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Show SPRING. ' By A. K. N. Gerftlo Spring has touched with her redeeming1 breath the bleak hillsides, and now they are all aglow with bridal plumes. If men of the city would leave their ledgers and the -simple legerdemain 6f , discounts and debits long enough for a few hours' pilgrimage in City Creek canyon, they would come back with the thought that all the world is not measured in ducats, and all the allurements of the counting house would disappear in the occult splendor of nature enthroned majestically in her lofty chambers. The soul of man is a pitiful thing when its elusive strings are touched only by the tumult of the trafflcing city; when upon its Eolian cords is never breathed the vaster melody of Zephyrus at play amid the new verdure, or the music of the world as it leaps and laughs in the meandering brook with the rhythm of remembered remem-bered days. But a few weeks ago the hills were as ghostly memories that became dim spectres as the twilight deepened. Their unbowed heads had felt the merciless merci-less diapason of the winter storm, or listened to the eery requiems that came up moaning from the vales where dead autumn lay all plundered in her golden cerements. And then came the hush which falls with the world's new nativity, and in the panoplied guest chamber of the stars, Spring was born. Girdled in green, her face radiant as if fresh from the Aidenn which no mortal knows, she touched the bastions of the forbidding hills and they were all abloom; she spoke and all the world was filled with madrigals. Spring is as the coming of a victorious army, bearing irradiant banners. It is a gift from out in the great whiff spaces, the last beautiful beneficence benefi-cence which the gods have reserved for poor, tired mortality when yearning for the brighter day. |