Wail Of the Editors
BY ETTA PFEIFFER
The shades of night were falling fast
As through the halls the editors passed;
Three maids who bore from day to night,
The thought that would never go out of sight--
That paper.
Their brows were sad; their eyes beneath
Drooped as flowers in a faded wreath;
And like the knell of flate there rung
The accents of that oft heard tongue—
That paper.
In happy rooms they saw the light
Of kerosene lamps gleam warm and bright;
For them the spectral taper shone.
And from their lips escaped a groan-
That paper!
"What shall we have?" one of them said;
"What will be interesting when read?
There are poems and stories and market reports"—
"But who's to write them, another retorts.
Oh, that paper!
"Dop ut it away," one maiden cried,
And paper and pencil were thrown aside.
A tear stood in each downcast eye,
But still they murmured with a sigh—
That paper.
What could be doe? Time would not wait
For these poor maidens disconsolate.
The time was at hand and type must be set,
Though when it might be was not known as yet.
—That paper.
At last to a friend they made known their woe,
And up to the office that friend did go;
She helped them out with her ideas clear,
And cheered these three little maidens drear--
(Concerning) That paper.
Then in the lamp-light's yellow glow
These three editors to work did go
Gloom was scattered and eyes grew bright,
Shadows passed. "The Electric Light" --
(Was) That paper.
(From The Electric Light of the Oread Society.)
"TAKING UP A CLAIM."
At the request of the Reunion Committee, Mrs. Jennie Mackay Coleman sent a letter to be read at the meeting of former students, June 9, giving an account of her varied experiences in "taking up a claim.
"Jennie Mackay" was known to many of the Seminary, and not a few have been at her father's home, Mr. John Mackay's, a few miles from Mt. Carroll, and enjoyed the real Scotch hospitality that is always extended there to visitors.
Miss Mackay, as she expresses it, used all her "land rights while West" and August 10, 1890, used her "last right as a single woman" and became Mrs. Coleman. Mr. and Mrs. E. P. Coleman, with others, are in charge of the Wilder Farm College and Business Institution, situated at Wilder, Minn.
We have space for extracts only from Mrs. Coleman's letter:
"I must confess, as the time approached for my depasture, my zeal and enthusiasm lagged, somewhat, but my ancestral blood showed signs of life and I was inspired to action. April 23, 1886, I left home to try my fortune with the surging crowd in the far West. Before I crossed the Mississippi River rain fell in torrents, adding more and more to my now melancholy frame of mind.
"Homesick! that is a mild term to apply to my feelings. as the long, dreary night passed away. Morning dawned, but no brighter; as we journeyed farther West, in stead of rain falling, snow was flying-yes, it actually flew -and I feel safe in saying it never lit until it got to the Missouri River. Ah! this warm summer day I can feel the chills as they chased one another through my body, all that day. Half-past three Friday morning found me at my nearest railroad destination, fifty miles from Nonpareil, Neb. To this place a stage ran twice a week. I was told the stage would start at eight o'clock. Five hours to wait in a dingy hotel! At the appointed hour. the rickety old stage rumbled up to the door. Myself, one other traveler, the driver and baggage constituted our party for this fifty-mile ride. After riding several miles, I noticed one of the horses was lame-his limping was simply painful; I thought he must drop at every step, which event would add more to my misery. * * * The last twenty-five miles were considerably shorter, we having left the lame horse and gotten one the driver called 'Dad.' This was my first impression of a prairie country : miles and miles of land, not a tree or a shrub to be seen, nothing save a black object, indiscernible in the distance, which, upon nearing, proved to be a genuine sod house. At first this amused and delighted me, but I soon wearied and longed for home and trees. * * *
"The first week was spent in looking up a claim. I rode thirty miles one day, over the roughest of prairie, never even saw a road, excepting the old Sidney trail. While driving along we suddenly came to a stove-pipe, sticking above ground, and driving a little farther saw a stair leading down to a door. I was told this was a 'dug out.' Presently a woman came to the door, and upon answering our inquiries, it was decided I should remain there until my cousin drove farther. The woman looked up and said, 'Jist come down if ye ken.' I went down, so great was my curiosity to see inside. The room was 10x10. Two families were living there- household goods, everything. In one of the windows an old hen was hatching. They informed me only one family belonged there, the other was a friend's whose house was not finished. I did not take a claim in that section, but went farther south, were I found one to suit me.
"A young man had abandoned the claim some four months before-on account of 'lonesomeness '- sold out, and went away. I sent filing papers for preemption, in order to file on a claim, one must be twenty-one, single, or head of a family. A woman loses all her rights to file on land when she marries; unless she can give proof that she is the head of the family.
"Now came a time to try 'my soul'-a man's had been tried and found wanting. Here I was, located on my claim, not a house in sight, not a tree, or even a shrub. I busied myself until late, dreading the night. That first night! I wish it might be forever blotted out of my memory. The oppressive stillness almost stifled me. I realized for the first time what I had gotten into. Here I was, two miles from a living soul, perfectly alone in a shanty, anywhere between the siding of which I could see the stars. I slept but little, and was glad when I saw the first ray of dawn, and delighted when I could rise, dress and go out of doors.
"I was beginning to halt between two opinions, whether it were better to pack my grip and leave the country, or 'exist' long enough on that claim to 'prove up' on it. I decided upon the latter. No wonder, for I was twenty-three miles from stage and seventy-three from railroad. * * * I was the first woman in the Valley. Six months after I settled, every claim was taken and the owners living on it. * * * I was pleasantly surprised in the class of people who settled that Valley. Some communities in your own vicinity could not compare with it. A Sabbath-school was organized in which your humble and unworthy servant was elected superintendent. The Sabbath-school is now in a flourishing condition. Meetings held every Sabbath in a sod house.
