Evening star., 1926-01-07
THIS AND THAT
BY CHARLES E. TRACEWELL.

A letter from a reader: Dear Mr..
Tracewell. We are wondering what
happened to charming Estey alley and
It's honey people. At times we used 10
be quite envious of those lovely back
yards, with their brilliant hollyhocks
and spicy potted geraniums, because
we were compelled at that time to
gaze upon an outlook resembling a
barracks.
Our rectangle, the heart of city
block, was bounded on all four sides
with double-deck porches of motley
array, and only a Subsoil of yellow
clay for it's floor. 1t took two years
of strenuous effort and many appllca-
tions of top soil to induce anything to
begin to grow. and by that time our
patience had been exhausted. and we
had sold our interest in the place and
moved into the suburbs where all ma
ture smiles cen though for the past
few days it has been somewhat cold,
though not formidable attempt at
cheerfulneSS.
I'VE like most of your articles, but
agree with another reader in thinking
you have left Mary Rogue and Col.
Loganberry Ball somewhat in the air.
Please see that Mary gets home safely
and back into business life, for we
need our Miss FiXit quite frequently
colonel from the clutches of that real
estate agent in Florida, It's too forcible
reminder of various late unpleasant
nesseS among your readers to SAVIOR OF
peacefulneSS of mind
Thanks for your various sketches
of poems and books in general. We
have hoped that some time there would
be something about John Keats. He
Is our favorite poet. OF course, the
Lowell biography is splendid, but one
is always interested in learning what
others may think of their especial ia
Vorite, for almost always a new view
point is established and deeper un
derstanding of the author is arrived
at.
Sometimes, when genius lags df II
ever does with you), come out on the
Heights for inspiration. Our people
are just home folks in their relation
to you and The Star. We have some
fine trees, the noble river and some
fine cats. which might prove interest
ing to you.
But best Of all in one sense are
the birds. We wish you were ac-
quainted with our friend, the Cardi-
nal. He always gives a new mean
ing to existence when he sings. carry
| ing one straight TO the center of life
itself. We have wished many times
that some one would herald his vir-
tues as you have done for Jack
Spratt
With our Cardinal genius is ever
regal. He is always able to kindle a
| flame of some caliber in even the
| most sluggish mind. We do not recall
a single article of yours about birds
| I'VE have missed an occasional one
although we have read them quite
consistently since March, 1929; sc
perhaps our little friends do not ap
peal to you very strongly, but were
hoping they do. since they are we'll
worth any attention we may give
| them. and can teach US many lessons.
Sincerely, E. NJ. G. r."
4
The writer of the above letter in
closed the following poem, which
seems to me of sufficient merit TO
| warrant printing:
ECHO.
The crested Cardinal sang his song
From the top of maple tree bare and strong
In the still. cold air Of an Autumn morn.
sat the crimson warbler with throat afame
Pouring his wealth OF Joy around
On all who CHANGED TO hear the sound.
What cared he that the skies were grayi
That his leafy bower had blown awayf
In the great within, where the white shrinei
stand,
He has felt the touch Of an unseen hand.
| And although unknowing from whence Il
came.
Or the reason that it should he.
| He gave his all at the call divine.
While he sang in the maple tree.
As the tree had given he! measure
In requiem low and sweet,
When West Wind carried her treasure
To enshroud the earth at her feet
So this ioyous songster ti;t poured forth his lay
While the year ebbing its life away.