The courier., 1901-12-07

and women had stood where he So. .
and dimIy felt the wings Of time and
the garments Of the multitude. bur m
articUlate expression Of their -rDo-i,,
no souvenir, remained Read a p0-t "A
passion or Of powerful imaginatio an !
his expression and experiences max
the usual and the recurring exp-rierc.s
Of life seem mean and ignoble Read
poet Of the household. wholesome sor-
like LOngfelIow and the duties and en-
vironment Of our everyday life are dig
nifed by the reflection from a GisrIr-
guished mind. II is q noble mind which
perceiyes and interprets for the unlr-
spired the beauty Of common things
Miss Mary French Morton, the author
Of Leaves from Arbor Lodge : An
interpreter Of nature. In invariably
correct and musical rhythm she r--
peats the messages Of nature del!v-r-I
10 her by the slow river, the rayln-s
and the old, tall trees of Nebraska Ct-v
Perhaps nothing in the old town his
been abused more than the slow sr,--r
cars dragged by mules. Car and Il IT,
ton are perhaps twenty years old. ana
the citizens resent the old style u
both Miss Morton perceives the beau
~ of the slow landscape and the ghosts
of by-gone things in the old street CAR
From out its eastern door We See
The bluffs that melt away
In distant haze to softly gleam
With jeweled tints of day;
And toward the wide. out-spreading w-st
The peaceful country lies
With glints of gold, the meadows gre-a
Curve under azure skies
Drawn on by mules whose tfnkling bills
Sing out a plaintive air,
Unmindful that the old brown car
Shows marks of grim Times wear.
We sit content and dream out dreams
That come with summer hours
And wonder if heavenly land
Can be more fair than ours
Perchance in thought We See again
The long, white-canvassed trains
of pioneers who passed this way
To cross far-reaching plains
Like phantoms from the bygOne years
They come and pass from view
o, brave hearts journeyed to the west
= When this old town was new.
So back and forth it goes each day
From flowing rivers brim
To haunt of birds in shadowed grove,
Whose quiet paths are dim
Through traffic's stir, by hillside still.
The old car jogs along
And one who sits within may hear
Life's varied strains of song
The volume is filled with studies Of
swaying branches, the moving shad-
ows of foliage, with Indian tradition
lodgepoles less than a century ago
were erected on the very prairies where
the white mans fruit trees, pines and
frs now grow. Their footballs were
noiseless and they have left few re-
mains. Arrowheads, soapstOne pipes,
decorated buffalo hides (Very rare),
moccasins and some bead and feather
ornaments are all that tangibly remain
of the Indians in Nebraska. But a
ghostly presence still stalks the plains
and the sensitive are aware of it. The
Ghost Dance confesses the effect OF
remains more personal than any Of the
articles just enumerated:
The noiseless shadows lurk below N
The trees as their branches sway, ~
Like 1.-THE. dark forms of Otoe braves
In groups of stealthy foes at bay.
Just where the old fields margin creeI'
To new-grown woodlands shading deep
And long white spaces, moonlit. lie
Like ghosts of the slain in strife
Wan heroes from the silent band
That trod this prairie soil in life.
Like cry and wall of savage love