The true Democrat. [volume] (Bayou Sara [La.]) 1892-1928, 1915-06-12

carload of happy patients.
East Feliciana is one of the most
beautiful parishes in Louisiana; and,
at seven o'clock on clear May morn
ing, | believe she surpasses in lowell
ness any of her sisters. The motor
car carried us through four miles of
exquisite scenery-too exquisite for my
typewriter, though | cannot refrain
! from mentioning the beauty of the
fields of knee-high, rank, green corn,
waving to us as we passed, those in
the shade of nearby trees still bejeWel-
ed with dew; the ripping field of oats
whose innumerable bearded heads are
not worried with the thought that the
reaper will soon be at them. Far
across the billowy fields and meadows,
streaked here and there with brightest
red clay gullies, could be seen the light
and dark green of the beech and pine,
while above the tree tops in a sea of
rarest blue fioated huge, white cloud
bergs.
In about ten minutes we passed the
fields, and for five more minutes hum
med past beech, pine, oak, poplar, dog
wood, ETC., before we reached Jeff"
station. Mutt" is the station for
Colony One, a quarter of mile be.
yond. A short walk of hundred yards
about brought us to the picnic grounds.
The great New England prophet was
right when he said "The tempered
light of the woods is like perpetual
morning, and is stimulating and heroic.
The anciently reported spells of these
places creep on u.s."
The shade is already welcome,
though "the musical steaming odorous
south wind, which converts all trees to
windharps," is better than the best
electric fan. We all took a new de-
light in the new green of the leaves,
and the return to the singing birds
Ia delight as simple as Robin Hoods,
and these lines of Chaucer, written
more than two hundred Mays ago,
have lost none of their truth:
In summer when the shaws be sheen,
And leaves be large aid long,
1t is full merry in fair forest
To hear the small birds sing"
Emerson says "Frivolity is a most
unfit tribute to Pan, who ought to be
represented in the mythology as the
most continent of gods" No such
Emersonion notion fingered in the
minds of the patients, for, sitting about
on logs and other improvised benches,
many of them joked and laughed like
school boys on lark. By way of prep
aration, would have you remember
that every hallucination of the insane
is to him as real as the heat of the sun
or the hardness of granite. In dealing
with the insane, ever bear that fact in
mind. My friend Bill, a good-hearted
ex- "car-knOcker," never in his life own
ing more than months salary, is
tickled beyond measure because T,
whose hallucination is that he is the
King of England, is giving some royal
order. Bill, on hearing the King()
thus talking to himself or, rather, to
some imaginary person, being a good
Democrat with no fear of royal dis
pleasure, says: Man, you amt no
king. You are dead from the neck up"
This brings roar of laughter from the
other patients who hear it. The laugh,
though, is not at the King, but at Bill,
who sincerely believes himself to be a
multi-millionaire. There are lots of fun
making. After a while, one of the
patients, young fellow from town"
New Orleans), remarked: 81 have
been to Sunday School picnics, labor
day picnics, club picnics, but, believe
me, a nut factory picnic has 'em all
shelled." 1t is not all sunshine, though,
for this very same young fellow is
probably life termer"-has paresis.
He was jolly good fellow before John
Barleycorn got him and he attempted
suicide. Now he realizes the truth of
Jack London's grim words: "And he
knows his one freedom-he may an
Iticipate the day of his death. All Of
which is not good for man who is
made to live and love and be loved.
Yet suicide, quick or slow, a sudden
spill or a gradual oozing away through
the years, is the price John Barleycorn
exacts. No friend of his ever escapes
making the just, due payment" Should
this young man from the city beg God
to be allowed to go back and tell his
brother of this hell, he might hear
those words, SO hard but so true: mo,
he has Moses and the Prophets"
There are some sad hearts in the
crowd. The little Frenchman over
there is making splendid fight, with