The Lambertville record. [volume] (Lambertville, N.J.) 1872-1968, 1920-07-30


near the dividing line where the
streams on the western slope bound
in glad anticipation toward the great
Pacific, and on the Eastern strive TO
assuage the monstrous thirst of count
less miles of sand and salt, one day
caught a breath that lulled to sleep
the lure Of the throbbing social world
and awoke love for this trackless
waste.
The transition of my affections came
suddenly at daybreak, when in a pass
ing within, changed my usual morning
climbed to the very summit to catch
the first glimpse of the sum-, The pane
rama that flashed upon my sight when
heavens gates opened and Phoebus'
horses burst through lives indelibly
photographed on my brain, though the
sunrise itself was unnoticed.
Like those dreams when reason is
sleeping and imagination alone is
guard, l beheld wealth of jewels,
which l had never before fancied in ex
istence. From the crown of fairy
queen at night had come each separate
grain of deserts sand, whose glittering
radiance was enhanced by the dawning
| light Each pebble was an artists
loo1o++o u,b araop tho ooIorc ODD blended
| till every hue and tint that endless
combinations could conceive suggested
lilliputian ball room where midget
beauties wore plush coats and satin
gowns, a nation of tiny royalty and as
| the heat waves caught the suns rays
| like the turning of a Kaleidoscope
each second reeled off films of such
glistening beauty that l wondered if
this were not Gods storehouse and
these the jewels to be buried in the
mines Of worlds and stars yet unborn.
AS l watched, the jewels melted into
sea of glass, from whose concave
depths assembled single ray Of
warmth striking my heart and heat
ing my blood to Arab fervor
was no longer child of the world
but an Arab of the desert entering
upon my heritage!
Forgetting my waiting breakfast and
unmindgul of the deceptive distances,
l sped down the mountain and through
the foothills but, lured on by the hope
of still greater treasures, leaving the
mine road, l turned into the sands,
themselves, surrounded by mesquite
and cacti.
: My objective point was a small river
whose bed was dry save when the
rainy season made of it flood rent.
Here l found, in an angle, nook
where the sun had seldom sent its
blaze and l could rest touching the
mute sirens that had enticed me SO
far from home.
Feverishly, l gathered some neac
me into my lap. One was an anne
thyst blue that grew deeper as mois-
ture brought out it's depth. 1t recalled
to me my mothers eyes as l pressed
it tightly, fancying her fingers in
love clasp around by own Then clear
ly her face appeared and suddenly, l
seemed to hear her anxious call as
she discovered my chair empty at the
table l started as if to co. dropping
my pebbles as did so, all thoughts
and visions of mother grew dim
vanished
Was it from my exhausting walk,
my almost nervous delirium in my new
found happiness, or was it some wierd
uncanny influence of this sandy ceme-
| terry of heroic lives that had woven
some psychic spell around me?
l trembled and sought my beads
Alas, they were at home.
Then there arose from my lonely
battling heart a prayer, not as I was
used to praying, but half wished,
HdiI uttSleu, ludC my ucW IOullt
friends in their brilliant hued gar
ments might be the incarnation of alb
sent loved ones, and in the days to
come be companions to charm me
here in the nunnery I had chosen for
all my idle hours! How strangely
real the answer was soon to be!
Slipping the blue pebble into the
pocket of my blouse, l picked up one
of amber hue, blotched with reddish
brown. At the touch, flash of recol
lection presented my childhood play
fellow; "Lasses" the children had
called him because of his peculiarly
colored hair l gazed at the stone
each blotch became freckle of his
ruddy face as I had seen it one day
long gone by, when l made earnest
pledges, with guileless lips; or when
with naughty words or scornful tone
had wounded him deeper than could
have the missives of his loved battle
field. A mist rose before my eyes and
as he passed away, l saw the frost Of
homeless chill cover the noble head.
He had in his life no pebbles to
speak of love.
Guiltily, I slipped the amber with
the blue and Tom was again forgotten.
A pebble of greyish white like an I'M
polished diamond lay near my feet.
STOPPING, I touched it. Instantly, my