Ottumwa tri-weekly courier. [volume] (Ottumwa, Iowa) 1903-1916, 1913-08-09
Witch Dances

a D~iSCOnsOlate faces peer from the
windows Of hotels and lodgings. A
tourist party is stranded TT the Prince
of Wales, among them the stout gen.
tleman from Griscom City, who In.
forms everyone who will lend a sym.
pathetic ear that never again will he
fail to realize when he's well of. New
again will any c." g him outside
OF Gods Own Country.
The Adorer has learned to make
hight of the uncertainties OF Lakeland
weather. A macintosh. light UNI
brella, short serge skirt and stout
boots are weapons which one may
quite successfully wage against that
s1lvery housekeeping.
Then the whole landscape Is so
beautiful under it, so green, &c fresh,
~radiantly fowery. The mountain
tops disappear, then reappear in sud
den bold asses Little waterfalls
come leaping down in unexpected
places, and brown becks grow COM
Tongue Ghyll is laundering glor-
iously In Bramley's garden, sending
foam wreaths up owe the moss-em-
fernrdecorated boulders.
There Is much to do in Grasmere
on q rainy day.
One may drop in at the town hall
to see the exhibit of the Lake Artists
and lose ones self in
grandeur, stormrswept or
sun-crowned, TN the mystery of shad-
owy farms, the dimple Of lake water,
the glowing beauty of cottage gar
dens.
Then there Is always the church
yard with it's signing yews folded in
the Rothay's curvfng arm. One must
wish to unger where the laureate
sleeps and drop a flower or Hartley
lowly grave.
It liz good to sit a moment in the
quiet house of God and think the
of peace.
Dove Cottage is a real refuge on a
rainy morning. Grandma Dixon may
have time for a "clack," or some stray
be glad to talk Of Words
worth. Then, too, when is it not q
pleasure to linger a moment in the
arbor at the very top Of Dor.
garden and realize that 1t was
here on days both dark and fair that
the poet and his sister spent SO many
happy. busy hours?
And all the way from the cottage
IN the fields to Dove Cottage there
are occasional Erics trudging along
On errands, Agnes, dove-eyed and
sweet-faced at her mothers door,
ready for a hug and a little gossip.
One Is fairly sure Phyllis Is at the
and as for Tom, Jack, Joan.
Florrfe, Bessie and the rest, they are
spilled out by the way like SO many
sweet posies.
Yes, Ratha, Ratha with her won
derful copper-colored curls, is at her
shop door, porting over the
First Reader you brought her from
Boston in the New World, and runs
out to show you how well she can
read about the little booterfiy." Co
Nm has escaped into the garden and Is
about in the wet, pursued by
a Justly Indignant mother.
Surely, Grasmere Is not dull, even
on q rainy morning.
Besides, at Dove Cottage, there are
dear, quaint Emily, friendly
Madge, wise little Norah, and Jessie,
the flower Of the family.
But there IL also a cottage in the
fields, just of the Keswick road going
up Dunmail- cottage and a garden
where roses and potatoes thrive.
cheek by jowl.
It's the cottage with the vine
porch over the front door
and q corncrake in the hedge.
Cf you don't know what a corn.
crake is. ask the exile from Erin in
your kitchen. She will put her apron
TO one eye and inform you, TITS q
beautiful bird, so homelike and
Thus does love and home
sickness lend @ glamour.
To be strictly truthful, the song Of
the corncrake Is as mOnotonous and
as the vocal efforts Of a
asthmatic and entirely dis
old rocking-chair. During
the grass cutting 1t complains day and
night without cessation, until M sus-
poets 1t possesses iron vocal chords.)
There is also dinner In the sitting
room and after that a bright little fire
in the crate. One becomes suddenly
conscientious and writes home letters
or reads 1.-THE Excursion" But a, mo-
ment arrives when we are conscious Of
sunshine somewhere.
It is but a step to the porch. Yes, the
rain Is over!
Silverhow is unclouded with four
splendid waterfalls streaking it's brow.
Roses smile In the garden under
diamonds. The fells are d.
vinely blue; but what is going on In
The mountain-tops there still carry
their cowls of mist, but the whole val
ley is filled with a crowd Of spectral
The mists have gathered them
into separate, spiral pillars,
that march in stately fashion like some
procession of giants. The Adorer
clutches the porch ratings. Can 1t be
real?
"Are YOU going out, MISS" says