The Gentleman from Indiana

It takes a long time for the full beauty of the flat lands to reach a

man's soul; once there, nor hills, nor sea, nor growing fan leaves of palm

shall suffice him. It is like the beauty in the word "Indiana." It may be

that there are people who do not consider "Indiana" a beautiful word; but

once it rings true in your ears it has a richer sound than "Vallombrosa."

There was a newness in the atmosphere that day, a bright invigoration,

that set the blood tingling. The hot months were done with, languor was

routed. Autumn spoke to industry, told of the sowing of another harvest,

of the tawny shock, of the purple grape, of the red apple, and called upon

muscle and laughter; breathed gaiety into men's hearts. The little

stations hummed with bustle and noise; big farm wagons rattled away and

raced with cut-under or omnibus; people walked with quick steps; the

baggage-masters called cheerily to the trainmen, and the brakemen laughed

good-bys to rollicking girls.

As they left Gainesville three children, clad in calico, barefoot and

bareheaded, came romping out of a log cabin on the outskirts of the town,

and waved their hands to the passengers. They climbed on the sagging gate

in front of their humble domain, and laughed for joy to see the monstrous

caravan come clattering out of the unknown, bearing the faces by. The

smallest child, a little cherubic tow-head, whose cheeks were smeared with

clean earth and the tracks of forgotten tears, stood upright on a fence-

post, and blew the most impudent of kisses to the strangers on a journey.

Beyond this they came into a great plain, acres and acres of green

rag-weed where the wheat had grown, all so flat one thought of an enormous

billiard table, and now, where the railroad crossed the country roads,

they saw the staunch brown thistle, sometimes the sumach, and always the

graceful iron-weed, slender, tall, proud, bowing a purple-turbaned head,

or shaking in an agony of fright when it stood too close to the train. The

fields, like great, flat emeralds set in new metal, were bordered with

golden-rod, and at sight of this the heart leaped; for the golden-rod is a

symbol of stored granaries, of ripe sheaves, of the kindness of the season

generously given and abundantly received; more, it is the token of a land

of promise and of bounteous fulfilment; and the plant stains its blossom

with yellow so that when it falls it pays tribute to the ground which has

nourished it.

From the plain they passed again into a thick wood, where ruddy arrows of

the sun glinted among the boughs; and, here and there, one saw a courtly

maple or royal oak wearing a gala mantle of crimson and pale brown,

gallants of the forest preparing early for the October masquerade, when

they should hold wanton carnival, before they stripped them of their

finery for pious gray.