isa-normaladvance-1914-00146

Description:	146THE NORMAL ADVANCEa single public school in China, while across the sea in Japan one sees them everywhere. And I did see thousands of cases of untold misery.My friend, Mr. Dooly, says, I can injye places better by not going to thim. I think av Italy as the home av the Pope, but Hogan, who has been there, thinks av it as the home av the flea. I can see the dome av St. Peter,s risin agin the sky, but he can only see the cabman that charged him eighty liars, or thirty cents ofour money, to carry him round the block.And so I say—you can enjoy China better by staying at home. If any of you have any de¬ sires or dreams as I did in my younger day, of seeing China, forget them. China isnt worth seeing. You may think of it as the home of the mandarin riding along the street in his silk lined sedan chair, but I think of it as the home of the man who carries the chair—as a place of hunger and misery.a &rue g>torp of g>tptzmbtt it, 1914BY L. L. LESHTT was early last September, *■ One morning damp and dark, I had my pony saddledBy the first song of the lark. I rode a long, long distanceOer mountain trail and hill, Oer brooks that stormed or tinkled,By river side or rill. Up, up my journey led me Up, up, and up again. Among the stormy wonders. (Oh fail! my feeble pen!)The way grew steep—and steeper—My pony slid and slipped. Longs Peak tore the mists asunder,The great pines dripped and dripped. The mighty granite bouldersAcross my pathway lay, When snow and sleet and cold windsAnd noon shortened up the day. Yet up and up I ventured,Alone among the clouds,Three miles from habitationWhere storms the great peak shrouds. My faithful pony panted,But I spurred him on and on. Tons, tons of rock loomed upward,Of trees there was not one. Just some little stunted bushesThat clung to the wind-swept bed  Some dwarfed and twisted treeletsThe deep-worn blazed trail led. Triumphant, there we haltedOur goal the bleak tree line. We looked then far, far eastwardAnd my eyes did fill with brine. I saw a higher mountainIn dear old Terre Haute. Through the mists I saw it shiningWith the blue and white afloat. Why did I weep? Ill tell you,From C to exalted A I saw each pilgrim hoof itWithout a pony every inch of the way!
Source:	http://indstate.contentdm.oclc.org/cdm/ref/collection/isuarchive/id/32602
Collection:	Indiana State University Archives

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