Evening star., 1915-11-28
THE BIRTHRIGHT.

r ONE as a little first star in the
early gray of morning lies the
White homestead under the vel
vet fir trees. 1t has not the barren
nature of neighboring Maine farms. al
though, like them. it is unadorned. 1t
Is one of those places which, like rare
natures, seem to gather from their
hard surroundings threads of beauty
wherewith to weave themselves, will
fully as young children at their fairy
play. garments of peculiar beauty.
One is apt to call this a foreign air,
with measure of truth, for in Europe
there is a more distinct sense of the
earth-mother's tenderness and care
She seems to urge even the humblest
toward beauty, toward a fitting into
the scheme of things, as gently and con-
tentedly as may be, a blending into
the movements of nature, gathering
of stores from the seasons color and
contour and tone
In this way hamlet, cot and farmyard
by their unconscious acceptance of
things become a part of all loveliness,
taking on the same shadows of pur-
ping lights, the same burning glow
of rose and gold, the same softness of
folds and lines that descends in mai
esty on the crowned mountains and
the verdant wales. 1t is because ir Eu-
rope such habitations have long been
obedient children of EARTH nurslings
and nestlers in her lap of bounty In
America they have ever been rebels,
born free of the bonds by which earth
would hold them subservient to her
beauty. and desiring only to stand
alone, with pioneer grimness, against
the enmity of nature and savage life.
No unmantling softness might en-
croach upon them from time, from the
weather, or from the pleading lowell
ness OF seasons. Their clearings must
lie bare for the betrayal of the enecy;
the houses themselves, with door and
window shuttered, stand ready as a
fortress. Not such a fortress, either
as the men of ages past permitted
themselves to build in glory, when
their massed stone made battlements
and towers, rivals worthy of earths
esteem and before which she was not
aVerse to laying her own gifts of
beauty. But barren, scarcely hopeful
last refugees, representatives of the
hostile idea, these homes are Esaus
among their brethren.
II
Different, indeed. is the White home
STEAD one sees IT best when leaning
on the railing Of the small bridge in
reverie; mere passers-by may not
quickly grasp it's peculiar dover of
meaning. A lane bordered with eglan-
tine leads to the inclosure of dark frs.
The quiet colemnity of the surround
The quiet solemnity of the surround
shallow and depth of a brightly flow !
ing stream upon whose water-lilied
surface numbers of ducks potter con-
tentedly about.
There is evidence neither of the
hurry and hustle of farm affairs nor of
the placidness of full prosperity; one
only feels that here life keeps a fair
to the universe within
which it moves.
AT evening the lights glimmer in the |
windows under the fir trees like sis !
ter stars to those in the blue-dark
canopy above. Up the lane, which the |
dying winds have already imbedded |
with the scents of roses and cool night |
meadow grasses, an old man leads his |
COW. He does not look hardened by |
the ugliness of a discontented old age |
His cheek has color, his eyes have |
light and he seems to carry joy, like an |
apple, in his pocket.
In the yard he meets a younger man |
who comes from the stable and leads |
the COW away, sending the old man |