THE ILLUSTRATED WEST SHORE.
277
m mm
CROSSING THE PUINS.
Long day on day, and longer week on week,
Across vast prairies, lii by cloud or sky
Caught in some wild flower's pink or violet eye,
Winds on the weary train. Patient and meek,
The stumbling oxen go; on desert's bleak
And scorched, some worn-out horse is lelt to lie
Awhile, abandoned, suffering then to die,
With vultures poised above. The mountains reek
With coolness, but below the plains stretch white
And hot. Illness, hunger, thirst, doubt, despair,
Know they; yet struggle on 'twist hopes and sighs,
Until, at last, from some far western hight,
Through lips of dawn bursts, like a passionate prayer,
The blue Pacific neath their blood-veined eyes.
In a beautiful garden where only the whitest of blossoms opened their
petals to the sun, a black, poisonous weed one day put up its head. And
when the gardener came, in her white gown, with her soft hair falling in waves
over her shoulders, she saw the black weed, and she was ashamed and afraid.
Then, said some one unto her: " Is there not a black weed in your garden?"
And she answered " nay, nay," and when she looked again, lo! a leaf had
sprung up on the poisonous stalk. Then, again, said some one unto her :
11 See that you uproot the weed in your garden before it grows beyond your
control." And she answered with some anger : " There is no weed in my
garden i my blossoms are all white i " and when she looked again, two new
leaves had forced their way out of the black stalk t and she sprinkled rose
leaves upon it and tried to hide it from other eyes. As weeks passed, she
found that it grew daily in strength and vigor, ever putting forth new leaves
and shoots, until she found in dismay that its roots were running into her
neighbors' gardens, and its poison permeating the very atmosphere of her own
garden, so that it had grown hateful to her. Its horrible presence was with her,
day and night. She no longer smiled, and her cheek had grown pale and her
eye lustreless. It had become so strong a thing that she could neither cut it
down nor uproot it ; and always, always, she was pondering how she might
best hide it. By day she thought of it, and by night she dreamed of it.
She grew afraid of her friends, yet she was more afraid to be alone. If one
spoke to her unexpectedly, the color sprung up her cheek, and her eyes grew
wide with fear that the black weed had been found tor might not the wind
have swept the rose leaves aside? And one midnight, unable to bear the
presence of the dread thing longer, she arose and lo 1 she found that the
weed had so grown that it was crushing all the white flowers out of the garden.
Then cast the young gardener herself prone upon the ground, her troubled
brow sinking low and her fair hair falling about her and hiding her ; and she
cried out in a passionate appeal : "My God, my God, tell me the name of
this vile weed ?" and He answered : " Child, it is called the First Dectptnm
and the white garden wherein it was rooted lo ! it is thine own heart,"
The proprietor of the New York Ledgrr is receiving laudations from the
press generally, because years ago he made it a rule in the office of that
paper that no jest reflecting upon women should be printed. It is really a
pity if women are so narrow minded that they cannot appreciate a harmless
joke upon habits, manners, absurd styles, or equally absurd fads; or so
delicate and ethereal that a jest would seriously cheapen their dignity or
womanhood. One funny remark about the high hat at (he theatre, or the waist
that is laced out of all semblance to grace and beauty, will do more good
than a hundred dry, long-winded editorials, Tell a woman that a pinched
waist b not pretty, and she will look wise and ignore the informations but
laugh at her and tell her that tight lacing is making her nose a " red, red rose,"
and she will get scared in a minute. Long life lo the harmless, good natural
jest that brings one of our follies around where we can see it.
content, having no will of its own. Then there is the wave that always conw
tumbling to your feet, laughing and chkling you lor sad reflections there is
joyous music in its every tone, and dullness flees at its approach. Here, too,
is the wave that comes breaking over the gray sand with lonely sobbing, that
makes your own heart ache so dull, so despairing, is it. But ah 1 here is
one that makes your blood leap along your veins. It comes thundering,
roaring, in a terrible passion of rebellion across the tide-lands, and beats and
beats along the rock walls that shut in its little world, and it cries and sobs
like a human thing as it bruises and crushes its poor breast on the jagged
edges of stones. You hold your breath while you watch it, because it fascin
ates you ; it controls and forces your admiration, your pity, your passionate
sympathy. Its memory influences your whole life when a life goes out, and
they say it was "only a wave" ask them what kind of a wave it was.
A humane society was organised in Seattle on the evening of April
7. Many of the most prominent business and society people of that
city are members, and take deep interest in the noble cause. Not only do
humane societies lift burdens and sufferings from the backs of dumb beasts,
but they also educate children to kindness and consideration for all things
that live. No town is too small for one.
" Di Vernon," the bright and talented young woman who edits a depart
ment in the San Francisco S'ns-Lttttr, read a paper before the women's
press convention in that city recently, which is of interest not only to journal
ists, but also to those desiring to enter journalism. She is described as a
lovely, sweet-faced girl, graceful, blonde haired, and possessing strong indi
viduality. R. W. Gilder, editor of the Ctntury, says the general effect of the new
copyright law will be to increase all literary values. Under its operations
authors will have a wider market, and the publishing business will be strength
ened and improved. The act will go into effect July t.
Possession is a cruel thing. She opens your eyes to faults and blem
ishes, before undreamed of 1 she puts Satiety in the chair where Eagerness
sat 1 she puts Unrest where once was sweet-eyed Content ay, she pulls away
lovely roses, and shows you sharp-pointed thorns,
The " Carrie Careless," whose syndicate letters have been read by most
western people, is Mrs. Augusta Prescott, who also edits a department in
farptr's Young Pti'flt, and a woman's department in the New York
HortJ.
Although Lawrence Barrett was a Freemason, a Roman Catholic priest
administered the last rites to him. He was burried in a protestant cemetery,
but the sod wherein he rests was first consecrated.
One almost envies Victor Hugo his room made entirely of glass, the
walls and ceilings transparent, at the top of his house, where he wrote his
poetry, more than one envies his everlasting fame.
When you take a woman at her word, you take something else at the
same time strong chances of disappointing her.
Dear, when a man says he loves you, search for proof) when a woman
says she loves you, search for her motive.
As soon as a woman says " yei " to a man, he begins to wonder vaguely
why she didn't say no.
It is true that each life is but a wave in the ocean of time 1 but pray
stand on the sea shore and consider how many different kinds of waves there
are. There is the little noiseless one that steals in with the tide and sli out
with the tide, because it feels that it is expected to do so, year in and year
out-murmurs not, rebels not, grieves not, joy not, but is simply and duly
It will surprise many lo learn that the popular author, F. W. Knbinion,
b an Englishwoman.
It is a noble soul lluil can be grateful when k knows gratitude is expected.