The Denison review. [volume] (Denison, Iowa) 1867-current, 1902-01-31
A FANTASY.
BY Nj. MAC Il. HELLIwE1L.

sou stHiness, broken only by the sweet
trllllng OF many birds, and the monotonous
droning OF the great, yellow bees as they
DuzZed III and out among the countless per-
fume-laden flowers
The woman had thrown herself down
upon a slope of luscious clover, and off in
the distance she could see the sparkling
bosom of the ocaan rising and falling with
regular, Rhythmic motion, as if nature had
her breathing chamber in its mysterious
depths. The 1leecy, feathery clouds iloated
airily through the misty azure of the sum
mer sky, taking strange shapes as they
sailed.
As the woman gazed, half -dreamily, sud
yet vague impulses. Shadowy forms fit
ted through the chamber of her mind--and
all were heroes; they spoke-ther words
were music, and at each strange, sweet,
vibrating cadence something OF the hidden
sin and darkness of the world melted away.
And there came upon the woman great
desire to write that which she felt and
saw and seemed to hear that all the world
might read and its corroding crime be
washed away. There was JOY for the light
hearted, comfort for the sorrowing-peacc
for all men.
SO she rose, and sought her own private
chamber; there she took paper and pen,
preparing herself to write; but the paper
stared blankly into her eyes, for the shad-
ows slipped away as she tried to grasp them,
and the words they spoke sank into meaning
less murmurings when she strove to repeat
them.
Then great anguish seized her soul and
she cried aloud in her impotent despair,
Tor crushlngiy it was borne in upon her
that the world, unconscious, was hasten
ing to its destruction, while she, possessing
the means OF its salvation, was powerlcss
TO avert its doom.
Then suddenly, softly, across her weep
ing came gentle voice: Peace, it is the
beginning. Wait in patience and Inspira-
ton will come to thee"
And hearing, she pressed back her tears,
and gave herself up to studying the shad-
ows as they came and went, straining her
ears that perchance she might catch one
clear note OF the music of their voices
Day by day she lay in the garden, watch
ing the ocean rise and fall while the birds
sang, the bees droned, and the flowers flung
their scented breath on the heavy air. But
Inspiration came not.
Suns rose and set. The flowers faded slow
~, their beauty-shorn petals strcWing the
ground, the fragrance passing away in the
misty, sitting perfume of death and decay
The yellow bees buzZed no more among
the clover blossoms; the birds huted plain.
tive farewells and sailed far southward;
the heaving OF the ocean became wild and
tumultuous-winter had supplantcd sum
mer. The woman could no longer linger in
the garden to dream beneath the azure
sky. Yet Inspiration came not
SO she built shrine to him in her cham
Der, and kneeling before it she would pray
and plead. Ceaseessly the anguish grew
within her, and the shadows ever fitting
wore her brain and tore her heart Her
soul was racked with yearnings and aeon-
ized longlngs, growing stronger day by day
as the shadows grew more elusive.
She plucked the sweetest flowers of her
fancy, the brightest blossoms of her imagi.
nation, to lay upon the altar she had built:
and there they withered and shriveled, not
even her tears avalling to refresh them
and still Inspiration came not.
And gradually her hands became weak
and trembling, until the pen slipped from
her nerveless fingers, and she realized that
her power was failing. Then she left the
shrine and took her station by the window.
through which she could see the ocean
tossing cold and gray in the distance. And
as she gazed, sad-eyed, her youth and
strength departed; 10, shadow fell across
her. She raised her eyes-lnspiration stood
before her
Write" he said.
Eagerly the woman took the Pen, but
the trembling fingers encircled it so weakly
that. escaping from their grasp, it fell to
the floor.
Now the shadows grew dear and vivid in
the chamber of her mind; they stood be-
fore her in their order. waiting for her to
bind them eternally to the paper before her
Still she sat motionless, and again the shad-
ows fell and Inspiration spoke:
at is the end, he said. Write
But slowly the woman shook her head
''The waiting has been too long" she
murmured. Power has flown, and now
at the tardy coming of Inspiration, Desire
lies dead. cannot"
And the music of the voices of the shad-
ows fell soft and sweet upon her ears,
and the message that they spoke was clear
and of great peace, so that as she listened
the yearning of her heart was ulled, the
longing satisfied, the anguis!, overcome.
She looked out to the ocean; its hcavng
was long and low. And still the music of
the voices OF the shadows whispered to her,
so that light shone in her faded face, and
a smile played about the weary mouth. And
Inspiration, observing her, smiled sadly.
SIS it always to be thus!" he sighed.
"Will the world never know" And still
the woman lay back with closed eyes, smil-
ing.
Then Inspiration gathered tcndcrly the
faded flowers of her fancy, the blighted BIOS
SONS Of her Imagination, which lag with
cring on the altar where she had cast them,
and with enc backward look he left the
woman alone, with the shadows fitting,
fitting through the chamber OF her mind
and the music of their voices singing to her
soul
Origin of Joke.
Dr. Finders Fletrie, the eminent archeolo
gist, announces that he has deciphercd the
cuneiform inscription on a tablet he cxca-
waited in the plains of Assyria, and believes
that it is a copy of a prehistoric comic pa
per. Among other itercs, it contains the
following merry jest, which bears a strange
ly familiar sound:
Nov, there were gathered together at
~ a. { AZ.