I said.
"That's it," said Aunt Jane, delightedly. "There ain't any religion in restin' unless you're tired, and work's jest as holy in his sight as rest."
Our faces were turned toward the western sky, where the sun was sinking behind the amethystine hills. The swallows were darting and twittering over our heads, a somber flock of blackbirds rose from a huge oak tree in the meadow across the road, and darkened the sky for a moment in their flight to the cedars that were their nightly resting place. Gradually the mist changed from amethyst to rose, and the poorest object shared in the transfiguration of the sunset hour.
Is it unmeaning chance that sets man's days, his dusty, common days, between the glories of the rising and the setting sun, and his life, his dusty, common life, between the two solemnities of birth and death? Bounded by the splendors of the morning and evening skies, what glory of thought and deed should each day hold! What celestial dreams and vitalizing sleep should fill our nights! For why should day be more magnificent than life?
As we watched in understanding silence, the enchantment slowly faded.
The day of rest was over, a night of rest was at hand; and in the shadowy hour between the two hovered the benediction of that peace which "passeth all understanding."
FOOTNOTE:
[17] Copyright, 1907, by Little, Brown and Company.
KATE SLAUGHTER McKINNEY
Mrs. Kate Slaughter McKinney ("Katydid"), poet and novelist, was born at London, Kentucky, February 6, 1857. She was graduated from Daughters', now Beaumont, College, Harrodsburg, Kentucky, when John Augustus Williams was president. On May 7, 1878, Miss Slaughter was married at Richmond, Kentucky, to James I. McKinney, now superintendent of the Louisville and Nashville railroad. Mrs.
McKinney's best work is to be found in her first book of verse, _Katydid's Poems_ (Louisville, 1887). This slender volume was extravagantly praised by the late Charles J. O'Malley, but it did contain several lyrics of much merit, especially "The Little Face," a lovely bit of verse surely. Mrs. McKinney's first novel, _The Silent Witness_ (New York, 1907), was followed by _The Weed by the Wall_ (Boston, 1911). Both of these works prove that the author's gift is of the muses, and not of the gods of the "six best sellers." Neither of her novels was overly successful, making one wish she had held fast to her earlier love, verse-making. Besides these three volumes, Mrs.
McKinney has published a group of songs which have attracted attention. She resides at Montgomery, Alabama.
BIBLIOGRAPHY. _Blades o' Bluegrass_, by Fannie P. Dickey (Louisville, 1892); _Who's Who in America_ (1912-1913).
A LITTLE FACE[18]
[From _Katydid's Poems_ (Louisville, Kentucky, 1887)]
A little face to look at, A little face to kiss; Is there anything, I wonder, That's half so sweet as this?
A little cheek to dimple When smiles begin to grow; A little mouth betraying Which way the kisses go.
A slender little ringlet, A rosy little ear; A little chin to quiver When falls the little tear.
A little face to look at, A little face to kiss; Is there anything, I wonder, That's half so sweet as this?
A little hand so fragile All through the night to hold; Two little feet so tender To tuck in from the cold.
Two eyes to watch the sunbeam That with the shadow plays-- A darling little baby To kiss and love always.
FOOTNOTE:
[18] Copyright, 1887, by the Author.
CHARLES J. O'MALLEY
Charles J. O'Malley, the George D. Prentice of modern Kentucky literature, the praiser extraordinary and quite indiscriminately of all things literary done by Kentucky hands, and withal a poet of distinguished ability, was born near Morganfield, Kentucky, February 9, 1857. Through his father O'Malley was related to Father Abram J.
Ryan, the poet-priest of the Confederacy; and his mother was of Spanish descent. He was educated at Cecilian College, in Hardin county, Kentucky, and at Spring Hill, a Jesuit institution near Mobile, Alabama, from which he returned to Kentucky and made his home for some years at Henderson. His contributions in prose and verse to the newspapers of southwest Kentucky made him well-known in the State.
A series of prose papers included _Summer in Kentucky_, _By Marsh and Pool_, and _The Poets and Poetry of Southwest Kentucky_, attracted much favorable comment. His finest poem, _Enceladus_, appeared in _The Century Magazine_ for February, 1892, and much of his subsequent work was published in that periodical. In 1893 O'Malley removed to Mt.
Vernon, Indiana, to become editor of _The Advocate_, a Roman Catholic periodical. His first and best known book, _The Building of the Moon and Other Poems_ (Mt. Vernon, Indiana, 1894), brought together his finest work in verse. From this time until his death he was an editor of Roman Catholic publications and a contributor of poems to _The Century_, _Cosmopolitan_, and other high-class magazines. For several years O'Malley was editor of _The Midland Review_, of Louisville, and this was the best periodical he ever edited. Many of the now well-known writers of the South and West got their first things printed in _The Review_. It did a real service for Kentucky authors especially. During his later life O'Malley seemed to realize that he had devoted far too much time in praising the literary labors of other writers, and he turned most of his attention to creative work, which was making him better known with the appearance of each new poem.
O'Malley may be ranked with John Boyle O'Reilly, the Boston editor and poet, and he loses nothing by comparison with him. He was ever a Roman Catholic poet, and his religion marred the beauty of much of his best work. Besides _The Building of the Moon_, O'Malley published _The Great White Shepherd of Christendom_ (Chicago, 1903), which was a large life of Pope Leo XIII; and _Thistledrift_ (Chicago, 1909), a little book of poems and prose pastels. For several years prior to his passing, he planned a complete collection of his poems to be entitled _Songs of Dawn_, but he did not live to finish this work. At the time of his death, which occurred at Chicago, March 26, 1910, O'Malley was editor of _The New World_, a Catholic weekly. Today he lies buried near his Kentucky birthplace with no stone to mark the spot.
BIBLIOGRAPHY. _The Century Magazine_ (October, 1907); _The New World_ (Chicago, April 2, 1910).
ENCELADUS[19]
[From _The Building of the Moon and Other Poems_ (Mount Vernon, Indiana, 1894)]
I shall arise; I am not weak; I feel A strength within me worthy of the gods-- A strength that will not pass in gray despair.
Ten million years I have lain thus, supine, Prostrate beneath the gleaming mountain-peaks, And the slow centuries have heard me groan In passing, and not one has pitied me; Yea, the strong gods have seen me writhe beneath This mighty horror fixed upon my chest, And have not eased me of a moment's pain.
Oh, I will rise again--I will shake off This terror that outweighs the wrath of Jove!
Lo, prone in darkness I have gathered hope From the great waters walking speaking by!
These unto me give mercy, thus forshown:
"We are the servants of a mightier Lord Than Jupiter, who hath imprisoned thee.
We go forth at His bidding, laying bare The sea's great floor and all the sheer abysms That drop beneath the idle fathoms of man, And shape the corner-stones, and lay thereon The mighty base of unborn continents.
The old earth, when it hath fulfilled His will, Is laid to rest, and mightier earths arise And fuller life, and like unto God, Fills the new races struggling on the globe.
"Profoundest change succeeds each boding calm, And mighty order from the deep breaks up In all her parts, and only Night remains With all her starts that minister to God, Who sits sublimely, shaping as He wills, Creating always." These things do they speak.
"The mountain-peaks, that watch among the stars, Bow down their heads and go like monks at dusk To mournful cloisters of the under-world; And then, long silence, while blind Chaos' self Beats round the poles with wings of cloudy storm."
These things, and more, the waters say to me, How this old earth shall change, and its life pass And be renewed from fathomless within; How other forms, and likelier to God, Shall walk on earth and wing the peaks of cloud; How holier men and maids, with comelier shapes, In that far time, when He hath wrought His plan, Shall the new globe inherit, and like us Love, hope, and live, with bodies formed of ours-- Or of our dust again made animate.
These things to me; yet still his curse remains, His burden presses on me. God! thou God!
Who wast before the dawn, give ear to me!
Thou wilt some day shake down like sifted dust This monstrous burden Jove hath laid on me, When the stars ripen like ripe fruit in heaven, And the earth crumbles, plunging to the void With all its shrieking peoples!--Let it fall!
Let it be sown as ashes underneath The base of all the continents to be Forever, if so rent I shall be freed!
Shall I not wait? Shall I despair now Hope On the horizon spreads her dawn-white wings?
Ah, sometimes now I feel earth moved within Through all its massive frame, and know His hand Again doth labor shaping out His plan.
Oh, I shall have all patience, trust and calm, Foreknowing that the centuries shall bring, On their broad wings, release from this deep hell, And that I shall have life yet upon earth, Yet draw the morning sunlight in my breath, And meet the living races face to face.
NOON IN KENTUCKY
[From the same]
All day from the tulip-poplar boughs The chewink's voice like a gold-bell rings, The meadow-lark pipes to the drowsy cows, And the oriole like a red rose swings, And clings, and swings, Shaking the noon from his burning wings.