Custer County Republican. (Broken Bow, Neb.) 1882-1921, 1902-06-05

Man Who Had Once Been a Bare
Footed Country Boy, Living Near
TO Natures Heart.
1t was only a load Of loose hay that
passed through the city street, but 1t
filed the atmosphere with sweet per-
fume and Hooded the memory with de-
light. The day was raw and damp.
Piles of dirty snow lined the sidewalks
here and there and mud stained ice COW
cred the streets to n varying depth.
The air was heavy with carbonic gas,
the sky was overcast, the chill of
March penetrated the system, the trees
were black and cold as though life had
forsaken them, the chirp even of the
sparrow seemed stilled
Along passed the load of hay and all
was transformed. Vanished were the
dreary surroundings of mans prison
like city; forgotten the disturbing con-
seriousness of the steady grind of brain
or muscle, or both, extending down the
years from the hopeful days of youth
through the discouragements of man
hood toward the only rest of life-the
gravel The petty cares of life, too in
significant to crush, but so pressing and
so constant that they corrode the mind,
deaden sentiment, crush out joyous
ness, kill the spirit of true happiness,
create distrust and disgust and raise
doubts as to the whole Christian
scheme of mans destiny, ceased. The
scent OF the hay was in the air; it pene-
trated the lungs like a revivifying
breath to the dying and like an angelic
messenger summoned memory to the
green fields of summer, vocal with the
songs of birds and the music of the in
sect world.
Above, the sun was shining bright
and warm and the blue sky in it's calm
repose and inviting mystery called
from its depths to the spiritual heart.
Around, all nature was jubilant. The
green-vested trees threw their grateful
shade across the grassy mead; the
river glided on it's course to the sea-
the symbol of the souls search for its
Uncreated End; the distant farmhouse
looked bright and peaceful; cattle
browsed in the pasture and men were
at work in the meadows curing the
newmown hay and keeping time to
the tuneful harmonies of nature in
song and whistle.
Natures heart was near. And again
came up the thoughts that so many of
us, country reared, INDUCED in in child
hood-the longings the desires, the an
ticipations, the hopes and delights and
joys and pleasures that filed our
minds! And faces, too, came up-dear,
vanished faces, some long since cold
and marble-like, now resting beneath
the yew trees in the rural graveyard
others gone. God knows whittier; 9TH
ers still, like our own, filed with life's
vexations and trials and uncertainties
their brightness vanished and their
bloom decayed! Was there particular
face?-one of especial brightness and
loneliness. of bubbling joy and of ex-
quisite delight, the sight of which made
our being thrill, the thought of which
filled our minds and soothed our souls
like cool spray falling over fevered
brow, and the suggestion off being
ever parted from which was like a
death sentence-well, who wants to
tell? Yet happy is the man who can
dwell upon that face to-day without
confusion and without compunction.
And from the spot where we can see
the men curing the hay we can look to
the church and the school, the distant
village and the sky-kissed hill beyond
which once lay our great unknown
world. There we dreamed our dreams
and built our castles and formed our
ideals. How the future glowed with the
light of our hope and confidence and
how easily we hewed our way to mans
false ideal of fame!
The load of hay has moved on its
way Its sweet scent does not long
linger in crowded city. The heavy
atmosphere again assals us. Our eyes
rest on the Undiscovered ice and the
bleak trees and the piles of brick and
mortar where sentiment is dead and
trade Is king. Yet we are the better fol
this little excursion of memory. Ye
are we more purified in spirit for the
little ramble where the new-mown hay
Is cured. And every time in futur,
when we see load of hay we will
thank God for its presence and pity
that man from our heart even if h,
were 100 times a millionaire, who can
not rise higher than to ask its price.
STORY ABOUT EDWARD CLARK
Famous Capitol Architect's EXTREME