Ottumwa tri-weekly courier. [volume] (Ottumwa, Iowa) 1903-1916, 1914-03-14

library hre, preparing a paper on the
Pagan Renaissance. Tonight am on
Baldpate Mountain, with performa-
ton In my hat"
Mr.. Bland shivered. 'I'm going back
to bed" he said in disgust.
'.Tiret," went on the gentleman
with the perforated derby, permit me
TO introduce myself. am Professor
Thaddeus Bolton, and hold the chair
of comparative literature in big
eastern university"
Mr.. Magee took the mittened hand OF
the professor.
"Glad to see you. I'm sure" he said.
my name Is Magee. This Is Mr..
Bland-he Is impetuous but estimable.
trust you will forgive his first salute.
What's bullet among gentlemen? 1t
seems TO mo that as explanations may
be lengthy and this room is very cold.
we would do we'll to 60 up to my room,
where there 10 Are"
Delighted cried the old man. "A
IRE. long to see one. Let us go to
your room, by all means"
Mr.. Bland stalked to hts mattress
and secured gaily colored bed quilt,
which he wound about his thin form.
''This Is positively the last expert
ence meeting attend tonight" he
growled.
They assembled to number seven. Mr..
Magee piled fresh logs on the fire: Mr..
Bland saw to 1t that tho door was not
tightly closed. The professor removed
along with other impedimenta, his ear
tabs, which were connected by rub
Der cord He waved them like frisky
dnta chad nara hofOro him
IAN old mans weakness" he re-
marked Foolish they may seem to
you. But I assure you found them
useful companions in climbing Bald
pate Mountain at this hour"
He sat down In the largest chair
suite seven owned, and from It's depths
smiled benignly at the two young
men.
But I am not here to apologize for
my apparel, am I? Hardly. You are
saying to yourselves why is he here?
Yes, that Is the question that disturbs
you What has brought this domesti-
Gated college professor scampering
from the Pagan Renaissance to Bald
pate Inn? For answer, must ask you
to 90 back with me weeks time, and
gaze at picture from the, rather
dreary academic Kaleidoscope that 10
my life.
II am seated back Of desk on a
platform in bare yellow room. In
front Of me, tier on tier sit hundred
young men in various attitudes OF IN
attention. I am trying to tell them
something of the ideal poetry that
marked the rebirth Of the Saxon
genius. They are bored. well,
gentlemen. in confidence, even the
mind of college professor has been
known to wander at times from the
subject in hand. And them began
to read a poem-a poem descriptive
of woman dead six hundred years
and more. All, gentlemen"
He sat erect on the edge of his
great chair. Back OF the thick lenses
Of his spectacles he had eyes that still
could flash
"This Is not an era of romance, he
said. "Our people grub In the dirt for
the dollar. Their visions perish.
Their souls grow stale. Yet, now and
then, at most inopportune times, comes
the fash that reveals to US the glories
that might be. A gentleman of my &C
ouaintance caught glimpse of per-
feet happiness while he was in the
midst Of an effort to corner the pickle
market. Another evolved the scheme
of perfect ode to the essential purity
Of woman ina Broadway restaurant.
So, like lightning across the blacklist
sky. our poetic moments come"
Mr.. Bland wrapped his gay quilt
more securely about him. Mr.. Magee
smiled encouragement on the newest
raconteur.
| 1T shall be brief" continued Profess
sor Bolton, Heaven knows that
pedagogic room was no place Tor
visions, nor were those athletic young
men At companions for soul gone
giddy. Yeti lost my head, AS l
read on there returned to my heart
| glow had not known in forty years.
! The bard spoke OF her hair:
"Her yellow lockes. crisped like
! golden wyre. y
And her shoulders weren loosely
| she'd
and saw, as in dream--ahem, can
trust you. gentlemen-a grill supposed
I had forever forgot in the mold and
dust OF my later years. I will not go
further into the matter. MY wires
hair Is black
"And reading on. but losing the
thread of the poets eulogy IN the
golden fabric of my resurrected dream,
it came to me to compare that maid !
knew in the long ago with the woman
II know today. All. gentlemen! Lips,
made but for smiling, flung weighty
arguments on the unoffending atmos-
phere. Eyes, made to light with that
light that never was by land or sea,
blaze instead with what they call the
injustice of woman's servitude. White
hands, made to find their way to the
hands of some young man in the
moonlight. carry banners in the dusty
streets. It seemed saw the blue
eyes of that girl OF long ago turned,
sad, rebulsing, on her sisters Of today
AS finished reading, my heart was
awhirl. said to the young men be-
fore me:
"'There was woman, gentlemen
a woman worth a million suffragettes.
"They applauded. The fire in me
died down Soon 7 was my old meek