Ellsworth American. [volume] (Ellsworth, Me.) 1855-current, 1926-09-01

!
own blue,
Where hearts are warm, and stropg
| and true,
| In the good old state of Maine.
Mid winters SHOWS or summers green
In many wood and lane
III wandered, happy care-free nearl
| Through flowers sweet with RAIN
Here the first bluebird came to me-
And the first salt spray from the
singing sea,
And the first deep love in my heart
for thee,
Thou grand old state of Maine.
O. hills so blue and far away
1 see you in my dreams,
And ever, through my waking thoughts
A silver river CLEANS.
Once more through fields of golden
| rod,
Where grasses wave and bluebells
| T forget the world and remember God
| In the fair old state of Maine.
| Frances Wright Turner.
Dear Aunt Anne:
Greetings to- our new navigator
of the M. B. column. While I am one
| who is DESTROYS of giving her our
unlimited support 1 find it is hard to
get the muse working these busy sum-
mer days. So instead of lengthy
letter, 1 am sending a poem by an
Ellsworth woman, in which all are
very much interested (meaning inter-
ested in both the poem and the poet.
Mrs. Turner has just issued a volume
of poems Drifting Leaves" She is
member of the Maine Writer'S Research
Club, and her work brings great ad-
miration and appreciation to many
people, particularly in the New Eng
land towns and cities.
With all best wishes to our new
editor, 1 am,
SISTER S."
Thank you, Sister S, for your good
wishes and support. OF course these
purple headed, misty hills" are
those on Mt Desert Island, and that
river I know very we'll is the Jor-
dan! But I seem to hear voices
saying, "Why no! My hills and my
river-Penobscot or Kennebec!" So
won't insist, knowing that this
poem finds universal note in the
heart of everyone in Maine.
Dear Aunt Anne and NJ. BIS:
1t is Thursday morning and the
breakfast dishes are nearly washed,
when little son runs in from the post
office with the Ellsworth American.
We are a long. distance from home,
and o, how good it looks! We find
news that makes us glad, some that
makes us sad, but it is all so honey.
The beautiful description of the
picnic at "Woodstead" made me wish
more than ever to be a bona fide men,
Der of the clan.
The dishes finished (after devour-
the kitchen and start to go up stairs
to do up" the chamber work. But
what was the name of the hill which
Whittier speaks of in his poem about
the two-headed snake? I pick up
volume at hand-on the kitchen table,
in fact-find the desired poem, satisfy
my curiosity, become interested and
forget that time flies"
CHANGING at the clock, 1 again. start
up stairs, leaving my glasses, for on
too-convenient stand there lies open
one of Joseph Lincolns most interest
ing books, and there is just time to
make the beds before lunch.
Lunch over and dishes put away,
now is the time to catch that quota
ton from Omar Kahyam which has
been eluding my memory for the last
| two hours. Yes, here it is, amongst
other interesting matter, and this
| idea reminds me of similar sentl-
ment of Kipling's. I open my beloved
volume of Kipling-did I say open
it is already open, on top of pile OF
mending, on the sewing machine.
Where did those two hours go?
Almost time to begin preparations for
| dinner and mending not done, nor
dining-room busted. My thoughts fly
to some of my friends If Fannie or
Lena could see this room now,
wouldn't 1 be ashamed! 1 can hear
them say (No they are too kind to
saw anything aloud, but Fannie would
Think: MY, what mess this room
is i'm" And Lena, well, I couldn't
stand it to have a room in this con-
dition!"
However, Big Sons dinner will be
| ready at $50, so he won't mind and
if the potatoes aren't quite done when
he energies from the bathroom, l Will
say very cheerfully: Son, The Ameri-
can came this morning. Would you
like to see it?" OF course he does
and dinner is on the table as soon as
| he wishes.
After dinner he asks, Mother, have
YOU mended that shirt" I answer
cit isn't quite done, but I will finish
it this evening"
Now, Aunt Anne, will you admit
| tn the rank