■r 
 
 b 
 
( 
 
 Class __Zr/i^ 
 Book. 1^2 
 
 GoppglitK?_. 
 
 COPYRIGHT DEPOSER 
 

A CALIFORNIAN 
 
 THROUGH 
 
 Connecticut and the Berkshires 
 
 BY 
 R. W. OSBORN 
 
 COPYRIGHT 1916 
 BY R. W. OSBORN 
 
h /do 
 
 To 
 
 a good host 
 C F. OSBORN 
 
 of 
 
 New Haven, Conn. 
 
 this volume is dedicated 
 by the author 
 
 JAN -5 1917 
 
 Ci.A453528 
 
FORE-WORD 
 
 It has been said that a Californian is so satiated with scen- 
 ery, climate, color and atmosphere that he cannot appreciate the 
 beauty of other places. 
 
 This is unfair to us Californians, it is untrue. The follow- 
 ing pages will prove how untrue it is, for the author is not alone 
 with a sense of beauty in other parts of our country, wherever 
 that beauty may reveal itself. We have our venerated tradi- 
 tions, but we do not feast on them. We have a carnival of color 
 and awe-inspiring scenery, but he who truly loves these things, 
 loves them where'er they are found. That part of the country 
 described in this volume conquered the v^riter and he does 
 not hesitate to say so. 
 
 R. W. O. 
 
 Berkeley, November, 1916. 
 
- 
 
[HIS is designed as a simple narrative, so simple in 
 fact, that the author makes no pretense as to any 
 value to be attached to it, other than the one of 
 satisfaction that it gives in its recital. The trip 
 consumed five days, starting from New Haven, Connecticut, 
 to the Berkshires in Massachusetts and return to New Haven 
 thence to New York. 
 
 While there were many good souls that figured in the 
 events of the week, yet for obvious reasons we shall confine 
 the characters to four: Partner, Bill, Ernest and Rufus, to say 
 nothing of the "Brown Sea-going Jitney" which was the car. 
 
 Why expatiate upon the characters of these four. Let 
 the recital delineate them. 
 
 Rufus was probably the most uncommunicative, the most 
 taciturn of all acquaintances made on the trip. There was a 
 naughty little twinkle in his eyes of ashen gray. He would 
 nod his approval of certain suggestions, smile most appeal- 
 ingly and there was something about him that inspired com- 
 panionship. He did not, as we recall, say very much on any 
 subject. Like Ernest he was a good listener. 
 
 How true it is that the deepest attachments are sometimes 
 made eternal not so much by what is said as by what is radiated. 
 Bill knows this, knows it to be a psychological fact, for more 
 than once on the trip did he seem lost, oblivious of all the 
 passing show, the eternal beauty of the scene around him. 
 
 Says Pard, "Bill, what are you thinking about, home eh?" 
 And in a quiet, yet impelling, response he answered "Home." 
 For it was far away in that beautiful city of Berkeley which 
 nestles the hillside, where are those whom he loves ; and there 
 was one there whose propinquity to Bill was the inspiration 
 for the good that was his. He often said that silent communion 
 with her was v/orth more in the contentment and happiness of 
 life than could be found in the richness of converse with a 
 Madame de Stael. 
 
 But then each has some one to conserve that spiritual 
 link between two likely souls. With Bill it was his wife and 
 children, who formed a chain forged not by the mythical hand 
 of a Vulcan, but by an inscrutable Providence. 
 
 "Look Bill," Partner was forever disturbing the continuity 
 of such thoughts by calling attention to some noted place of 
 beauty, "that is Bligame Cottage. Say! if that's a 'cottage' 
 what would you call a mansion?" 
 
Sure enough what would you? There in stately grandeur 
 stood a mansion surmounting a knoll overlooking a vast 
 estate, with its rich carpet of green that stretched before the 
 home, like a Persian rug with a field of single tone and bor- 
 dered by a rich design such as the Kirman or the Shiraz. 
 
 This home, magnificent as a picture, was none the less like 
 a beautiful woman, richly gowned and jeweled, whose beauty, 
 however, was according to the conventional lines of art, but 
 without a spiritual mark to denote a soul. A Niobe in tears. 
 
 There are many, many of these beautiful homes which 
 dazzle the eye, but appeal to the mind as of purposeless exist- 
 ence. 
 
 "Hard on to port" or something like it, "but steer the 
 craft to the regular channel." 
 
 "Quite true, to the channel" says Bill, and so we proceed 
 with our story and omit these excursions into the Gulf of 
 Speculation. 
 
 Our first night in New Haven was by no means a Baccha- 
 nalian bout nor was it a Chautauqua meeting, but as truth pays 
 homage to the gods, it must be recorded that the evening was 
 a round of pleasure among congenial and fitting souls, and 
 you will find them in New Haven. Partner is a good enter- 
 tainer, he seems to know how to search the very heart for its 
 yearnings, although not infrequently throughout the evening 
 he would sit like a king without a crown, his sceptre being a 
 smile. He would listen complacently to Bill's recital of the 
 beauties of California and was always playfully tolerant of 
 human short-comings when it came to politics. Partner was 
 a Wilsonian Democrat while Bill — might have been a "green- 
 backer" because, as he often said, he favored lots of money. 
 
 But to the evening! 
 
 Bill had been recounting how once upon a time when he 
 and his wife had closed their home for a few months and left 
 word with neighbors that if at any time a light should be 
 seen within the house to ring for the police, that something 
 would be wrong; and how inadvertently upon returning, the 
 lights were turned on, and having failed to give the neighbors 
 warning, the unexpected happened. Of course, it was a good 
 story, but, bless your soul, you cannot outwit the East ; and is it 
 not strange that human nature is pretty much the same whether 
 in New Haven or in San Francisco? But truth outrides fic- 
 tion and the Major remarked (and by the way we will des- 
 
ignate him "the Major" in order to contradistinguish him 
 from the other guests, and again parenthetically, the Major 
 was one of the Police Commissioners of his town) that he 
 and his wife had done likewise but with this exception, that 
 a squad of policemen came to his home and battered the 
 front door making things pretty lively for the Major, who 
 eventually made known his identity. 
 
 "Well," as one of the sweet bits of femininity remarked: 
 "If we do not start home it will verge perilously close to 
 the 'wee sma' hours,' " and the next day was to commence 
 the trip that was to be the raison d'etre of this narrative. 
 
II. 
 
 We started from New Haven about 10 o'clock, taking 
 the road by Wallingford and Meriden to Hartford, which lat- 
 ter place was the objective point for luncheon. The road is 
 an excellent one, quite in keeping with the eastern reputa- 
 tion for good roads. To a Westerner the trip lends additional 
 interest in view of the number of "Ye Olden" homes along 
 the highway. "Erected in 1650," 1710, 1750, etc., are quite 
 ordinary observations and one can, with a little imagination, 
 picture many scenes of that period. As you approach the 
 historic city of Hartford one is impressed with the fact that the 
 city occupies the low-lands, for indeed you descend quite a 
 bit into the hollow of a bowl. But the city is beautiful and 
 interesting and if one be at all acquainted there, the conven- 
 tional New England reserve is not at all evident. A whole- 
 some Americanism pervades the place, a quiet dignity is no- 
 ticeable and the air is redolent of a good old-fashioned sin- 
 cerity. 
 
 We luncheoned at the Hueblein, where we partook of 
 more than a modest refection, but of the palatable viandry, 
 the Golden Bantam corn was the most seductive. The menu 
 consisted of clams on the half shell, some corn, dainty lamb 
 chops, some corn, a salad, then some corn. Oh, well, never 
 mind the remainder, for corn was king, and with a knightly 
 courtesy, reverence was paid to the king. Long live the 
 king! 
 
 After a few calls on friends the trip was continued by 
 taking a northwesterly course through New Hartford, Nor- 
 folk, Canaan, and then Ashley Falls to Sheffield, all a beau- 
 tiful country, with fine roads. As you approach Ashley 
 Falls the Housatonic River unfolds through its sinuous curves 
 and from there on through to Great Barrington the country 
 is simply entrancing. 
 
 Sheffield, they say, is the oldest incorporated city in the 
 Berkshires and the record reveals the fact that it v/as pur- 
 chased from an Indian named Konkpot, or something like it. 
 
 The price paid was a little gold, a few barrels of cider and 
 then some rum — probably it was the intrinsic value of the 
 latter that sealed the bargain. 
 
 Great Barrington is a pretty place with many notably 
 beautiful homes and gardens, wide streets tree-lined, and it is 
 
 8 
 
claimed but not proven that Bryant wrote there his Thana- 
 topsis, while serving as town clerk, enough to make Barring- 
 ton great. 
 
 But Stockbridge is more impressive to the traveler; de- 
 void of business aspect, it invites a feeling of refined ex- 
 clusion, not, however, in any opprobrious sense. There you 
 will find many excellent examples of rich colonial architecture 
 with no prearranged or set system in laying out the village. 
 It is probably this unconventional irregularity that is so im- 
 pressive. The highway, for it is most unpoetic to style it a 
 street, is artistic in contour and suggestive of very old age, 
 an aspect that does so much to lend enchantment to parts of 
 New England. The church sits serenely midst a clump of 
 stately elms which forms the groined arch for the richly car- 
 peted aisle of green lawn. Then the eye is detained for a mo- 
 ment to feast upon the pure colonialism of the Jonathan Ed- 
 v^ards house, again to become riveted to the beautiful Sar- 
 geant Memorial Tower more like a campanile, with a rich 
 clinging vine to lend a poetic beauty to its chaste architec- 
 ture. The clock in the roof dormer suggests — 
 
 "Son, observe the time and fly from evil." 
 although it would seem impossible for evil thoughts to con- 
 gregate around the village. 
 
 The town sits close to the river which lends additional 
 charm to the scene, but after all it is the refinement, the cul- 
 tivated atmosphere and the charming sense of laissez-faire 
 that holds in rapture the truant tourist. 
 
 Before reaching Stockbridge, however, the eye observes 
 Monument Mountain replete with legendary lore and made 
 more famous by Bryant — 
 
 "There is a precipice 
 That seems a fragment of some mighty wall 
 Built by the hand that fashioned the old world." 
 
 The stone cairn erected by the Indians was the object of 
 religious ceremonials of the tribes of long ago and pilgrim- 
 age to this shrine is continued by the redmen. 
 
 It was here, so the legend runs, that an Indian maid, 
 who loved most passionately a cousin of the blood, died lest 
 the incestuous love should bring her shame. 
 
 From Stockbridge the traveler can tour the scenic road 
 known as Jacob's Ladder or keep on north to Lenox, which 
 latter we did. 
 
 9 
 
If you can picture the transition of mind upon leaving a 
 company of intellectual people and immediately entering a 
 richly appointed room graced by women of gorgeous rai- 
 ment, be-jewelled and around them all of the attributes of 
 wealth, one can at least comprehend the difference between 
 these two places. Leave a Madame de Stael and be shown a 
 priceless statue of an inanimate Venus. 
 
 Well, as it is related, Stockbridge excites the deepest 
 feelings of the soul, Lenox appeals to the senses. 
 
 At one time in its history Lenox was the rendezvous for 
 literary people. Hawthorne lived there, wrote there; but to 
 the passerby it no longer pays tribute to the intellectual as- 
 pects of life, but rather to the refinements to which wealth 
 pays homage. 
 
 It is in the air, the very atmosphere is redolent of all the 
 uses and abuses of wealth. It is simply magnificent. Venus 
 de Milo stands there all right but there is no soul within her 
 marble form. The ivory image of Galatea 
 
 " — is beautiful indeed, but cold." 
 
 No Pygmalion to ask that it be given a soul. 
 
 Knoll after knoll is enriched by a mansion of wonderful 
 beauty overlooking the charming valley with repeating in- 
 tervales, surrounded by trees full open with their thousands 
 of leaves nodding in the breeze, the massive oaks with their 
 gnarled limbs and the undulating low hills following each 
 other like the ocean waves and covered with lawns of a green 
 of greens. The vision is now obscured by a clump of trees, 
 then an open vista and this in turn closed by the hushed se- 
 clusion of a tiny forest. It is rapture but sensual. 
 
 It is art in its fullness, but lacks the spirit which true art 
 reveals. 
 
 Leaving Lenox it was not long before we reached Pitts- 
 field for the night. Approaching the city the sun was sinking 
 in the West, but the scenes of the day were still rich in their 
 tones of warmth and it seemed cruel to leave them, for as 
 the day weds the night, in the passing we cling closer to the 
 light. We were in moods of faith and v^hen the night closed 
 all view to that which had been, it was the living expectation 
 of the morrow that fed the mind. Good night. 
 
 10 
 
III. 
 
 Calmed by a sleep of sweet repose, as tenants of a house 
 of clay, we vacated the premises and moved; had it been a 
 waking hour it would have been a beautiful reverie. 
 
 Then some doubtful dreams moved by the current of 
 waking thoughts, ceased. We had been living in a transcend- 
 ent idealism of the preceding day and it was no small disap- 
 pointment to be jarred by the clang of the bells on the street 
 cars at Pittsfield; however, to be up and doing, and doing 
 comprehended not only the cold bath but a shave as well. 
 When we knocked on Partner's door there was no response 
 and peeking in we observed there lying supinely on the rest- 
 ful couch, the author of our outing. 
 
 "Aren't you going to get up?" said Bill. 
 
 "Never fear, never fear," came the response from under 
 the covers. However, it was not long before we had break- 
 fasted and taken a fresh start toward Williamstown and the 
 Mohawk Trail. We rode through a marvelously beautiful 
 country of excellent roads, and reached North Adams about 
 10 o'clock. North Adams is essentially a commercial city, 
 a manufacturing town. Textile mills are there in plenty and 
 it was with no regret that we made a sharp turn to observe 
 the sign "Mohawk Trail." Ernest had started his machine 
 so as to carry the grade on the high and was making it well 
 although the grade is rather a steep one, when a fruit vender 
 decided at an inauspicious moment to turn his rig to the left 
 which required our chauffeur to be "Johnnie-on-the-spot." 
 Ernest made a flank movement, a slight detour and then pro- 
 ceeded up the grade, a little put out however, as he was com- 
 pelled, before reaching the summit, to go into the interme- 
 diate. This trail is the original one laid out by the Indians 
 long before that part of Massachusetts had a reputation. En- 
 gineers cut a shelf in the side of the hills so as to get an un- 
 obstructed view practically throughout the drive. Once in 
 a v/hile there was a sharp turn or a generous curve, but 
 usually long stretches of fairly straight road and, as Partner 
 says, "some road." There is an ever changing panorama and 
 yet a complete harmony in the scene, like impressions that 
 cluster about one reacting upon one another until the mind 
 contains one harmonious thought. The Berkshires unlike 
 our western scenery are thoroughly co-related, there are no 
 
 11 
 
defiant breaches in their continuity, not unlike a poem that 
 tells you its story simply, beautifully and poetically without 
 making any excursions into the unusual or departing in any 
 sense from its text. 
 
 As we were speeding around a curve in the road we 
 noticed many motor cars ahead, from which the passengers 
 had alighted to view the enchanting scene from the point 
 called "Hairpin Curve." 
 
 A beautiful sight! 
 
 "Hello, Ben!" said Partner, and this salutation was ad- 
 dressed to a young fellow of about fifteen summers, who be- 
 tween school periods and home, made his fortune by selling 
 postcards and banners to the tourists. 
 
 Ben says that his business nets him an average of 
 thirty dollars a week; one week in summer his receipts 
 reached seventy-two dollars. Some business for a kid of 
 fifteen, eh? 
 
 "Do you go to school, Ben?" ventured Bill 
 
 "Sure, and in vacation and after school I sell the cards." 
 
 Of course, we bought some. That is Partner did, for he 
 had a way of impressing his guests with the fact that he is 
 the host and "some host, believe me," says Bill. 
 
 Well, it is recorded the cards were purchased, and Bill 
 started a little conversation. 
 
 "To whom do you sell the most," and quickly Ben's ex- 
 pressive eyes scintillated. 
 
 "Oh, gee, I am a wise guy and only offer once to the big 
 cars," then, "you see, mister, the big and expensive cars usu- 
 ally have some old, rich guy who is covered all over with 
 robes, and in charge of a lady nurse. They are crotchety and 
 have a grouch so I give them the go-by." 
 
 "Well," questioned Bill, "who, then, are your best cus- 
 tomers?" 
 
 "Oh, the cheap cars, mostly Fords, are my best custom- 
 ers, excepting my friend here (pointing to Partner), who is 
 a mighty good customer. Gee, he must give lots of cards 
 away." Then after a pause he continued, "I'd know that car 
 anywhere, it's a beauty all right." 
 
 Ben not only knew a good car but had a keen sense of 
 beauty. 
 
 Now there is some psychology in Ben's observation about 
 people, for how true it is that very often with tourists motor 
 
 12 
 
driven, one will encounter the millionaire broken in health, 
 taking a ride with a nurse and maybe some of the family as 
 a precaution against what the French say is "the unexpected." 
 Two interesting studies, psychological and socialogical. 
 
 But the Hairpin Curve! 
 
 The Berkshire hills are not noted for their grandeur, it 
 would not be the proper word to use in a descriptive sense. 
 They are beautiful almost beyond compare. They incite the 
 poetic instinct rather than awe and for that reason the euph- 
 onious name "Mohawk Trail" should never have been dese- 
 crated by introducing so unpoetic a name as Hairpin Curve 
 to any part of it. True, that would probably suggest itself 
 to the mind of the engineer who, by the way, had to work 
 out some mathematical problems in making that bend, but 
 should this not be termed Inspiration Point? for that is just 
 what it is. You drive along a beautiful road lined with elms, 
 oaks, birches and other trees too numerous to mention, to 
 say nothing of the clinging shrubs, the ivy, sumac, golden 
 rod and the aster, when all at once you come to this 
 curve and a scene of beauty lies before you. From that point 
 you look into the States of Vermont, Connecticut and New 
 York, and observe numerous villages quietly browsing in the 
 lawns of nature. The undulating hills give a quaint and pic- 
 turesque touch in their rational continuity not infrequently 
 contrasted and in the later fall must present a picture of in- 
 describable beauty. We were there e'er Jack Frost had 
 pinched the cheek of the stately elm or the maple, but he had 
 none the less stealthily crept along the ground and in his 
 merciless delight brought the first blush to the poison ivy 
 and the sumac. Proceeding as far as Charlemont we then 
 retraced our steps to North Adams thence to Williamstown. 
 
 As related, the impression indescribably fixed upon our 
 minds at Stockbridge reached its superlative degree at the 
 quaint old college town. It beggars description. Apart from 
 its scholastic atmosphere and its tutored refinement, there is 
 a culture that one inevitably feels and not only is this in the 
 air, not only evidenced in its stately and beautiful buildings 
 but even the tourists seem impressed with it and the wait- 
 ers in the hotel were marked by it. You cannot enter 
 Williamstown without departing with a feeling better for 
 having been there, and whether in man or place such a trait 
 is an invaluable asset and a beautiful heritage. 
 
 13 
 
It is another story to expatiate upon the age of the col- 
 lege, its quaint history, how a legacy was left with which it 
 was endowed, that Garfield was a student there and his son 
 now its president — all that is apart from the picture unfolded 
 to the visitor. It is one continuous lawn and one almost for- 
 gets that it is broken here and there by streets. It is the most 
 beautiful college campus that Bill had seen. 
 
 As we alighted before the main entrance to the Greylock 
 Hotel Partner was heard to remark: 
 
 "Bill, I don't know how you feel, but my pantry is. 
 empty," and we proceeded to the dining-room to replenish our 
 larders. As is previously related, the maids and waiters, 
 were an uncommon lot of delightful femininity, much prettier 
 and better mannered than some of the guests, for we saw one 
 woman and her daughters who stood out in striking contrast 
 with the culture and refinement of the place, but as we were 
 
 informed they were from and quite wealthy. But to our 
 
 muttons ! 
 
 After passing about two and a half hours at Williamstown 
 we proceeded on our journey toward Pawnal and Bennington,^ 
 by the White Oaks Road over which the Berkshire warriors 
 marched to fight the British at Bennington, both old-fashioned 
 Vermont towns, the latter, as the reader well knows, is quite 
 historic and with a real revolutionary flavor. 
 
 Well, it is about time to consider our return to the fas- 
 cinating college town, thence on to Pittsfield. 
 
 At this juncture we crossed the State line between Mas- 
 sachusetts and Vermont. It is claimed that an error was 
 made in the survey of this line and through which error Wil- 
 liams College was placed in Massachusetts instead of Ver- 
 mont. Stupid of the surveyor but how fortunate for Massa- 
 chusetts, potentially illustrating the law of compensation. 
 
 The luncheon at the Greylock was excellent and the trav- 
 elers having partaken sumptuously, Bill was inclined to be 
 drowsy, in fact two or three times Partner noticed that Bill 
 was in the Land of Nod. 
 
 It was not at all uncommon to pass place after place that 
 Partner would designate as a battleground or the scene of 
 some Indian massacre or where interesting legendary scenes 
 were enacted. 
 
 We drove on and on passing spots of matchless beauty, 
 here a hill of wondrous color and there a secluded tarn, while 
 
 14 
 
further on stood the noble features of old Greylock. The ear 
 would catch the music of the gentle runnel, the eye arrested 
 by the enchantment of a fugitive bunch of autumnal color, the 
 nose scenting the ambrosia of the gods. Who could view it 
 all without a feeling of sanctity and when thought wings it- 
 self to a Parnassian height and then takes on additional 
 lustre — is it surprising that Bill was quiet? Not pensive, but 
 entranced. Then we came to a knoll overlooking a hollow 
 green beautifully affected by the lowering tones of the sun- 
 set. A hollow, shall we call it, the hollow of God's hand? 
 For such it was; or as the Spanish would style it, La Palma 
 de la Mano de Dios. What means it all, whence, whither? 
 
 Partner requested Ernest to stop the machine for a mo- 
 ment that we might linger a little with the scene so entranc- 
 ingly set before us and then — 
 
 As if silently springing from the rock-ribbed side of the 
 lonely trail, the stately form of an Indian appeared. Clad in 
 the meager skins that draped the forms of the tribes of that 
 period, he was followed by another, erect and bronzed and 
 then a third with face lined and marked as if by the storms of 
 life. These three moved silently across the trail, entered the 
 thicket on the opposite side and disappeared. 
 
 Then came a maiden, richly clad in skins and beads, a 
 wealth of hair hanging in braids. Her eyes were as black as 
 the night in a starless winter month, and by her side a buck 
 of some ten summers, stood intently. 
 
 They rested in the trail while she crooned an Indian love 
 song, the motif of which seemed to change suddenly into that 
 of the dirge carrying its weird and doleful notes through the 
 hills, and then returning joined the winnowing of the leaves 
 in a sweet cadence until only its memory lingered. 
 
 At its conclusion she paused, looked into the receptive 
 eyes of the lad and commenced to speak. She told him of the 
 long, long night, how the Great Spirit threw a ball of fire into 
 the sky and then the light of day came forth. She told him 
 that the country was flat, that there were no trees to gladden 
 the eye, no rivers to quench the thirst or moisten the hard 
 ground, no animals or fish for food. 
 
 One day a vulturous tribe, unbidden and merciless, like 
 the fiendish rush of the storm, descended from the clouds, 
 sprang upon their prey and killed the tribe, all save one lonely 
 maiden whom they did not see and who escaped in the dark- 
 
 15 
 
ness. She lay motionless on the blood-soaked ground where, 
 numbed by the pall of death, this poor infinite soul was 
 chastened by the sight of those shrouds of clay, and after 
 their malefic mission was at an end, she arose and lifting her 
 arms to the Great Spirit, pleaded to Him to protect her. 
 
 Her lamentations were loud and the Great Spirit heard. 
 
 She asked Him to rear around her great walls or hills to 
 serve as a mighty fortress, and within which she could be 
 safe. She prayed that between these hills might flow the 
 gentle streams to nourish the land, and to carpet the hillside 
 and glades with a beautiful verdure. As she closed her in- 
 vocation the Great Spirit answered. 
 
 The ground began gently to move and swell, at first but 
 little hills appeared as though the earth hadj pressed its 
 shoulders forth ; but gradually they pushed their granite forms 
 toward the sky and mountains were formed. These were 
 her battlements, the aegis of her protection. Then dainty 
 green petals began to break through the earth, displacing its 
 sterile crust, yielding a most beautiful carpet to ease the foot 
 and sooth the eye, and flowers and ferns nestled against the 
 floor of the valley, while tall and stately trees shot up here 
 and there and came so fast that in kind and color she could 
 not count them. 
 
 The Great Spirit felt sad for the little squaw and shed 
 tears for her suffering and these tears found their way by 
 stealth down the hillside, idly dropping at first, then gently 
 flowing onward and onward, until in myriads they sought 
 companionship with each other, singing their sweet lullabys 
 when they met and were merged into one big "peaceful 
 
 • 99 
 
 nver. 
 
 When she beheld all this, her eyes were moist and her 
 heart was full. The mountains gave her strength to defend 
 her heritage. The trees as they reared their tips to the skies, 
 led her to the Great Spirit, and beneath their leafy coats there 
 couched the forms of life that were to be her food. The hills 
 in their mantle of green, the trees tall and stately, the idly 
 flowing waters all sang in symphonic tones — she had tri- 
 umphed and her paeans rang through the glade and o'er the 
 hills and into the crags of the mountain tops, until the bril- 
 liant scene sank in the coloring of the west, leaving in its 
 wake the soft light to blend its parting kisses with the on- 
 coming night. 
 
 16 
 
And this was the legend of the hills that she recited to the 
 young warrior. In its benevolent deception she encouraged 
 the redman's soul to go forth to the mountains, the hills, the 
 trees and the "peaceful river." 
 
 And then came the rude awakening. The pale face in- 
 vaded these hills and the echo of her paean has faded into the 
 song of the thrush. But who knows if the thunder of the 
 hills be not her voice calling upon the Great Spirit for re- 
 demptive justice. Aye, who knows? 
 
 17 
 
IV. 
 
 The Hoosac (peaceful river) is a beautiful mountain 
 stream moving silently along through the gently rolling 
 hills, then stretching out in the open glade, finally forcing its 
 onward march through a cleft in the Taconic range as if to 
 divide the battlements of the warring tribes. About here, en- 
 sconced in the recesses of the hills, was a single grave, silent, 
 storyless and as if guarded 
 
 "By Nebo's lonely Mountain" — 
 
 But there {& a little storj', or legend as we shall term it, about 
 this spot, for here love and jealousy played their parts. 
 
 Bena was a lovely little Indian maiden, the daughter of 
 Wawbeek the invincible chief. She was in love with Osseo 
 a young buck of admitted courage and fine form and face, 
 Osseo loved Bena with a love that only big souls possess. 
 
 They would meet at eventide and linger till the mystery 
 of the purple tones of night passed under the cloak of Erebus. 
 One evening she came as usual and waited for her lover, but 
 he did not come, and she looked and gazed through the awful 
 reaches of an endless horizon and then, beyond to an infinite 
 solitude, but Osseo did not come. The shades of night op- 
 pressed her and in the anguish of her soul she made her way 
 back to her tepee where a peaceful sleep might still her rest- 
 less spirit until the breaking of the day. 
 
 Shada was another squaw belonging to the same tribe, a 
 vixen and the spirit of jealousy incarnate. Shada loved Osseo 
 but he did not return to her that which she gave to him. He 
 loved her not. He knew, however, that Shada loved him and 
 he aimed honorably to avoid her advances. 
 
 Now it seems that Kwasind, a buck of great reputation 
 as a fighter and an invincible foe, was also a suitor for 
 the hand of Bena, not that he particularly loved her but he 
 was possessed of a disposition that would do most anything 
 to preclude Osseo from reaching his goal. Such natures are 
 frequent in life and probably are designed by Providence as 
 a reciprocal foil for the more earnest natures. 
 
 Shada and Kwasind were capable of good team work, 
 their moral obliquities were evenly divided and each was an 
 adept in the art of deception. Shada probably was the more 
 capable of the two and being a woman seemed to hold Kwas- 
 
 18 
 
ind's mind somewhat in subjection, at least she could teach 
 him some things in the art of intrigue. 
 
 She resolved to induce her associate in these delicate 
 brutalities, to make ardent love to Bena and if successful, the 
 path to the heart of Osseo w^ould then be open to her. With 
 a surging sea of human passions she approached her prey 
 and carefully unfolded her plan in order not to let him indulge 
 a suspicion of her real motive. Kwasind agreed, he seemed 
 to comprehend her by an inverted reflection and with a keen 
 appetite for exploration into the byways of her mental irregu- 
 larities, he proceeded to the shrine of Bena's love. 
 
 It was a fleeting romance. 
 
 She loved but one and that one was Osseo. She did not 
 love Kwasind and she told him so. 
 
 When he reported to Shada how impotent had been his 
 effort, she met him with an accusing stare, but he, unmoved 
 by storm or tempest, smiled and only smiled. 
 
 Undaunted, Shada seized a new thought and resolved to 
 approach the chief with a suggestion that for the morrow's 
 battle he offer a prize to the buck who shall prove most 
 valiant in the field. Well she knew that Osseo, steeped in 
 love would not enter the battle and prove himself equal to 
 his former glory, but Kwasind would, and when, as it must, 
 the laurel shall fall on him, he may name his wish and the 
 chief will grant it. 
 
 When she regaled in eloquent words the fighting quali- 
 ties of his tribe and suggested that to the victor Wawbeek 
 should grant his wish, she knew that such request could not 
 be denied. 
 
 The chief, all attention, approved her plan and Kwasind 
 with cunning alacrity joined Shada in the intrigue. 
 
 Accordingly the bucks were called together and the chief 
 exhorted them to victory and promised to grant any wish or 
 request that the victor might ask. 
 
 It was this pow-wow that detained Osseo and that was 
 why he did not venture forth to the trysting place to meet his 
 love. 
 
 The battle took place along the Hoosac River, the tribe 
 was successful, Kwasnid the victor, and when they con- 
 gregated to witness the laurel placed upon the brow of this 
 doughty buck, all were there and Bena stood beside her loved 
 Osseo. 
 
 19 
 
The chief recounted the heroism of his tribe and then 
 turning to Kwasind said: 
 
 "And now my vaUant buck what would you ask as your 
 prize?" E'er his words redeemed a truant faith, yet with tardy 
 decision he replied: 
 
 "Let Bena be my squaw." 
 
 In an instant Bena was transformed into a tigress, she 
 looked more like a vulture than the placid loving soul that she 
 was. She screamed and fell in a swoon. 
 
 Osseo, maddened with a rage that added a potent fury 
 to passion, made a dash for his brutal enemy. They clutched 
 and fought furiously, then Kwasind was seen to raise his 
 tomahawk and fell his adversary to the ground. Osseo was 
 dead. 
 
 The lamentations of the little squaw beggared descrip- 
 tion. She lifted her dainty bronzed arms to the Great Spirit 
 and implored His revenge. She invoked a curse to blind his 
 hateful eyes, to still his voice, to make him sterile in the art 
 of war. Then she became calm, her soul was chastened like 
 the wind that winnows the chaff from the grain and in this 
 mood of ceaseless pain she prayed for peace, peace eternal. 
 Then moving slowly towards the river's edge she knelt and 
 as she leaned forth, again cried out to the Great Spirit for 
 peace, peace, and then plunged into the river. 
 
 The following day gently floating down the stream the 
 stilled form of Bena with a mocking smile, her hands clasping 
 a twig of sumac, moved on and on. She was at peace and ever 
 after her funeral train was called the "Peaceful River." 
 
 "Another such jolt as that, Ernest, and you will take me 
 home in a wooden kimona," said Partner, for we had gone 
 swiftly over a bad rut in the road. Bill was awakened, he had 
 been dreaming. 
 
 20 
 
V. 
 
 In certain parts of eastern Massachusetts there is probably 
 more of the primitive Hfe to be found than in any other part of 
 New England, but even in these beautiful hills quaint and 
 provincial characters will be encountered. 
 
 We will call him Phil for the purpose of this narrative. 
 
 It seems that for many years he had been driving a milk 
 wagon throughout the country, and his friends and neigh- 
 bors thought he had little ambition, that as he had reached 
 the first quarter of a century, he ought to look forward to 
 something a little more pretentious, but Phil was content. 
 One day he resolved to study and to take the civil service 
 examination for a Government berth. By dint of hard work 
 he passed and then sought the aid of the Congressman in his 
 district for a job. It was obtained for him and he began to 
 bid family and friends good-bye. He went to Washington, 
 entered upon the duties of his new position and apparently 
 liked it. After an absence of a month he returned and re- 
 sumed his old vocation driving the milk wagon. One of his 
 friends saw him and inquired how it happened. 
 
 "Thought you took the civil service examination, Phil?" 
 
 "Did." 
 
 "And I thought you went to Washington to get a job 
 there." 
 
 "Did." 
 
 "Why didn't you stay with it?" 
 
 "Didn't want to." 
 
 "You don't say so." 
 
 "Yep. Didn't like it. Only did it to show you people 
 what I could do." 
 
 The afternoon was wearing on to dusk and we were mak- 
 ing for Pittsfield when we saw a lonely Indian in the road 
 just ahead of us. Bill was anxious to pick a certain flower 
 that had engaged his attention all the afternoon so the ma- 
 chine stopped within a few feet of the redman. 
 
 He was indeed a queer character. He wore a slouch hat, 
 partly covering a face, the charm of which was hideously dis- 
 torted by ugly scars that seemed the key to a veiled past and 
 an unveiled future. A face that offered little index to a story 
 that may have been heroic or melodramatic, moved one min- 
 ute by an expression of solemn mien, then measurably bright- 
 ened by a forced risibility, followed by a blending of both in 
 
 21 
 
a peculiar syncopated or jerky expression determining the 
 mental and physical slave that he was to the fallen estate of 
 mankind. 
 
 "How long have you lived in these woods?" queried 
 Partner. 
 
 "Always." 
 
 "And what do j^ou do for a livelihood?" 
 
 "Anything." 
 
 "Are you a descendant of the Mohawks?" 
 
 "Guess so." 
 
 There was something about this man that breathed mys- 
 tery. He was not an untutored, ordinary Indian, and if he had 
 spoken beyond the brief replies he had given, a story might 
 have unfolded or perhaps a picture presented itself, a fitting 
 companion to the scene around us. 
 
 Partner, a good judge of human nature, looked into those 
 eyes and thought he observed an unwritten story full of 
 cryptic interest. He offered the Indian a cigar which was 
 accepted with avidity. It v/as the latch string to memory. 
 It released the vocal chords, it created a strange and weird 
 companionship. He became communicative, even garrulous. 
 They talked of the hills, the trees, the river, and finally Bill 
 suggested that the fall was late this year. Such led to the 
 autumnal coloring of the East, how different from the West, 
 and it was suggested that the cause may be different. Finally 
 addressing Partner, he said : 
 
 "Have you heard the story of the fall coloring?" 
 
 Here surely was a theme to be seized for further infor- 
 mation. 
 
 "Sit down, I'll give it to you," said Scar Face ; and this is 
 his idea of the legend of the fall. 
 
 "Once upon a time my people lived here in their sim- 
 plicity, hunting and fishing were the pastime, and save an 
 occasional conflict between neighboring tribes, contentment 
 abode in the hills, peace and plenty mioved o'er the valley. 
 Then came Pale Face to mar the serenity of the scene. The 
 poor Indian was in constant conflict with the invader and 
 each time lost more of his camping ground. One day a big 
 battle was fought. The Indians were securely entrenched 
 behind a wall of granite. With spears, bows and arrows, and 
 with dauntless courage as a shield against all misfortune, 
 they awaited the attack from the Pale Face who were 
 
 22 
 
approaching from the open valley. As they reached the gate 
 to this canyon where the granite shoulders of the mountain 
 seemed to make their position an impregnable fortress, the 
 white invaders rushed upon them, which was neither more nor 
 less than an attempt to lure the redmen from their lair. They 
 accepted the challenge and went forth. The fighting was 
 furious. The steady aim of the dauntless bucks brought many 
 foes to the ground, but gunpowder overcame the swiftness 
 of the arrow. The Indians were vanquished. The redmen's 
 blood covered the ground and their bones lay everywhere, as 
 monuments to a heroic past. Their flesh, what the vultures did 
 not eat, remained as carrion to annoint the fields and fructify 
 the soil. Their blood flowed like rivers, sank into the earth to 
 enrich the vegetation of the hills. The trees that had been 
 monarchs of the forest, the shrubs that frolicked in the gentle 
 breeze along the river banks, the foliage that hugged the 
 water's edge and served as a lacy drape to screen the project- 
 ing rocks, the graceful sumac that fringed the lonely trail — 
 all of these gifts from the Great Spirit became dwarfed as if 
 cursed by the ruthless hand of Fate. Even the vigorous roots 
 of the monarch oak absorbed the venom of the wounds. 
 After winter had released her white mantle and the warmth 
 of summer had infused a recreated life, they began to re- 
 vive, but when the time approached to commemorate the 
 events of the preceding year, those of the redmen who sur- 
 vived, went quietly to their tents to hold communion with the 
 Great Spirit. Upon return to the open glade they be- 
 held a different scene. The ivy, the sumac and other of the 
 lesser habiliments of the forest had taken unto themselves a 
 reddish hue and when the trees looked to the floor and ob- 
 served their transformation they asked why their compainons 
 had donned a many colored dress in place of the green of the 
 forest, and the little sapling, the clannish sumac and the 
 vagrant shrub told them it was to commemorate the shedding 
 of the redman's blood. In the flush of a deep sympathy the 
 trees held council with each other and they in turn fol- 
 lowed by assuming new robes. At first the green was tinged 
 with a scarlet, thence to a crimson and finally to the coat of 
 red. 
 
 The deepening dusk with the attenuating outline of the 
 village checked the reverie, for such was the story of the 
 autumn. 
 
 23 
 
VI. 
 
 We drove into Pittsfield for the night. Of course we 
 saw the town and met some of the people, but it was not 
 "towns" that interested Bill. Towns are apt to be quite the 
 same everywhere. There was, however, one old building 
 that Partner wished to have Bill visit, and as the occupants 
 were cousins of Partner's we called and had the opportunity 
 to visit the old Peace House. 
 
 The Rectory or Peace House as it is commonly known 
 is where the famous Peace Party was held to celebrate the 
 surrender of Cornwallis to Washington. It is a quaint old 
 structure with its many rooms, set and fixed like the squares 
 on a checker-board, low ceilings and open conventional hall of 
 that period, the old fashioned narrow staircasing, a parlor and 
 dining room on one side, reception and other rooms opposite. 
 There was the typical open fire place, with antique andirons, 
 quaint, artistic and fascinating. The furniture is not of the 
 early times, but is some of the best specimens of the old 
 school design and much of it is indeed old, as the rich tones 
 of the mahogany indicated. 
 
 In the rear is the study and up stairs are many bedrooms, 
 each with its bath and furnished as of old with quaint four- 
 post beds. The Bishop's room, well, serenely fashioned, 
 stately with a Bishoply atmosphere. 
 
 The most modern furnishing lay quietly ensconced be- 
 tween pillows and white linen in a cradle of modern make, 
 an infant totally oblivious of Bill's sympathetic eyes. What 
 a heritage to have been born and reared within the walls of 
 this old historic manse. 
 
 Suffice to say that the parents, host and hostess, were 
 charming and the evening was one of pleasure. Refinement 
 and culture, and withal a lively sense of the eternal life, were 
 the atmosphere of the old Rectory. 
 
 While it is true that four only engaged the conversation, 
 yet the room was filled to overflowing with courageous and 
 noble spirits of the memorable past, and each impressed his 
 personality in a manner to move the soul to a reverence for 
 peace and good will on earth. 
 
 The following morning we got an early start because we 
 wished to make New Haven by 3 o'clock and Ernest knew 
 what to do and how to do it. 
 
 24 
 
How different the tones, for last night as we reached 
 Pittsfield it was a saffron toned horizon blending with the 
 infinite purple that clung to the mountain side, but in the 
 morning the first gray had been translated into the golden 
 flood of light. 
 
 Speaking of tones, the people of the East do not know 
 what the inspiring purple of the great western mountains 
 really is or how it influences the mind — possibly it is accentu- 
 ated by the height and ruggedness of the mountains — but it 
 surely is different. 
 
 It was a beautiful morning and the thrush and, the 
 meadow lark were sending their melodies through the hills, 
 the feathery tamarack nodded as we passed by and the droop- 
 ing willow seemed to lift its delicate tracery to peep into our 
 faces for a smile. We were skirting along the lower shelf 
 of the hillside and in companionship with the Hoosac River. 
 Then we came to a turn where jutting headlands took the 
 view from us, but only for a moment, for e'er we had a 
 chance to redirect our eyes the machine entered a long col- 
 onade of white birch interspersed with the elm, maple, 
 walnut — and here and there a butternut, all forming an arch 
 of great beauty. It was not altogether the trees that made 
 it so enchanting but flowers playing the coquette at every 
 turn, the wild aster, white balsam, then the golden rod in 
 goodly numbers until in the distance it looked not a little 
 unlike our own poppy fields, the seductive sumac with its 
 pompon of dark crimson and the purple dogwood. Oh, so 
 much to gladden the eye, and just after we had entered this 
 arboreal path, we saw a little pool to the right in which the 
 birds were supping the cool water and taking their morning 
 dip. They ceased their music for this libation, and as if to 
 bathe their forms in the lustral waters of the gods. 
 
 When we reached Norfolk the road forked but we took 
 the southerly one towards Torrington striking the Connecti- 
 cut Valley and a beautiful country along the Naugatuck 
 River, passing through Torrington, Thomaston and making 
 for Waterbury where we were to luncheon. 
 
 "Waterbury has something on every man," is a slogan 
 quite unique, for they make about everything that a man 
 has on his person. 
 
 We partook of a substantial meal at The Elton, called 
 by some the most attractive hotel in New England, as for 
 
 25 
 
that it is difficult to say for they are all good, some, of course, 
 better than others. 
 
 It is attractively located on the Green, and green in New 
 England means something. We left Waterbury about 2 
 o'clock and started for New Haven. All along the Nauga- 
 tuck we encountered beautiful spots. Many of them lay 
 hidden behind clumps of maple and so nestled that the rap- 
 idly moving car almost precluded observation. Again we 
 passed more colonades of stately trees with a graceful blend- 
 ing of color, the wild flowers nodding to the passerby ; now a 
 puny stream making heroic effort to become a creek or a 
 mere thread of a creek flowing gently through some flowered 
 mead or moss grown glade, then bursting upon the view 
 were the beautiful oak-clad hills. Again there was the 
 river with its tortuous turns, some of these bends forming 
 quiet pools where the cress-covered waters had played the 
 fugitive by gently backing in the crescent of the bank and 
 when unbroken by the cress and other water foliage, mir- 
 rored the stately elms. 
 
 It is a most alluring melody that reaches the ear when 
 you approach a pool into which is rhythmically dropping a 
 little waterfall. It descends gently like a thin veil o'er mi- 
 lady's face, then in a rollicking cascade splashes along to 
 take another dip and with a rush reaches the river where it 
 rolls on and on. Many of these spots are enchanting and 
 infuse a sense of narcissal luxury. 
 
 We now commenced to see the first touch of fall. The 
 night before the frost had found its way to part of these hills 
 and the eye feasted on the suggestion of a great color scheme. 
 Sitting beside the river bank was a pretty picture; a young 
 girl of about seventeen, possibly less, just doing nothing, just 
 sitting, reminding one of sweet Diana beside the running 
 stream. The picture was heightened in its effect by the trees 
 that, reared in Memphian grace, formed an arch over the 
 modern Diana. As the machine made the curve in the road 
 beyond, Bill and Partner raised their hats, not with an af- 
 fected civility but simply — well, after a long stretch we drove 
 into some sheep that were making for their pasture which 
 was surrounded by a fen-land of some beauty. The scene was 
 a pleasant contrast by removing one picture and substituting 
 for a moment one of bucolic simplicity. In fact you could al- 
 most hear the cadence of the shepherd's reed. One little 
 
 26 
 
sheep lagging behind the rest stood alone beside the fence and 
 then a vagrant bird in a truant flight just lit upon the fence 
 and began to send its shrill notes into the ear of the sheep, 
 but who probably was totally oblivious of its tonal charm. 
 
 "Here, Bill," said Partner, "how is that for autumnal col- 
 oring?" and sure enough he was right. While the ivy and 
 the sumac had turned some few days before, now the red was 
 on the maple and the coloring was indeed beautiful although 
 not as much of it as he had hoped. Here was a family of 
 maples grouped together as if for social intercourse or pro- 
 tection against the violent elements that at times appear to 
 respect nothing, in fact there were two beautiful trees near 
 by that received the fatal blow from the fluid fire that courses 
 through the air. 
 
 "Another week," said Partner, "and the coloring will be 
 more plentiful and beautiful, but we haven't had frost enough 
 yet," and Bill began to picture the whole country dressed in 
 its autumnal harmonies. 
 
 27 
 
VII. 
 
 Throughout New England the cemeteries form no un- 
 important part of the villages and not infrequently has the 
 highway been cut through the center of the burying ground. 
 
 Some of these silent cities were indeed beautiful, and 
 whether laid out on the open stretch of the flat, or crowning 
 hills of eternity, the simple stones with their quaint inscrip- 
 tions lent a charm to the passing scene. 
 
 We were driving through one of these beautiful ceme- 
 teries in Connecticut when of a sudden Ernest threw on the 
 brakes and brought the car to a stop. 
 
 A peculiar sight was revealed. But after all one cannot 
 take a trip through this country without confronting many 
 peculiar incidents. Well, as it is related, we came to a sud- 
 den halt — just think of it, a "dead" stop in a cemetery, how 
 funereal ! 
 
 Just ahead of us in the open road appeared the 
 
 "DANCE OF THE TOMBSTONES." 
 
 Ernest was wise and knew better than to attempt to 
 force the machine through this weird throng of inanimate and 
 grotesque terpsichoreans. 
 
 The stop was none too soon for lying across the road 
 and almost touching the wheels of the machine was a large 
 marble slab, and chiseled upon the face were the name and 
 dates of birth and death. We alighted to give this slab a 
 closer examination and it proved to be that of an 
 Obstructionist, one who died a hundred years ago and 
 whose life had been devoted to the work of constant obstruc- 
 tion. Just a little beyond, the marble figure of what appeared 
 to be a witch stood, with outstretched arms and in rather a 
 menacing attitude. 
 
 In measured monotones we heard "Back, you modern 
 devils, back!" For just a moment Partner and Bill were a 
 little unnerved, for while the sight was a novelty it was not 
 particularly inviting or amusing. A sense of humor, how- 
 ever, overcame the two travelers and Partner, who has an 
 inquiring turn of mind, said "Come along. Bill, let's look 
 into this." 
 
 Of course, it must be known that Partner was not as 
 
 28 
 
anxious for Bill's judgment upon this particular phenomenon 
 as he was for a little reinforcement. 
 
 However, both walked up to the figure which bore a 
 name obliterated by time, but it was quite evident that it 
 was Intolerance. The whole road was filled with these 
 dancers, here and there were observed those who did not 
 partake of the festivities, but one notably that attracted at- 
 tention was crouched on one side of the road. The features 
 were horribly distorted. It had been many years since that 
 soul had passed to the Great Beyond and the elements had 
 not dealt kindly with its granite form. 
 
 By a closer examination it was easily seen that this was 
 Jealousy, still nursing the same old grouch. Then attention 
 was attracted to two marble figures, very old indeed, in fact 
 the oldest of them all. These were quietly seated on the rim 
 of the road ensconced between a fugitive rose and a bunch of 
 wild balsam, immediately back of which was a stately elm, its 
 branches seeming to serve as sentinels against the ugly mien 
 of Jealousy, 
 
 It was not necessary to go very close to them for intui- 
 tively we knew them to be Love, and they were — 
 
 But to the dance. 
 
 As related it was weird and grotesque. A stately column 
 matched with a broken shaft was dancing and whirling, totally 
 oblivious of all around. The forms and characters of these 
 tombstones were varied. Avarice was a twisted column, Suc- 
 cess and Failure were in spirited conversation and around 
 them moved these weird figures as if to invisible music. 
 
 A rather stately, chaste looking marble moved up to 
 Partner, made a courteous bow and congratulated him upon 
 the beauty of his car. This proved to be Progress and 
 quite affable. A short stubby piece of granite rushed forward 
 and in a piping voice wanted to know what that "thing" was, 
 of course referring to the machine. Not only its tone but its 
 defiant manner proved it an old Puritan of the nonprogressive 
 type, one who had believed that all things up-to-date were 
 devils incarnate, and notwithstanding it had passed away 
 about three quarters of a century ago it was still vehement in 
 protest and curses against all modern progress. Partner in a 
 spirit of jocularity spoke : 
 
 "Why, old chap, you do not realize what has gone on 
 since your day; now they fly in the air and sail beneath the 
 
 29 
 
waves, the human voice is carried through the air for miles 
 without any apparent means of communication; through a 
 simple wire we can converse with each other across the con- 
 tinent; we reproduce music or the human voice or any sound 
 on a piece of compressed rubber, every note vibrates, the 
 intonation perfectly recorded. Why do you know — " before 
 Partner could proceed further with the galaxy of achieve- 
 ments of the past twenty years this little granite stump gave 
 a whirl, a spin, fell to the ground and was broken into a 
 thousand pieces. 
 
 The gyrations of these many formed marbles continued 
 to fascinate the travelers for it was surely a medley of move- 
 ments. Quite as quickly as the dance commenced it ceased 
 and each assumed its customary place. The silence of the 
 tomb again would have become oppressive had not the swiftly 
 moving messenger passed on into the faithful greens and reds 
 of nature. 
 
 30 
 
VIII. 
 
 The roads through Connecticut and the Berkshires and 
 also from New Haven to New York are especially fine and, 
 apart from the fascinating environment, the car runs smoothly, 
 without effort and imparts to the tourist a redeeming 
 sense of satisfaction, for a possibly long day drive. 
 
 Throughout Connecticut the system of direction is both 
 simple and unique. The pole or tree or whatever is designed 
 to carry the sign, is encircled by a red or a blue band about 
 five or six inches wide painted thereon. One color indi- 
 cates the northerly and southerly direction and the other 
 color the easterly and westerly direction, so that the tourist 
 carrying in mind the color will always know whether he is 
 going north or south or to the other points of the compass. 
 This is very convenient, but to a stranger the absence of signs 
 to indicate the town is regrettably noticeable. 
 
 We now came to a part of the river which always fasci- 
 nates Bill: where the logs and driftwood congregate for any 
 purpose their inanimate form.s may suggest. You do not see 
 as much of that in New England as in California and the 
 West, presumably because the rivers in New England are 
 power producers, but driftwood is always interesting to one 
 accustomed to the West and which invariably teaches a rich 
 philosophy. 
 
 In this instance the jam was not a very large one, about 
 a dozen logs had completely dammed the throat at the 
 bend of the river. In their rushing course down the stream 
 they came pell-mell forming geometric designs and so inter- 
 laced as to become an impregnable barrier. Says Partner, 
 "Look at those two little fellows trying to force their passage 
 through that solid wall of timber, and did you see that 
 little one forced over by the current?" 
 
 "Yes, and look. Partner," said Bill, "see those two big 
 fellows just abutting against the wall. They came down with 
 great force, but they couldn't break the lock." 
 
 "These mute logs illustrate the law of co-operation 
 and the power of resistance. 'Tis not the atomic strength 
 but the unit of many atoms that gives that wall its strength" 
 said Bill. 
 
 31 
 
"Now look" interpleaded Partner, "those poor little 
 timbers floating idly must respond to force and stay where 
 they are put." 
 
 "That's very good" responded Bill, " 'stay where they are 
 put' has a dynamic meaning." 
 
 Then a little further on, a log unaccompanied by a com- 
 panion just floated leisurely and indifferently tossed by the 
 current from one side to the other, then again released by the 
 moving water to continue its purposeless journey. 
 
 "How true that is in life," said Bill, "one poor soul is 
 tossed about with little opportunity to guide itself." 
 
 "Yes, Bill, that is true" said Partner, "but a whole lot of 
 them just float, waiting for some other influence to push them 
 
 on. 
 
 These speculations were interrupted by a quaint old- 
 fashioned house engaging our attention. It was erected about 
 1690 and as we were informed was the scene of many historic 
 incidents and the following may interest the reader. 
 
 The architecture of this building was that which ante- 
 dated the later Colonialism of stately columns. The door was 
 flush with the front of the building, but was graced by curves 
 and lines of artistic merit. The occupants were an old Eng- 
 lish family consisting of the parents and a daughter of rare 
 beauty and charm of manner. Her hand was sought by a 
 young lieutenant, a representative of the crown. One day he 
 sat with the chief of one of the Indian tribes recounting his 
 ambition to win the hand of his young lady and sitting near 
 by was a medicine man who overheard the story. The latter 
 rather liked the lieutenant and resolved to help him. Accord- 
 ingly he managed to meet the young lady on various occasions 
 and impressed her with his great power of sorcery and divi- 
 nation. He told her that he could make her see her lover, 
 the man whom she ought to marry, and that if she did not 
 accept the one who would appear in her dream she would 
 be miserable the remainder of her life, but that if she did 
 marry the one depicted in this dream she would live an 
 Arcadian existence. The wiley old buck finally induced her 
 to let him try. Now the Indian medicine man is not a doctor 
 as the name would imply, but rather a "mystery man," a 
 magician. The word is adapted from the French whose doctor 
 or physician is medecin. She agreed to meet the medicine 
 man at the appointed time and place and when she arrived he 
 
 32 
 
had prepared the paraphernalia consisting of a large caldron or 
 bowl into which he poured several liquids and this mixed with 
 some herbs was set on fire and sent a pungent odor through 
 the air. He then commenced his incantations over the burn- 
 ing pot-pourri at the same time mumbling some Indian names 
 and words, and passed her a little vial containing a dram of 
 rather a pleasing taste which she drank and immediately she 
 became lulled by countless imagery into a sweet and passing 
 dream. In this dream she saw the lieutenant pleading for 
 her hand, then her acceptance and finally the happy marriage. 
 When she came out of the trance she recited to the medicine 
 man what she had seen and then returned to her home mysti- 
 fied but none the less elated. Within a few days thereafter 
 the lieutenant called, and unknowing of what had transpired, 
 pressed his suit and was accepted. Then commenced a love 
 making that out-romeoed Romeo, He plead that her voice 
 had taught his heart to throb and that in the dead of night 
 the memory of her voice had lulled him to sleep as if by sweet 
 harmonies from out the Dorian lute. 
 
 It appears that the medicine man had a wife, a squaw 
 also skilled in the necromancy of the red-man. Having heard 
 from her buck the story of the young lady, she sought the 
 lieutenant and likewise impressed him with her power of 
 divination. She told him that she could bring to his vision 
 the true picture of the woman he loved, but who did not love 
 him in return, and this she could prove. It appears that 
 there was another officer in the regiment who had met this 
 young lady but was not known to have called upon her. 
 However, the medicine woman induced the lieutenant to test 
 her power. The same ceremony was performed as with his 
 lady love and then he likewise partook of the contents of a 
 vial, a mixture of soporific herbs. The incantations, and 
 mumblings accompanied by a weird dance were performed 
 and concluding, she passed her hands over his face and 
 he awakened. He recounted his dream, to the effect that he 
 saw the other officer making love to his intended bride, she 
 caressing him in just such fashion as was her wont with the 
 lieutenant. The medicine woman gazed with a mocking 
 stare as if to cloak her crimes with cunning smiles. He re- 
 turned to his room and sat throughout the weary night think- 
 ing of what he had seen, with eyelids dry for want of tears, 
 tears that would bring to this yearning heart some little con- 
 
 33 
 
solation. Despair was slowly sapping the sweetness of spring 
 to leave the autumnal change its moiety, e'er the winter came 
 to chill his love. 
 
 Without much of an explanation he broke the engage- 
 ment. . Her reason became dethroned and for a while her life 
 was in the balance. The medicine man learned of his squaw's 
 perfidy and he at once went to the parents of the young lady 
 and recited the case in all its details. He told them he could 
 restore the reason of their daughter and likewise the lieuten- 
 ant's love. They yielded and the medicine man went through 
 his weird ceremonies and again her mind became bright, her 
 cheeks assumed their accustomed glow and he brought back 
 to her the love of the lieutenant — more ardent than ever. 
 
 34 
 
IX. 
 
 Moving on, now rising to a height enabhng the eye to 
 feast upon a richly carpeted country below, then descending 
 to the valley hidden in the elms, passing towns v^here the 
 commercial is the quickening sense and, by the way, speaking 
 of commerce one can't help but reflect that the railroads get 
 them coming and going. They haul the raw material to these 
 great factories, wait until the machine spins it into the finished 
 product and then quietly haul it to the market. Like the 
 country fair "pay to get in and pay to get out." 
 
 "What's that mean?" queried Bill, referring to a sign 
 "Thank you." 
 
 "Why" responded Partner, "the town asks you to slow 
 down to ten miles an hour and then as you go out they thank 
 you. 
 
 It was just at this point when Partner cautioned Ernest 
 to slow down: "Don't you recognize this point?" 
 
 It happened this way: Partner and his chauffeur were 
 speeding along one of the famous roads of Connecticut when 
 they were hailed and told to report to the court the following 
 morning. In New England as much as in other parts of the 
 country, the motor police are quite as indifferent to the fate 
 of the motorist as the latter is to the average pedestrian, so 
 when Partner was ordered to stop, it was to comply. 
 
 The amusing part of this story is that in this Connecticut 
 Court the preponderance of evidence had little effect upon 
 the learned judge. Ernest is a careful driver and he knows 
 his machine, he also knows the roads, like the Mississippi 
 skipper that Mark Twain tells about, "he doesn't always know 
 where the rocks are, but he surely knows where they aint." 
 
 Ernest took the stand in his own behalf and testified that 
 just as the officer called, he looked at the speedometer and it 
 registered a trifle over thirty miles an hour, and when Partner 
 assumed the role of witness he corroborated the testimony of 
 his chauffeur. The minion of the law, however, contradicted 
 that evidence and said he recorded the machine as going forty- 
 one miles. Here the evidence rested in the scales of justice, 
 two to one, and the standing of Partner and the excellent 
 record of Ernest should have been taken into consideration, 
 but would you believe it, the judge adopted the testimony of 
 the officer, enjoying, undoubtedly, that vested privilege of 
 
 35 
 
passing upon the credibility of witness. Ernest was fined 
 fifty dollars and costs. 
 
 Of course, they have no speed law in Connecticut, and 
 Ernest was within the law even at forty-one miles. The law 
 is silent on the subject of speed, but if you do any damage, 
 as Partner says, "It's all up with little Willie." 
 
 "But" interposed the learned counsel for Ernest, "if, your 
 Honor, there is no limit under the law, how could defendant 
 know that he was violating the statute of this Common- 
 wealth?" 
 
 "Once upon a time a person was killed on that road" 
 replied the Court, "by a big machine going forty miles an 
 hour, and this machine was going forty miles, therefore some- 
 one might have been killed by this machine." 
 
 This was the inexorable logic of the case at bar, and 
 counsel recalled the dictum of Lord Holt that "law is reason." 
 
 However, as it is related, a fine was imposed and con- 
 sidering the fact that the majesty of the law might further have 
 been conserved by an additional penalty of ten days in jail, 
 Partner looked pleasant, paid the fine, which amount was 
 endorsed on the license. This little formality is deemed wise 
 that when application is made for its renewal the record 
 denotes whether the chauffeur is a safe driver. In fact pre- 
 cisely like endorsing a partial payment on the back of a note 
 — it lessens its value. 
 
 Driving on, about twenty miles an hour, we observed 
 some pretty colorings along the road, with here and there a 
 little pool to lend a charm to the scene. Finally we stopped 
 to view the dainty bed of wild flowers that ere long would 
 croon their vespers to the sun and then close their tiny petals 
 for the night. At this time of the year they seemed to huddle 
 together in clusters, lest the touch of frost might make their 
 passing too lonely. A wild daisy here and there, hugging the 
 ground, tempted Partner to its plucking. "Why disturb me" 
 in chiding tones, came to the vandal's ear. "You would hazard 
 the supremest joy of the traveler to count a moment only of 
 your gain." 
 
 Bill plucked a pom-pon from the sumac, to learn the 
 wisdom from the flowers. "Once break my stem and your 
 prize is shortlived. Why not leave me to enrich the road and 
 thus make your passage one of pleasure," a rebuke that made 
 the ravisher hesitate indeed. 
 
 36 
 
"But" said Bill, "your life is but a transient one and your 
 companionship means much to me." 
 
 "Ah, yes," replied the sumac, "but you forget that we are 
 for the many, not for you alone." 
 
 Then the silver-weed that fringes the water's edge, the 
 balsam., the purple dogv/ood and the wormwood in its yellow 
 dress, each in chorus chided the travelers for their wanton 
 greed. True, that reproof becomes the shield to stop the 
 arrow's flight and so the despoilers ceased the rape of the 
 flowers, for just then the liquid tones of the passing thrush 
 and the carol of the lark were blended in a chorus of song 
 that made the travelers ashamed. 
 
 "What point is that?" asked Bill. 
 
 "That is East Rock" said Partner, for we were now 
 approaching New Haven, and sure enough we were home 
 again. 
 
 Another delightful evening in the home of Yale; and the 
 following morning we started for New York via Milford, 
 Stratford and Bridgeport, thence to Norwalk, Stamford and 
 Greenwich, the two latter being very beautiful places. 
 
 Partner had a friend by the name of Ham, who wished to 
 accompany us to New York. Now, of course, Ham is not his 
 full name, but just the same he was a good old scout. He 
 could tell a good story, sing and play poker. By the way, 
 playing auto poker is some fun. Instead of cards we used the 
 numbers of the on-coming cars. First Bill would call and 
 sure enough the number was 66320, a pair of sixes ; then Ham 
 got three of a kind, but for quite a while the luck seemed to 
 be against Partner. Finally his turn came and four sixes passed 
 to his credit and so on for about three hours. Some game! 
 
 Moving along the road just before reaching the confines 
 of New York, we observed a sentinel seated by a lonely tree, 
 who moved into the lane and hailed us: 
 
 "Have you any babies in that car?" 
 
 "No", responded Partner. 
 
 "What's that for" asked Bill. 
 
 "Infantile paralysis" responded the guardian of the health. 
 
 We drove about two miles further on and came to a fork 
 in the road where we were again stopped, and a representative 
 of the health department stepped up to the car, looked into 
 it and simply said "Move on." 
 
 V/e commenced a song and it finally dawned upon Bill 
 
 37 
 
that each time he started to sing, Partner always had some- 
 thing to which our attention should be called along the road- 
 side. Now Bill thinks he can sing just about as well as Part- 
 ner, but — 
 
 Another hand went up and Partner arose and made a 
 gesture to the "cop" that all was well — adding — "We have no 
 babies in here." 
 
 "Shure an' I'll decide that for myself," and after looking 
 into the car, moved us on with — "Don't catch the py-ralasis." 
 
 Now what do you think of that, and for a mile or so we 
 tried to settle the question as to whom he referred, one or all. 
 
 Well, here is gay old New York, the most fascinating, 
 the most brutal and the most provincial city in the country. 
 
 Au Revoir! 
 
 •3 
 
 8 
 
L'ENVOI 
 
X. 
 
 Rufus, Oh yes, it is unrelated that Rufus is the dog. Well, 
 he is an enigma. Who his parents were is not of record, but 
 he is some dog just the same — "some dog." Partner calls 
 him a cock-tail and when questioned as to just what kind of 
 a dog that is, he smiled and replied "a grand mixture." 
 
 His owner is not at all sensitive about the animal. He 
 says himself that no one would give five cents for the dog, 
 but that he would not take five hundred dollars for him. A 
 neighbor once remarked that he would like to own half of the 
 animal, and Partner began to swell with pride. "Why, what 
 on earth would you do with one-half of the dog?" 
 
 "Shoot my half," came the laconic reply. 
 
 However, Rufus has more sense than a great many people 
 who pat him on the back. Why, that dog will sit quietly 
 throughout a dinner and never make a sound or move, but just 
 as soon as the maid removes the roast from the table, Rufus 
 quietly hikes to the kitchen. "Some intelligence," says Part- 
 ner. You know you can't help becoming attached to an animal 
 like that, for as Partner says — "He knows when to leave the 
 table." Of course that remark may have had some signifi- 
 cance although Partner was looking straight at the dog when 
 he said it. 
 
 Bill and Rufus became warm friends and learned to 
 understand each other quite well. At first the dog had his 
 doubts and was rebellious, but before Bill left, Rufus would 
 eat out of his hand. 
 
 40 
 
XI. 
 
 Talk about shore dinners, well that is the piece de resist- 
 ance in the cuisine of the New Englander. 
 
 We drove to the shore of Long Island Sound, just out of 
 Norwalk, and Partner, with wise discrimination, had prepared 
 for the event, and some preparation it was. 
 
 As we entered the dining-room the ladies were seated, 
 and our host invited the gentlemen to meet two old pals of his. 
 He premised the introduction by stating that they were quaint 
 characters, that he had met these two brothers in a trip up 
 the Nile some years previous and they became fast friends. 
 They had tastes quite in common and when Partner likes any 
 one, he likes him through and through, and then some. So as 
 it is related, he was anxious that Bill from California should 
 shake hands with his old pals from Egypt. As we stepped 
 into the other room — Partner, says he, "Where are the twins?" 
 The gentleman accosted gave a well modulated call, when in 
 stepped the two brothers. En passant it might be well to 
 relate that they were twins, rather short of stature, a little 
 "pinched" in expression and from the aroma, one would sus- 
 pect that they were some smokers, their complexion sandy 
 as their name would indicate. They were the embodiment of 
 good cheer, rollicking good fellows, and one immediately 
 became inoculated at the first introduction. They made you 
 laugh, were exhilarating, and in short were such to which you 
 wished to tie. However, Partner took hold of Bill's arm, led him 
 up to his friends and with that general fellowship — "Bill, meet 
 my good friends Haig and Haig!" 
 
 Oh yes, the dinner ! My yes ! 
 
 Well, first was served clams on the half shell, then a clam 
 chowder. The Connecticut chowder! By the way, the man 
 from the Nutmeg State thinks that that is the only chowder 
 made. Personally Bill expressed a preference for the Massa- 
 chusetts chowder where you get an opportunity to see the 
 clam frequently, and not be compelled to play hide and seek 
 with it. However, the chowder was all that they claimed for 
 it. Then followed steamed little-necks, a meal in themselves. 
 
 The fourth course was blue fish broiled, and served meu- 
 niere, fit for the gods. At these shore dinners they are very 
 apt to serve what the Easterner considers a delicate morsel, 
 
 41 
 
and that is the shad, but Bill hates the bones and the blue fish 
 was a very delightful substitute. 
 
 Broiled live lobster, just think of it, after what pre- 
 ceded. At this juncture it is deemed quite au fait to depart 
 from the fish diet, and a broiled squab is served, followed by 
 a salad of tomato and cucumber. 
 
 With this repast was served Shelter Island corn, steamed, 
 not boiled, for thereby is the delicious flavor of the corn pre- 
 served, but such corn! It is worth a trip across the continent 
 to indulge one's appetite in corn, although the Golden Ban- 
 tam is the best and most luscious, yet all corn in the East 
 seems to suggest — "come again." Well, now it is proper to 
 partake of a light dessert, such as ice cream or watermelon, 
 with a little cheese and cracker and then the demi-tasse. Wine 
 (et tu Brute) is served for the stomach's sake and after all 
 this, you have performed a gastronomic feat that one never 
 can forget. 
 
 Now just go over this menu once more, that is, read it 
 once again and try to comprehend what a shore dinner means. 
 You cannot assimilate the idea, the food — yes. But one thing 
 sure, when you have finished this, you feel satiated and there 
 is a suggestion of abdominal rotundity which lingers for some 
 few hours thereafter. 
 
 42 
 
XII. 
 
 Several books had been suggested to Bill with which to 
 pass the lagging hours across the continent. In a general way 
 he remembered their titles and resolved to purchase one the 
 first opportunity, so when he visited a large store and reached 
 the book department, he was ushered into a rare atmosphere 
 of refined intolerance. What else could one expect from the 
 spirit of a Luther, Jeremy Taylor, Nordeau, Spencer, Tom 
 Paine and the infinite number of latter day saints of literature, 
 more or less broad or narrow. He at once realized that he 
 was in the presence of the master minds, past and present. 
 What an atmosphere, what an inspiration! Ere he proceeded 
 far, a peculiar incident occurred, a measurably embellished vol- 
 ume moved from its emplacement, opened its covers as a greet- 
 ing, and commenced to discuss the war. Then a rather unassum- 
 ing volume exclaimed, "Beware these conventional lies." Well 
 Bill knew Max Nordeau by his voice, it was a voice of protest. 
 Then two steps to the right and a little dusty volume, with a 
 gray-bluish cover bowed in acknowledgment of Bill's curious 
 gaze. The bow was courtly and such a one as the author 
 must have had in mind when he penned the opening para- 
 graph of his "Advancement of Learning" for it was none other 
 that Francis Bacon. Bill was a little inclined to be facetious, 
 but the learned volume precluded it: "Phoebus, with thy 
 darts revenge our tears," came forth in measured tones and 
 left Bill to speculate as to whether it was intended to refer 
 to the current controversy as to the authorship of Shakespeare. 
 
 Now Bill was just about to say that for years he had 
 become convinced that Shakespeare was not the author, but 
 that his incomplete reading prevented him from becoming a 
 Baconian partisan. Then also he was on pleasure bent and 
 not inclined to controversial subjects, but he was wise to hold 
 his peace and thus prevent Bacon from coming back in a more 
 effective and facetious mood by quoting Demosthenes' retort 
 to Aeschinus, a man of pleasure who taunted the great orator 
 that "his speeches smelt of the lamp." "There is a great dif- 
 ference between the objects which you and I pursue by lamp- 
 light," said the great Athenian. 
 
 In dulcet tones from apparently nowhere — "Are you look- 
 ing for anything in particular?" came to Bill's ears and he 
 
 43 
 
turned to observe a most charming pair of brown eyes looking 
 into his blue searchers. 
 
 "Yes, if you please, 'Woman's Eyes.' " 
 
 "Again, please," came in a sweet and modulated voice. 
 
 " 'Woman's Eyes' " repeated Bill. 
 
 "By whom?" 
 
 Now Bill thought a moment and wondered if he had 
 gotten the wrong title. "Why, by Harold Bell Wright" said 
 he. 
 
 "Don't you mean 'Eyes of the World?' " 
 
 "Possibly, but is there any difference?" 
 
 With remarkable composure, she smiled, colored a trifle 
 and proceeded to bring the book and — the eyes also. 
 
 As she handed him the book and received the price, she 
 remarked: "I should like to be in a position to present that 
 copy to you." 
 
 Bill was himself a little doubtful as to how much of a 
 hit he had made. Thanking her and with a courteous bow, 
 took his departure and as he neared the end of the section, a 
 well bound volume of Emerson made obeisance to the cus- 
 tomer, opened its covers and simply remarked: "He builded 
 better than he knew." 
 
 "Down." 
 
 Bill took the elevator and was again in the busy and 
 vulgar street. 
 
 "Woman's Eyes"— no, "Eyes of the World." 
 
 "Look out, can't you see where you are going, want to 
 be run over?" 
 
 How could he? 
 
 44 
 
XIII. 
 
 Standing behind the cigar stand was a very charming bit 
 of femininity, with a pair of large blue eyes and a complexion 
 to indicate Irish parentage. Well, she looked pretty good to 
 Bill and his Partner — a fresh look, but not of manner, rather 
 cultivated you would say. 
 
 Bill did not dare to look into those orbs of blue, they 
 were not the cerulean blue, but the real blue blue. Well, be 
 that as it may, says Bill, pointing to some cigars in the case, 
 "Two of those, please." Now he is used to having the box 
 passed out, taking the cigars himself therefrom, but "Blue 
 Eyes" pushed her hand into the case, took out the two cigars 
 and passed them over the counter to Bill. If it were not for 
 his observing nature, this offense might have been con- 
 doned, he had not the courage to suggest to Blue Eyes that 
 the box be presented to him. When she handed the cigars 
 over the counter, her hands were very soiled and her nails 
 had not been cleaned for many a moon. 
 
 As the two were passing out of the door of the hotel. Bill 
 was seen to nod to the bell-boy and pass him a cigar, and then, 
 "Oh, yes ; give this one to the elevator-boy for me." Bill and 
 his Partner entered the car and started out for their day's 
 journey. One, two and three miles according to the speedo- 
 meter, and not a word, but there are times in one's life when 
 events or scenes flash before the mind and find anchorage 
 there. 
 
 Says Bill, "Do you know, I was much disappointed in 
 those blue eyes." 
 
 "Eyes or hands, Bill?" 
 
 "Well, I expected something different." 
 
 "And you got it" came Partner's quick retort. "When 
 traveling in Ireland" continued Partner, "I was given a jolt 
 once not so very much removed from your case and a friend 
 of mine expressed it in verse." 
 
 "Don't suppose you remember it" said Bill. 
 
 "I think so" said Partner, and proceeded to recite. 
 
 45 
 
THE MAID OF MALLEROOK 
 
 There sat a maid, a dainty nymph, 
 
 Beside the running brook; 
 Her face was fair to look upon. 
 Her form a perfect paragon, 
 
 The Maid of Mallerook, 
 
 I moved by stealth, up to her side, 
 
 Just o'er the running brook; 
 A matchless beauty was reveal'd. 
 An eloquence of thought conceal'd, 
 
 This Maid of Mallerook. 
 
 As if 'twere Lethe running there, 
 This gentle, flowing brook; ; 
 I supped this cool and magic stream, 
 And lo! all else was but a dream, 
 Oh! Maid of Mallerook. 
 
 And when she gazed into mine eyes, 
 
 'Twas by the running brook; 
 A tear was there, her cheek to lave. 
 Thought I how proud to be her slave, 
 Dear Maid of Mallerook. 
 
 Then spoke I to this dainty nymph, 
 
 Close by the babbling brook; 
 "What thought is passing through thy mind, 
 "What hope may I, now therein find" 
 Sweet Maid of Mallerook? 
 
 Her eyes were bright as Heaven's gems, 
 
 Just gazing o'er the brook; 
 And when they looked into mine own, 
 The seed of love was therein sown. 
 
 Fond Maid of Mallerook. 
 
 46 
 
In rapture, stood I there the nonce, 
 
 Down by the quiet brook ; 
 And measured strength, by sigh and tear, 
 Awaiting her reply with fear; 
 
 Speak! Maid of Mallerook. 
 
 Then straightway turned the maid to me, 
 
 Yet sitting by the brook; 
 "Yous lobsters aint no good," she said, 
 "So quit yer kiddin', mutton-head," 
 
 Quoth, Maid of Mallerook. 
 
 Then down the lane I strolled alone, 
 
 Along the singing brook; 
 Yea, "mutton-head" and "lobster" too, 
 Are much too good for me and you, 
 If thus we chance, the fool to do. 
 
 Wise Maid of Mallerook, 
 
 47 
 
AFTER-WORD 
 
 By the wooded banks the gentle stream goes moving on. 
 The hills of beauty, the vales of song and the leaf of color 
 yet abide, while the spirit of the West enshrined in fabled 
 dreams still lingers o'er that scene and then reluctantly moves 
 westward to their sister charms. 
 
 48 
 
Privately published and this volume is 
 Xo. 
 
 rl- 
 
i 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
 014 075 854 1