Image provided by: University of Nebraska-Lincoln Libraries, Lincoln, NE
About The courier. (Lincoln, Neb.) 1894-1903 | View Entire Issue (Aug. 31, 1901)
t V THE COURIER. 9MHS!p9iHIHHHHiHilHI nfafafafafAfaHBfLiTtf4HE2&V Number one represents the wise men of the east offering tribute to the young Christ in the humble place of his birth. The second picture conveys an original idea of Christ in the garden of Getfuemane , kneeling in earnest prayer. Back of Him are Peter, James and John, while on the extreme right is Judas, leading the soldiers up the mountain. The third picture represents Christ before Pilate in the Judgment Hall. Pilate, with a troubled expression of face, is evidently seeking some excuse'to'release the Savior. The fourth picture represents the familiar story of the Crucifixion. The coloring of this picture is particularly beautiful. Mr. J. W. Mitchell has on exhibition at 1338 0 street a group of (our paint ings representing scenes from the life of Christ, which hare received much commendation from eastern art critics. The conception and drawing are the work of Mr. Mitchell, executed at inter vals during the last twenty years. The coloring was put in by Charles Drasser' under the guidance of Mr. Mitchell. These pictures were on exhibition at the Trans-Mississippi exposition, where they attracted favorable notice from art con noisseurs, and are of such great intrinsic value that the managers of the France Ameiican art exhibit at the Paris expos ition offered to pay Mr. Mitchell's ex pen.i to Paris and return if he would consent to place them on exhibition. This offer was not accepted; they will ap pear, however, in the nrt exhibit at the Saint Louis exposition. The accompanying cuts, which are kindly loaned by Mr. Mitchell, give but a feeble conception of the beauty and strength of thp pictures. The originals may be seen at the etoro on O street, where visitors are always welcome. AN AUTUMN DAY. LILLY M. STRONG. Sweet day, thine air so soft, thine sun so bright. Why do I turn from thee with sadness, - say ? All crystal-clear, yet golden is thy light, Seen through its glow thou art a beauteous day ! Still thou dost sadden me ! Why is it, why Unless because thou art one long "good bye? " The emerald lingers over turf and tree, But gems of red and gold strew now my path ; Long, early shadows darkening I see, Naught in the fields but their dry aftermath. The birds sing sweetly, soaring far on high, Yet evermore their song is but " good bye." Thou'rt brave, sweet day 1 brave even to the last 1 Yet Winter dogs thy footsteps, and who knows Where I shall be when his long weeks are past? What lies for me and mine beyond his snows? And I am happy now ! Therefore I sigh When thou dost whisper in my ear " good bye ! " Shame, doubting heart 1 Go out into the day, And let its sun warm hope into thy soul I And let its breezes blow thy fears away I Eternal Goodness doth the year control 1 Listen again, and hear no wailing cry, But halleluiah song in this ''goodbye?" THE END OF SUMMER. How beautiful is night I A dewy freshness fills the silent air; No mist obscures, nor cloud, nor speck, nor stain Breaks the serene of heaven ; In full orbed glory yonder moon divine Rolls thro' the dark blue depths ; Beneath her steady ray The desert circle spreads Like the round ocean, girdled with the sky. How beautiful is night I We walk upon The shadow of hills across a level thrown, And pant like climbers. E. B. Browning. (Ella Wheeler Wilcox.) The shy little sumacs in lonely places, Bowed all summer with dust and heat, Like clean clad children, with rain-washed faces, Are dressed in scarlet from head to feet. And never a flower had the boastful summer, In all the blossoms that decked her sod, So royal hued as that later eomer, The purple chum of the golden-rod. A wet wind blows from the east one morning, The wood's gay garments look draggled out ; You hear a sound, and your heart takes wirning, The birds are planning their winter route; They wheel and settle and whirl and wrangle, Their tempers are ruffled, their voices loud, Then whirr ! and away in a feathered tangle, To fade in the south like a passing cloud. Asongless wood swept bare of glory ; A sodden moor that is black and brown ; The year has finished its last love story, Come I let us away to the gay, bright town. Truth is within ourselves : it takes no rise From outward things, whate'er you may believe. There is an inmost centre in us all, Where truth abides in fullness ; and around, Wall upon wall, the gross flesh hems it in, This perfect, clear perception which is truth. A baffling and pervading camel mesh Blinds it, and makes all error; and, to know, Rather consists in opening out a way Whence the imprisoned splendor may escape, Than in effecting entry for a light Supposed to be without. Robert Browning. He serves all who dares be true. Emerson. 1 7 M ? t i.f ft v f L I fi I 1 J r CI 5 I . ! I 1 W 1- i n vm r r t J ' ' J I I SV f f- Hi ' 1? & aft . 1 21 f 'Al )Uy ? i Ife