The Gift of the Will

THE GIFT OF THE WILL By Robert Sparks Walker Helvellyn was determined to have a nature library. Charles Ermine, the old schoolmaster, a born naturalist, — had with limited funds and much persuasion succeeded in making a collection of an even fifty old volumes. Helvellyn was situated in the wilds of America where Nature puts on a gorgeous display of flora, and among the trees and plants roved numerous species of wild animals. Ermine's ambition was to ultimately have the best nature library in his State. After a two-mile tramp in the dead of wintef through the bitter cold, Jean Clermont, one of Ermine's pupils, reached his home wearing a worried countenance. It was very unusual for Jean Clermont to be down- cast. His troubled looks begat the immediate anxiety of his mother. "Jean, my boy," she ventured as they drew their chairs about the supper table, "what troubles you?" Suggestingly she continued, "I fear the bitter cold has chilled your body." "O no," replied Jean with emphatic shake of the head. And then he proceeded: "I had not really noticed the biting cold weather, but believe me, I may never become a teacher; but mark you, if I ever make a schoolmaster and try to teach some of the subjects Mr. Ermine, our teacher has introduced, I hope that my patrons will make it so hot for me, that I will not have time to pack my trunk and get out of the country quick enough." Jean's remarks were a complete puzzle to his old mother. She knew that Charles Ermine was an efficient teacher. In the new district where he was teaching, the flora was too tempting for him. Mr. Ermine had once written a booklet on Nature Study, and had been credited with making a remark at a public meeting that it was a disgrace for parents to send their children away from home to be educated before first educating them in the natural objects which grow at their doors. On one occasion in addressing some patrons he said: "I met a member of the faculty of a college, a well-bred gentleman, polite in manners and who is really the author of a series of text books, who in conversation with me confessed that out of all the trees of the forest, he really knew but one tree and that was the pine. I was shocked. This first thought that came to me was, 'Educated, yet grossly ignorant.' Fellow patrons, the world is full of such examples. I have four children, the youngest is six years. If you will take him to the forest and if he fails to identify half of the trees, then a five dollar gold piece will be' your reward for each tree my child fails to name." There was no time in the regular school hours for the study of trees and plants, and Mr. Ermine extended the school hours to thirty minutes longer each day in his little public school at Helvellyn in Tennessee. Ofttimes his lectures were dry and uninteresting, and it was this dryness that bore heavily on the mind of Jean Clermont. "Heaven's sake," Jean exclaimed daily to his friends, "that man will drive us all crazy cramming our heads with knowledge about plants and trees and even nuts. Why, only one day last week, he devoted a full hour to lecturing on 'Nuts,' and he illustrated and described more than two dozen kinds, which he said were found growing in this vicinity. I do not think I shall ever forget those lectures on nuts. At any rate, I will give Mr. Ermine credit for being sincere, and he thinks he is working- along the right line, but the next time he strikes the subject of nuts, I hope

950 IMPROVEMENT ERA he will invite the squirrels and let me go on with my other work," he concluded sarcastically. Years passed by. Charles Ermine had taught long enough that he felt he had not made a mistake in his progressive ideas. After eight years of service in Helvellyn, he abdicated the pedagogic throne to a young lady, leaving behind him over one hundred people educated and interested in the plants and trees about their homes. In the meanwhile, Jean Clermont left Helvellyn, finished his college course and was at home planning for a life career, but he was not certain what to choose. He had the common ambition to become rich, but pre- ferred to work to acquire wealth. A rainy day sets a person to searching. Let it rain and the cat spends the entire day looking for mice. Let the rain drops pitter patter on the house-top and the country boy's instincts take him to the crib of corn and when he awakens, he is searching for rodents. If one never squanders this instinct for research on rainy days, the blues may never appear. If you would find something, search on a rainy day. It was a rainy day — a rainy week — when Jean Clermont came home from college. The skies wept and he began to search, but without any particular thing in view. An old book he would sometimes pick up and deliberately turn through it leaf by leaf. A pressed flower, an old verse, a dried tear-drop, but there was always something to be found. Up in the garret was an old trunk. It was flat, with a few ridges, and had at one time been covered with paper. Clermont found a rusty nail, and picked the stubborn lock. It was still raining. When it rains, nobody gets in a hurry. "Rip," sounded the old lid as he turned it on the old rusty hinges. A scent a century old, emitted, and entered the nostrils of Jean Clermont. "I'll delve into the past," Jean said to himself, and he began to whistle. A mummied mouse and a dozen old papers which had been associated for years were now disturbed. And then a black tin box. "Some poor fellow's tobacco box," said Clermont, and he tossed it out to one side. As it struck the floor, something rattled from the inside and he picked it up, placed it to his nose, but no odor from tobacco could be procured. He shook it and again something rattled. "More mummied rats," he exclaimed, and he slammed it down in disgust. "A Will, — here is the reward of a lifetime," said Jean to himself with a laugh. Unfolding the old manuscript which bore the marks of a century Jean Clermont read: "To the finder of this document, greeting: Be it known, that I John Odom, a resident of the State of Frankland being forty years old, of sound mind, and realizing the uncertainty of life do hereby give and bequeath unconditionally, to the finder of this my last will and testament, the sum of Ten Thousand dollars, which lies buried beneath a hickory tree, about four and a half miles from this home. (Signed) John Odom." October 25, 1784. Witnesseth: John Sevier John Topton "Thunder," said Clermont to himself, when he finished, "this must be some fool's writing." He rolled up "The Will" and put it in his pocket. The rains did not cease, and Jean had to do something; and, of course, it was to search. He expected to find nothing, excepting to gratify that searching curiosity to delve into the past, most characteristic in a person's life on rainy days. Jean Clermont continued to throw out the contents

THE GIFT OF THE WILL 951 of the old trunk, which was mostly old letters. The letters were prin- cipally written to John Odom, but who Odom was, Clermont, did not know, and cared little. He read one after the other, and concluded that Odom, must have been an old pioneer, who was a man of affairs during his time. When the day was over Jean examined his "Will" one time more. He recognized from the letters he had read that it was written in John Odom's handwriting. The old letters had impressed him that Odom was a man with a serious mind, who meant well. "Then he certainly could not have written this will in vain," thought Clermont, his mind shifting from the trivial to the serious side of the puzzle. "It rains, and I'll go over the old trunk again," he thought to himself. Clermont searched again. "Buried beneath a tree, — there are hundreds of hickory trees in this country. It would require a man who could scent old money and one with a snout like a hog to root up the scent," Clermont would soliquize when he became discouraged. "I'll burst the old tobacco box, throw out the mummied rats, and John Odom will never be the wiser," he said to himself with determination. With an old rusty knife, he pried open the rusty lid, and it flew away out on the floor. "A ha!" he shouted, "more mummied mice with a history of their pedigrees." On the top, he removed! a piece of paper, across which was written: "The Key." "That thing is surely written in Odom's hand-writing, too!" ejaculated Jean Clermont, as he took it from its hiding place where it had been unseen for a century. This exposed a boxful of hickory nuts. "Now if Charles Ermine, the professor of Nutology, were here," thought Clermont. He knew that Ermine could have solved the riddle of the nuts at least. When he had removed them from the box there were fifteen, looking pretty fresh to have been stored away for more than a century. Jean Clermont, made an effort to obtain the address of Charles Ermine, to help him solve the riddle, but his efforts only resulted in learn- ing that Ermine had several years before joined the rocky elements, and this made him sad. Clermont finally gave up the "Will" and went about his daily work. The winter passed away, spring came on, summer was soon rolled off the reel of time, and in the meantime he never once went again to read his "Will," or to examine the box of hickory nuts, which had been branded by Odom, as the "Key." He had not forgotten that week's lecture on "Nuts," by his old teacher, whom he had so often criticized. From him he had learned to identify a variety of nuts, and there were more than two dozen of them growing in his immediate vicinity'. Sometimes, when he gr,ew reminiscent, and thinking what connection the will might have to the nuts, he grew remorseful when he thought of his unjust criticisms of Charles Ermine. Autumn came on. It was a rainy day in October, and Jean Clermont, turned his attention to searching. This time it was in the woods, and for anything that might appease a questful mind even though momentary. Jean Clermont, was now really becoming interested in the plants and trees of his country. He gathered many specimens,. It was on the rainy day in October, while he was gathering some moss. He carried a strong cane knife and as he reached down to remove the moss, he dug up two hickory nuts closely embedded in the soil which the cows and hogs had trodden on. He threw them out, and in doing so, he was reminded of the old tin box at home that contained the nuts. Jean Clermont struck a bee-line for home and on arriving there he removed the old nuts from the tin box. One matched the two he had just found. "A great idea of John Odom's" he said, and with box in hand he was off to the woods.

9 52 IMPROVEMENT ERA The game was becoming intensely interesting and on arriving underneath the tree, he said, "This certainly must mark tree number one," and he burst the old nut in the tin box, and to his amazement, found written in the same handwriting as the "Will" and the "Key," this couplet: "I mark the start of a hidden trail. Go straight ahead and you cannot fail." For the first time in his life, Jean Clermont wished that Charles Ermine, his old teacher was with him. That love for nature, which had been lying dormant in him, was now being awakened in earnest. Was it com- mercialism that inspired him? It was a mystery being solved and a gratify- ing of a searching desire on a rainy day. Clermont began to wander with a serious mind. And he soon came to another hickory tree, and shouted joyfully to himself when he matched its product with number two in the old tin box. Pounding the old nut open with his closed fist, out popped this couplet : "Who travels onward moves not in vain. Through heat or cold or a winter's rain." As Jean Clermont sat there under the tree, the noise of breaking limbs declared that some large, wild beast was approaching. He threw down his box, and armed himself with a heavy rock in each hand. As the noise came nearer he was pleasantly surprised to come face to face with a friendly Jersey cow at whose heels trotted a good sized calf. At first sight of Jean, the cow stopped still, and the calf came around, took hold of a teat and after giving two hunches, began to nurse. The old cow was con- siderate enough to permit her child to take its meal and Jean watching the performance, which had heretofore been a common sight to him, began to wonder why the old cow's udder, should be located near the hind legs, when those of the elephant were found near the front legs. In this in- teresting study, it became clear to him that the milk bag of every creature is located near its greatest protection. The cow can best defend her young against foes by kicks from the hind legs, and it is convenient to reach with her horns. The elephant's snout can best protect the baby elephant near the front legs, hence the milk supply is located here. When the calf had finished its dinner, the cow passed on and Jean resumed his search. As before, he was at sea, without a rudder, but with a compass. He was unravelling what at first appeared a mystery to him, yet a beautiful plan. But that searching of the forest! Time to him was now too precious to lose, — he wanted to get to the gift of the will, in the shortest time, knowing full well, too, that there was but one way. After a half hour's searching in the forest, and after testing a least a dozen trees, he at last ran on to a tree with nuts compared to number three, and breaking he specimen in the box, the following couplet met his eyes: "Do not tarry long beneath my bough, For the gift ahead awaits you now." "Pretty good advice," thought Clermont, and he lost not a moment. After jumping ravines, clambering over fallen trees and searching through the dense forest, his attention was attracted by the running of a squirrel up a tree. "That must be a nut tree," he thought to himself, and he hurried away. The squirrel dropped something, and Clermont made a race for it. "That's the fourth tree," and he sat down to rest. It did not look exactly like number four, but bore some resemblance. It was the only one to be found and the squirrel had pointed it out to him. "Odom," said Clermont to himself, "was a poet, and philosopher.

THE GIFT OF THE WILL 953 as well as a philanthropist, provided anyone ever discovers his gift." The contents of number four bore this testimony: "My boughs are as green as ever grow, Waving at the hidden trail below." "This is satisfactory," thought he, "but I'll be transformed into j ferret before I arrive at the last tree. Perhaps the other animals of the forest will then accept me as their brother." Jean Clermont had turned ferret, for rainy days had agitated his searching senses. He tramped on through thicket after thicket, and jumping a babbling brook, in a small drift was gathered broken limbs, leaves and two nuts were lodged. Clermont removed the hulls, and they looked like nut number five. Searching for the tree had to be done, although he had found the nuts. Up and up the stream he wended for over a quarter of a mile, when he ran on the tree from whence had floated the two nuts. "My benefactor — I wonder what he will have to say about this giant of the forest:" "When 'neath my branches do not delay, To the gold'n goal, — I'm one third the way." "Aha, Odom had foresight. He could see ahead several hundred years, when some one should be ready to turn back, and abandon the chase, for gold buried more than a century, and he'd better cheer him up." The water from the dripping trees had drenched Clermont, but he said, "People born to delve into the past, and ramble the forest, deserve it. It belongs to that sort of living. I am contented." A steep hill loomed into view, Jean was tired, wet, hungry and was tempted to turn back. Arriving at the base of the hill, it looked straight up to him, and he could not repress a feeling that John Odom had been a relentless man. "I have felt that John Odom was a saintly man, a philantropist and philosopher. Will this hill prove him a tyrant?" As he thus soliloquized his despair gave way to exultant joy, when he noticed a prospective looking tree in front, but its product would not match his sixth specimen. Hopeful Jean moved around in a semicircle, but found no nut tree within the area he searched. His attention was at- tracted to a mound of earth some fifteen feet high and about one hundred feet in diameter at the base. On this old mound was growing a beech, oak, and one hickory tree that grew out of the top. Jean had made a discovery. He had read of the Mound Builders, but not until this moment did he know any of these old relics had been left in his vicinity. For the moment his thoughts of the hidden trail left him, and he began planning to dig into this mound and see for himself what it contained. An old Cherokee Indian had told his father that they found these old mounds when they first came to this country, and not only did the Indians not build them, but they knew nothing concerning their origin or history. The Indian acknowledged that their various tribes had utilized these mounds, for watch towers and various other purposes. Being anxious to revisit this heap of earth, Jean sat down on the top and drew a map of it, and the direction it lay from his home that he might find no difficulty in returning to it later. As he folded the paper his attention was attracted by a nut whch he had stepped on that lay buried in the earth. This nut com- pared favorably to one he found in his tin box and the shell in being pulled apart, contained this: "I'm a tall and stately tree you see, But the gift of the Will's far from me." Tired physically, Jean was tempted to mark the sixth tree, go back

954 IMPROVEMENT ERA home, and then when his courage and strength returned, to resume his search. He sat down, and thought about the lectures of Charles Ermine, and then lifted himself up leisurely, and said, "I am not entitled to this gift. If Ermine was alive, he should share it with me." When he realized what he was doing, he1 had left the old mound and was walking down the farther bank of the Chickamauga Creek. He wondered how he had gotten across. He had no recollection of what had taken place since he was sitting down under the sixth tree. There was a cleared field thaC lay between him and the forest on the west bank of the Chickamauga, which he had to cross before reaching more trees. This field contained about eight acres and had been ploughed, prepar- atory to sowing to winter wheat. The soil was deep black in color, flecked with white specks, and Jean began to pick them up. They were nothing more than small broken pieces of mussel shells which the Indians had collected in years gone by for* use in the manufacture of pottery. But nor all were broken shells, for broken pieces of Indian vessels were numerous, and Jean picked up a peck of these, which he left piled upon the ground near the edge of the field. There were also numerous pieces of human bones. ■ One piece of pottery picked up had the raised figure of a hawk, which was the identification mark of the Indian family to whom it once belonged. Among the many small pieces of bones that flecked this dark complected field, were a few pieces of the jawbones of a small animal, with rather sharp teeth, and the animal belonged, from all evidences, to the canine family. After examining these closely, Jean decided they must be from the skeleton of the small dogs that the Cherokee Indians once bred for food. These little edible dogs could not bark, and it was this kind of meat that the Cherokee Indians gave to the Spanish explorer, De Soto and his men for food in the year 1540, whe"n they were exploring this wild country. As Jean walked over the field, his attention was attracted by a sudden changing of the dark loose soil to ashes. Drawing the old cane knife from his waist, he thrust it into the ground, and it Struck something that crushed like gravel. By the help of the old cane knife, he was able to remove the loose soil for a depth of two feet, which disclosed a layer of burnt clay, two inches thick. Piece by piece Jean removed the old burnt clay, and as the black dirt beneath was removed, something round of dark brown color was exposed. Jean pulled it out — it was a human skull! Digging deeper, he found more than fifty beads, which lay around the neck of the skull, and a large shell medal beautifully decorated in Indian fashion, was lying close by. Jean continued to remove the loose earth, and soon came on to a stone pipe, a much decayed deer's horn, and an earthen bowl. There was not mystery about the discovery now, for Jean Clermont knew that he was removing the treasures of some Indian chief, which his comrades had buried with him. He continued to remove the soil, which disclosed the decayed skeleton of an Indian who had been burned in a sitting posture, with his treasures in his lap. The layer of clay had been burnt around his body. Jean replaced the bones and covered them, carefully, but kept the relics, which he prized highly. As Jean walked away he was met by a man who had lately been working in the field. "Sir," addressed Jean, "I may have been trespassing, but I just could not keep from taking along with me these things I have found." The man laughingly said, "Ah, those things are common in this field — we have been tending it for more than forty years, and we have found bushels of such relics in this field." Jean was happy again and moved on to the forest to the other side of the old Indian field. Rambling over at the base of the west side of the hill, he discovered tree number seven, and unfolding the old nut under this tree, read:

THE GIFT OF THE WILL 955 ' At the 'hidden trail' I ofttimes wink, — Without me there'd be a missing link." "John Odom passed this way and here I am retracing his footsteps pre- ceding me for more than a hundred years. A hundred years from now, who will be retracing my footsteps? Will there be one person in the world a hundred years from now, who will know of Jean Clermont? I should like to leave something to be remembered by as Odom has done." Clermont wiped his brow. Hungry, clothes torn, hair disheveled, and shoes snagged, he felt that he was an unfit visitor even among the inhabitants of the forest. But he pressed on. Under a spreading beech which bore no evidence that man had ever been beneath its boughs, a few scratches at- tracted his attention. "A good place to blow awhile," Jean thought to himself. Leaning leisurely against the tree, he traced out the name of "John Odom," which had been carved by him more than a hundred years ago, and he was glad that he was still on Odom's trail.. That the beech tree was such a faithful messenger, and that the bark of the trees could battle with the natural elements and come out victor, was not only marvelous to Jean, but to him the beech was thereafter a living hero.^ Jean was redirecting his thoughts to the object of his venture when he was startled by the noise of smacking lips on the opposite side of the trunk of the beech. He peeped around, and smiled as he saw a billy goat munching the buds of a small shrub. The goat had strolled away from a small herd that was foraging two hundred yards up the hill. To have some fun, Jean slipped around the tree, clapped his hands and screamed loudly. At the sudden exclamation, the goat fell prostrate upon the ground as if dead. Jean trembled lest he had frightened the poor animal to death. Poor Jean rubbed the face of the frightened goat as he would have a fainting person. In two minutes the goat began to revive. It soon raised its body up, and as it walked away, Jean observed that the goat's limbs seemed to be stiff. Jean Clermont carried the report of this experience home and it was the birth of the knowledge in the United States of the fainting goat found only in eastern Tennessee. Clermont waded brooks, and in searching far and near, was pleasantly surprised to find the next nut tree in sight of the seventh. He had become so accustomed to searching for an eighth to one half a mile away each time that he formed this habit, and lost some time by it. Kneeling upon the ground after opening this nut, he read: "At last the prize is nearly won, 'Tis yours before the day is done." And then Clermont thought that Odom must have guessed that the finder of his will after reaching this tree, would possess such tenacity and courage that he would never give up until he had won. The ninth tree was soon discovred in sight of the eighth, and he read from the burst nut: "The 'hidden' trail I always shade, — The straightest trail John Odom made." Clermont was making such progress now that he thought he could soon locate each and every one of the fifteen trees comprising "The Key, and that the fifteenth tree was a matter of a few minutes searching. He had led himself into the belief that the remainder of the trees would be located in. sight of each other as he had found the last one. He soon ran onto the tenth tree, and read this couplet: "Two-thirds of the way is now past o'er. Who follows the trail, must hunt the more." Here certainty gave way to doubt. Jean Clermont feared the re-

956 IMPROVEMENT ERA maining third of the way. On a small hilltop though, he found the eleventh tree, and the little slip of paper removed from the nut bore this confession : "I mark a link in the 'hidden trail,' That follows the hill, the slope, the dale." Jean was relieved. "That last sentence is as good as a physician's prescription to me," he said to himself and he was off to the slope for a quarter of a mile, and here he easily and quickly located the twelfth tree. The supply of nuts in the old tin box was dwindling. In fact they rolled and tumbled over each other as he jumped ravines and fallen trees. But Jean Clermont had long forgotten mummied rats, and had become attached to something with a promise of a recompensing nature. From the piece of paper enclosed in the twelfth nut, Jean read in a whisper: "John Odom passed beneath my shade. With coin as bright as ever made." Jean sat down, and taking out a piece of white paper, began to estimate his worth. He calculated* from the time that he found the "Will" in the old trunk a few months previous, on the basis of Ten Thousand Dollars, and came to the conclusion that he had progressed rapidly in the financial world. And then he made his allotment for various purposes, and the manner in which he was to use his gift. He passed into a deep reverie while sitting under this trees, and as he raised from the ground, he reached down for his coin, but was rudely awakened to find that he had been dream- ing. He rambled through the woods mechanically, his mind not on what he was doing, but on what would be the best way to spend the gift of the Will. Jean Clermont pressed forward and after finding the next tree, and nuts compared, the old nut cracked open had for a century sheltered the following lines: "The thirteenth here is a lucky find, — Great are the troubles you've left behind." Jean Clermont had always shunned the thirteenth in everything. On the thirteenth of the month, throughout his early school days he found his lessons too hard to prepare. His father had died on the thirteenth, but greater fate which had befallen him heretofore he considered, was that when Charles Ermine, the old country pedagogue, had delivered his famous lecture on nuts, on the thirteenth of the month. And then it occurred to him that it was the thirteenth of October, when he was making this search for the various nut trees, marking Odom's "hidden trail." In sight of the thirteenth tree, he found the fourteenth and this forever swept from his mind the cloud of superstition of the unlucky thir- teen, which had been master of Clermont since childhood. In the old hickory nut, Clermont found a couplet, which read: "Long I've looked down on the 'hidden trail,' In sunshine, in storm and winter's gale." Six hours had been consumed in locating the fourteen trees and as Clermont looked down into the old tin box, he was happy to see only one nut remaining. Forgetting the previous couplets, and their directions he began to worry over the probability of having lost some of the original fifteen nuts. Jean Clermont had failed to think that he had passed the fifth and tenth tree which marked and counted his way for him. And then he thought of the fifteenth, and wondered if some wild beast with its snout had turned the hidden coin out to the weather. Jean was now doubtful of the prize, but his doubts did not delay his pressing forward, and as he

THE GIFT OF THE WILL 957 tramped through forest for half a mile without finding a single nut tree, he was sick at heart. A swollen stream then came into view. On the other side was a large hickory tree and he said, "Blame the luck. But I'll sit here until this stream dries up. I am here and cannot be removed." Jean Clermont believed that the tree that was in plain view on the other side was his last objective, and that at its base was concealed his reward. Walking up the stream he ventured to cross on a drift, and the thing gave way, wetting him to the waist. There was a splatter, and he looked arund only to see the little black tin box floating down the muddy stream carrying with it the last and only nut, yet the most valuable one of them all. With that nut he was to identify the tree which held his prize. Already soaked, he leaped across and ran madly down the middle of the stream, overtook the black box, but it was floating in the middle of the stream, and then it sank, and that was all. Clermont wept. A strong heart had become ad weak as a child's. He had mentally lived in wealth, but realized now that poverty still claimed him as her child. There were dozens of nut trees scattered throughout the woods, and Cler- mont knew that without the last nut of "The Key" his treasure was lost. He walked do^'n the stream in search for a place to get back across. Another drift, and instantly his eyes spied a lodged nut. He grabbed it up. It was old and wet. He examined it and rosin was oozing from the crevice., "Ah, this is it," he shouted, and he walked back to the other side. Searching a dozen or more trees he found one matching evenly the old wet nut, and he burst the shell. Jean had become attached to John Odom's verse and really did feel a bit sorrowful that this was probably the last he would find. The paper unfolded, it was found to be longer than any of the other slips. It contained the following message: "I mark the end of the 'hidden trail,' Where the joy of man did once prevail; Long, long, I've desired some one to join Me in safe-guarding the golden coin; And while I have watched and man has slept, This is the secret that I have kept: He who works for wealth and wealth alone, Within his breast builds a heart of stone; Gall is the goal of the 'hidden trail' And he runs aground with ragged sail. Unless he gives to the worthy poor, Full half of the treasure found in store; One step to the east close at my base; Behold lieth there the golden vase!" Jean Clermont's tears had now dried away. He looked around to ascertain if he was being watched. In that deep stillness of the forest, miles •from any living soul, Jean imagined that he was under surveillance. He measured off one step and drawing the strong cane knife from his waist, began to delve into the earth. He had been delving into the past, but was now delving into the present. It was once past, but was now a living moment. Excavating a large, hole he found nothing. There were no evidences that the gift of the Will was here. Jean madly kicked the pile of dirt back into the hole. That he had ventured on as wild an undertaking as the rainbow chaser were the thoughts that ran through his brain. He recollected his sense. The tree was examined for its mossy side. This gave him the direction of north and he then found east. A thrust of the long blade into the soil brought forth a creaking sound. Removing the dirt a rusty pot was exposed, which had defied the elements for over a century. The old pot smiled in his face. On the top underneath the lid was a strip of paper,

958 IMPROVEMENT ERA which was written in the same handwriting as the "Will" and the "Key." This last document bore this statement: "He who wills away his paltry cents, Gives away a paltry naught; He who seeks gets greater recompense, In a pure developed thought." Jean Clermont swung the rust-eaten pot down by his side and walked away. As he drew out of sight, he looked back at the empty hole in the ground and then glancing at his treasure, said, "Buried by John Odom, but given to me by Charles Ermine." , But Jean Clermont had not trudged far from the last hickory tree before the warning message of the last nut ran through his mind — "Gall is the gift of the hidden trail." Six months afterwards news was published abroad that Helvellyn had received a $5,000 gift for a library which had been rechristened the "Charles Ermine Nature Library." Chattanooga, Term. The Rockies In serried rank and stature grand. With snow-capped crests, eternal stand Those contours formed by God's own hand, The Rockies. With heads upreared in giant might, The noblest realm of eagles' flight, Their summits bathed in crystal light, The Rockies. And pine-dad slope and rocky steep. Jutting cliff and abyss deep, And mossy cleft where waters leap, The Rockies. * Tangled woods and winding trails, Sun-bathed hills and gentle swales, And lowing herds and grassy dales, The Rockies. Windswept waste and rounded knoll, Eagles »est on granite pole, Cymbals clash and thunders roll, The Rockies. Oh! sandstone crags and azure blue! And primrose bathed in morning dew, My heartbeats blending through and through The Rockies. Salt Lake City. MILLARD F. MALIN.