CREATURES OF MYSTERY 
97 
by night trudge for many weary miles for one last look at the 
Queen of the Morning Skies emerging from among the eastern 
hills to beam upon a land from which he was being cruelly 
driven, and to which he would never return. 
All of last year’s outdoor beauty is driven to earth by win¬ 
ter’s icy blasts, leaves of the trees, delicate and fragrant flow¬ 
ers, together with the dead wiregrass in which they are inter¬ 
locked contribute to the making of a pall with which the whole 
of the landscape is shrouded. Many of the songbirds depart 
for warmer climes to spend the winter. Man is virtually im¬ 
prisoned until the chirping of the blue warbler, the return of 
the purple martin, the nighthawk, whippoorwill, and the pass¬ 
ing sand-hill crane with his inimitable note serve to remind him 
that it is time to arise and shake off winter’s cruel shackles. It 
is on such occasions that it is said that the fancy of youth turns 
lightly to thoughts of love. 
One endowed with poetic soul has given expression to his 
inner feeling in words like these: 
Springtime—and the bluebird’s song 
And the gold of the daffodils, 
And the beckoning trail that leads away 
To end among the tranquil hills. 
These—and a low, clear call 
At my restless heart all day 
With pilgrim staff to be out and gone 
O’er the Wander-Way! 
Now the immortal Ham Bone is no poet, but as a philoso¬ 
pher he ranks one of the very first in order. He may lack the 
command of beautiful English employed by the poet above 
quoted, but he is moved upon by that same mysterious influ¬ 
ence which quickens a dead world into action when he simply 
says— 
Dese April showahs suits me fine, 
Gits me out m’ hook an’ line, 
Fo’gits ’bout de Johnson grass 
Chokin’ down mah gyahden sass. 
