airth?’ ‘Noomone hay,’ sez I, pooty bresk, for he was allus hank- 
erin’ ‘round in hayin’. ‘Nawthin' of the kine,’ sez-he. ‘My leetle 
Huldy’s breath,’ sez I ag’in.’ ‘You're a good lad,’ sez he, his eyes 
sort of riplin’ like, for he lost a babe onc’t about her age—‘the best of 
perfooms is just fresh air, fresh air,’ sez he, emphysizin', ‘athout no 
mixture.’’’ And that is worth thinking of. All odors the winds bear 
are defective as compared with the utter freshness of the moving airs 
themselves. ‘Jest fresh air,’"—what an exhilarant that is. Drinking 
water spouting fresh from mountain snow 
drifts, and the blowing of clean air in the 
tace, and the making your riayer to God 
when life grows hard or glad—are not these 
apart from all things else and allow of no 
comparisons. Similes are lifeless here. And 
the breath of a wind after a rain! Wind is 
unspeakable for music and odors. What a | 
happy fate to be associated with such recollec- | 
tions. If man or woman might hope in com- 
ing years, when far beyond the sight of 
eyes or hearing of the ears, to stay sweet 
memories in hearts which could not forget 
them, what could human heart ask more? 
And I have known such folks. The mention 
of their names makes me think of sunlit fields. 
All sweet things lie adjacent to their person- 
alities, just as trees and shade and gurgling A Svein Bebo 
brooks and trailing clouds and sublime soli- 
tudes and what seems the ragged frontiers of the world lie adjacent to 
huge mountains. 
Winds are fortunate to be the carriers of aromas and music; to 
come freighted with the lilac’s breath and the happy voices of happy 
womens Jaughter. But I do not hesitate to confess that the rarest 
wind I have ever experienced is blown from Kansas prairies on summer 
twilights. About midway in Kansas, east and west, is this wind in 
perfection. Nothing equals it. I have loved winds blown from briny 
seas and from the emerald deserts of great lakes and the St. Lawrence 
dreaming northward like a drifting ship, and from Alp and Sierra, and 
my belief still holds that for unutterable tenderness, part wind, part 
spirit, for poetry whose threads can never be unbraided, these Kansas 
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