The courier. (Lincoln, Neb.) 1894-1903, 1901-06-22

there 10 no Otnor lie n6iI b iueCiuosinS
and attractive"
There is something pathetic. yet COM
polling admiration. in my friends enthu-
siasm. 1t is so young-much younger.
in fact, than the young woman herself;
for her hair shows many touches OF gray
and her face bears evidence OF years OF
battle with q world both stern and
cold. In this age of lsbor.selling it is
refreshing to see an example Of labor
giving, of devotion to an ideal with no
expectation OF financial reward other
than an income sufficient for very mod
est living expenses. Omar Khayyam.
esque. is it not?-with this difference.
however: my friend does not shut her.
self up in castle to ponder on the mex
plicable problems Of heaven and earth;
her mission is among men, and her aim
is to counteract in part the feverish
sensationalism Of the daily papers with
q sheet which is like wood. violet in
mass Of paper peoples. l wish you
could see that paper. Penelope! I will
try to secure copy for you. Not a
column in it's ten pages has tende ncy
to increase the morbid feverishness Of
our everyday life. Not column of &C
cidents, of murder, OF suicide or of scam
dial in this little paper. In the face
Of the Haunting headlines OF our city
dailies. this sheet is like golden shower
at the close Of hot and weary day.
have wondered many times il the
papers or the readers are to blame for
the flood of printed superseneational-
ism-whether the editors create the de-
msnd or merely supply it. Whichever
may be true it is strange that the public
does not tire of the monotony of the
daily papers week after week. With a
trifing change Of Suggesting the trag-
edy Of life goes on. A change in dates.
locations and names, and the columns
Of murders and accidents might remain
otherwise unchanged. Yet the papers
reflect faithful picture Of our twen-
tieth century life,-existence, should
say, for few of US are living a life in its
truest sense. A friend once wrote to
me: Existence is not life. Existence
is measured by extent alone. but life is
measured by content" l wondered
when reading the letter whether the &C.
cent should be placed on the first or
second syllable Of content" but con-
cluded that it would apply in either
case.
Not only do mortals refuse to live
sensibly, one minute at tins, but they
also deny themselves the time to die
natural deaths. A flash of the revolver
"a draught from the bottle snatched
on the run from some druggists shelf,
and another soul is projected into eter-
nifty.
Yet when we reflect on the joyleesnees
Of our human existence, our maddening
rush from the cradle to the grave, with
nerves strung to the highest tension,
when we remember the lack OF harmony
between men and their surroundings
and their seeming indifference to this
lack-I only wonder that the list of
tragedies is not larger from day to day.
This subject of harmony is one which
is worthy of our most serious consider
alton, not alone in its relation to the
science Of music, but to every human
life. 1t is conceded by Psychologists
that harmony Of surroundings, both ami
mate and inanimate. is essential to the
perfect development of every human be-
ing. And the greater the talent, the
natural ability, the more necessary this
harmony becomes. 1t is an unconscious