)
w-
Y
FRAGMENTS.
Written for The Courier.
1SEE from my window a background of the deepest blue sky.
There aro bits of drab clouds floating near the horizon. Away
in the distance the somber brown prairies stretch out as lo vol
as a floor. Here and thero to break the awful monotony are little
farm-houses standing on the bare prairie, lonely and forsaken in
appearance. The sun shines fiercely down, but all its gold cannot
infuse light or cheerfulness into the scene. In the immediate fore
ground I see some ugly brick stores; a little farther off some smaller
stores, then some small dwelling houses, then a bit of prairie, and
a straggling fragment of the town lying on the side of a hill.
I gaze and (raze at the cheerless scene and my heart aches, it is so
lonely. A city all about me, but all its people are strangers to me
As I sit and dream and long for other days and other scenes, a little
brown bird flies on the window ledge, and twitters and jerKS his head
to one side, and gazes up in my face. The sun sends a bright beam
through the window, and a song floats up from some place I know
not where, and I am happy.
It is a gloomy day. 'The clouds came up this'morning and hung
their gray curtains over the blazing sun and everything looks gray
and dreary. The tiny particles of mist that float in the air gather
on the naked branches of the trees and form in great silver beads
that drop slowly on the damp gray grass that borders the walks of
the city. The flag on the building over there druops and hangs
listlessly and the stars and stripes are huddled together in a mass
of color. The brown birds flit here and there and alight on the
brown branches, and shake from their coats the dampness gathered
as they flew through the mists. The lazy smoke from many a
chimney yours out its grimy volume and lurks about the house-tops
as though reluctant to go out into the damp atmosphere. Suddenly
along the damp gray street a funeral procession winds it way. The
horses with their nets of solemn black, the heavy tassels swaying
with every motion, the doleful faces staring blankly from the win
dows of the heavy cabs, all combine to fill the mind with gloomy
thoughts. On goes the procession out in i the hazy, misty distance,
and soon tho great earth-clouds have fallen down and hidden the
last carriage from our sight. And then with a sign we turn to go
about our work.
The winds of Nebraska are ever present. They blow from morn
ing until night with a steady irritating force that almost drives a
person wild. Tho first thing in the morning is a gust that comes up
and as you turu a street corno , your hat is lifted from your head
and goes rolling down the street and you run after it, saying under
your breath, things that are not found in the prayer-book.
All day long tho dust blows in at your window. The vines that
hang against the wall swing ceaselessly. You get tired of their mo
tion. The grass out in the yard is combed from dawn until dawn
again by the invisible teeth of tho wind. Tho trees bend and sway
until it is a wonder they are not worn out.
The night wind blows around the house and its sighing voice fills
the soul with unrest. As ou lie down to rest the mournful sing of
the wind makes you feel as though the air was full of tho wailing of
lost souls. As you fall asleep at last, worn out with the toils of the
day, the winds moan a last lullaby, and your eais are deaf for a
while at least, to tho monotnous blowing of the wind.
Hark ! I hear the tread of winter
- Beating on tho barren sod,
Treading through the hiasted corn-fields
And his feet are hunger shod.
Gaunt and grisly, through the grain fields,
With his icy flowing beard.
And beside him, boon companion,
Death, his bonv form hath reared.
Hark ! I hear the tread of winter
And the softer tread of death,
Nearing with the year that's waning,
And I feel their bitter breath.
Hand in hand they come together
O'er the blasted burned out west,
Winter with his hungry garments,
Death with bare and bony breast.
William Reed Duxroy.
".- '
AND THEN.
(Written for The Courier.)
7T LEVEL tract of prairie land with not a tree- in sight.
(TyV Somber and brown the floor of grass Btretches out until
jL A. the great domo of the fiercely bluo sky fltB down closely
and shuts you in a world by yourself. The golden rod that was
once so brilliant and shown like jewels on the prairie now stands old
and gray, like an old man tottering in the wind. The birds' nests
are empty and the tall weeds that marked their places aro brokon
and f.Id. Tho stript cornfields look bleak and cheerless in the dis
tance and tho stubblo fields that once waved with billows of gold
ate brown.and gloomy and sad.
Far out to tho right you see a sod house. It is low and huddles
down to the prairie as though it were afraid of tho Nebraska winds.
On tho roof are tall weeds that have gone to seed.acd from the rag
ged walls a thin coat of grizzled grass waves in the winter winds.
Out near the house are the straw built sheds with their tumble
down appearance. Tho cattle stand at tho straw-stack and eat.
The horses. loose from their stalls, rub their necks togother and
stand idly on three feet, looking sleepy and unconcerned. Aout
tho sheds are grouped tho farm implements, their former red and
bluo brilliant coats now faded and dingy.
Slowly and dejected a young man walks down the path that leads
from tho barn to the house. He is tall and well formed. His clothes
are clean but rough. And old cap rests carelessly upon his light
curls. His eyes are bluo and his cheeks are a bronze red in color.
He goes out near the straw Bhods and Btands with his hands in his
pockets. He looks across thefiolds an 1 Bees where the drouth has
left them baroand clean. He looks towards the house and sighs. There
is crepe on the door. It floats out and he catches sight of it as he
stands there. He turns away and his eyes fall upon a little head
board sticking up from tho prairie to the right of the house. It is a
pitifully small grave that he sees there, too small for that great,
wide prairie to hold. He turns impatiently again toward the barn.
Ho stands among the cattle and horses and talks aloud as if they
could hear and understand him. "So this is the end of it all? All
my planning and my hoping. Can it be possible that two short
years can work such fearful changes in a man's life? How happy
wo were, Mary and I when we came out here to these flat prairies
We thought we had a palace in that sod house yonder. We worked
day and night and m ide it comfortable and pleasant. And f-en the
long nights when we read and talked over old times! How sweet
they were! Then when baby come. O, God! how sweet the time;
but now how bitter.
frin ilie south and Mew all day on the
i l.u Mary praye I tha ih-j raa
1 1 I t nought her prayers would surely
be answered, but they w. ...t. X.t even a dud came u; to hide
us rrom tho hellish rays ir ho s.iu. The great brassy sky covered
us for days and at last one d real ml day the very gate- of hell
seemed opened, and ho: blasts llx up n us from mor n.ig until
night. The baby di -d that day. Si.ica that M ry has dm jped like
a flower Today she died. She lies up there in the hou She will
be buried tomorrow -a-id then." William Reed Du.vuor.
"The hot winds came u
field: but we though i
might fall, and she w i-; .
The Superiority
Of Hood's Sarsaparillia is due to the treuieu la is am unt of brain
work and cousiant care used used in its prep iration. Try o.ie b ttle
andyo will be cnuvinco-I of its superiority. It purifies the blood
which, fit; -i m.-e of h .d l, en.-es ly-prp-ia, ivitokiii'ij sm h-ad
aches a id -jiIIious.ics. I. ts just t.ie aiciLci.ie f.ir uii
Hoods Pills are purely vegetable, carefully prepired from the best
itigredieats.
There is no use talking our prices are astonishing. They're turn
people's heads -turning them our w ly. E II illett, 1112 O street.
Lamp frames and crepe paper at Craucer, 212 So. llth.
