inevitable decay. Think
Of Gods poor, who must withdraw from
His green fields and blue skies. to the
corn-husks Of humanity! 1 never
thought l was overly charitable or dis
posed t. assume the inevitable woes Of
my kind, but some way the thought of
all the poor, the unfortunate, TIE sui.
fering obtrudes upon my peace Of mind
just as soon as the trees stretch naked,
supplicating arms to the cold blue sky.
OF course, il you are disposed to be I'M
pleasant you can suggest that it lie very
easy sort Of charity to sit in a coy,
steam-heated room, in q new tailor.
made gown, and snlffie with q lead pen.
Gil to catch the tears, over the worlds
poor. But you will not do that, bless
your sincere friendship. and, beside,
have done little more, 10 my poor way.
add have fallen back baffled more by
the poverty Of soul have enco inferred
than ty the empty coal bine. Some
way, come how, you can occasionally
have one OF these filled; but where and
how shall one ever find covering and