Shippensburg University - Cumberland Yearbook (Shippensburg, PA)

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ia!-' Tbeg Taught lvlim. Kill rt 7-Al xi!! V if lbw 4 MAN once wandered out far, far from the busy streets of gist lf' a city, away oil' into a valley. He was sad-so sad. I , f His heart was bitter toward his lot. He felt alone. Qgiltfv, i . Back in the scenes he had left the busy throng went on , buying and Selling, loving and hating. They felt his f -JRE absence no more than the falling snowflakes, on a dis- mal stormy night at sea, miss the companions that slip down into the black water. But the valley. The path he followed led down the moun- tain side into its somberest shades. The bushes and trees thickly fringed the path. The wind soughed through the pines and the sad cadence lent itself to his mood. As he walked along, the moss beneath his feet dead- ened his footfalls and nothing seemed able to break in upon his musings. He saw the life he had left, those dismal attempts, those heart-breaking failures. He reviewed in his mind the times he had failed, tl1e times he had with gritted teeth and tense muscles driven himself back to those un- successful tasks. And now, trial after trial had passed, and failure after failure. I won't go back to it, he thought, I'll make for myself an- other sphere of labor. He strode on through the dark recess of the forest, where the rhododendrons brushed his face with their harsh, shining leaves. He saw their bent and twisted stems and their snake-like roots. Up from the moss at his feet, rose a cluster of delicate Indian Pipes. He stooped and plucked one of the fairy flowers and stood regarding it. But alas ! soon the pretty flower blackened and with a sigh, he cast it from him and wandered on. It was typical, he thought of his blackened hopes, so bright at one time. Soon there fell on his ear the sound of running water and as he advanced the weird murmur increased in volume. He stopped on the bank and gazed on the swift-flowing stream. It was a small moun- tain rivulet: its clear, limpid waters did not conceal the pebbles and leaves that strewed its bed, and the small fishes seemed suspended inbsome glassy medium. Here the little stream made its foaming way between a number of boulders and just below was a deep pool. Above the stream the boughs of the trees interlaced and at the pool a huge hemlock, with s 9

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its dense foliage made a perpetual twilight. His limbs were wearied and he sat down on the edge of the pool to rest. Through the boulders the water bubbled and foamed. The rhytlnnical rise and fall in its song was very soothing to his troubled heart. The brook seemed to croon some lnlling, soothing' strain, just as when a child, his tender feelings wounded by some cruel blow, mother had gathered him to her breast and soothed and quieted his grief. Far off in tl1e forest at his right he heard the long drawn note of the cicada and across the patch of blue sky which the low- hanging boughs of the spruce and the spreading limbs of the alders on the opposite bank did not close up he saw, with outstretched, motionless wings. a buzzard soar. He sat and gazed. The green lichens on the rocks around him seemed to regard him with questioning stare, while the music of the brook seemed to repeat over and over again a cadence which sounded familiar to him. As he mused, the rise and fall of the rivulet seemed to be moulded into words by his own ever active imagination. just as when riding in a train as a child he had heard a series of words re- peated over and over again, their meaning dependent upon his mood. He heard the rivulet say, You've failed in your work ! you've failed in your work! Over and over the cadence repeated it. Over and over the words seemed to co111e to him. He shifted his position uneasily, but the words kept echoing in his ears, You've failed in your work ! You've failed in your work ! I know I have, he cried impatiently, but what can I do ? If you'1l watch, you'1l see ! The words came clearly to him. He started up and stared around him. The wind sighed gently through the spruce boughs. Out across the blue patch ot sky floated a white cloud. The stream murmured on but it gave no words to him. Down in the glassy water the trout hung motionless. The foam flakes still eddied around the pool. The azalia bushes, farther down, stood decked in their pink dresses. But no face looked out from their delicate flowers. With the thought, What a thing is imagination? he turned and traced his way along the stream. He walked for some time and grad- ually his feelings became more composed. The trouble smoothed out of his brow. He began to look around l1im with watchful eyes. What a dainty little flower! He stooped to examine it and as he did so he saw in the ground over which he had just stepped, a peculiar movement. He watched and up flew a little spurt of sand, then two black pincers ap- peared and after a little struggle tl1e entire ant-lion was visible. He sat down to see what the little fellow was going to do. The circular trap was in ruins: his chance of catching his prey, gone. The heavy step of this mountain ofa man had ruined his all. Nothing was left him save his io l