Class 
 
 BookJ 
 
 Author. 
 
 1916 
 
 Title 
 
 Imprint 
 
 16—30299-1 
 

Memories 
 
 ALONG THE WAY FROM 
 EARLY MORN TO 
 EVENING TWILIGHT 
 
 ELLA M. HOSTETLER 
 
H 
 
 MEMORIES 
 
 ALONG THE WAY 
 FROM EARLY MORN 
 TO EVENING TWILIGHT 
 
 "^ ELLA M. HOSTETLER ' 
 

 .A;- 
 
 Entered according to the act of Congress in the office of the 
 Librarian of Congress, A. D. 1916 
 by Ella M. Hostetler->/ 
 Shelton, Nebraska 
 
 Reserre Sterage 
 
 ©CIA455013 v<^' 
 
 THE WOODRUFF PRESS 
 
 LINCOLN, NEBRASKA 
 
It was my intention to gather together 
 some Christmas verses, and short, 
 bright stories, full of spice and life, and 
 use as a folder to take the place of a 
 Christmas card; but one poem changed 
 my thoughts into a more reminiscent 
 nature, and if through the open 
 shutters of my life-story you are able 
 to bring to you in memory your child- 
 hood days again, and those whom your 
 heart holds dear, your Christmas will 
 be one of love and joy. 
 
 ELLA M. HOSTETLER 
 
 \ 
 
A SONG FOR CHRISTMAS 
 
 Chant me a rhyme of Christmas — 
 
 Sing me a jovial song — 
 And though it is filled with laughter, 
 
 Let it be pure and strong. 
 
 Sing of the hearts brimmed over 
 
 With the story of the day — 
 Of the echo of childish voices 
 
 That will not die away. 
 
 Of the blare of the tasseled bugle, 
 
 And timeless clatter and beat 
 Of the drum that throbs to muster 
 
 Squadrons of scampering feet. 
 
 But, oh, let your voice fall fainter. 
 
 Till blent with a minor tone. 
 You temper your sun with the beauty 
 
 Of the pity Christ hath shown. 
 
 And sing one verse for the voiceless; 
 
 And yet, ere the song be done, 
 A verse for the ears that hear not. 
 
 And a verse for the sightless one. 
 
 For though it be time for singing 
 
 A merry Christmas glee. 
 Let a low, sweet voice of pathos 
 
 Run through the melody. 
 
 — James Whitcomb Riley. 
 
DAWN 
 
 The memory of our mother teaching her two little chil- 
 dren to sing the hymn on the opposite page and "Little 
 Drops of Water" stands out clearest of all things in the 
 morning of my life. Sometimes with our heads bowed at 
 her knee she sang with us. They were the first things we 
 were taught to sing. My little brother Charley thought 
 it real fun, and I cannot recall any other occasion where 
 his face shown with more perfect happiness. 
 
 Later years proved our mother's supreme courage and 
 Christian faith and fortitude, for even then she knew 
 she was suffering from an illness that would be fatal, of 
 which we had no knowledge or understanding. When 
 she, a young mother of thirty-six years, left us a few 
 years later and the sound of her voice was still, that voice 
 stayed with me in this hymn and I pray it always may. 
 
THE GOOD SHEPHERD 
 
 Savior, like a shepherd lead us; 
 Much we need thy tender care ; 
 In thy pleasant pastures feed us; 
 For our use thy folds prepare. 
 
 Blessed Jesus ! 
 Thou hast bought us, thine we are. 
 
 We are thine do thou befriend us, 
 Be the guardian of our way ; 
 Keep thy flock, from sin defend us. 
 See us when we go astray. 
 
 Blessed Jesus ! 
 Hear young children when they pray. 
 
LINES BY WALT WHITMAN 
 
 We know not what it is, dear, this sleep so deep and 
 
 still, 
 The folded hands, the awful calm, the cheek so pale and 
 
 chill ; 
 The lids that will not lift again, though we may call and 
 
 call. 
 The strange, white solitude of peace that settles over all. 
 
 We know not what it means, dear, this desolate heart- 
 pain, 
 
 This dread to take our daily way, and walk in it again ; 
 
 We know not to what other sphere the loved who leave 
 us go, 
 
 Nor why we're left to wonder still ; nor why we do 
 not know. 
 
 But this we know, our loved and dead, if they should 
 
 come this day — 
 Should come and ask us, ''What is life?" not one of us 
 
 could say. 
 Life is a mystery as deep as ever death can be ; 
 Yet, oh how sweet it is to us, this life we live and see ! 
 
 Then might they say, — these vanished ones — and blessed 
 
 is the thought : 
 "So death is sweet to us, beloved; though we may tell 
 
 ye naught. 
 We may not tell it to the quick — this mystery of death — 
 Ye may not tell us, if ye would, the mystery of breath." 
 
 The child who enters life comes not with knowledge or 
 
 intent. 
 So those who enter death must go as little children sent. 
 Nothing is known ; but I believe that God is overhead, 
 And as life is to the living, so death is to the dead. 
 
OUR FATHER 
 
 How we loved to have him toss us up ahiiost to the 
 ceiling — Charley and me. I remember we each wanted 
 to be first, or to have him carry us both on his shoulders. 
 I remember, too, when he gave me a handful of salt to 
 catch a bird I wanted. I must have been very young — a 
 mere toddler- — but round and round I went in my efforts, 
 and the laughter of our father and ''uncle" Jim Clark is 
 as fresh today and their faces as plain as a picture seen 
 yesterday. 
 
 Then came the cruel war of '61, and our father went 
 away. He waved good-bye as the train rounded the 
 curve beyond the Hillsboro station, and a young mother 
 and two clinging children were left to battle at home. 
 
 "ihe bravest battle that ever was fought was fought 
 bv the mothers of men." 
 
 11 
 
FROM THE FRONT 
 
 The next time we saw our father he was brought 
 home from Louisville, Kentucky, by our mother, who 
 had gone to him with fresh linens and nursed him 
 through typhoid fever and a light form of smallpox, both 
 at the same time. He fell ill at Corinth, Mississippi, in 
 'Gl, and was sent to Louisville. The best of his life to a 
 great extent had been spent in helping to preserve the 
 Union. He recovered sufficiently, however, to serve 
 faithfully and courageously as deputy provost marshal 
 to April 3, 1865. He had been first lieutenant, First Ohio 
 Volunteer Cavalry. 
 
 He had also served as an officer in the American army 
 in the war with Mexico in 1846-47. 
 
 Our father had principles which dominated his life; 
 none were stronger than his honesty. As an example of 
 that Charley and I knew where fine berries grew, on a 
 steep hillside on a vacant lot near our home. We helped 
 ourselves without permission to the extent of a dishful 
 for our father's breakfast. After arranging them tempt- 
 ingly, we sat by to take notice, and enjoy his surprise. 
 He soon found where they came from, and as fast as 
 our feet could carry us we were sent to Mrs. Burns (the 
 owner of the vacant lot) with the berries and to acknowl- 
 edge our wrong doing. Humiliating as it was, we knew 
 
 12 
 
later we had been given a lesson in discipline that would 
 safeguard us in that way all our lives. 
 
 So many little faults we find, 
 
 We see them, for not blind 
 
 Is love. We see them, but if you and I 
 
 Perhaps remember them some bye and bye, 
 
 They will not be 
 
 Faults then — grave faults — to you and me, 
 
 But just odd ways, mistakes, or even less — 
 
 Remembrances to bless. 
 
 Days change so many things — yes, hours, 
 
 We see so differently in suns and showers ; 
 
 Mistaken words tonight 
 
 May be so cherished by tomorrow's light. 
 
 We may be patient, for we know 
 
 There's such a little way to go. 
 
 To Aunt Margaret Richards Gregg, 
 To my mother's cousins, 
 
 Frank and Mary Huffman, 
 Nelson and Nannie Huffman, 
 and the host of friends in Ohio, West Virginia, Nebras- 
 ka, and elsewhere who have given me their lasting friend- 
 ship from childhood to the present time ; and to those 
 whose friendship came later and abides with me, I use 
 the words of the poet, Edward A. Guest, in expressing my 
 appreciation and gratitude: 
 
 "I'd like to be the sort of friend that you have been 
 
 13 
 
A FRIEND'S GREETING 
 
 I'd like to be the sort of friend that you have been to me, 
 I'd Hke to be the help that you've been always glad to be, 
 I'd like to mean as much to you each minute of the day 
 As you have meant, old friend of mine, to me along the 
 way. 
 
 I'd like to do the big things and the splendid things for 
 
 you, 
 To brush the grey from out your skies and leave them 
 
 only blue; 
 I'd like to say the kind things that I so oft have heard. 
 And feel that I could rouse your soul the way that mine 
 
 you've stirred. 
 
 I'd like to give you back the joy that you have given me, 
 Yet that were wishing you a need I hope will never be; 
 I'd like to make you feel as rich as I, who travel on 
 Undaunted in the darkest hours with you to lean upon. 
 
 I'm wishing at this Christmas time that I could but repay 
 A portion of the gladness that you've strewn along my 
 
 way. 
 And could I have one wish this year, this wish would 
 
 only be : 
 I'd like to be the sort of friend that you have been to me. 
 
 14 
 
OUT TO GRANDPA'S HOME 
 
 Did you have a grandpa's home in the country to visit 
 when you were a child? If you did not you have missed 
 something deHghtful in your hfe, especially if it were 
 such a home as that of our Grandpa Richards. He lived 
 
 two miles south of H on the Belfast pike. When we 
 
 first knew that road it was not macadamized and the 
 yellow clay made bad travel in the winter time, the older 
 people said. 
 
 Sometimes in pleasant summer weather our mother 
 would take us children and walk to grandpa's. She usu- 
 ally carried a lunch for us, and we chose a certain log 
 about half way out to rest on and eat the lunch. When 
 we came in sight of the log we were never so tired that 
 we could not run to see who would get there first. (Years 
 after my mother and brother left me, I watched that log 
 as it grew less and less in size, until only a dark spot on 
 the ground showed where it had been. Today there is 
 not a trace of it, we do not know the exact spot where it 
 was, yet I never forget the dear ones as I pass that 
 way.) Often we went along the ''old creek road'* close 
 to Rocky Fork, with its flat, stone bottom, and we would 
 run out on the stones, or wade in the water, which was 
 as clear as crystal. Then we went through the sugar 
 camp where they gathered the sap from the beautiful 
 sugar-maple trees very early in the spring and would 
 boil it down until it became sugar. From the creek to 
 the house was a rocky climb, but the house with the dear 
 ones was our goal. The first thing we always did 
 
 15 
 
was to run to grandma's bread jar, and with the sweet 
 smile that I still see, she saw we were satisfied. Then 
 out we ran, down a long hillside that had a very narrow 
 path, past the spring house at the foot of the hill, and 
 up another hill to the most wonderful grapevine swings, 
 intended surely for the numerous grandchildren who 
 gathered there. What glorious times we had. 
 
 When we grew tired of that we ran scampering over 
 the hills where grew the butternuts, and walnuts, and 
 hickory-nuts. And over the fence in the new orchard 
 were fine apples of many varieties. Those we remember 
 best were the Pound Pippin. All over those hills in the 
 woods grew to as great perfection as any we have seen 
 cultivated, the wild Sweet William, with its large clus- 
 ters of pink blossoms. A tiny streami we called a 
 ''branch" of water wound its way at the base of the hills, 
 and under some fine, large trees watered by this branch 
 we found the purple, and the white, and the yellow wood 
 violets in great numbers. It is the only place where I 
 ever found them together in all those colors. 
 
 There was a garden not far from the house, fenced 
 in with very high boards, too high for children or chick- 
 ens to molest. So many good things came from it, yet 
 we do not ever remember seeing anyone at work in it. 
 Once in a great while we were permitted to walk de- 
 corously through it with grandma. On the other side 
 of the house near the ''old house" was the peach orchard, 
 and all we had to do was to step over the fence and help 
 ourselves. It is too bad that that vareity of peach has 
 become extinct. It must be, for we have never since 
 tasted any with that flavor. There was a melon patch 
 somewhere; we were told not to hunt for it, and while 
 we felt pretty sure we located the spot from the top of 
 
 16 
 
the rail fence, we kept the rule. I can see grandpa now 
 coming up the path, his eyes twinkling and his face laugh- 
 ing all over as he hugged a large melon in his arms. It 
 was then we pulled our chairs up to the table on the 
 porch while grandpa cut the melon and passed it around. 
 The Rocky Ford melons don't compare to those either in 
 color or sweetness. All these things were part of our 
 paradise. Our older half-brother, Will, had lived at 
 grandpa's since his mother died when he was two years 
 of age; his mother was Grandpa Richards' daughter. 
 He \vas too old to play with us. 
 
 Grandpa's house seemed large and roomy then. There 
 never was any apparent trouble in caring for us and all 
 the Locust Grove relatives at the same time; and from 
 down in the country south of us away from the railroad 
 where the hills are much higher, and the people had to 
 come to H to buy their merchandise. It was a well- 
 known fact that after their day's business in town was 
 done, many made it a rule to get to grandpa's about 
 sundown, engage grandpa in conversation, tell him they 
 knew his son, the doctor, down their way. Whereupon 
 grandpa would usually invite them to stop over night, 
 caring for the family and the team and sending them on 
 happy and rejoicing^ in the morning. Grandpa w^as a 
 justice of the peace for a great many years. 
 
 When Charley was seven and I nine, our mother could 
 no longer walk with us, and Aunt Margaret had given up 
 her school months before to be our mother's companion, 
 and our school friends showed a tender interest in us that 
 we have not forgotten. Then camie a day when Aunt 
 Margaret drew us motherless children to her and told us 
 w^e were to go to grandpa's with her to make it our 
 home for a time at least. 
 
 17 
 
Oh, Heavenly Father, look zvith tender mercy and 
 helpfidness upon every motherless child! The kindest 
 human attention cannot eradicate the hopeless despair in 
 the hearts of such children. No one understands them, 
 and they do not understand themselves. It takes so long 
 to become adjusted to new conditions and their loss. 
 
 There was always a cheery welcome at grandpa's home. 
 I cannot recall an unkind or sharp word uttered there. 
 They were gentle in speech and manner; there was al- 
 ways plenty; and beauty, and culture, and refinement, 
 and a spiritual atmosphere about it all. The house stood 
 back from the pike, and after grandma had been called 
 to her heavenly home, and grandpa grew older, he would 
 draw his rocking-chair to the open door, where he would 
 sit and sing softly. 
 
 Again I say, blessed memory. 
 
 18 
 
BACK TO OUR FATHER'S HOME 
 
 When we went again to our father's home his niece, 
 our Cousin Mary, was the housekeeper. Later a new 
 mother came to us, so sweet, so gentle, and kind, and as 
 long as my delicate brother Charley lived, she loved and 
 cared for his as tenderly as she could for her own ; and 
 as long as she lived we Were good and true friends. 
 
 I shall always hold dear the memory of her in that 
 home, yet it never seemed home to me again after we 
 went to grandpa's to live. Three babies came into our 
 new mother's home while I remained there, a boy and 
 two girls, and six afterwards. These half-brothers and 
 sisters and their families are dear to me. 
 
 19 
 
THE GRAPEVINE SWING 
 
 When I was a boy on the old plantation, 
 
 Down by the deep bayou, 
 The fairest spot in all creation, 
 
 Under the arching blue. 
 When the wind came over the cotton and corn. 
 
 To the long, slim loop I'd spring, 
 With brown feet bare and hat-brim torn, 
 
 And swing in the grapevine swing. 
 
 Chorus 
 
 Swinging in the grapevine swing. 
 Laughing where the wild birds sing. 
 
 Oh, to be a boy with a heart full of joy, 
 Swinging in the grapevine swing. 
 
 Out o'er the water lilies bonnie and bright, 
 
 Back to the moss-grown trees, 
 I laughed and shouted with a heart as light 
 
 As a wild rose tossed by the breeze. 
 A mocking-bird joined in my reckless glee, 
 
 I longed for no angel's wings ; 
 I was just as near heaven as I wanted to be, 
 
 Swinging in the grapevine swing. 
 
 20 
 
I'm weary at morn, I'm weary at night, 
 
 I'm fretted and sore at heart, 
 And time is strewing my locks with grey, 
 
 As I wend through the fevered mart. 
 I'm tired of the world, with its pride and pomp, 
 
 And fame seems a worthless thing; 
 I'd barter it all for one day's romp 
 
 And a swing in the grapevine swing. 
 
 Chorus 
 
 Swinging in the grapevine swing. 
 Laughing where the wild birds sing. 
 
 I would I were away from the world today, 
 Swinging in the grapevine swing. '^ 
 
 21 
 
SERMONS IN FLOWERS 
 
 The flowers appear on the earth, the time of the sing- 
 ing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard 
 in the land. — Solomon ii, 12. 
 
 The common kind of flowers! Lord, you made a lot 
 
 o' them ! 
 The daisy in the medder is as clean as any gem ; 
 The wild rose in the thicket is the ripest kind o' red — 
 It's purty, and it's happy, look at how it holds its head. 
 
 Them little dutchman's breeches is a favorite o' mine ; 
 I like to stumble on 'em with my eyes an' catch their 
 
 shine. 
 An' then the johnny-jump-ups, noddin' soft when I go by, 
 An' as blue an' glad an' helpful as the ca'm midsummer 
 
 sky. 
 
 The blazin' dogwood blossoms! How they flash along 
 
 the road — 
 Come a-bloomin' in a minute,, till a feller thinks it's 
 
 snowed ! 
 Lord, the haw-tree holds a sermon that is sent direct 
 
 from you ; 
 An' the bendin' cherry branches, an' the elder-bushes, 
 
 too. 
 
 22 
 
There's the perky dandelion bobbin' up so fresh an' bold, 
 Till the whole endurin' hillside has its polkydots of gold ; 
 An' the blossomin' May apple hidin' underneath the 
 
 trees, 
 Sends a tinglin' sort o' flower till it coaxes out the bees. 
 
 The common kind o' flowers! Lord, I guess they like 
 
 to grow 
 An' to fill the air with gladness just because you love 
 
 them so. 
 Lord, I try to understand them an' my heart beats in 
 
 accord, 
 When I bend to whisper to 'em, "For this blessing, thank 
 
 the Lord." 
 
 —W. D. Nesbit. 
 
 23 
 
THE INEVITABLE 
 
 I like the man who faces what he must 
 
 With step triumphant and a heart of cheer; 
 
 Who fights the daily battle without fear; 
 Sees his hopes fail, yet keeps unfaltering trust 
 That God is God — that somehow, true and just 
 
 His plans work out for mortals ; not a tear 
 
 Is shed when fortune, which the world holds dear, 
 Falls from his grasp — better with love a crust 
 Than living in dishonor; envies not, 
 
 Nor loses faith in man ; but does his best, 
 Nor ever murmurs at his humbler lot; 
 But with a smile and words of hope, gives zest 
 
 To every toiler. He alone is great 
 
 Who by a life heroic conquers fate. 
 
 — Sarah Knowles Bolton. 
 
 24 
 
UNC MOSE' RECKONIN'S 
 
 De Lawd mek black en de Lawd mek white, 
 He mek de day en He mek de night ; 
 He mek de wrong en He mek de right — 
 
 I reckon He knowed. 
 I reckon He knowed, chile, 
 
 Des whut He do. 
 He mek de teahs, but all de while 
 He plannin' de laugh en He plannin' de smile- 
 I reckon He knowed, chile, 
 
 Des whut He do ! 
 
 De Lawd mek joy en de Lawd mek woe; 
 
 He mek de trials dat fret yo' so, 
 
 En He mek de road dat yo' gotter go— 
 
 I reckon He knowed. 
 I reckon He knowed, chile. 
 
 Des whut He do ! 
 He mek de stones dat hu't yo' feet, 
 But He coaxin' de roses, red en sweet — 
 I reckon He knowed, chile, 
 
 Des whut He do ! 
 
 De Lawd mek dahk, but He mek de mo'n. 
 He mek de rose en He mek de tho'n; 
 He mek us all — des sho's yo' bo'n — 
 
 I reckon He knowed. 
 I reckon He knowed, chile. 
 
 Des whut He do ! 
 He know whut bes' fo' yo' en me, 
 En I reckon He see whut we cain't see — 
 
 Des whut He do! '^ 
 
 25 
 
THE FIRST JOURNEY 
 
 With the exception of a visit to my mother's foster- 
 mother — Aunt Rebecca Robe at Winchester, Ohio — I 
 made my first journey in the spring of 71. Our mother's 
 cousins had invited me to spend a school vacation with 
 them in West Virginia. It was through the intercession 
 of my father's brother, Uncle George, and my step-moth- 
 er's father. Grandpa Bennett — one of nature's noblemen 
 — that my father finally permitted me to accept the invi- 
 tation. Cousin Nelson met me at Parkersburg, and took 
 me to his home at Morgantown. At the close of the vaca- 
 tion I was to return to H — , but kind Providence brought 
 Cousin Frank and Mary to my rescue. They took me 
 to their home in the Alleghany mountains, and it was my 
 home for several years. I am as confident as I am of 
 anything in this world that it was part of a divine plan 
 and in answer to my mother's prayers, for they helped 
 me to help myself, or find myself in the work for which 
 I was fitted. 
 
 I became a teacher, teaching in the winter, attending 
 school in the summer. I was one of a large family there, 
 and I felt at home. I shall always have a deep sense of 
 gratitude to those dear ones who had faith in me, and 
 the wisdom: to guide me in the right path. I was with 
 them almost seven years, but went back to Charley for 
 several months, the year he went home to our mother. 
 
 One of my dearest treasures is the American flag in 
 white marble which he chiseled before he was fifteen 
 years of age. 
 
 Yet this one thing I learn to know 
 
 Each day more surely as I go. 
 
 That doors are opened, ways are made, 
 
 Burdens are lifted or are laid 
 
 By some great law unseen and still, 
 
 Unfathomed purpose to fulfill, 
 
 — Helen Hunt Jackson. 
 26 
 
THE WEST VIRGINIA HILLS 
 
 Oh, the West Virginia hills, 
 
 How majestic and how grand, 
 With their summits bathed in glory, 
 
 Like our Prince Immanuel's land. 
 Is it any wonder, then, 
 
 That my heart with rapture thrills 
 As I stand once more with loved ones 
 
 On those West Virginia hills? 
 
 Oh, the West Virginia hills, 
 
 Where my childhood hours were passed, 
 Where I often wandered lonely. 
 
 And the future tried to cast. 
 Many are our visions bright, 
 
 Which the future ne'er fulfills. 
 But how sunny were my day-dreams 
 
 On those West Virginia hills. 
 
 Oh, the West Virginia hills. 
 
 How unchanged they seem to stand, 
 With their summits pointed skyward, 
 
 To the great Almighty's land. 
 Many changes I can see, 
 
 Which my heart with sadness fills, 
 But no changes can be noticed 
 
 In those West Virginia hills. 
 
 Oh, ye W>st Virginia hills, 
 
 I must bid you now adieu, 
 In my home beyond the mountains 
 
 I shall ever dream of you. 
 In the evening time of life. 
 
 If my Father only wills, 
 I shall still behold the vision ,^ 
 
 Of those West Virginia hills. 
 
OUT WEST 
 
 I found a great many changes in coming to Nebraska. 
 First, I found very soon I was alone practically with mly 
 own judgment to rely on and my own efforts to make 
 good from, for the first time in my life. At the call of a 
 half-brother I had come to Nebraska for better oppor- 
 tunities in school-teaching, leaving West Virginia, with 
 its beauty, its freedom, and charming hospitality "back 
 east." This was the west, and at that time ('78), an un- 
 developed west. 
 
 The station at which I alighted was at the edge of the 
 sand-hills (now those hills are farm lands). There were 
 no sidewalks of any description in the village, the sta- 
 tion was a long distance out, and the sand was almost 
 shoe top deep. My half-brother failed to meet the train, 
 but the mail carrier's son (Johnny Phillipar) gave his 
 new teacher a friendly welcome. There was not one 
 thing in that village that I could see then, or since, that 
 was inviting or interesting, except a good schoolhouse 
 and some people. It had been a village of considerable 
 size at one time, but was fast declining. It had gone the 
 pace that kills, and was killed when the county seat had 
 been removed by election that spring to the center of the 
 county, and the railroad had found another terminus. It 
 was interesting to look out of the window in the morn- 
 ing and see houses that had seemed fixtures the evening 
 before traveling across the prairie on wheels ; some went 
 one direction, some another, all to the more promising 
 towns round about. Even the brick courthouse was taken 
 down and removed to the new county seat, which had at 
 that time but one house, and that a farmhouse. Now it 
 is a splendid town of more than 1,500 population, and has 
 fine schools and churches. 
 
 The village people had withheld the county records 
 
 28 
 
until some provision had been made for their safe hous- 
 ing The people of the new county seat, and all around 
 about it, decided thev would take them by force, if need 
 be and poured into the village in great numbers— a mob 
 of' people— though there was no disturbance to speak of. 
 They secured satisfaction, and went quietly to their 
 homes My temperature assumed a normal condition as 
 I saw them wend their way across the sandhills, and the 
 school work of the day proceeded as usual. 
 
 I took many long walks alone on the prairie. It was 
 early summer when I arrived, and away from the sand- 
 hills and north of the village, the prairie was like a wav- 
 ing sea of grass, more than knee high ; the wind swept 
 it this way and that. It was fascinating to watch it and 
 be out in it. As far as the eyes could reach nothing but 
 prairie and sky, only a few trees and houses here ana 
 there There were new and pretty flowers, and some- 
 times I would stand still and listen to the sweetest bird 
 notes I ever heard— the song of the meadow-lark ; and to 
 this day I know nothing so cheery or that inspires greater 
 happiness. I found some fine people in the village whose 
 friendship for me will endure all through the rest of my 
 journey. First, he who later became my husband, and 
 who was also a newcomer there ; Mrs. Frances C. Stem, 
 whose husband was the county treasurer; Mrs. I D. 
 Evans, and LiUie; the Phillipar family (Mr. Phillipar 
 was director of the school board), the family of Mr. 
 David Blackburn, Mrs. Heatherington, and the family 
 of the county superintendent of schools, Mr. J. H. Sears. 
 Twice Mr. Sears and I were applicants for the same 
 school. He was a college man from Massachusetts, and 
 as fine a man as one would meet anywhere. He had 
 taught the village school for some time, but there vvas 
 some objection to his holding the two positions. He 
 passed on years ago, yet my memory often dwells on his 
 Christian example and noble life. He was from our first 
 
 29 
 
a,cquaintance my friend, and after I had secured the 
 school I would often find him at the door on Friday 
 afternoon when school was dismissed to take me to 
 their home to stay over Sunday. Their home was on a 
 homestead two miles out, but it was bright and cheery; 
 there was a beautiful home life, good taste, flowers, 
 and books. Indeed, I never knew a home where the 
 companionship of good books seemed to mean more to 
 the owners. 
 
 Mrs. Stein is artist, musician, and poetess, but best 
 of all she is a friend. Her paintings were an inspiration 
 to me, and if I have since achieved anything worth while 
 in that way, she should have due credit. She lives in Illi- 
 nois now, and delights me occasionally with her poetry; 
 this at one time: 
 
 For you I have a great big wish 
 In form, a great big cut-glass dish. 
 But as my purse will not permit 
 (Since purse and heart are a misfit) 
 You have the wish in place of it. 
 You may go to the stores and buy what you wish 
 In Haviland ware or a cut-glass dish, 
 But search the stores from end to end 
 You never can find the heart of a friend. 
 But you'll find the heart in the trinket I send. 
 There is kindly thought with love interwoven. 
 Into every stitch of this very small token. 
 And it spells out a word in language unspoken, 
 Afriendshipunbroken. 
 
 Such help as we can give each other in this world is 
 a debt to each other ; and the man who perceives a supe- 
 riority or a capacity in a subordinate, and neither con- 
 fesses nor assists it, is not merely a withholder of kind- 
 ness, but a committer of injury. — Riiskin. 
 
 30 
 
ACROSS THE CHANNELS OF THE PLATTE 
 
 The numerous channels of the Platte river were 
 crossed and a new county entered for still better oppor- 
 tunities in school work. I had taught one year in the 
 "village" and one on the military reservation near by, 
 and now I had come to another village — a very small and 
 scattering one — and it was destined to become my home 
 from that day to this. 
 
 Somehow the sunshine seemed more radiantly bright 
 and cheery on this side of the channels ; it may have been 
 due partly to reflected light from the yellow sunflowers 
 which grew in great thickets about here ; tall, strong, and 
 stately they stood for years, then completely disappeared. 
 
 Mr. John Mallilieu was the county superintendent of 
 schools at the time I came here, and until his death a few 
 days ago he was our esteemed friend. 
 
 At the close of that summer term of school ('80) our 
 marriage occurred. 
 
 The next spring as we were starting for church one 
 Sunday morning, the director of the school board called 
 and offered me the summer school, stating he was doing 
 so by the unanimous consent of the school board, school 
 to begin the next day. My certificate had expired. He 
 replied it had been arranged to send one of the board to 
 the county seat to have it renewed that day if I ac- 
 cepted. I did so, and the following morning found me 
 again in the schoolroom. It was the last term when all 
 the village school children were crowded in one room. 
 
 31 
 
I look down the aisles and into the faces of those pupils 
 today (in memory) and how near they seem! 
 
 One boy's eyes always showed, more than any I knew, 
 a desire for more and more knowledge; he applied him- 
 self energetically and faithfully to his tasks. His work 
 with that of his older sister, was as near perfect as any 
 I ever saw. The younger sister, happy and full of play, 
 cared more for the dolls and apples she thought she 
 secreted in her desk than for study, but I never found her 
 wholly unprepared. All these are gone long ago, and 
 many more. The boy became a fine man and at the time 
 of his death was holding a position of trust and respon- 
 sibility with a railroad company in Cheyenne, Wyoming. 
 
 I knew those pupils well, their ambitions, and their 
 habits. I have tried to follow those who Imve taken up 
 their life-work in this and other states. A history could 
 be written of them. 
 
 At the expiration of the first month of that school, Mr. 
 Charles Lamberson, the treasurer of the school board, 
 surprised me by presenting me with a warrant for the 
 salary of the entire term. His confidence was rewarded 
 by faithful and well-rendered duty. 
 
 On the last afternoon of that school I found on my 
 desk a tall glass cake-stand (much used in those days). 
 It was piled high with fruits and candies in which candy 
 hearts predominated, a wreath around it all, and a note 
 signed by the pupils, asking me to teach their school 
 again. The loving thought in the hearts of those children 
 is the most precious thing I could wish to cherish from 
 them. Many are not living, many are scattered far and 
 wide. One is head physician in the Battle Creek sani- 
 tarium and comes to see me whenever he returns here. 
 
 While the village on the south of the channels was 
 
 32 
 
losing its life, the one in the valleys of the Platte and 
 Wood was taking on new life ; not rapidly but surely, and 
 every house, and church, and school gave inspiration for 
 still greater things. There was at that time a good com- 
 munity spirit, and this could have been called a friend- 
 ship village. 
 
 As the village and community expanded and business 
 duties became more arduous, the community spirit grew 
 less — smlall circles have taken its place as it is in our 
 cities, which recalls to mind the prayer of the good old 
 deacon who prayed, "Oh Lord, bless me and my wife, my 
 son John and his wife, us four, and no more, Amen." 
 
 33 
 
A BIT OF PHILOSOPHY 
 
 Learn to rely on your own judgment. Stand on your 
 own feet ; it is usually as safe, and often more consistent 
 than that offered you free. 
 
 The blunt, outspoken man or woman who prides him- 
 self on giving his ''honest opinion anyway," is too rude to 
 be honest, if it makes another unhappy. 
 
 The goodness and greatness of this world is to be 
 found quite as often among the humble folks as among 
 those who travel in airships. 
 
 The best educated, cultured, and refined people are 
 slow to criticise others. 
 
 When your friends do not let you know they are 
 pleased with your successes as well as sad in your sor- 
 rows, it proves there is something wrong with the hearts 
 of your friends and not with your heart. 
 
 34 
 
WHAT IS GOOD 
 
 What is the real good? 
 I asked in musing mood. 
 "Order" said the law court; 
 ''Knowledge" said the school; 
 "Truth" said the wise man ; 
 "Pleasure" said the fool; 
 "Love," said the maiden; 
 "Beauty" said the page; 
 "Freedom" said the dreamer; 
 "Home" said the sage; 
 "Fame" said the soldier; 
 "Equity" the sear. 
 Spake my heart full sadly: 
 "The answer is not here." 
 Then within my bosom 
 Softly this I heard: 
 "Each heart holds the secret; 
 Kindness is the word." 
 
 — John Boyle O'Reilly. 
 
THE CALL OF THE WEST 
 
 The haze on the far horizon, 
 
 The tint of an auburn sky, 
 The infinite ocean of wheat fields 
 
 With the wild geese flying high. 
 The hum of the busy binder. 
 
 The laugh, the song, the jest, 
 All of earth's wild freedom — 
 
 This is the call of the west. 
 
 The crisp, frost air of the winter, 
 
 The sun in a tropic sky, 
 The snow-shoe tramp up the river, 
 
 The curler's call "Tee Hi." 
 The northern lights in the heavens. 
 
 The healthiest land and the best. 
 The nearest to life that is nowhere 
 
 Except in the land of the west. 
 
 'Tis a land of hope and promise. 
 
 Where a man is known by his worth, 
 To the Russ, Icelander, or Saxon, 
 
 No matter the land of his birth. 
 To each and to all there's a welcome 
 
 In this land of liberty blessed, 
 Oppression and tyranny elsewhere. 
 
 But not in the land of the west. 
 
 36 
 
'Tis a land that is free from tradition, 
 
 Where a man meets a friend as a man, 
 Where people are up and are doing — 
 
 They can, for they know they can ! 
 'Tis a land that is fast becoming 
 
 The home of the wanderers' quest, 
 Where the patriot sings with devotion : 
 
 My country, the land of the west. 
 
 And far, far away o'er the ocean, 
 
 A sister, a sweetheart, a wife, 
 Is longing and waiting and wishing 
 
 To obtain a renewal of life 
 In this land where for all there is plenty, 
 
 That they may enjoy with the rest. 
 The fulfillment of hope and of promise — 
 
 This is the call of the west. ^ 
 
 37 
 
JOSEPH LOCKHART BOARDMAN 
 
 From early childhood the family of' Mr. Boardman 
 have been our friends. He became publisher and editor 
 of the Highland News about 1852, and continued it until 
 he was stricken blind thirty-three years later. Mr. 
 Boardman had learned the printing business from the 
 father of William Dean Howells, and was a fellow-work- 
 man with the son. After his blindness they moved from 
 Hillsboro to Columbus, Ohio, and at the age of sixty he 
 learned to use the typewriter well, carrying on his cor- 
 respondence in this way, and in wanting many poems for 
 his friends. He bore himself like some distinguished 
 general. He w^as a man of broad information and al- 
 most to the time of his death was much consulted. In 
 addition to his blindness he was deaf for fourteen years. 
 
 One of his finest characteristics and worthy of emula- 
 tion was that he met sorrow and disaster nobly. He 
 believed "In ourselves are victory and defeat." He was 
 a Christian man, as one may see by reading his lines 
 which follow : 
 
 THE PEACE OF GOD 
 
 "Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace whose mind is 
 stayed on Thee, because he trusteth in Thee." 
 
 In perfect peace whose mind is stayed on God, 
 Dear fellow traveler through this earthly life, 
 Who has been called to bear its pain and strife. 
 Thou, who in sorrow^'s paths hast bravely trod, 
 And patiently endured the chastening rod, 
 May God bestow on thee that peace of mind 
 That I have known in my old age, and blind. 
 
 38 
 
O precious boon of calm content and rest, 
 If our Heavenly Father's will resigned, 
 Who loves us all, and knoweth v^hat is best. 
 Dear Father, help us all to trust in Thee, 
 Thy will be done, whate'er Thy v^ill may be, 
 And keep us in Thy watchful care and love. 
 Till Thou shalt call us to Thy home above. 
 
 One of the last letters he wrote before the fall which 
 caused his death at 87 years was written to me, but was 
 not mailed until after his death; in it he gave many 
 facts of Ohio history. 
 
 One of the most valued tokens received on our silver 
 wedding day is the following: 
 
 To Mr. and Mrs. Hostetler, Shelton, Neb., on their sil- 
 ver wedding day, Sept. 21, 1905: 
 
 Dear Ella, I first knew you when a child. 
 With grief for your dear mother almost wild. 
 For you had lost your dearest friend on earth. 
 So loved by all who knew her modest worth. 
 Now in my old age spared beyond fourscore, 
 On this, your silver wedding day, once more 
 To you and your good husband, dear old friends. 
 This little token of my love I send. 
 As you today your marriage vows renew, 
 May God's rich blessings rest on both of you; 
 May it, dear friends, your happy fortune be 
 With joy your golden wedding day to see, 
 And when this fleeting earthly life is o'er 
 May we all meet where friends shall part no more. 
 
 So, my dear Ella, earnestly prays the friend of 
 your childhood, 
 
 Joseph Lockhart Boardman. 
 
 39 
 
COLUMBUS 
 
 Behind him lay the grey Azores, 
 
 Behind the gates of Hercules; 
 Before him not the ghost of shores, 
 
 Before him only shoreless seas. 
 The good mate said, "Now must we pray, 
 
 For lo ! the very stars are gone ; 
 Speak, Admiral, what shall I say?" 
 
 "Why say, 'Sail on and on!' " 
 
 "My men grow mut'nous day by day; 
 
 My men grow ghastly, wan, and weak." 
 The stout mate thought of home; a spray 
 
 Of salt wave wash'd his swarthy cheek. 
 "What shall I say, brave Admiral, 
 
 If we sight naught but seas at dawn?" 
 "Why, you shall say at break of day: 
 
 'Sail on ! sail on ! and on !' " 
 
 They sailed and sailed, as winds might blow, 
 
 Until at last the blanch'd mate said: 
 "Why, now, not even God would know 
 
 Should I and all my men fall dead. 
 These very winds forget their way. 
 
 For God from these dread seas is gone. 
 Now speak, brave Admiral, and say — " 
 
 He said: "Sail on! and on!" 
 
 40 
 
They sailed, they sailed, then spake his mate : 
 
 "This mad sea shows his teeth tonight. 
 He curls his lip, he lies in wait. 
 
 With lifted teeth as if to bite! 
 Brave Admiral say but one word; 
 
 What shall we do when hope is gone?" 
 The words leaped as a leaping sword: 
 
 "Sail on! sail on! and on!" 
 
 Then, pale and worn, he kept his deck. 
 
 And thro' the darkness peered that night. 
 Ah, darkest night! and then a speck — 
 
 A light ! a light ! a light ! a light ! 
 It grew, a star-lit flag unfurled! 
 
 It grew to be Time's bust of dawn ; 
 He gained a world ! he gave that world 
 
 Its watchword: "On! and on!" 
 
 — Joaquin Miller. 
 
 This poem has strengthened my courage many times, and 
 when I might have hesitated I go on and on. 
 
 41 
 
SUNSETS 
 
 A California friend who visited us recently stood at 
 the large west window in our sitting-room and exclaimed 
 at the beautiful Nebraska sunset. We have had the priv- 
 ilege of seeing it for many years from the same point of 
 view, but had not realized so fully before what a great 
 privilege it is. After the sun has disappeared the soft 
 glow lingers on in the twilight. We have seen the sun 
 set on the Atlantic and on the Pacific oceans, where it 
 touches the crest of the billows and colors them in rose, 
 silver, yellow, and grey. We have watched it on Salt 
 Lake, where it seemed nearer to us than anywhere on 
 account of its intense colors, and the changes they make 
 as the sun sinks lower and lower. You do not want to be 
 interrupted, and as it passes from sight it tints moun- 
 tain, sky, water, and tree-tops with those same colors. 
 
 We saw it another time at Culpeper, Virginia, like a 
 great ball of fire above the Blue Ridge mountains; as it 
 dropped closer it sent its rays along the tops of the Blue 
 Ridge far and wide. 
 
 In Berne, Switzerland, we climbed to the roof of our 
 hotel to see the "Alpine Glow" after the sun had set 
 behind the Alps. We were told that it was not always to 
 be seen, and this was one of the days that it left no 
 reflection. 
 
 42 
 
THE WEST 
 
 What know ye, who dwell at our easternmost verge, 
 Where on the Atlantic some pygmy states merge, 
 Of lands lying westward, a limitless stretch 
 Where jagged horizons the mountain peaks etch 
 In purple and silver — what know you, I say, 
 Who live on the edge of the dawning of day. 
 Of westerly countries unpillaged of pelf — 
 Know you that the W^est is a world in itself? 
 
 "West" — what does it mean when you think of the word? 
 With mirth unprovoked you have probably heard 
 The country that lies on this side of the stream 
 That good old De Soto discerned in a dream. 
 You've heard speak of the land that lies there 
 As ''West" — Oh, you ignorant one, have a care; 
 Were East blotted out it could live on alone — 
 This West with a sea, earth, and sky all its own. 
 
 Somewhere in the unending reaches that lie 
 Beyond where the Father of Waters glides by. 
 The West has beginning (of end there is none) 
 And onward it sweeps with the sweep of the sun. 
 Its valleys unmeasured, its mountains unnamed. 
 Its rivers unfettered, its forests untamed. 
 Its deserts untrod save by pixy or elf — 
 The West is a w^hole wondrous world in itself. 
 
 Sometimes when the gods have been good to you, take 
 Some coin from your horde and a pilgrimage make 
 Out into the land that your fancy has drawn. 
 Ride day after day — aye, and night after night 
 Where unexplored wonder-worlds surfeit the sight — 
 Then hide your old notions 'way back on the shelf 
 And own that the West is a world in itself. ^* 
 
 43 
 
WHEN OUR BOAT PUT OUT TO SEA 
 
 We spent the day in old and new Quebec, seeing its 
 places of interest, riding on its street cars, climbing to 
 the heights, looking down on the great St. Lawrence 
 river, and at 5 o'clock in the afternoon — June 17, 1910 — 
 we stood on the deck of the magnificent boat, the "Em- 
 press of Ireland," where we had taken first-class pas- 
 sage, and as it slowly left the pier the hundreds of people 
 assembled there to see us off, waved frantically to those 
 on board. We vv^atched with keen interest, and respond- 
 ed to the weaving though there was not a familiar face 
 among them all. No one on deck seemed sad, no one 
 seemed happy, all seemed thoughtful. 
 
 There were arms, baskets, and boxes full of beautiful 
 flowers for many of the passengers. 
 
 We watched on deck until the twilight deepened and 
 there was nothing more to see except the broad water. 
 Wq had put off a letter for home at the last mailing 
 place — Rimouski — and then we went to our stateroom. 
 Mrs. Lees, the wife of the conductor of our party, fol- 
 lowed us and placed in our arms an immense bunch of 
 the most beautiful white roses we ever saw, tied with 
 white ribbon and the card bore the name of our own 
 home W. C. T. U. to us. Mrs. Lees had been commis- 
 sioned to get them. Here was a personal touch with 
 home that was strong and sincere ; it added to our happi- 
 ness through all the journey into nine countries. It 
 helped us to more fully appreciate the great paintings 
 we saw in those countries, it went with us in the palaces, 
 
 and it stays with us today as a beautiful act of kindness. 
 
 44 
 
A large bundle of letters from numerous friends had 
 been given us to be read at certain times and places ; they 
 were all enjoyed, but the reader knew that other things 
 would require attention "on the other side," so most of 
 them were read in crossing. There were various pack- 
 ages with notes of loving remembrance, and a morocco- 
 covered notebook bearing the inscription, ''My Trip 
 Abroad." In the latter the items of great interest to us 
 were the sighting of three icebergs south of Labrador, 
 the sounding of the foghorn for the first two or three 
 days, keeping in touch with the things of the world, even 
 to the stock markets, through the Marconigrams which 
 were published on board in the Empress Daily News, 
 and distributed gratis at breakfast each morning, taking 
 the "log" each day, and marking on our map our exact 
 route. We reached the most northern point June 22, 
 latitude S7\ longitude 23°. Walking eight times around 
 the boat to make a mile, sitting wrapped in a rug on a 
 steamer chair watching others do the same, laughing, 
 always laughing as they went hurrying by, jostling any- 
 one going in the opposite direction ; sitting by an open 
 fire in the most palatial music room we were ever in, 
 and listening to the concerts given there. Reading in the 
 library, attending services on Sunday morning (we had 
 sailed on Friday). W^itching a woman and tv^^o little 
 children— a boy and girl of perhaps six and eight, with 
 their books— a lot of them. They could scarely wait to 
 hear the books read, as eager listeners as we have ever 
 seen. They cared not it seemed for the schools of por- 
 poises which others crowded the railing to see, or any- 
 thing on board but their books. We had games on deck 
 that caused as much hilarity as you will find anywhere 
 on terra firma. Great preparations were made for a con- 
 
 45 
 
cert which was given the last evening on board, for the 
 benefit of a sailors' home. All stewards wxre courteous 
 and helpful. Splendid meals, and twice each day hot 
 chicken broth with rice was brought to us on deck, we 
 could have food at any time for the asking; and the tea 
 rooms were open and free at all times. 
 
 On the sixth day the sky was less grey in the morning 
 and by four in the afternoon the sun was shining as we 
 came in sight of Ireland from the north, and a moun- 
 tain-like island — Inishtrahull. North of it were great 
 buildings with fences, all painted white, and the greens of 
 "Old Ireland" made a beautiful background for it. Our 
 speed was less as we drew nearer land. We saw Castle 
 Rock and the Giant's Causeway very plainly, and as 
 we slowly sailed down the North Channel we were almost 
 in speaking distance, it seemed, with the people of Ire- 
 land, whom we could see very plainly. It grew dark 
 before we entered the Irish sea, and the next morning we 
 were at anchor at Liverpool. We had breakfast on 
 board, then all bags and baggage were sent to the custom- 
 house and the passengers hurried off in their best attire. 
 We turned on the bridge and looked the boat over, and in 
 our hearts was a feeling of gratitude and thankfulness 
 to the beautiful boat that had carried us safely through 
 the deep waters. Our first day out we had made 54 
 miles, sailing late in the day; the next 436 miles, the 
 next 405 miles, the next 416 miles, the next 416 miles, 
 and the last 435 miles. 
 
 For many kind attentions in Europe we are indebted 
 to the three Fry sisters of Omaha — Annie, Alice, and 
 Bessie ; Dr. and Mrs. Lees, Prof. Wm. F. Dann, Mr. A. 
 W. Beckman, Miss Kate Field, Mrs. W. D. Fitzgerald, 
 Mr. E. E. Walton, and all others of Lincoln ; Mr. A. C. 
 
 46 
 
Loomis, of Omaha, Miss Ida Taylor of Exeter, Miss 
 Lillian Wilson of Chicago, Miss Laura Murray of North 
 Platte, Miss Mame Hughes of Denver, Rev. T. J. Bolger 
 of Chicago, and to Lawrence and Jeannette Finney of 
 Lincoln. The last two played a huge joke on most of 
 us in showing us L-a-n-d on the homeward journey. 
 
 We made the journey from Quebec to Liverpool in 
 six days and fourteen hours. 
 
 47 
 
TWILIGHT 
 
 As we sit in the evening twilight our thoughts turn to 
 the events that made the history of the town in which we 
 Hve, and we know that each person who ever Hved here 
 and did as much as plant a tree is a part of its history 
 
 Joaquin Miller, "the poet of the Sierras," took com- 
 paratively little pride in the fact that he wrote poems, 
 but his great happiness came from the trees and flowers 
 he had planted with his own hands, and watched grow. 
 
 When we came there were very few trees either in 
 the village or country ; now the visitor usually speaks of 
 our trees and well-shaded streets. 
 
 We see all about us the great strides progress is mak- 
 ing in the town, country, and state, and we see, too, the 
 restless energy that is helping it along. , 
 
 From a village of perhaps less than two hundred when 
 we first knew it, we now have a population of over one 
 thousand. In the easy-going conditions of the early days 
 when people waited for they knew not what, hurry was 
 not in evidence ; the steps were slower, and more restful, 
 and there seemed plenty of time to be social and pleasant 
 with everyone ; it is all hurry and bustle now, though the 
 funerals, especially of the older residents, are well at- 
 tended; and in any charitable need the people are gener- 
 ally liberal. 
 
 We emerged from the one-room school building to one 
 larger, then to a larger one still, until our boys and girls 
 are housed now in a new $40,000 building. 
 
 48 
 
We have good churches — six of them — there should be 
 but two or three. 
 
 We have many miles of cement sidewalk. 
 
 We have a splendid $9,000 district library, which is 
 a boon to the community. In many of the country homes 
 as well as those of the town are found all modern con- 
 veniences necessary in this age of the world to health 
 and happiness, with w^aterworks, and electric lights. 
 
 Our farming land is no longer sold for a song, but has 
 increased in value to such an extent that the moderately 
 "well to do" must seek it elsewhere. 
 
 In the good old days the one-horse shay was consid- 
 ered a luxury; there is no room for them on our streets 
 now, for the automobiles are parked in almost every 
 available place. They cause part of the restless energy 
 in several ways, sometimes by the placing of a mortgage 
 that is difficult to lift. 
 
 Back in '87 a Chautauqua reading course of four years' 
 w^ork was organized with some of the brightest minds 
 we have ever had in the town. After two years' time, 
 one after the other had moved away, become discouraged, 
 or dropped out until we alone were left. We continued 
 and finished it in the next two years, also doing extra 
 reading that gave us five seals on our diploma. In addi- 
 tion to that we received a grade of 100 per cent on the 
 regular reading for the year '91. We consider that one 
 of our greatest achievements. Before and after and dur- 
 ing that time we were studying and teaching art, being 
 so engaged for nearly twenty years ; three of our paint- 
 ings were exhibited at the World's Fair in Chicago in '93. 
 
 Then came the woman's study club, and we have kept 
 step in the town, the district, the state, and the nation. 
 Its work in this town has been valuable, for it has been 
 
 49 
 
a potent factor in two or three enterprises for the benefit 
 of the town. 
 
 The compilation of a family history which was pub- 
 lished last spring was the work of several years, and with 
 that, the most absorbing interest we have had for two 
 years has been in the temperance cause, and in doing what 
 we could to help get a dry Nebraska; and now that we 
 are to have it next May our twilight is most peaceful and 
 happy ; for we know that little children, wives, husbands, 
 fathers, and sons will come into their rightful inheritance, 
 and have their chance in life in Nebraska. 
 
 50 
 
LET HIM KNOW IT 
 
 When a fellow pleases you 
 
 Let him know it; 
 It's a simple thing to do — 
 
 Let him know it ; 
 Can't you give the scheme a trial? 
 It is sure to bring a smile, 
 And it makes it worth the while — 
 
 Let him know it. 
 
 You are pleased when anyone 
 
 Lets you know it. 
 When the man who thinks "well done. 
 
 Lets you know it. 
 For it gives you added zest 
 To bring out your very best — 
 Just because some mortal blest 
 
 Lets you know it. 
 
 When a fellow pleases you 
 
 Let him know it; 
 Why, it isn't much to do — 
 
 Let him know it; 
 It will help him in the fray, 
 And he'll think his efforts pay ; 
 If you like his work or way 
 
 Let him know it. *' 
 
 51 
 
TO MY HUSBAND 
 
 In our life together for thirty-six years you have al- 
 ways inspired me with confidence in myself, and in my 
 ability to accomplish things. 
 
 You have made possible the splendid trips I have had, 
 and you made most of the plans for them, as you did in 
 arranging the European trip, and my visit to all the great 
 art galleries and great libraries in the United States. 
 
 This book would be incomplete without the expressed 
 assurance of my deep gratitude to you. 
 
 52 
 
NEARING THE LAST GATE 
 
 Oh, don't be sorrowful, darling! 
 
 And don't be sorrowful, pray! 
 Taking the year together, my dear 
 
 There isn't more night than day. 
 
 'Tis rainy weather, my darling. 
 Time's waves they heavily run; 
 
 But taking the year together, my dear, 
 There isn't more cloud than sun. 
 
 We are old folks now, my darling. 
 Our heads they are growing grey ; 
 
 But taking the year all round, my dear, 
 You will always find the May. 
 
 We have had our May, my darling. 
 
 And our roses long ago ; 
 And the time of year is coming, my dear, 
 
 For the silent night and the snow. 
 
 For God is God, my darling, 
 
 Of night as well as day ; 
 And we feel and know that we can go 
 
 Wherever He leads the way. 
 
 Aye, God of the night, my darling— 
 Of the night of death so grim ; 
 
 The gate that leads out of life, good wife. 
 Is the gate that leads to Him. 
 
 — Alice Gary. 
 53 
 
OUT OF THE SILENCE 
 
 An what can you say when the day is done 
 And you've gone to your bed to rest? 
 
 When the shadows come and the light has gone 
 O'er the rim of the golden west. 
 
 And a silvery beam of the moon creeps in 
 As if in an aimless quest? 
 
 What do you say 
 
 When a kindly voice that you seem to know 
 Out of the shadows speaks soft and low, 
 
 "Well, what did you do today?" 
 
 Oh, what can you say when you're all alone 
 With the Master of all the tasks ? 
 
 How much of a sin do have to own 
 When the voice of the Master asks — 
 
 How many things have you left undone 
 Your studied answer makes ? 
 
 What do you say 
 
 When out of the shades of the silent night 
 The Master speaks with the Master's right : 
 
 "Well, what did you do today?" 
 
 Thrice blest is he of the humble way 
 
 Who sinks in his bed of rest — 
 The rest he earned with a toiling day 
 
 With love of his labor blest — 
 Who hears the voice of his Master ask, 
 
 And truthfully say, "My best." 
 The man who can say 
 
 "I've trod the way of my best intend, 
 I've helped a friend and I've made a friend," 
 
 To "What did you do today?" 
 
 —John D. Wells. 
 54 
 
A 
 
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