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Page 13 text:
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DEBRIS. 7 RURAL LIFE. URAL life is usually a pleasant and soul- inspiring one, posses- sing the right union of light and shade, sunshine and shadow, rest and labor to bring out the latent forces and dcvclope character fitted to withstand life’s battles. The prosperous farmer of today is a man of science and a gentle- man of culture and leisure. lie carefully reads the latest and best books which treat on the various subjects of his occupation. By means of the steam and electric roads, the telephone and the rural delivery of mail, he keeps in touch with the outside world, and is fa- miliar with current events. The Pilgrims of 1620, who land- ed on the forest-covered shores of America were welcomed by the gifts of nature. The pure air from across the sea; the fragrance of the flowers around and about them in the summer months; the rip- pling water of the streams; the winter cold and snow; all united to make them a happy and pro- gressive people. The sons and daughters of the sturdy pioneers, though the most industrious, were after all, the happiest, healthiest, and the most successful offspring of the early American inhabitants. If we trace the prosterity of our forefathers and carefully note the characteristics of those who lived always in the country, we shall see that the brawn of perfect man- hood, the intellectual ability of great men, the pleasures of a really happy life, and the highest type of true morality, bloomed and flourished to the greatest degree in those of the latter class. As the westward stream of im- migration was slowly but surely working its way across the fertile valley of the Ohio; as the people in that great procession stopped at various places along their seem- ingly endless journey and viewed her green and mossy banks, trying to decipher the sites that would be the most suitable to lay out their sections, places of greatest safety from savage foes and at the same time places where they could ex- ercise the greatest freedom and liberty regarding their educational and religious views, it was rural rustic scenes that always met their gaze. They purposely went in the wrong direction to find large cities, believing them to be places of ill repute. If they had not known of the great advan- tages in a pleasant, happy and progressive life that the solitary forest offered over that of the large city, they would have headed their ships to different shores. Men and women visit and in- habit disreputable places in large cities, where hard earned dollars are spent and easy dollars are earned. If they would pay greater attention to, and follow the exam- pels of their friends who enjoy the blessings of morality, of happi- ness, of peace, and of prosperity, while living in the country, the people in general would more re- semble those who settled in the valley of the Ohio in the early part of the nineteenth century. The character of the American people would have less stains, and the thousands who are now every year losing themselves in sin and shame might hope to enjoy that eternal peace that lies beyond the grave. The morality of the coun- try boy and girl of today, is great- ly superior, in most cases, to that of those in the city. The farmer boy who rises early and wades about on warm summer mornings in the cool, refreshing dew that kisses the grasses and the flowers, who roams across the meadows, through the woods, and along the banks of the creeks in search of wild flowers and beauti- ful pebbles, studying nature every minute in the day, is Jhe boy who is always happy, healthy and wide awake to every new thing to be learned either from books or from personal observation. God, in all he has created, set no tempting snares into which the boy, experimenting with nature, may be caught. Nothing exists that would ruin, or blight his life, that might be set up as an exam- ple to guide and direct the way- ward steps of others, who have been walking in the ruthless paths of sin. They have been dragged down by the seemingly innocent pastimes prevalent in the city to a ruined, dissipated, wanton and de- bauched condition from which many are never able to rise. We may be censured and run upon; we may be teased and tor- mented. we may be called various names pertaining to our rustic manners; yet we should feel it an honor rather than a disgrace; a blessing rather than a curse, to know that we have the privilege of living where naught can mar our character; where we may walk the innocent paths of a rural life, and where we may reap the rich re- wards and beautiful treasures that lie hidden in the green turf be- neath our feet. Let us hope that every country boy and girl in America will send up a fervent prayer for their city friends, who have been robbed of these privileges; and that they may be the victors in the great battle of life in which their charac- ter is at stake. —Scott Courtkight, ’09.
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Page 14 text:
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8 DEBRIS. JOAN OF ARC. Jt+ ttNDOUB'TEDLY we each U Klve a avor le histor- ic ical heroine, whom we set upon a pedestal, then stand at a distance to admire, honor, or pay homage to according to our various tem- peraments. Perhaps yours is some woman of noble bringing up, some queen who, by right of birth and years of preparation, was destined to fill a mighty place and to figure in the annals of history. But not so with mine. A part of her greatness lies in the fact that by her efforts alone, she rose, at eighteen, to a unique position in the history of nations, rose from a simple hearted, untotored peas- ant maid to be the leader of arm- ies, to be the advisor and rescuer of her king and country. What act more grandly patriotic can any human being perform ? What task more tremendous to under- take? Yet she did it cheerfully, willingly, as her part in the great plan of our universe, did it with the knowledge that it meant the sacrificing of all her own wishes, even to her life. I have forgotten in the outpour- ing of my praise of this pious, un- selfish girl, to mention her name. But is it necessary ? No ; surely not; for only one such person has ever lived. As I said Joan of Arc is a unique figure in history. Her environment must have had much to do with her career. Her native village of Domremy being on the border and situated at the crossing of two principal high- ways, was constantly the scene of passing armies. In no place could she have better known the scars that a hundred years of warring with mighty England had left on France, and the wounds that yet lay open and bleeding in the very heart of this country. England was rapidly learning of these vul- nerable spots and driving poor France into a writhing agony with her probing of them. Then the forests that surround- ed Joan’s home,—unfathomable, mysterious forests on the borders of which Joan tended her sheep for long weary hours, surely made an ideal setting in which to brood over these disasters and place her in a receptive mood for those whispered thoughts, those visions which called the simple shepherd- ess forth to save her country. For after all Joan was successful only so long as those visions inspired her. She never felt that her suc- cess came through any greatness of her own. Many a one wiser than I has said that Joan was not inspired, that she never had these visions, in short that they were merely the workings of her imagination, nur- tured by her peculiar environment. But as this is not a thing that can be proven, it pleases me to believe that she was inspired, sent on earth as God’s instrument to per- form this duty, and that the visions were the sign posts that He show- ed her to lead her on to victory. For a moment let us take the less imaginative view, the more practical one. and call it environ- ment. Surely there were others, contemporaries of Joan at Dom- remy who saw the passing armies, felt the struggle of war and im- pending disaster, breathed from the very earth, and who tended sheep in the forest. In fact we know there were. Think of Haumctlc, Joan’s friend, from whom we learn so much of Joan’s pious girlhood. Why did Haumette not deliver France? Search all written records of the time and we find no word that leads us to believe that she ever thought of such a thing. Nor can we think that Joan was favored by heredity. On the con- trary we are told that her ancestry is of the ordinary peasant type, and all history points to the fact that her father was of particularly coarse fibre. We all believe in miracles. We do not have to stop to see them. This old world of ours which has been the scene of so many won- derful happenings is in itself a miracle. Therefore we have no right, no ground on which to scoff at the fact that Joan was in- spired. For me that point is set- led. In any case Joan believed in these visions with all the ardor of her young life. They gave her the inspiration that led her from home. Is there not something sweetly pathetic about her as she leaves Domremy. She. the brave little peasant, beloved by all, making her last confession to her priest, and receiving his kindly blessing, wandering into the forest for the last time, driving her sheep home in the evening and stopping to say goodbye to a group of friendly old dames gossiping on the road, pausing to gaze for the last time into the crystal fountain, whose sparkling depths she was to see so many times as she lay in shackles on the cold dungeon floor, await- ing her execution. She must have been sad indeed for these were the things she loved, and she felt she was leaving them never to return. See her the next morning before the sun is up, started off on one of those great roads that led into the unknown world. What must have been her feelings as she turned to say the last farewell to her dear Hau- mette and to catch the look of dis- satisfaction on her father’s sour face. But look! What is this coming %
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