E. F. TUCKER, Publisher.
WEDNESDAY, JUNE~22, 1904.
)K the trail to boyland.
Where the mapls leaves are yellow
And the apples plump and mellow,
And the purple grapes are bursting with
their rich autumnal wine.
And the oak leaves redly flaming—
"a: All the blase of sunset hamlJig—
:v Is a trail that wanders Idly to a land of
yours and mine.
w/ 'It goes through the grassy hollows
And across the hills It follows
•,:• AU the playful tuneB and curvlngs of tho
i..,- Overgrown with tangled grasses,
'vw-w® All the olden haunts it passes
Till it fades into a vista that is cherished
in our dreams.
rK V' Past the pokeweeds and their berries
And the dance halls of the fairies,
Over Held and through the forest, it goes
ever on and on,
With the thrush and klldee singing
And the redbird madly winging
5* ltar ahead of us to somewhere,, where the
.sunset meets the dawn.
.:/ Up and down, the hillside hugging,
•»v With tyie hazel bushes tugging
At our arms, and blushing sumach hQ|d
5fe lng spicy berries out
And the hawtrees and the beeches,
Hickories and plums and peaches—
fust as young and just as plenty—all our
thoughts of age to flout 1
Bo It stretches and It glistens,
%.s Far away—and he who listens
Hears the echo of the hallings and the
ckv.murmur of a song
That comes through the Bllence throb'
Half with laughter, half with sob
Till It clutches at the heartstrings and
would hold them overlong.
'w.s This Is the trail—the Trail to Boy
How It spans the miles to Joyland!
Passing leafy lane and blossom tangled
vine, and bush and tree,
I Coaxing bees till they. In coming.
Fill the hush of noon with humming—
And the wondrous way to Boyland
stretches fair for you and me!
—Chicago Dally Tribune.
Avtfcor of "The Story of the Cawboy,"
"The Giil at the Halfway BOOM."Xtc.
,« \~V .4^ It It*" v. „..
The Denison Review
IM, by fawnn Hmb
She stood erect, ber eyes flashing,
her arms outstretched, her bosom
panting under the fringed garments,
her voice ringing as it might have
been with the very essence ot truth
•nd passion. Law looked at her stead
ily. But the shadow did not lift from
his brow, though he looked long and
"Come," said he, at length, gently.
"None the less we are as we are. In
every game we take our chances., and
tn every game we pay our debts. Let
as go back to the camp."
As they turned ba|k down the beach
Law saw standing dt a little distance
his lieutenant, Du Mesne, who hesi
tated as though he would speak.
"What i^ it, Du Mesne?" asked Law,
excusing himself with a gesture and
loining the voyageur where he stood.
"Why, Monsieur L'as," said Da
Mesne, "I am making bold to mention
it, but in good truth there was some
question in my mind as to what might
be our plans. The spring, as you
know, is now well advanced. It was
your first design to go far into the
•west, and there to set up your station
for the trading in furs. Now there
have some these little incidents which
nave occasioned us some delay. While
I have fiot doubted your enterprise,
monsieur, 1 bethought me perhaps it
might be within your plans now to go
but little farther on—perhaps, indeed,
to turn back—"
"To go back?" said Law.
"Well, yes that is,to say, Monsieur
L'as, back again down the great lakes.
"Have you then known me so ill as
this, Du Mesne?" said Law. "It has
not been my custom to set backward
loot on any sort of trail."
"Oh, well, to be sure, monsieur, that
I know quite well," replied Du Mesne,
applogetically. "I would only say that,
if you do go forward, you will do more
than most men accomplish on their
first voyage au large in the wilder
ness. There comes to many a certain
shrinking of the heart which leads
them to find excuse for not faring far
ther on. Yonder, as you know, mon'
eieur, lie Quebec and Montreal, some
what better fitted for the abode of
monsieur and madame than the tents
of the wilderness. Back of that, too,
as we both very well know, monsieur,
lie London and old England and I
had been dull of eye indeed did I not
recognize the opportunities of a young
gallant like yourself. Now, while I
know yourself to be a man of spirit.
Monsieur L'as, and while I should wel
come you gladly as a brother of the
trail, I had only thought that perhaps
you would pardon me if I did but ask
your purpose at this time."
Law bent bis head in silence for a
moment. "What know you of this for
ward trail, Du Mesne?" said he. "Have
you ever gone beyond this point In
you own journeyings?"
"Never beyond this," replied Du
Mesne, "and indeed not no far by many
hundred miles. For my own part I
rely chiefly upon the story of my
brother, Greysolon du L'hut, the bold
est soul that ever put paddle in the St.
Lawrence. My brother Greysolon, by
the fire one night, told me that some
years before he had been at. the mouth
of the Green bay—perhaps near this
very spot—and that here he and his
brothers found a deserted Indian camp.
Near it, lying half in the fire, whare
Lmd fallen in exhaustion, wi^an
?sr/ old Indian, wfco bad
abandoned by hit tribe to tile—«or
that, you must know, monsieur, is one
of the pleasant customs of the wilder
"Greysolon and his men revived this
savage in some fashion, and meantime
had much speech with him about this
unknown land at whose edge we have
now arfived. The old savage said that
he had been many moons north and
west of that place. He knew of the
river called the Blue Earth, perhaps
the same of which Father Hennepin
j.as told. And also of the Divine river,
far below and tributary to the Mes
sasebe. He said that his father was
once of a vr&t party who went far to
the north against the Ojibways, and
that his people took from the Ojibways
one of their prisoners, who said that
he came from some strange country far
to the westward, where there was a
very wide plain, of no trees. Beyond
that there were great mountains, taller
than any to be found in all this region
hereabout Beyond these mountains
the prisoner did not know what there
might be, but these mountains his peo
ple took to be the edge of the world,
beyond which could live only wicked
spirits. This was what the prisoner
of the Ojibways said. He, too, was an
"The captive of my brother Grey
•olon was an Outagamie, and he
John Law straightened and stiffened
as he stood. For an Instant his eye
flashed with the zeal of youth and of
adventure. It was but a .transient
cloud which crossed his face, yet there
was sadness in his tone, as he replied.
"My friend," said he, "you ask me
for my answer. I have pondered and
I now decide. We shall go on. We
shall go forward. Let us have this
west, my friend. Heaven helping us,
let me find somewhere, in some land,
a place inhere I may be utterly lost,
and where I may forget!",?^
THE PATHWAY OF THE WATERS.
The news of the intended departure
was received with joy by the crew of
voyageurs, who, on the warning of an
Instant, fell forthwith to the simple
tasks of breaking camp and storing
JOHN LAW ROSE IN THE EOW.
the accustomed bales and bundles in
their places in the great canot du Nord.
"La voila!" said Tete Gris. "Here
she sits, this canoe, eager to go on.
"fis forward again, mes amis! For
ward once more and glad enough am
I for this day. We shall see new lands
"For my part," said Jean Breboeuf,
"I also am most anxious to be away,
for 1 have eaten this whiteflsh until
I crave no more. I had bethought me
how excellent are the pumpkins of the
good fathers at the straits and in
deed I would we had with us more of
that excellent fruit, the bean."
"Bah! Jean Breboeuf," retorted
Pierre Noir. 'Tis but a poor-hearted
voyageur would hang about a mission
garden with a hoe in his hand instead
of a gun. Perhaps the good sisters at
the Mountain miss thy skill at pulling
"Nay. now, I can live as long on
fish and flesh as any man," replied
Jean Breboeuf, stoutly, "nor do I
hold myself, Monsieur Tete Gris, one
jot in courage back of any man upon
"Of course not, save in time of
storm," grinned Tete Gris. "Then, it
is 'Holy Mary, witness my vow of a
bale of beaver!' It Is—"
"Well, so be it," said Jean Breboeuf,
stoutly. 'Tis sure a bale of beaver
will come easily enough in these new
lands and—though I Insist again that
I have naught of superstition in my
soul—when a raven sits on a tree
near camp and croaks of a morning be
fore breakfast—as upon my word of
honor was the case this morning—
there must be some ill fate in store for
m, as doth but stand to reason."
VJBut say you go?" gaid Tete QrleuJ
that the Outagamies burned this pris
oner of the Ojibways, for they knew
that he was surely lying to them.
Without doubt they did quite right to
burn him, for the notion of a great
open country without trees or streams
is, of course, absurd to any one who
knows America. And as for moun
tains, all men know that the moun
tains lie to the east of us, not to the
'Twould seem much hearsay," said
Law, "this information which comes
at second, third and fourth hand."
"True," said Du Mesne, "but such Is
the source of the little we know of the
valley of the Messasebe, and that which
lies beyond it None the less this idea
"Yet you ask me if I would return."
'"Twas but for yourself, monsieur.
It is there, if I may humbly confess to"
you, that it is my own ambition some
day to arrive. Myself-—this west, as I
saidlong ago to the gentlemen in Lon
doff—'appeals to me, since it is indeed
a land unoccupied, unowned, an em
pire which we may have all for our
selves. What say you, Monsieur L'as?"
A *tA ,**?•*&•& •MSf&j-'J
pausing at his task, with nls face as
suming a certain seriousness.
"Assuredly," said Jean Breboeuf.
'Tis as I told you. Moreover, I In
sist to you, my brothers, that the signs
have not been right for this trip at
any time. For myself, I look for noth
ing but disaster."
The humor of Jean Breboeufa very
gravity appealed so strongly to his
older comrades that they broke out In
to laughter, and so all fell again to
their tasks, in sheer light-heartedness
forgetting the superstitions of their
Thus at length the party took ship
again, and in time made the head of
the great bay within whose arms they
had been for some time encamped.
They won up over the sullen rapids of
the river which came into the bay,
toiling sometimes waist-deep at the
cordelle, yet complaining not at all.
So in time they, came out on the wide
expanse of the shallow lake of the
Wlnnebagoes, which body of water
they crossed directly, coming into the
quiet channel of the stream which fell
in upon its western shore. Up this
stream in turn steadily they passed,
amid a^panorama filled with constant
change. Sometimes the gentle river
bent away in long curves, with hardly
a ripple upon its placid surface, save
where now and again some startled
fish sprang into the air in fright or
sport, or in the rush upon its prey.
Then the stream would lead away Into
vast "seas of marsh lands, waving In
illimitable reaches of rushes, or fringed
with the unspeakably beautiful green
of the graceful wild rice plant
In these wide levels now and again
the channel divided, or lost Itself In
little cul de sacs, from which the pad
dlers were obliged to retrace their way.
All about, them rose myriads of birds
and wild fowl, which made their nests
among these marshes, and the babbling
chatter of the rail, the high-keyed
calling of the coot, or the clamoring
of the home-building mallard assailed
their ears hour after hour as they
passed on between the leafy shores.
Then, again, the channel would sweep
to one side of the marsh, and give view
to wide vistas of high and rolling lands,
dotted with groves of hardwood, with
here and there a swamp of cedar or of
tamarack. Little herds of elk and
droves of deer fed on the grass-covered
slopes, as fat, as sleek and fearless of
mankind as though they dwelt domes
ticated in some noble park.
It was a land obviously but little
known, even to the most adventurous,
and as chance would have it, they met
not even a wandering party of the na
tive tribes. Clearly now the little
boat was climbing, climbing slowly
and gently, yet surely, upward from
the level of the great Lake Michiganon.
Iu time the little Tiver broadened and
flattened out into wide, shallow ex
panses, the waters known as the Lakes
of the Foxes and beyond that it be
came yet more shallow and uncertain,
winding among quaking bogs and un
known marshes yet irtill, whether by
patience, or by cheerfulness, or by de
termination, the craft stood on and on,
and so reached that end of the water
way which, in the opinion of the more
experienced Du Mesne, must surely be
the place known among the Indian
tribes as the "place for the carrying
Here they paused for a few days, at
that mild summit of land which marks
the portage between the east bound
and the west bound waters yet, im
pelled ever by the eager spirit of the
adventurer, they made their pause but
short In time they launched their
craft on the bright, smooth flood of
the river of the Ouisconslns, stained
coppery-red by its far-off, unknown
course in the north, where it had
bathed leagues of the roots of pine and
tamarack and cedar. They passed on
steadily westward, hour after hour,
with the current of tnis great stream,
among little islands covered with tim
ber passed along bars of white sand
and flats of hardwood beyond forest
covered knolls, in the openings of
which one might now and again see
great vistas of a scenery now peaceful
and now bold, with turreted knoll3
and sweeping swards of green, as
though some noble house of old En
gland were set back secluded within
these wide and well-kept grounds.
The country now rapidly lost its
marshy character, and as they ap
proached the mouth of the great
stream, it being now well toward the
middle of the summer, they reached,
suddenly and without forewarning,
that which they long had sought
The sturdy paddlers were bending to
their tasks, each broad back swinging
in unison forward and back over the
thwart, each brown throat bared to
the air, each swart head uncovered to
the glare of the midday sun, each nar
row-bladed paddle keeping unison with
those before and behind, the hand of
the paddler never reaching higher than
his chin, since each had learned the
labor-saving fashion of the Indian ca
noeman. The day was bright and
cheery, the air not too ardent, and
across the coppery waters there
stretched slants of shadow from the
embowering forest trees. They were
alone, these travelers yet for the
time at least part of them seemed
care-free and quite abandoned to the
sheer zest of life. There arose again,
after the fashion of the voyageurs, the
measure of the paddling song, with
out which indeed the paddler had not
been able to perform his labor at the
"Dans mea chemln j'ai rencontre—"
chanted the leader and voices behind
him responded lustily with the next
"Trois cavaliers bien montes—"
"Trois cavaliers bien montes—"
chanted the leadei again.
"L'un a cheval et l'autre a pled—"
came the response sad then the
"Lon, Ion larldon dslne—
Lon, lon laridon dai!
TTie great boat began to move ahead
steadily and more swiftly, tnd bend
after bend of the river was rounded bjr
the rushing prow. None knew this
country, nor wist how far the journej
might carry him. None knew as ol
certainty that he would ever In tBls
way reach the great Messasebe or
even if he thought that such would be
the case, did any one know how far
that Messasebe still might be. Yet
there came a time in the afternoon o.'
that day, even as the chant of the
voyageurs still echoed on the wooded
bluffs, and even as the great birch-bark
ship still responded swiftly to their
gaiety, when, on a sudden turn In the
arm of the river, there appeared wide
before them a scene for which they
had not been prepared. There, rip
pling and rolling under the breeze, as
though Itself the arm of some great
sea, they saw-a majestic flood, whose
real nature and whose name each man
there knew on the instant and In
"Messasebe! Messasebe!" broke out
the voices of the paddlers.
"Stop the paddles!" cried Du Mesne.
John Law rose In the bow of the
boat and uncovered his head. It was
a noble prospect which lay before him.
His was thf soul of the adventurer,
quick to respond to challenge. There
was a fluttering In his throat as he
stood and gazed out upon this solemn,
mysterious and trejmendous flood, com
ing whence, going whither, none might
say. He gazed and gazed, and it was
long before the shadow crossed his
face and before he drew a sigh.
"Madam," said he, at length, turn
ing until he faced Mary Connynge,
"this is the west We have chosen,
and we have arrived!"
[To Be Contlnued.l V'" us-
A HOME THRUST.
Colored Man Who Wu Not at Loss
for an Answer on Occa
"Jerome S. McWade," said Booker
T. Washington, "seemed to me, when I
was a boy, to be the smartest colored
man in the world.
"Jerome was a slave. He lived In
Virginia, at Hale's Ford. One day he
appeared in a red velvet waistcoat, and
straightway he was seized and taken
to the office, for this waistcoat was
the master's property. The master
had worn it on his wedding day.
"Well, Jerome managed to prove that
he had not stolen the waistcoat Cal
houn Hamilton had stolen it and Je
rome had bought it from Calhoun for
a small sum.
'Now, Jerome,' the master said, *1
admit you're not a thief, but you're a
receiver of stolen property and that's
just as bad.'
'No, no, sir,' said Jerome. 'No, no.
That is not just as bad, by any means.'
'Why isn't it just as bad?' said the
'Because you wouldn't receive
stolen goods yourself, sir, if it was
"What do you mean? Me a receiver
of stolen goods? Explain yourself,'
the master commanded.
'Why, sir,' said Jerome, 'you bought
and paid for me, the same as I bought
and paid for that red waistcoat Well,
wasn't I stolen, same as the waistcoat
was? Wasn't I stolen out of Africa?*"
Couldn't Understand It.
The experiences of clerkB with their
customers are very peculiar, but the
best that I have yet beard was related
to me yesterday by a cleVk In one of
our local stores. One day last week a
large healthy looking man, whose talk
would give one to understand that he
was a north of Englander, came into
the store and wanted a stiff hat. When
the clerk asked him what size he
wanted, he said that he did not know,
as he had never worn a hat. The clerk
told him that he would take about size
seven, wbiph proved to be the right
size. After buying the hat he told the
clerk that he wanted a stiff collar, but
he said tliat he did not know what size
he should require, as he had never
worn a high collar in his life. The
clerk told him that he would require
about a size 15. "What?" exclaimed
the astonished purchaser. "How the
dickens do you make that out me have
to wear a size 15 collar and a size 7
hat? Do you think my neck is larger
than my head?"—Lowell Citizen.
Flood Creates a Nation
Owing to a disagreement between
Austria and Servia the folk who have
taken up their residence on a certain
little island in the Danube pay no taxes
and acknowledge allegiance to nobody.
The island, which has very appro
priately been called Nobody's island,
was formed many years ago by the
accumulation of mud and sand carried
down by the great river during a flood.
Since then Austria and Servia have
been quarreling about its possession.
At low water the island is almost con
nected with the Servian shore by a
narrow tongue of sand, while at high
water it lies nearer the Austrian island
of Osztrovaer. Consequently no one
can decide to whom it really belongs
and, as the island is not worth enough
to make it advisable fir the Servian
or the Austrian goverriment to fight
over its possession, the inhabitants are
left entirely to themselves—Stray
To Base Uses.
During the siege of Mafeklng one oi
the officers organized a concert ot
"singsong" to keep up the spirits of
the men. He discovered, according to
the story as it is told in V. 0-, that the
men had cause enough for low spirits
Hearing of a sergeant in the High
landers who was a good performer,
asked the man to contribute to th«
"I'm sorry, sir, but 1 cannot"
"Why?" asked the officer. "You play
aomo Instrument, don't you?"
"I did, sir."
"What was njjr
"The bones, ajfc but J'Sf Jfrty®
GIlje iiarnrii Wommt'a
Pare la Kn ISjom?
By HON. W. H. MacINNES.
A Labor Lesder in the Massachusetts Stste Senate.
O my mind there are many and valid objections to married
Women as wage earners and my experience has led me to
believe that they possess undue industrial advantage.
Considering the question broadly, I think one of the$
most vitally serious objections, if not the most vital, to the?
employment of married women is strongly apparent in the"
ever existing temptation to avoid the divine responsibility of
motherhood. Rarely actuated or inspired by the laudable
and praiseworthy ambition or desire to aid the husband by
an application of added income to enhance or improve tfis
home comforts, we find the motive in many instances to be mere desuftr
for personal adornment or the securing of "pin money."
If the woman persists in working and the couple attempt that
melancholy burlesque upon domestic happiness known as "light hpuse
keeping," then Heaven help them. The nerve-shattering and exaspersu'-.
ing exactions of daily occupation, whether it be in the class room, o*
the store, or the office, are extremely well calculated to disrupt domestic
felicity. The weary, jaded employe cannot be the housekeeper she
should be, and much less the cheerful, sympathetic home companion for
the "bread-winner" who has taken her as his partner through life.
On the other hand, the married woman is, to a- degree, an invader.'
She posseses an undue industrial advantage when entering into compe
tition with her less fortunate sister who depends absolutely and entirely,
in many instances, upon her own unaided individual effort to exist. The
married woman can sell her labor for smaller compensatidn because of
her matrimonial partnership or alliance. This, of course, is entirely:
I do not want to be harsh on the married woman wage earner, but
it seems to me that our first care should be for those who must jump
into the industrial field, not from choice, not for personal adornment or
"pin money," but, out of necessity, for bread.
Let the married woman stick to her home and make it bright and
pleasant. She is there in her proper sphere, and she helps the cause of
labor more than she thinks. There is labor then for those who need it,."
and there is a higher rate of compensation for those who must per
By MISS JANE ADDAMS.
Of Hull House, Chicago.
mit that the church is misdirecting its energies, and is not getting downi
to a practical solution of the social problemis gradually exhibiting the
signs of decay. Churches are most revered in rural communities, whicl
are not so oppressed by commercial and industrial questions and largely
in proportion as the community is a center for those perplexities the
church loses its influence.
In a remarkable article by a professor in a theological seminary the
writer asserts that Christianity of to-day is sadly in need of a readapta
tion to the present day situation that it had concerned itself too largely
with the personal family—spiritual relation—while the. most painful
problems of life, those, connected with the commercial and industrial
relations, are overlooked and that in these latter the church offers no
definite advice in fact, even asserted that it did not wish to offer any
solution that a religion which did not guide a man in his perplexities
ceases to be a religion. ..., jp*
It may be said that right here is slipping through
the hands of the church a great moral opportunity.
It is a chance it has not had for almost three centuries.
It is the duty of the church to eradicate the impression
that seems to be general that there is not a great pub
lic opinion to judge this question on its merits
The church no longer professes to minister to
the sense of loneliness, the lack of social relations
which these foreigners feel quite as strongly as the
early settlers did. The young people should take
pains to know where this vast tide of new population
lives and ascertain what the wants and need of the
©on Murij Culture
II? By REV. W. A. BARTLETT,
Popular Chicago Preacher. ,j
and all the rest. To-day, as soon as a family is prospered a little, thef^"
women must needs "join" all kinds of clubs and societies, till the child
is left to the care of any person who can be hired to do it, and in the,
most tender, susceptible, and impressionable years the little one is at the:
mercy of untaught and often unscrupulous caretakers. "7"
It is not improbable that many of the mothers who attended the'.a
recent mothers' congress in Chicago would have been better off at home
giving the same time and energy to the real child and not the stuffed
dummy made to order in some convention.
Maiden ladies and people who have no children are the most prolific
writers and speakers on the subject of child training. Let them turn
their attention to aerial navigation, the drainage canal, or some other
practical, matter, and let the women who have children take down the old
family Bible and read-there how to make a home. That often dust cov
ered volume contains the wisdom of the ages.
Long before mothers' congresses were thought of, Moses gave
fundamental teaching about child training. The sweetest of all kinder
gartens was Jesus holding children in His arms. That's what the chil
dren need—love, companionship, appreciation, firmness, and punishment*
You can crush out a child's life by many conventions and congresses,
*nd the distracted mother goes nome to "try on" the method* suggested,^
till, disgusted and unhappy, she bursts into tears, gathers the little one'
into her bosom with tenderness and prayer, and then she has become
whole congress herself.
Science tells us that
the sure sign of decay in.
any living creature or or
ganization is the lack of
adaptation to the pu
poses of its being, and
we must reluctantly ad
We are suffering to-•
day from too much cul
ture. In the earlier New
England days the hometi
was the mother's club,1'!
guild, missionary societyi§fi|
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