IN BY ROSE HENDERSON Class __JErA.^2_ Book— • H^'^ Gop}Tight]^° CQEmiGHT OBFOSm Multnomah Falls — Near Portland, Oregon. LITTLE JOURNEYS IN AMERICA BY Rose Henderson THE SOUTHERN PUBLISHING CO. DALLAS, TEXAS CoprHiGHT, 1922 BY Rose Henderson All rights reserved DEC 21 22 CU692514 PREFACE "Little Journeys in America" is presented to the general reading public and to the school chil- dren of the United States, with a hope that it may serve to give a better knowledge and appreciation of the beauties and the worth-while places, insti- tutions, and natural resources of our country. To love our country more, to appreciate more its many wonders, beauties, and unlimited oppor- tunities for service, happiness and advancement is only to know more about the things that we may call our own. So, to "See America First" through the illus- trations of this book and through the excellent literary work of the author, so that we learn to love our own country the more and to maintain its principles and institutions and to oppose every form of attack that threatens to destroy the foun- dations of our Government is the service we hope to render in the publication of this book. The Publishers. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS THE PUBLISHERS desire to express especial apprecia- tion of the many excellent photographs used in illustrating this book, furnished by the Chambers of Commerce of the following cities: Boston, Massachusetts Colorado Springs, Colorado Minneapolis, Minnesota New Orleans, Louisiana Portland, Oregon Richmond, Virginia Savannah, Georgia St. Louis, Missouri Seattle, Washington. CONTENTS New England Boston, the Puritan City .... The Atlantic Slope New York, the City of Towers . Washington, the National Capital . Pittsburgh, the World's Workshop . Baltimore, the Monumental City Philadelphia, the Birthplace of Liberty The Western Reserve Cleveland, the Forest City. The South New Orleans, the Old French City . The Middle West Chicago, the City of the Lake and Prairies The Twin Cities Detroit, the Automobile City . Saint Louis, the Great River City . The Rocky Mountain Highlands The Great Southwest . . The Pacific Slope San Francisco, the City of the Golden Gate Los Angeles, a City of Flowers and Sunshine . Alaska Porto Rico Pronouncing Vocabulary .... 1 10 23 34 50 62 71 80 91 101 110 123 134 146 155 167 178 183 195 206 221 230 237 248 259 NEW ENGLAND TF YOU are traveling about to see America first, it seems natural to start with New England, the home of so many of our great-great-great grand- fathers and grandmothers. Here, too, lived the earliest American story-writers. Here the first meeting-houses were built and the first witches burned. You have already learned many inter- esting and exciting things about New England, and you will enjoy seeing it for yourself. From the pine-covered mountains and birch- bordered lakes of Maine to the "Old Stone Mill" and the fashionable cottages of Newport, Rhode Island, you will find a great variety of scene. Brown cliffs, with the ocean's spray beating against them; rocky islands and inlets; gray sand dunes and marshes are all along the coast. In Vermont and New Hampshire you discover quaint villages tucked along the green valleys, or perched high in wooded ravines. Lonely little farms are abandoned by their discouraged owners ; the weather-beaten farmhouses are left to birds and mice; and the gardens are covered with weeds and wild vines. But there are other homes, cozy and comfortable, among the trees and hills. Down the Connecticut river the farms are larger. Fields of 2 Little Journeys in America grain and tobacco and grassy, flower-strewn meadows surround the brown farmhouses. Even the bleak hilltops are interesting to the traveler; the forests of maple, chestnut, spruce, and hemlock are threaded by winding roadways that are pleasant to follow in a spirit of leisurely adventuring. The Maine forests have been dimin- ished by extensive lumbering; but there is still heavy timber, especially in the northern part of the state. Brown streams go tumbling down the mountains, turning numberless mill-wheels in the green valleys. There are many clear, blue lakes where the fishing is excellent and where the scenery is a constant delight. Your visit to Portland on the southwestern coast of Maine recalls the early life of the poet Long- fellow. You may see his birthplace here; it is*a simple New England house, its severe lines softened by age. Portland is a great seaport and the largest city in Maine. You feel the tang of brisk salt winds and the very spirit of the sea, as you walk the weather- worn streets. Ships from the farthest lands touch its wharves. Aristocratic homes in the fashionable residence section are a striking contrast to the cottages of fisherman and retired sea "Cap'n" who lives humbly but happily along the shore near the beat of the wind and waves. New England 3 SUMMER RESORTS OF NEW ENGLAND A cool summer climate and picturesque scenery- make the Maine coast a popular place for resorts. You may spend a luxurious vacation at Bar Harbor on Mount Desert Island, or you may **rusticate" at some quiet cove where the view is even more charming. The dark pines are scrubby and bent along the shore. Marshes stretch away with their waves of silvery grasses, and fogs cling softly about the bold headlands. There are sweet, wild strawberries in early summer; and later come raspberries, black- berries, huckleberries, and blueberries. In autumn the cranberries grow red among the salt grass on the wind-swept marshes. Back of Portland you reach the beautiful White Mountain region, sometimes called "New Eng- land's Summer Hotel." Here is the "Old Man of the Mountain," described in Hawthorne's story of "The Great Stone Face." The gigantic rock- profile gazes out over the peaceful valley, just as it has been gazing for centuries. You may ascend Mount Washington by a cog- wheel railway to the ancient "Tip-Top Inn" of rough stones. There is a new hotel, also ; and it is chained to the rocks so that it will not blow away. From this lofty peak you may gaze about you at other lofty peaks and the far stretches of valley and Little Journeys in America sea. Cities spread before you, and rivers wind their way through fertile fields. The vegetation changes in an interesting manner as you go up the mountain. The forests become gradually smaller, until at the top there is only the gray, dwarfed shrubbery of Arctic lands. Valuable granite quarries are found in these New Hampshire mountains. The Green Moun- tains of Vermont are less famous as a sum- mer resort, but you will find them very beautiful. Forests of maple and birch and pine shelter the slopes, and you may see brown sugar-houses in the groves of rock- maples. These sugar trees are "tapped" in early spring; and the sap is collected and boiled down in immense kettles until it is thick enough to cut in cakes, or else, just thick enough for delicious maple syrup. There are spruces and firs with gray moss hanging from them ; and occasionally a mountain ash lifts its red berries on twisting, yellow boughs. Copyright Underwood and Underwood Tapping Maple Trees New England 5 Down the rivers which flow into Lake Cham- - plain, you may watch floating rafts of logs on their way to the lumber mills. There are saw-mills scattered throughout the central part of the state. You will find in this section farm houses that were built before the Revolutionary War, and the quaint New Englanders who live in them seem to belong to some remote pioneer time. A SCHOOLHOUSE IN THE WOODS An old-fashioned schoolhouse in the heart of the woods gathers in its little group of gingham-clad children. The teacher boards at one of the better farm houses. She walks a mile or more to school, and does her own janitor work. In the morning she builds a fire in the sheet-iron stove — unless it is summer, when the children come barefoot and gather flowers or berries on their way to school. Birds sing in the trees about the windows, and a dashing little brook sounds through the long still- ness of the classes in session. It must have been just such a school as this of which Whittier wrote in his poem called "School Days." MASSACHUSETTS Passing down the Connecticut valley, you enter Massachusetts, the oldest of the New England 6 Little Journeys in America States. The Connecticut River cuts its way- through the state, the Hoosac Mountains and the Berkshire Hills to the west of it, and the low, rolling hill ranges and sand dunes to the east of it. In western Massachusetts you happen upon Cunning- ham, the birthplace of William Cullen Bryant. It is a drowsy little village in the midst of rugged hills, beautiful in the spring with bowers of wild blos- soms, and gorgeous in autumn when sumac and blackberry vines flame red and gold along the roadways. About the village are scattered farms with fields of corn and orchards of apple, pear, peach, and plum trees. Vegetable gardens and vineyards are seen everywhere. The people are friendly, with plenty of time to stop and chat. If you walk any distance along a country road, you are sure to be overtaken by a brown-cheeked farmer in a rattling wagon. He will pull up and ask you to ride with him. Without much urging, he will tell you the news of the neigh- borhood, and will probably ask where you live and where you are going and if you have ever been in "these hyar parts" before. At Haverhill you may visit the birthplace of the poet W^hittier, and see the old farm which the "Qutaker Poet" himself managed for many years. This city is now an important center for cotton and New England 7 woolen mills, which are numerous on all the swift- flowing New England rivers. At Springfield you will visit the great revolver and rifle factories ; at Holyoke you will find impor- tant paper mills. CAPE COD In eastern Massachusetts you discover the famous Cape Cod region with its interesting farmer and fisher folk. Snug little cottages cluster along this slender hook of land in the midst of the sea. It seems as though they might blow off into the toss- ing waves. The farmers seem to raise enough to supply their simple needs. There is some fishing done, though little as compared to the thriving industry of former years. Cranberry bogs are plentiful; and other wild berries, as well as grapes and plums, are gathered in the woods. Hay is cut from the level marsh- land, and cows and horses graze in the thin- grassed pastures. At the very tip of the Cape is Provincetown, with its little shops and houses crowded along a single street. It has a salty, fishy flavor; and the people themselves seem almost a part of the wind- swept, wave-battered land. WHO FOUNDED RHODE ISLAND? Down into little Rhode Island you pass, until 8 Little Journeys in America you come to beautiful Narragansett Bay with its islands like bits of garden or rock-strewn sand. At Newport are the elegant summer homes of many millionaires. During the fashipnable season you may watch the parade along Bellevue; or you may study the "Old Stone Mill" with its ivy- covered tower and decide whether you want to attribute its origin to the Norse vikings or to some industrious Puritan, who built the sturdy structure for a windmill with which to grind his corn. It is a picturesque relic, whoever built it; and it has quite an air of mystery here in the gay resort. Long- fellow's "Skeleton in Armor" gives a poetic explanation of the old mill's history. Rhode Island proved a friendly haven for Roger Williams and his followers when they were driven out of Salem by the narrow-minded Puritans. Providence, the capital of this smallest state, suggests by its name the gratitude of these exiles. IN CONNECTICUT Saybrook, in Connecticut, is an historic old town in which Yale University was originally founded in the year 1701. But the university did not prosper, and fifteen years later it was moved to the city of New Haven. There are old moss-grown cemeteries at Saybrook which show, by tombstone engravings, the early settlement of the town. They suggest, New England 9 also, the struggle of the early settlers with the Indians in which many white men were killed. Connecticut is filled with prosperous manu- facturing cities and towns. The people are ener- getic and thrifty. BOSTON, THE PURITAN CITY T TNDER the trees on the Boston Common you ^-^ seem to stand at the center of things in the old Puritan town. Boston children are paddling in the duck pond with quite as much laughter and hilarity as other small folk might display whose great- great-great-great grandfathers had not frowned so sternly upon the gaiety of life. But the elms are very dignified, and the Park Street Meeting House is just around the corner, and the statehouse on Beacon Hill looms awesomely before you. For all real Americans, Boston has many treasured shrines. Faneuil Hall, Lexington, Concord, Bunker Hill, the Old South Church, — there is a sort of patriotic thrill in the very names. The Commons, somehow, seems to suggest the spirit of them all. Here in the 18th century was John Hancock's cow-pasture. But cows were surely an important consideration in the old colon- ial days, so no one should object to that. Only imagine what the poor but proud little Mayflower children would have been willing to give for all the fresh, creamy milk they wanted, to go with the corn bread and fish they had to eat that first winter ! You remember, of course, that it was the cows 10 te ^^^ ., ■• mil ^^■»S| V'-T«" Line of the Minute Men, Lexington Public Garden, Boston Common 12 Little Journeys in America who laid out Boston, and that is why the streets are so crooked. Up and down and in and out, wandered these early Puritan bossies. And up and down and in and out, followed the Puritan fathers and mothers and children. Houses were built along the winding cow-paths. Churches were located where two paths crossed. And behold! The beginnings of Boston. There were schools, of course, and there must have been a few shops, though we hear more about the meeting-houses. There were fresh, bubbling springs, where both the cows and the Puritans went for water. And there were cod and salmon fisheries along the "stern and rock -bound coast." Almost fifty acres are included in the shaded park of the present Common. Adjoining it is another, half its size, known as the Public Garden. Broad walks border the narrow streets beside the park, and other walks wind beneath the stately trees. You notice an entrance to the Subway which now passes under the Common; but in spite of this noisy, underground affair, the birds are nesting fearlessly in the elm branches. Here in the quiet shadows the first Colonial gallants walked with their sweethearts. According to one ancient chronicle, they might indulge in this sort of frivolity from "a little before sunset till the bell at nine o'clock rings them home." What staid Boston, the Puritan City 13 young gallants, we think, to be rung home at nine o'clock! Here hostile Indians were put to death, and their heads displayed on stakes as a gruesome warning to their fellows. Duels were fought here, and witches were burned. No wonder it is a serious old Common. YOU DISCOVER "BRIMSTONE CORNER" You follow a narrow street to the State House atop the hill. It is a beautiful capitol, one of the finest in the country. And it, too, seems to belong to the spirit of Boston. In the library you find a rare heirloom, the "Log of the Mayflower,'''' written by Governor Bradford. Typical of the state, too, is the carved codfish hanging on a wall in the Chamber of Representatives. Do you wish a nearer view of "Brimstone Cor- ner," with the Park Church and the "Old Granary Burying Ground?" It is now a very peaceful corner, with little to suggest its terrifying nick- name. But it was less tranquil in the olden days. You will find many famous names in the ancient cemetery. Paul Revere, John Hancock, Peter Faneuil, Samuel Adams, James Otis, Governor Bellingham — a noble company at rest beneath the grasses. Beside King's Chapel on Tremont Street is the 14 Little Journeys in America oldest graveyard. Here lie Governor Winthrop and other early colonists. You wander through puzzling by-streets to Washington street, a main thoroughfare of the business section. You pass a newspaper office on the site of the house in which Franklin was born. The narrow street is crowded. Here are stores, office buildings, and theaters. You press north through the busy throng, and here on your right is the Old South Church. Within this venerable structure you find historic treasures and an atmos- phere of mellow distinction. Here were held those secret meetings which prepared for the "Boston Tea Party" in 1773. Here the people spoke their indignation after the "Boston Massacre" of 1770. The square building, with its double galleries, has been left as it was built in 1729 to replace a similar structure. There are a tall spire and a round clock with a queer little balcony above it. You are rather glad that the congregation have built themselves a "New Old South Church" in a more fashionable quarter and have left this time- honored meeting-house to its Revolutionary mem- ories. You press on northward and east to Dock Square and Faneuil Hall, the precious "Cradle of Liberty," where the spirit of independence was nurtured. The first town meetings were held here, and the Boston, the Puritan City 15 early government of Boston was planned, and the old walls resounded to the oratory of the Patriots before the Revolution. WHERE IS MODERN BOSTON? It is fascinating to prowl among the relics of the past, but modern Boston has also much to offer her Faneuil Hall visitor. Art, music, plays; a magnificent public library; newly built streets with green parks and square corners; refined, kindly people who are not so snobbish as they are sometimes painted; all these meet you in modern Boston. The Boston Symphony Orchestra has a thrill for 16 Little Journeys in America music lovers, something like the patriotic signifi- cance of Faneuil Hall or Bunker Hill. For many years it has meant musical achievement surpassing that of any other orchestra in this country. Boston is said to be our most English city. She is a bit like London, but cleaner. She has tall, brick. Back Bay houses of which you have heard. She is surpassingly intellectual; and her women, particularly, are supposed to be brainy. There is said to be a large number of spinsters in Boston. We would not think of calling them that in New York or San Francisco. One is not sure who is to blame for the name, Boston or the spinsters. You will find the Public Library a pinkish, grayish building with a cloistered court, beautiful bronze doors, and a sienna marble staircase. There are panels by Puvis de Chavannes, and paintings by John Sargent and Edwin A. Abbey. It seems natural that Boston should have spent almost two and a half millions on this splendid library. It is fitting, too, that the paintings should illustrate the history of science and literature, the history of religion, and the quest of the Holy Grail. WHAT DOES BOSTON MANUFACTURE? Industries, as well as schools and libraries, are important in Boston. What does the Puritan city manufacture? Visit some of the little towns which Boston, the Puritan City 17 have been gathered into the larger city, and you will find many wheels whirling. Cotton and woolen clothing, shoes, rubbers, watches, chocolate, and salted fish; these are a few of the factory pro- ducts. Water-power and a good harbor have built up these great industries. The city is the largest shoe and leather market in America, and one of the chief markets for wool, Massachusetts Institute of Technology salted fish, foodstuffs, and candy. Coal, cotton, coffee, sugar, tea, and tropical fruits are important imports. The peninsula where the old city began has been extended into the bay, and the new Boston has also grown over the marshy ground at her back. Com- 18 Little Journeys in America mon wealth Avenue in the Back Bay district is all *'made" land. Broad and straight, this new street extends over a mile, with a parkway of trees down its center. In the park are statues of Hamilton, Garrison, and other famous New England men. In New Boston there are fine residences with gardens in front. And here the streets cross at right angles instead of mingling irregularly as in the Campus, Harvard University old town. On Boylston Street are the Museum of Natural History and the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. On Copley Square is the famous Trinity Church, in which Phillip Brooks preached. WHERE IS OUR OLDEST UNIVERSITY? You should not miss a visit to Harvard, across the Charles river in sleepy old Cambridge. Ancient Boston, the Puritan City 19 elms soften the plain brick buildings of the oldest of American universities. Harvard began in 1636 when Cambridge was still a wilderness. The long list of alumni includes the names of Emerson, Thoreau, Bancroft, Prescott, and others equally distinguished. Longfellow, Lowell, and Holmes were professors here. You pass the Longfellow House Craigie House, which was Washington's head- quarters when Cambridge was an army camp at the beginning of the Revolutionary War. It was after- wards the home of Longfellow for forty -five years. Across the Charles River in Charlestown is the 20 Little Journeys in America Bunker Hill Monument. The city has grown up to the edges of the little park which surrounds the monument. It was open country here when the famous battle was fought on June 17, 1775. From a grassy hilltop the granite shaft rises 221 feet. Beside the monu- ment and facing the direction of the British attack is a bronze statue of Prescott. You recall his com- mand to the waiting patriots, *'Don't fire until you see the whites of their eyes." Brave old general ! He seems to be stand- ing for American lib- erty as staunchly as ever, silently resolute, there on the Boston Bunker Hill Monument frCCn You may discover traces of the old earthworks which were so hastily thrown up on the brow of the hill. And a stone marks the spot where Warren fell. La Fayette laid the cornerstone of the monument in 1825. The completed structure was dedicated in Boston, the Puritan City 21 1842. And Daniel Webster delivered the oration on each occasion. "We come as Americans to a spot which must be forever dear to us and to our posterity," said the great orator. You may remember that other sentence, "We wish that in those days of disaster, which, as they come upon all nations, must be expected to come upon us also, desponding patriotism may turn its eyes hitherward, and be assured that the founda- tions of our national powers are still strong." There have been times when it must have been comforting for statesmen to recall these words. YOU SAIL OUT FROM THE HARBOR It is pleasant to leave Boston by boat, sailing out of the harbor with the sunset dying over beyond Beacon Hill. With characteristic firmness Boston has voted against the skyscraper; and so the city rises gradually, tier above tier, with the great State House Dome as a center. Back of the city the hills rise, and the rivers lead down to the bay. Around the city stretch some 17,000 acres of meadow and forest and brooks and ponds. Subur- ban Boston is an enticing playground. The revolving light on Lighthouse Island shows for sixteen miles out at sea. You leave the busy wharves, the friendly curve of the bay. North- ward lies Governor's Island and Fort Winthrop. 22 Little Journeys in America Two bushels of apples a year comprised the rent which Governor Winthrop paid for the island. Boston lights disappear as your boat sails up the coast, but grateful memories of the Puritan City remain. "Hub of the Universe," said Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes, smiling genially at the New Eng- lander's conceit. Well, it is a very diverting "Hub," at any rate. And no matter how coldly reserved the Back Bay houses may be, there is a refined friendliness about Boston. There are, moreover, associations and traditions which belong to anybody who is able to understand the value of American ideals. There are national shrines here which every patriotic citizen will enjoy visiting. And Boston is glad and proud to hold this place in the hearts of her countrymen. THE ATLANTIC SLOPE TT^OR a trip through the Catskills you should ■■■ choose the mellow autumn season, such as lured Rip Van Winkle on his memorable journey to the mysterious mountain glen. The veils of blue haze over hills and valleys, the smell of frost-kissed leaves, and the lilting call of birds flying south will stir your gipsy blood as they must have Rip's when he rambled forth with dog and gun, defying Dame Van Winkle. You catch enticing glimpses of the Catskill country from the train windows or a Hudson River steamer. But to enjoy the real spirit of the region you should walk through a wooded ravine with leaves rustling beneath your feet and glowing red and gold above you. Gentians are blue along the sheltered paths, and squaw berries sprinkle the ground with dots of crimson. Some passing crows caw harshly overhead, and a bobolink trails his half -musical notes through the winey air. A brisk stream bubbles beside you, and a bridge leads into a road with a gray wooden house far up the mountain. A cow bell tinkles in a friendly fashion, and a ribbon of smoke waves from the roof of the farmhouse. It was rather lonely in the wild glen, and you are glad to see the 23 24 Little Journeys in America house and a woman in a blue dress and a pink sunbonnet. You pass other farmhouses as you tramp along, but they are rather infrequent ; and if you are trust- ing to the shelter of one of them for the nighty you begin to inquire about lodging. A farm among the Catskills is a quiet spot. Planting, harvesting, and long, winter months of snow lying deep in the leafy ravines — it seems a very peaceful monotony. You may go berrying in summer or nutting in the fall. Squirrel shooting is as popular a sport as it was in Rip Van Winkle's day. Early to bed and early to rise seems to be the rule. On some farms there are well-sweeps and old oaken buckets; or perhaps a spring trickles into a trough through a pipe beside the house. HOW DO THEY MAKE A LIVING? There are cows to milk and feed and drive to pasture, for dairying is an important industry. In this rural solitude. New York City seems very far away; but it gets much of its milk and cheese and butter from the little farms "up state." Fields of corn, oats, and hay provide feed for stock; and vegetables and small fruit are raised for the city market. The farmer's wood grows near at hand. He raises his own meat, milk, fruit, vegetables, and poultry. His wife makes soap by the barrel in a Copyright Underwood and Underwood Niagara Falls 26 Little Journeys in America huge kettle in the back yard. He has Httle to buy except clothing and farm machinery. From Albany to Buffalo you pass larger farms and many creameries and dairy barns. At Buffalo you are interested in one thing — Niagara. "The Thunder of Waters" is the meaning of the Indian name; and it seems appropriate, especially if you take the wild ride behind the falls. Such a roaring and splashing fills your ears ! You seem to be penetrating some unearthly din of subterranean seas. You are dizzy and numb with the force of it. THE LEAP OF THE WATERS Below the falls you may watch the rainbow mists shimmering above the foaming waters. With a leap of 165 feet the slighter cataract of the Ameri- can side of Niagara River plunges over a sheer precipice. The Canadian falls are about 158 feet high but much broader than the American. For a mile above the falls the waters have been descend- ing and gathering speed. At the very edge of the cataract, Goat Island separates the channel, and about nine-tenths of the waters go over the Cana- dian side where an abrupt bend shapes them into a horseshoe curve. But you are not much interested in figures and measurements during your first view of the. mighty torrent, rushing and swirling on its thunderous way. The Atlantic Slope 27 You are awed by the immensity and power, by the desperate wildness of the leap. It is vast and beautiful and not a little solemn. And you find that the falls seem different at different times. They fascinate you with swiftly changing moods. You should see them in moon- light with the gloom of dark shadows and the joyous flashing of silver spray. Sometimes they depress you with the everlasting tumult ; the waters seem to be crying some fateful dirge. Again they shout and ripple with a kind of elfish glee. You may gather many interesting facts con- cerning the power of Niagara. It was used to operate a sawmill as early as 1704. In 1901 the organization of companies, planning to make an extensive use of the water-power, threatened to destroy the beauty of the falls, and the amount of water which could be used was limited. A treaty between Great Britian and the United States provided that the total amount of water diverted for power purposes must not exceed 56,000 cubic feet per second. Of this Canada may have 36,000 feet and the United States 20,000. A LUMBER AND GRAIN MARKET You find Buffalo an attractive city with broad streets, beautiful parks, and a busy harbor where much grain is received and transferred. There is a 28 Little Journeys in America spicy smell of freshly cut wood around the wharves, for this is one of the largest lumber markets in the world. From the Middle West come great cars of live stock, and huge barges ply along the Erie canal to the Hudson River at Albany. Steamers come and go in the stream of lake traffic. There are machine shops, flour mills, and other important manufactories. Passing from New York into western Pennsyl- vania, you enter the great coal region of the Atlantic Slope. The wealth of these Appalachian coal beds has made Pittsburgh one of the greatest of manufacturing cities. You see great shafts and tunnels and narrow little railroads leading out of the mines. A GREAT BATTLEFIELD Near the central southern boundary of Pennsyl- vania is the famous battlefield of Gettysburg. The town of Gettysburg lies in the plain between two long parallel ridges, Seminary Ridge on the north and Cemetery Ridge on the south. It is a place of monuments. You may count more than 500 of bronze, marble, granite, or boulder. It seems a sad and tragic little valley, no matter how rosy the old "Peach Orchard" blooms nor how gaily the grass waves where the wheat field was overrun on those terrible July days in 1863. The Atlantic Slope 29 In the National Cemetery, which was dedicated in November of the same year as the Battle of Gettys- burg, there are over 3,500 soldiers buried. This was the center of the Union lines; and a great battle monument, topped by a statue of Liberty, was erected here after the close of the Civil War. It was at the dedication of this cemetery that Lincoln delivered the celebrated Gettysburg address — "the twenty-line address" it has been called. "The world will little note nor long remember what we say here," he declared. But the world has remembered Lincoln's speech, as well as the deeds of the soldiers he was honoring. There is power in words, it seems, when they ring with the simple truth and dignity of these. You look out over the monuments, over the crags and stones of the "Devil's Den," over the grassy slopes of the "Valley of Death." Beyond Gettysburg to the south are the same tall trees which caught the smoke of battle. Mounted cannon bristle along the edge of "Big Round Top." The equestrian statue of Reynolds, the dashing "Massachusetts Color Bearer," may be seen and thousands of unknown graves are around you. You remember Lincoln's words, "that govern- ment of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth." It was a great 30 Little Journeys in America price paid for an ideal of democracy. Surely it was not all an idle dream. ALONG THE ATLANTIC From Gettysburg it is not far to Washington; and down the Potomac is Mount Vernon, where every steamboat tolls its bell as it passes the tomb of George Washington, the first great American. A few hours by train or boat take you to New York. They are making the trip by airplane, too, flying gaily above the route where the old stage- coaches used to lumber along. Across Deleware and Maryland and up through New Jersey you pass farms and woodlands, and many neat-looking villages where the stage use to stop for a change of horses. Level, sandy stretches border the coast, which is broken by many small bays. A little way back are ranges of hills which are covered with dogwood and cedar. The New Jersey seacoast is lined with resorts. Atlantic City is the largest, and thousands of people gather here in the summer season. Here is the famous boardwalk extending for nine miles beside the ocean. On one side are hotels and amusement places, and on the other side is the beach and the tumbling waves. From the walk there are long piers extending into the waters ; and these contain music halls, cafes, picture theaters The Atlantic Slope 31 and other places of entertainment. Bathing, saiHng, fishing, and a country club and golf links provide diversion for the many pleasure-seekers. As you near New York, the villages are so close together that it seems one continuous city with occasional parks and gardens. Streets are lined with fine old trees; and there are beautiful homes where many New York people live, and "commute" by train and ferry. These towns are so restful that you cannot blame the inhabitants for pre- ferring them to the crowded city. A VISIT TO LONG ISLAND Long Island is a level, sandy strip of land with market gardens and quaint, old-fashioned houses, which are being replaced with modern cottages along the seaside. Here, also, are summer hotels and amusement parks such as Coney Island and Rockaway Beach. But there are still many dwel- lings which were built in Colonial times. One of these is the birthplace of John Howard Payne, the author of "Home, Sweet Home." The house is a pleasant "homey" structure with its gray, sloping roof, its great chimney, and many small-paned windows. Trees cluster about it, and the yard is enclosed with a picket fence. Old windmills lift their huge white arms along many country ways. They were built to grind 32 Little Journeys in America corn and wheat in the days before modern machin- ery began to do this work in the cities. Now many of the old windmills are idle, but a few still turn out their golden "grists." They are picturesque structures, built to withstand the force of tugging gales and heavy grinding-s tones. At the west end of Long Island is Brooklyn with a busy water front, where you may watch the teeming harbor of New York. Steamers from Panama, South America, Liverpool, Hamburg, the Mediterranean, and other distant ports pass through the Narrows to Upper New York Bay. On the Brooklyn side there are immense ware- houses, and you see great piles of freight waiting to be shipped or stored. Brooklyn is really a part of New York City, and here you look on at the vast trade center and realize something of the extent of the railway and steamship traffic. You see bags of coffee and nuts from Brazil, hides from other South American countries, bales of cotton from Texas and Louis- iana, vast quantities of raw material and many manufactured products as well. Tall chimneys of suglar refineries on the Brooklyn side and oil refineries across in New Jersey suggest some of the industries which the ships and trains supply. The New York skyscrapers remind you of the huge clothing factories, of the famous The Atlantic Slope 33 publishing houses, and the thousands of mills and shops which crowd this great metropolis. Across the bay come creeping barges with coal from the Pennsylvania mines to operate this wilderness of trains and boats and hotels and factories. Yet only a little way up the Hudson are the lonely Catskills and the old cabin of Rip Van Winkle in its sleepy, leaf -strewn hollow. The Atlantic Slope states are rich in a variety of products, including coal, lumber, grain, stock, fruit, garden vegetables, and butter, milk and cheese. Farms supply only local demands of the large cities, however, and cannot compare with the Central and Western states in extent of agri- cultural interests. Fishing is still important though far from being the industry of former years. The greatest manufactories are found in the larger cities, which are our chief centers of trade. Clothing, steel and iron goods, shoes, books, and cereals are a few of the leading products. NEW YORK, THE CITY OF TOWERS 'VTEW YORK and skyscrapers — the two ideas ■^^ are associated more or less in everybody's mind. Other cities have their lofty buildings, to be sure, but not quite such exulting pinnicles as has Manhattan. If you enter the city from her splendid harbor, you cannot fail to be thrilled Copyright Underwood and Underwood New York City by the great towers lifting themselves in a massive, irregular row, glistening in the sunshine, flashing their golden-windowed spires against the night. You may have thought of skyscrapers as heavy and ugly. These are like fairy castles — across the sea at night. 34 New York, the City of Towers 35 The giant Statue of Liberty seems a fitting hostess for such a city. Holding her torch aloft, she welcomes you from her pedes- tal among the waves. When you have land- ed and looked about you, the towers seem more substantial; but there are broad ave- nues and open squares to relieve the sense of crowding. If you will go on a clear day to the top of one of New York's tallest buildings, you may gain an impres- sive view of her teem- ing greatness. Again the towers, large and small, meet you on all sides. If you choose the Municipal Build- ing for your obser- vatory, you may look Copyright Underwood and Underwood The Statue of Liberty across and up at the 36 Little Journeys in America cream-colored Woolworth structure — fifty-seven stories, 792 feet, to the top of what is now the tallest office building in the world. The heavy shoulders of masonry lift the towering single column with perfect balance. Hundreds of clerks and stenographers, business men and office boys stream into this building every morning and out every night, just as they stream in and out of dozens of other less lofty neighbors. Like many other great achievements, the Woolworth Building seems a kind of monument to the value of little things; for it was built by a man who made a fortune selling all sorts of small articles at five and ten cents a piece. CRAWLING CARS AND CROWDS Other towers rise from the giant's web spread before you. Streamers of smoke float out and melt away. Roofs spread in terraces along the Hudson, stretching on and on, over to Jersey and beyond the bridges of the East River. Streets reach hungrily in every direction, and over them crawl the cars and crowds. People are queer, busy pigmies when seen from the top of a New York skyscraper. They pour out of the subway in blurred black masses. They flutter along broad avenues and into narrow cross- streets. Above them reach the many-windowed New York, the City of Towers 37 buildings, the spires and chimneys, and the elevated tracks. To the south lies the Atlantic Ocean in a far, shimmering line. When you have finished your bird's-eye view from the top of the tower, you may be at a loss to choose the things you most want to see in New York. It would be a little strange if you should not find it difficult to choose. People who have lived in New York all their lives are often un- familiar with the most interesting things in their city. There are so many interesting things; and many people, as you have seen, are kept busy in the tall buildings. If you take a bus up Fifth Avenue, you finally come to the homes of some of the men who have built the skyscrapers. And on the way you see other interesting places. From the top of the bus you may study the ingenious signs or the really lovely cornices. You may peer into the second- story windows of shops where gorgeous gowns are displayed on smirking wax models, or into book stores and ware rooms and busy offices. You bump across the car tracks and cringe as you jostle close under the elevated. A MIDDLE-AGED HORSE AND A HAUGHTY COACHMAN In front of you moves a long, motley procession of automobiles, buses, and frequently a huge 38 Little Journeys in America wagon drawn by a heavy team of draft horses. Occasionally there is an old-fashioned "hansom" with a very stiff coachman on top, holding the reins in a very haughty manner over the back of a sleek, important-looking horse. There is usually an air of aristocratic middle-age about the liveried driver. Usually the people inside of the carriage are rather elderly, also ; and the whole party seems to be clinging just a bit obstinately to what we are apt to call the quaintness of the past. The horse halts his high, mincing steps pro- testingly when the traffic policeman waves a halt. The quietly-dressed ladies or the thin, gray -haired gentlemen peer out of the windows at the lines of braying motors. But the coachman, sitting aloft, seems unmindful of the throng. He looks straight ahead between his bristling side-whiskers, and he loosens the reins with an assumption of well-bred calm when the policeman waves the crowd on. As you progress along the avenue, the heavy trucks grow less frequent; and there are more old coachmen with antiquated carriages. If it is late afternoon or evening your bus is halted at frequent intervals; the whole honking, hurrying procession is halted, while street cars and hurrying crowds and busses and automobiles cross in front of you. You have passed Madison Square, once the centre of the fashionable residence section. Madison New York, the City of Towers 39 Square Garden is on the site of Barnum's Hippo- drome. On the Square is the MetropoHtan Build- ing, almost as tall as the Wool worth. Its clock is three stories high. *'YOU G'WAN AND YOU G'WAN" As in the old negro lullaby, "You g'wan and you g'wan and you g'wan, g'wan, g'wan," and still the procession grows. You pass beautiful shops, each with its specialty, — jewelry, books, rugs, flowers, Japanese vases, millinery, pictures. At Forty -second Street you see the central library building with its stone lions and pillars, on the corner at your left. Off the Avenue to your right is the Grand Central Station, one of the finest depots in the world where travelers from everywhere surge about at all hours of the day and night. Clustered around this are some of the largest hotels in New York, including the Commodore, the tallest hotel building in the world. Near here are the Republican Club, the Army and Navy, and the Harvard and Yale Clubs. You pass along the east side of Central Park, 897 acres of meadow, woodland, lakes and rocky ledges. Here, on your right, are homes of some of the wealthy business men who have to do with the down-town skyscrapers. They are beautiful residences, spreading themselves in small parks of 40 Little Journeys in America their own which may not be compared, after all, with the vast public park here in the midst of the city or with the Metropolitan Museum of Art opposite Eighty-second Street and Fifth Avenue. You and I are probably not acquainted with many of the Fifth Avenue millionaires; and they might be too busy to entertain us, if we were. But we don't have to be acquainted with anybody in New York to gain admission to the great museum of painting, sculpture, potteries, porcelains, Egyp- tian and Roman antiquities, and all the vast store of interesting and beautiful treasures gathered from the four corners of the earth and kept in this home, which the city owns and takes care of. On most days the museum is free to the public. If we happen to strike it on pay days, Monday and Friday of each week, we are charged a small fee. This might be a good place to end your bus ride, if you are interested in the things which have been treasured through the ages as being of most value and interest to the people of all times. You could spend many days in any one department of the great storehouse, and one day will give you only a bewildered sense of what is there. Yet a short visit is worth while. And in a hurried half hour you may find something which thrills you with its truth or its beauty, something which you will remember all the rest of your days. New York, the City of Towers 41 VISITING CENTRAL PARK Cleopatra's Needle, at the rear of the Art Museum, was presented by the Khedive of Egypt and brought to Central Park some forty years ago. It is a tall, slender obelisk which was hewn out of stone and erected at Cairo in the 16th century b. c. It is covered with hieroglyphics, which are mean- ingless to you and me, but which doubtless told thrilling tales to the old Egyptians. It seems that these ancient people of the Nile had their idea of skyscrapers, too; and we quite approve of them even though they were so different from ours. The American Museum of Natural History at Central Park, West and Seventy-seventh Street con- tains complete exhibits illustrating the customs and life of various races of men. You will enjoy the excellent specimens of birds and animals of all ages, mounted in settings which suggest their own wild environment. A GREAT UNIVERSITY Supposing your first day in New York to be a sort of magic "days of days" in which you will not get weary with much travel and which will last until you have seen a few of the really fasci- nating spots in the city! Then you might leave the museums with the master paintings and sculp- tures, the art and history of the ages; and you could 42 Little Journeys in America wind by a stony footpath through Central Park, across rustic bridges and under massive aqueducts, beside the lakes and undpr the trees until you came to the spires of a great cathedral, the largest in America, though still unfinished. It is Saint John the Divine, and stands at the northwest corner of the park. The cornerstone of this great church was laid in 1892. Beyond the Cathedral to the north and west is Columbia, one of the great universities of this country. The most imposing approach is up the long series of steps to the Library with its pillars, its stately statue of Alma Mater, and its beautiful halls and courts. There are pleasant campus walks and nooks inside the iron gateways at the back of the Library under the tall old trees. Vines which cling to the gray buildings, are crimson masses in autumn when red and yellow leaves flutter down over the statue of the Great God Pan. The city presses close about, but there is still an air of scholarly seclusion on the grassy campus or within the many buildings. Just beyond the university you find Riverside Park, a narrow strip of carefully kept woodland along the Hudson. Here you may shut the city quite away by just descending the stone steps that lead to the grassy terraces and magnificent old trees behind the high, vine-covered wall, separating New York, the City of Towers 43 the park from the drive above. You feed the squirrels, so tame that they eat from your hand, and watch the boats coming and going on the river below. Up the drive is Grant's tomb, of shining white marble, with the gingko tree at its side, planted by Li Hung Chang. Still further north, away up in the Bronx, you find the Poe cottage where one of our greatest and saddest poets lived, and wrote. THE SUBWAY AND THE EAST SIDE Even a fleeting glimpse of New York would be incomplete without a bit of her lower East Side, the most densely populated district in America. And New York without the subway would be quite inconceivable. O. Henry, the story-writer, called the city "Bagdad on the Subway," you may remember. And the quickest route to the East Side, as to almost any other place in New York, is by way of the subway. So down the steps to the under-world you go, saying goodbye to fresh air and daylight for a time. You wait on the long platform until your train arrives. There are always people waiting, some- times vast crowds of them. Down the tracks as far as you can see, the lights blink in the black tunnel. With a shriek and a roar the train sweeps in. 44 Little Journeys in America doors fly open, and you step aboard to go swinging and grinding and shrieking and roaring toward town. At the rush hours the stations are thronged. People sweep on in crowds and off in crowds. You are shoved and jammed and elbowed into the smallest possible space. The guards jam the gates shut. If anybody's shoulders stick out, a guard obligingly pushes them in. He brushes aside those left struggling toward the train, and you are off again. At Times Square you take the "Shuttle," a cross-town subway that puts you on the East Side system. You surge into another train with a fresh mob of pushers, and away you go through the noise and blackness and glinting lights. You leave the train at lower Broadway and ascend the steps to find yourself in another world. You go east a few blocks; and the Ghetto is about you — or perhaps Little Italy or a bit of old Ireland. Here you find the dirty streets swarming with children, and foreign men and women chattering over their push carts or fruit stands which are crowded along the already narrow walks. Under the thundering elevated tracks on Third Avenue you may buy fruit or fish or dill pickles from carts or barrels beside the curb. The swarthy salesmen may have trouble understanding your questions, for the elevated trains are very noisy; and the New York, the City of Towers 45 people in this neighborhood are not well acquainted with the English language. You would perhaps have greater difficulty under- standing the Russian or Italian or dozen other foreigners. But conversation is not really neces- sary. There are pieces of cardboard with the t "^^^ll Hi^'w%l^iHinHB .^y,, m g^^ s^'iiif"' IS ■■i9*9' ^^11^ Ik W^ . «*i' '.k- » " - -.- m Copyright Underwood and Underwood East Siders, Christmas Shopping prices of things plainly marked. You pick out what you want and hand over your money. The chattering market men and women will count out your change. Queer sheet-iron ovens are trundled along the street. Sometimes kettles are placed over smoking 46 Little Journeys in America bonfires. From these out-door stoves you may get hot baked sweet potatoes, if you don't mind the dirty fingers of the greasy baker. Apples, bananas, oranges, onions, spaghetti, sausages, candy — all sorts of foods are ricked on the push-carts, usually as dirty as the market regulations will allow, sometimes dirtier. Women with shawls over their heads sit holding their babies beside their wares. Old and young, they crowd the noisy avenue. Some of them sell cheap laces or bolts of cloth or wreaths of paper flowers. Down the side streets are towering tenements with lines of clothes flapping above your head. Doorways are crowded with mothers and babies. There is much laughing and eating; and sometimes a hurdy-gurdy plays, and the children dance and clap their hands. INTERESTING LAND MARKS On the edge of the densest foreign belt is old Cooper Union and the statue of Peter Cooper, a man who believed in a free education for every- body. Here are a free museum, library, and classes in the arts and sciences where thousands of New York's foreigners are learning to become useful and loyal citizens. • In this tenement district known as the Bowery, is old Saint Mark's, dating from 1795 and built on New York, the City of Towers 47 the oldest church site in the city. In the church- yard is the tomb of Peter Stuyvesant, the famous Dutch governor of the early days when the village at the mouth of the Hudson was New Amsterdam or New York, according to the fortunes of the Dutch and English across the seas. It is pleasant to slip into the old churchyard under the ancient trees and almost forget the seething, picturesque Bowery outside. Back to the skyscrapers again on Lower Man- hattan, you should not miss a glimpse of Park Row with its famous newspaper buildings and the statues of Horace Greely and Benjamin Franklin. Near at hand is the old City Hall built in 1812, with paintings and relics in the "Gover- nor's Room," and the statue of Nathan Hale in the little park. You will want to visit Saint Paul's, the oldest church edifice in the city, built in 1/04. Xlere you may cgpy^igi^f underwood and Underwood sit in Washington's Trinity Church 48 Little Journeys in America pew and imagine yourself back in Colonial times, or you may walk in the churchyard and read inscriptions on grave stones hundreds of years old. The graves seem very peaceful under the trees in spite of the cars and crowds on all sides of the tiny square of struggling green. A few blocks on is Trinity Church with its little yard for the distin- guished dead of past centuries. At Battery Park at the foot of Broadway is the squat Aquarium, originally a battery and then Castle Square Garden, where Jennie Lind sang in 1850. It is now the home of a vast horde of fish, turtles, and grunting sea lions. You would find the stores and theaters of New York not vastly different from those of other cities, except, perhaps, the charming and expensive shops along Fifth Avenue. On the great White Way the gay crowds are gayer only because there are more of them; and there are both the beautiful and the garish in gowns and jewels and fashionable hotels. The charm of books and plays and music, the glitter of wealth, the grime of poverty, the grind of toil — New York has them all. And between the ex- tremes of all sorts there are delightfully ordinary, middle-sorts of people and places, more than is often imagined by people who know only one or two of the many different kinds of life in New York. New York, the City of Towers 49 The city is the great pubHshing center of America and is foremost in many sorts of manufacturing and trade. The garment industry is a very impor- tant one, the manufacture of cereals, shoes, iron goods, and other staple products occupies thou- sands of workers. Ships crowd the harbor bringing coffee, nuts, hides, cotton, coal, iron ore, crude oil, sugar, and many other imports. Oil and sugar refineries are conspicuous in Brooklyn and across the harbor in New Jersey. Fruit, lumber, grain, and dairy products come in, also, by train and boat. If you stop for a moment to think of the reason for this city, the world's metropolis if we include "Greater New York," you will remember first of all that there is an excellent harbor in a direct route from the great centers of Europe. And you will remember that New York is in the open path- way from the most productive parts of the United States. No mountain wall of the Appalachians shuts her away, as Boston and Philadelphia are shut away from the grain, stock, cotton, coal, and hundreds of other products of the West and North and South. Having these natural commercial advantages, New York has made the most of them. No wonder she has become our greatest city. WASHINGTON, THE NATIONAL CAPITAL AS YOU enter the great Union Station at Wash- ington, the long vista of arches and columns gives you a thrill of expectation. You may even wonder a little fearfully if the famous government buildings will not be over-shadowed by the imposing new depot and the City Post Office at its side. Copyright Underwood and Underwood National Capitol 50 Washington, the aSTational Capital 51 But when you catch sight of the majestic old Capitol on its sweeping hilltop, flanked at either hand by the new office buildings for members of the Senate and the House of Representatives, you realize that this simple, beautiful structure is perfectly capable of holding its own. You are impressed with the commanding dignity of this seat of national authority, this centre of world interest and activity. The architecture of the newer buildings has been subordinated to that of the Capitol, in order that a fitting unity may be attained, with the center of interest in the great historic edifice. You look down the broad, shaded streets radiating away from the Capitol, at the green parkings of the Mall leading to the Wash- ington Monument, the Lincoln Temple and the shining Potomac beyond. You are stirred by the spa- cious beauty and har- mony of the scene. More than any other city, Washing- ton belongs to the na- tion, and so contains Copyright Underwood and Underwood The White House 52 Little Journeys in America something of interest for everybody. Not all of us will be most impressed by the same things, but each will find a spirit of inspiration about the stately halls, the lofty monument, the quaint, old- fashioned White House, or the great museums and libraries. The Capitol has grown from the corner- stone laid by Washington in 1793 to an impressive, though simple structure, which reflects the chang- ing history of our rapidly changing nation. STORIES IN STREETS AND BUILDINGS As you look down Pennsylvania Avenue to the White House, you seem to feel something of the great dramatic moments which the old street has known. Down this avenue with the sheltering trees have come the great inaugural processions — leaders, flags, uniforms, martial music in the pageantry of actual historic events. Here the victorious Union Army marched in the "Grand Review" of 1865, and some of those blue-coated veterans lived to see the young soldiers in khaki returning the same way, from the battlefields of Europe in 1919. If you enter the Capitol at the center of the east front, you pass through the lofty columned portico in which most of our presidents have been in- augurated. Over the massive bronze door is a bas-relief of Washington being crowned with Washington, the National Capital 53 laurel by Fame and Peace. The door itself bears scenes illustrating the life of Columbus. The Senate and House wings, which extend from the central part of the Capitol, are approached by similar porticoes, supported by massive marble columns. In the grand rotunda beyond the great bronze door is a series of paintings by American art- ists, set in panels around the circular walls. One may journey through these pictured stories to the Landing of Columbus at San Salvador, the Dis- covery of the Mississippi by De Sota, the Baptism of Pocahontas, or the Embarkation of the Pilgrims from Delft Haven in Holland. Trumbull's Revolu- tionary War paintings portray from life many of the distinguished men who took part in our struggle for independence. IN THE "WHISPERING GALLERY" Above the rotunda,, 185 feet in height, is the interior of the great dome with its frescoes of historic events. By a circular iron stairway you may climb around and around under this immense spherical roof to the cupola beneath the Statue of Liberty which tops the outside of the dome. From this cupola you may gain a splendid view out over the city and the Capitol grounds. Down in the Hall of Statues, which was for 54 Little Journeys in America nearly fifty years the hall of the old House of Representatives, you may wish to linger. In the dome of this semi-circular chamber is the mys- terious "whispering gallery." The ceiling is painted in panels in imitation of the Pantheon at Rome. All about are the statues sent by the dif- ferent states to occupy each its niche in this common hall of fame. The eloquence of former statesmen has thus been replaced by silent memories, by tributes to those the nation has esteemed. The voices of Webster, Clay, Calhoun, Lincoln, and many other orators rang through this chamber in the earlier days, when some of the greatest national questions were settled by these distinguished representatives. But now the hall is quiet with only its ghostly echoes of the past. In the present chambers of the House and Senate a new activity surges, new voices speak, new questions are debated by the living repre- sentatives of our great democracy. Recently in the streets and halls and assemblies the clash of a world war has sounded and grown silent. Back of the Capitol, on the square facing the east side, is the Congressional Library with a floor space of nearly eight acres and book stacks con- taining about one hundred miles of shelving. It is said to be the largest and most magnificent of library buildings and to contain one of the most Washington, the National Capital 55 notable collections of books. A force of five hundred librarians is employed and there are provisions for nearly 1,000 readers at a time. Four enclosed courts and a cen- tral rotunda, stately staircases and col- umns and statuary are features of this harmonious s t r u c - ture, which is really a national temple of literature and art. Brilliant paintings and colorful frescoes suggest the history of our country. The decorations are entirely the work of American architects, painters and sculptors. More than fifty men are represented, and the build- ing is thus a splendid exhibit and memorial of our native ability and attainment. THE BEAUTIFUL WASHINGTON MONUMENT You will find the towering marble obelisk of Washington Monument impressive from every point of view. Its white shaft rises majestically from the sweep of park between the Capitol and Copyright Underwood and Underwood Interior, Library of Congress 56 Little Journeys in America the Lincoln Memorial. It is 555 feet from the base to the tip. You may climb its 900 steps in about twenty minutes or make the trip in seven minutes by elevator. And you will discover a splendid outlook at the top. From the distant Blue Ridge Mountains you may glimpse the monument, a slim, shining pencil of silver; or you may view it at the end of a vista through the Treasury columns, or see it stretching above the roofs of the city at night. But always it is beautiful, cool gray, a bluish silver, or golden and rose in the glow of sunset. It gives a sense of restfulness and peace, this memorial to our first president, which was over ninety years in the building. With the Potomac as a background for its exquisite Greek columns, the Lincoln Memorial Temple is appropriately placed at the end of the long vista of the Mall. The Capitol, the Washing- ton Monument, and the Lincoln Memorial form an impressive and harmonious group with just the right emphasis of open spaces. Within the Monument is the figure of Lincoln by Daniel Chester French, a statue seated that if erect would rise twenty-eight feet from the base. Under Jules Guerin's mural paintings you may read in bronze the immortal words of the Gettys- burg and Second Inaugural speeches. The light Washington, the National Capital 57 filters through transhicent marble panels between bronze ceiling beams. AT THE GALLERIES AND MUSEUMS Among the glowing plants and birds in the patio of the Pan-American building, you may feel the luxuriant atmosphere of the tropics. Here are sunlight and open sky and restful arches to set off the gorgeous color of flowers and plumage. The whole structure is warm and gracious, a most successful architectural expression. For one dollar, Charles L. Freer sold to the United States in 1906 art collections valued at many millions. He then added a million dollars to provide a suitable home for the treasures, and placed the whole under the direction of the Smith- sonian Institute at Washington. The Freer Art Gallery has now been erected ; and among its many attractions you will remember best the splendid Oriental collection and the work of the "chosen Americans." Among the latter artists is Whistler with 1,200 examples including the famous "Pea- cock Room" with its glory of blues and purples. Of the other buildings the lilac-gray towers of the Smithsonian Institute will be worth your in- vestigation as well as the National Museum, covering two and a half acres and situated on the Smithsonian grounds. These two museums con- 58 Little Journeys in America tain our best collections of mounted birds and animals, and of vegetable, mineral, and industrial exhibits. The Washington relics, swords, and other gifts presented to General Grant, besides the large Botanical Gardens containing the rarest plants and flowers from all over the world are here. The Corcoran Gallery is a handsome museum of private origin. Copyright Underwood and Underwood Smithsonian Institute Down Pennsylvania Avenue from the Capitol, you come upon the portals of the White House with their lingering charm of southern hospitality. The spacious grounds opposite La Fayette Park are shaded with fine oaks, poplars, and sycamores. Flowers and fountains are beautiful in summer- Washington, the National Capital 59 time. Inside are rooms long known for their public gatherings, where the greatest diplomats and rulers of foreign countries as well as the distinguished men and women of our own land are received in the home of our chief executive. In the great East Room is a profusion of gilding, rich mirrors, and chandeliers. The Green Room contains the portraits of the presidents, and the Blue Room is the center of the South Colonade. Back of these is the State Dining Room, the scene of many festivities, and the Cabinet Room with its long table where the president meets his advisers. OLD DAYS AT THE WHITE HOUSE You may enjoy sitting in a quiet corner of the East Room and recalling some of the past scenes of the old White House. Stately dames with hoop skirts and curls ; courtly gentlemen in wigs, powder and velvet; gay young belles of a hundred years ago were the famous men and lovely women at the first White House parties. Tom Paine, the Colonial Bolshevik; Tom Moore, the Irish poet; the first Turkish minister with his elaborate head- dress; Gilbert Stuart, the popular portrait painter; the aristocratic La Fayette with his noble spirit of democracy; James Fenimore Cooper, the writer of Indian tales: a long procession might march before you, in your dreaming over the old mansion's past. 60 Little Journeys in America How many interesting tableaux were presented! The scholarly John Adams conversing with poets, artists, and philosophers; the gay young Julia Gardiner, tossing the crimson tassel of her cap in President Tyler's face when he proposed to her; the Prince of Wales dancing with pretty Harriet Lane; the patient face and drooping figure of Lincoln at the long windows that look out over the Virginia hills: these are just a few of the many pictures. Dear to the heart of every American is Mount Vernon with its quaint formal garden, its old sun dial and its worn relics of our first great Com- mander-in-Chief. Furniture, books, and other intimate, personal articles recall the simple, digni- fied home life of George and Martha Washington. And down a shady pathway is the vine-covered tomb where the greatest as well as the least of the visitors at Washington may look upon the quiet grave of "The Father of Our Country." The Washington of the past is full of romantic memories, the Washington of the present is more interesting than ever in its far-reaching influence, and a commission of artists and builders is now carefully planning for the architectural appearance of the Washington of the future. Gardens, parks, and memorial fountains have been arranged for. A great bridge will span the Potomac, symbolizing Washington, the National Capital 61 the reunion of North and South. And the new plans have been fashioned upon the old ; the wheel- like design with the Capitol at the hub, that wise, far-seeing plan, which Major L'Enfant and George Copyright Underwood and Underwood Mount Vernon Washington formulated when the site for the national capitol was chosen away back in 1790, will only be carried on to the fullness of its completion. PITTSBURGH, THE WORLD'S WORKSHOP VT'OUR first view of the flaming furnaces of ■'■ Pittsburgh should be from the east at night, the train sweeping for miles through a great gorge of dusky buildings, lighted factory windows, and blazing chimneys. Clouds of smoke and steam hang above towering black frames and stacks. Sparks and orange-colored tongues leap up against the sky. There are red and yellow rivers here and there, and everywhere are flashing lights and spots of fire and squares of flame. You are enter- ing the world's workshop, the iron and steel city — perhaps the greatest industrial center in the United States. It seems as though you might be looking into the mighty forges of some giant god, where strange and powerful monsters were being moulded out of earth and fire. Shadowy workmen move here and there before the windows, silhouetted in the red glare of the furnaces. They seem like busy pigmies in the vastness of the tall, black buildings and clouds of smoke and squares of light. If you should gain admission to one of the great buildings, you could see the white lakes of bubbling steel and the red pools of liquid iron with which a real, if invisible, monster does make powerful, 62 Pittsburgh, the World's Workshop 63 monster machines. A sort of twin god, you and I might call the giant, though he is usually given the more prosaic name of "manufacturing" and "commerce." The workshop is a noisy, dusty place; and the heat from the furnaces is so intense that you may need a pair of blue glasses to protect your eyes if you venture close to the glowing, molten beds. The grimy, sweating workmen cringe and shield their faces before the scorching waves of heat. Wheels grind, engines rumble, a gigantic crane lifts its brimming ladle from a pit like the old torture fiends must have dreamed of. A fog of dust and smoke hangs about the place, casting queer, ghostly shadows in the midst of the fierce red, white, and orange lights. Men move back and forth in the lights and shadows, shoveling, pounding, and directing the hissing streams of metal with huge, long-handled spoons. From the mouths of runners the white steel cascades into seventy-ton ladles. A steel pourer fills tall, red moulds, a mould capper caps them, and puffing, narrow-gage locomotives drag them away. WHAT DO THEY MAKE IN THE WORKSHOP? From the mine-gouged mountains of western Pennsylvania, but more abundantly from the regions around the Great Lakes, comes the dark 64 Little Journeys in America ore into the great lighted rooras for its refining. It is shoveled into the massive furnaces as crushed stone. It flows out like foaming rivers of lava. It is soaked and smashed and cooled into smooth, blue billets to supply myriads of factories and forges, to be made into rails and locomotives, and aqueduct pipes, and armor for warships, and telegraph wires. Thousands of articles are fashioned for thousands of people in America, Europe, Africa, and Japan. Pittsburgh mills turn out annually over 150,000,000 tons of steel. The city's supremacy as a manufacturing dis- trict is due to its fuel supply. Coal and coke are the largest items in its enormous freight tonnage. It leads in the production of steel cars, tin plate, pipe and tubing, air brakes, corks, bottles, elec- trical machinery, glass, white lead, and pickles. The brand of cigars known as stogies originated in Pittsburgh, and there are some 250 manu- factories for this article, with an annual product worth $4,000,000. Gas, as well as coal, is plentiful; and the mountains for miles around are rich in iron ore. Pittsburgh also has a reputation for making millionaires out of ambitious country boys who come into this teeming center of smoke and noise and skyscrapers, where the monsters of industry are born, and where the products of the bleached, blistered men in the red-windowed factories go out to all quarters of the globe. Pittsburgh, the World's Workshop 65 A GATEWAY IN THE MOUNTAINS With all its factories, Pittsburgh is still as great a gateway as it was in its colonial beginnings — a much greater gateway, in fact, with its network of railroads as well as its three rivers and eight lake ports. The advantages of communication with the world as well as its vast fuel supply have helped to build up the enormous factories. The importance of the mountain gap where the Monongohela and Allegheny rivers meet to form the Ohio, was recognized by Major George Wash- ington when he visited the place in 1753 on his memorable journey through the wilderness. His report states that he "spent some time in viewing the rivers and land in the fork which I think extremely well situated for a fort, as it has absolute command on both rivers." Today the yellow, brown rivers are thick with barges, and the railroads are lined with freight cars. It is said that the Pittsburgh and Lake Erie earns more clear profit to the mile than any other railroad in the world. Although Pittsburgh is not an ocean city the tonnage of her boats has been greater than that of any seaport. Because so many Pittsburgh men live outside, away from the smoke and grime, the city has a tremendous sub- urban train service. Much has been done to remedy the smoke 66 Little Journeys in America nuisance, though the problem of a clean city is a difficult one, with miles of chimneys belching grimy flames night and day. The skyscrapers darken the narrow streets of the busiest sections, and windows are artificially lighted at mid-day under the leaden clouds. Back of the canyons of buildings the actual mountains rise with houses perched dizzily on their tops, the railroads climbing their steep sides. Huge trolley cars mount the great hills within the city, dragging mammouth trailers at the rush hours. Thousands of foreigners inhabit the slums of Pittsburgh. You may visit a single block where thirteen different languages are spoken. The men work by day or night in the grimy factories; and they live in the ugly, miserable hovels which a greater Pittsburgh will have to get rid of. Some of them read books in the long shifts, better books, we are told, than American workmen of the same class would think of reading. Eventually some of them become iron masters, gathering in the wealth which drips from the black mines and the red furnaces. « ANOTHER SIDE You may find, of course, another Pittsburgh, somewhat away from the smoke and noise and Pittsburgh, the World's Workshop 67 glare of giant workshops. Even iron masters are frequently fond of books and parks and picture galleries. Like other people, they enjoy theaters and concerts. One of these was the shrewd old Scotchman, who was known as the Pittsburgh steel king long before his name was seen on gray stone libraries all over the country. Andrew Carnegie was one of the poor boys who came to Pittsburgh to be made into a millionaire. With a little group of fellow Scotchmen he proved that steel could be an economic building material. The scarcity of wood and the growing popularity of skyscrapers helped to make this a very significant discovery. So the city has its great Carnegie Library and Institute with a museum, music hall, art gallery, and an endowment of $2,000,000. Forbes Field is the greatest baseball park in America, which of course means the greatest anywhere. Five bridges cross the Monongohela and eight, the Allegheny. In Shadyside, Squirrel Hill, Homewood, and other suburban places there are costly homes; and hundreds of suburban trains carry business men to and from the twilight of narrow streets and tall chimneys. More than four hundred of these trains arrive and depart every day from a single Pittsburgh terminal. The city has absorbed Allegheny and other surrounding burroughs. If you could have visited the city in the early 68 Little Journeys in America years of its history, you would have found the little village at the forks of the Ohio a center even then for boats and barges. It was a landmark for Indian traders in the first half of the eighteenth century. To this gateway of the West came the old Scotch and English pioneers, bound for the great wilderness of the Ohio Valley; and Pittsburgh began to be a frontier town. Before this it had been the Fort Duquesne of the French, and then Fort Pitt of the English. Following Washington's advice, the English started to erect a stockade here in 1754. But the French came down from Canada, took the place and built Fort Duquesne. Then the English took the fort and built the historic old post named for William Pitt, the English prime minister and the friend of the American colonies. Shortly after the battle of Lexington, the pioneers of this region declared their allegiance to the colonies and the cause of Independence, and took possession of Fort Pitt. Indian ravages harassed the country for ten years; and then General "Mad Anthony" Wayne, the dashing old frontiersman, was sent against the Ohio tribes and drove them from the territory. The gateway then became a safe passage for boats bearing cargoes down the two rivers to the Ohio, and from there to the Mississippi and the Pittsburgh, the World's Workshop 69 Gulf. Here the boats rested on the return trip with goods from Louisiana. Many old soldiers of the Revolution passed this way to the new *'land of promise," the great Western Reserve. High- ways and finally railroads took the place of the old Indian trails, and a fresh flood of traffic patrolled the three rivers. The city at the river forks began to give promise of its present com- mercial greatness. COAL FOR THE FURNACES With the discovery of coal and iron came a second and more significant stage of growth. And there were forests with which to build ships and freight cars. The gateway not only passed the boats on. It began to fill them with products of its own mines and factories. Iron for making steel and the multitude of manufactured articles; coal and gas to feed the furnaces ; oil for lighting and for gasoline; beds of clay and sand for making bricks and glass: these are materials which Pittsburgh found at her front door or her back door. They supplied her workshops and filled her freight trains and barges. These riches had long been overlooked by travelers along the old Braddock Road, where the pompous British general got his first lesson in Indian warfare. People had been anxious to pass 70 Little Journeys in America on to the rich lands beyond the mountains and had not dreamed of the possibihties in the rugged, rocky slopes. But at last the forests and mines began to be appreciated; and Pittsburgh became the "smoky city," the blazing forge for the hammer strokes of the great god of industry. Schenley Park is a splendid possession and the site of one of the few great civic centers of America. Around Carnegie Institute are the Soldiers' Memorial Hall, the Masonic Temple, the Pitts- burgh Athletic Association Building, the Home for the Historical Society of Western Pennsylvania, the Eighteenth Regiment Armory, the Schenley High School, and the fine buildings of the Univer- sity of Pittsburgh. There are also the Pennsylvania College for Women and other educational insti- tutions, including good public schools. Something of the old Scotch Presbyterian spirit of pioneer days survives in a wholesome sense of civic morality. Pittsburgh has hundreds of churches and thousands of beautiful homes in the remote residence parts. BALTIMORE, THE MONUMENTAL CITY JT may be the brick houses with the white '^ marble steps, or the elegant shops along dreamy- old Charles Street, or possibly the benign figure of Washington aloft on the pedestal in Mount Vernon Square. You are not sure what it is, but some- thing about Baltimore makes you think of comfort- able family dinners and quiet afternoon teas. If you have heard of Baltimore as the "Monu- mental City," you may wonder upon your first visit, at the reason for the name. But when you reach Mount Vernon Place in the midst of digni- fied Charles Street, you discover a beautiful white marble column with a heroic statue of Washington at the top. This is the oldest of many monuments erected to honor our first president; and it was because of this and the "Battle Monument" that the city received its epithet, and not because of the great number of monuments in Baltimore. The stately Washington shaft towers nearly two hundred feet from a base fifty feet square, and seems to dominate the city with its lofty calm. By a winding stair inside you may climb to the parapet at the top and gain a fine view out over the city, the Patapsco River on which Balti- 71 72 Little Journeys in America more is situated, and the waters of the Chesapeake Bay fourteen miles distant. In the square which surrounds the monument you find bronze figures representing Peace, War, Force, and Order. There is a statue of George Peabody and of several other distinguished men. Not far away is the Walters Art Gallery, with notable French paintings, Chinese and Japanese bronzes, and rare ivory carvings and porcelains. At the southeast corner of Washington Place is Peabody Institute with its conservatory of music, its library and galleries. YOU FIND POE'S GRAVE If you follow Charles Street south for some half-dozen blocks and then turn east to Monu- ment Square near the Post Ofiice, you come upon the white marble memorial erected in honor of men who died defending the city in 1814. A great bundle of Roman fasces containing the names of those who fell makes the shaft of the "Battle Monument"; and this is mounted by a female figure. In the churchyard in which he lies buried, you will find a small monument to the memory of Edgar Allen Poe. And you remember that it was through the streets of Baltimore that the unhappy poet and story-writer wandered often; and here, Baltimore, the Monumental City 73 no doubt, that he gathered material for some of his most thrilHng tales. To you or me old Charles Street looks very- sedate and not particularly adventurous, but Poe might easily have peopled it with mysterious demons. There are crooked, narrow streets down about Jones Falls, which require less imagination for purposes of gruesome story-telling. This is "Old Town." Here you find rambling byways, crowded alleys, dingy gutters, and cluttered court yards. Poe must have reveled in some of the shadowy corners of "Old Town." You pass old-fashioned, red brick houses which may have been young in George Washington's day. On some of these narrow streets there are ancient inns that knew the excitement of noisy stage-coach arrivals in the quaint old Colonial times. Up lumbered the mud-splashed vehicles with much clattering of hoofs and cracking of whips. And perhaps a lovely young lady from Richmond stepped daintily out of an old coach door, followed by a fat colored "Mammy" puffing under bags and bandboxes. Wigged and powdered Colonial gentlemen; gay young adventurers from London or Paris; sturdy frontiersmen in coonskin caps, keen-faced Yankees ; stately, hoop-skirted dames: they all tumbled out of the rocking old coaches and went in to dine 74 Little Journeys in America at the queer little inns. And there were many stories told of the recklessness of drivers, or the slowness of horses, or the speed of certain fleet- footed pairs. Always there w^ere some record- breaking sprints, often masked robbers along some lonely highway, \\liat a start it would have given these ancient stage-coachers if a visitor could have dropped in by motor or airplane ! THE HARBOR AND FORT McHENRY You rather enjoy the narrow, rambling streets of Old Town. There are no rickety tenements, and the little brick houses seem very solid and cozy. Down along the wharves are crab and oyster stalls where singing negroes prepare the delectable sea food for market. Across the harbor you may see Fort McHenry, silently watchful above the busy streets. It was this fort which, in 1814 defended Baltimore from the British attack. It was during the action that Francis Scott Key, being detained on one of the British ships, composed the "Star Spangled Banner," which has stirred millions of iVmericans and has become much more famous than the battle which inspired it. Baltimore's harbor is in the heart of the city, and a very good harbor it is, accommodating vessels of the largest class and carrying on extensive commerce. Here are wharves of the Baltimore and Baltimore, the Monumental City 75 Ohio, the first successful railroad system in this country. And there are many tall elevators and warehouses. WHAT DO THE STEAMERS CARRY? The many steamers which you see about the piers carry a great deal of corn, shipped here from interior cities, and also wheat, flour, cotton, tobacco, and coal. In return for these exports they bring to Baltimore iron ore, bananas, pineapples, cocoa- nuts, sugar, and general merchandise. If you wish to find out what is made in Balti- more, you may visit an extensive Cooper refining plant and large oyster and fruit canneries. You will find, also, factories making fertilizers, straw goods, and cotton duck. In the neighborhood of Baltimore is found the finest brick-clay in the world, and more than a hundred million bricks are manufactured annually in the city. Her good harbor and nearness to cotton and grain regions, as well as her wood, coal and iron wealth, have helped to make Baltimore a great seaport. Following Charles Street north, you come to the handsome residences of the city. Many of the broad streets of new Baltimore have pretty squares with flowers, grass and splashing fountains. Maryland marble has been used with good effect in 76 Little Journeys in America fine public buildings. The City Hall is of white marble with a dome 227 feet high. The Court House and Post Office are other imposing structures in this row, which escaped the fire that, in 1904, wiped out much of the business section. The general impression of Baltimore's business streets is that of age and stability. Johns Hopkins University is the most dis- tinguished of a group of first-class educational institutions. An ancient cathedral lifts its dome among the trees ; and there are other great churches, theaters, and modern hotels. OF THE NORTH AND THE SOUTH Named after Lord Baltimore who settled Mary- land in 1633, the city seemed allied to the aristo- cratic ideals of the Virginia colonies. Yet, along with Maryland, it had many interests in common with its northern neighbors. Baltimore was founded in 1729, after the early broils of Puritans and Cavaliers had been mainly adjusted. Chris- tians of all sects were allowed to worship in the Maryland colony, and the different religious beliefs were happily adjusted. At the time of the Civil War there were again the bitter contests of a border state; and when a Massachusetts regiment, passing through the streets of Baltimore was fired upon by a mob. Baltimore, the Monumental City 77 the city was placed under Federal control. It took the famous Mason and Dixon line to sepa- rate slave and free states and mark the northern boundary of Maryland. But if Baltimore has realized the difficulties of her position, she is now able to demonstrate its advantages. The climate is temperate and bracing, neither too hot nor too cold. Divided into two nearly equal parts by the stream known as Jones' Falls, the city seems plentifully watered and fresh with the breezes of a tempered sea. While Wash- ington, only thirty-seven miles away, is sweltering through the summer, half depopulated by the rush to cooler climes, one finds the streets of Baltimore delightfully comfortable for the most part. The spirit of the South is seen, too, in charming gardens and parks. Winter touches them lightly, and summer blooms in them with fragrant aban- don. You should walk or drive through Druid Park, with its seven hundred acres of wooded hill slopes, grassy terraces, and flowery beauty. There is another memorial here in honor of Poe, and you are glad that this dignified old city has seen fit to recognize the great gifts of one of her unhappy sons. Druid Park is cool with the shade of oaks and the green of many vines. It seems a fit place to recall a poet's sad enchantment. 78 Little Journeys in America The same air of calm enjoyment pervades old shops and homes along Charles Street. Stores are tempting, without seeming too openly com- mercial. Clubs are hospitable; friends have time for leisurely gossip on cool front porches. The markets of Baltimore have long been celebrated. Here are gathered the richness of southern fruits, the piles of glistening sea food, the stores of out-lying vegetable gardens. Even the names of Baltimore's streets seem somehow mildly romantic, like her red brick houses. "Sarah Ann Street," "Johnny-cake Road," "Maiden- choice Lane," and similar names are as humanly suggestive as the quaint front porches and after- noon tea. The city seems to have kept its southern open- heartedness and leisure, without losing a certain red-brick thriftness and substantiality, recalling Philadelphia or New England. Its markets are notoriously inexpensive even in high-cost-of -living days. It has taken its place industrially without blackening itself with the obscuring smudge of commercialism. Something of pioneer dignity and romance lingers for General Washington on his lofty pedestal to look down on through the years. BY THE OLD CANAL If you have^time^to leave Baltimore by way of the ancient canal through which boats still pass to Baltimore, the Monumental City 79 Philadelphia, you will keep this impression of leisurely poise which we have discovered in the Monumental City. A little steamer carries you slowly but surely in a northeasternly direction, a hundred miles in a day's journey. Green banks, placid waters, country roads, and distant hills are about you. You meet huge barges, sometimes drawn by horses that travel the narrow "towpath." Swinging bridges open above your head; motor boats chug beside you. And the gleaming monument and the tall chimneys of Balti- more fade slowly from your view. PHILADELPHIA, THE BIRTHPLACE OF LIBERTY ^ 'rilHE Birthplace of American Liberty," the -*■ "Quaker City," and the "Red City" are titles applied to Philadelphia, aside from its real name, which means "City of Brotherly Love." And it has been so closely associated with two great statesmen, that when thinking of it historically one feels like calling it the city of Benjamin Frank- lin and William Penn. But as the birthplace of American Liberty it is perhaps most interesting to visitors. And we imagine that both Penn and Franklin would have been delighted with the name. As you enter Philadelphia, you may catch sight of Penn, in Quaker dress, standing on a great pedestal above the red brick buildings. On your first trip to Philadelphia you must of course see Independence Hall and the old bell which "proclaimed liberty throughout the land" so many years ago. Facing the lawns and flowers of Independence Square, the ancient brick state- house stands sturdily among its sheltering trees. It is two stories high and is simply constructed. In the east room on the first floor you may sit in one of the chairs which were occupied by the mem- 80 Philadelphia, Birthplace of Liberty 81 bers of the Revolutionary Congress. Here the Declaration of Independence was adopted, July 4, 1776. The old furniture is arranged about the room as it was at that memorable time. On the walls are portraits of the signers of the Declaration. And there are ancient banners and emblems. "Don't tread on me," shrieks one of the faded "Rattlesnake flags," as defiantly as ever. Copyright Underwood and Underwood Room in Independence Hall Where Declaration of Independence Was Signed In the upper hall Washington delivered his Fare- well Address. You may remember one of his fam- ous sentences: "My eyes have grown dim in the service of my country, but I have never doubted her justice." In the main corridor you find the old 82 Little Journeys in America cracked bell, which has made many journeys to world's fairs since it rang the glad tidings of ^'liberty." You return to the sunshine and flower-beds of Independence Square. There are other interesting buildings all about you. The City Hall with its tower from which William Penn looks down upon his Quaker City is near at hand. This hall was for many years the meeting place of the first United States Court. A neighboring building is the Hall of the American Philosophical Society, an organiza- tion founded by Benjamin Franklin. Near here is Congress Hall, the meeting place of our national Congress before the Capitol was established at Washington. WHERE WAS THE FIRST FLAG MADE? You must not miss the Betsy Ross House on Arch Street, not far from the Delaware river. It is a quaint little two-story brick, wedged in between two larger buildings. It has a sloping roof with dormer windows, and the windows have tiny panes and heavy wooden shutters. There is a picture of the first flag, like a sign board, at the corner of an upper window. There were thirteen stars and thirteen stripes on this early "edition" of "Old Glory." On Arch Street, also, is the graveyard of Christ Philadelphia, Birthplace of Liberty 83 Church, and an iron grating in the old brick wall allows you to look through upon the graves of Benjamin Franklin and his wife. The place is marked with a simple slab in keeping with the spirit of this great democrat. The inscription says, "Benjamin and Deborah Franklin, 1790." There is a bronze statue of Franklin in front of the Post Office build- ing on Chestnut Street. It was in Philadelphia, you re- member, that Frank- lin made his appear- ance, eating a break- fast roll and carrying his extra clothes wrapped up in a cotton handkerchief. It was here that his future wife smiled from the door of her father's house at the boy's awkward appearance. Frank- lin was then eighteen years old and had left Boston and his brother's printing house to try his fortunes alone in a strange city. You travel further along Chestnut Street and discover the hall where the first Colonial Congress met in 1774. An inscription reads, Copyright Underwood and Underwood Betsy Ross House, Birthplace of Old Glory 84 Little Journeys in America "Within these walls, Henry, Hancock and Adams inspired the delegates of the colo- nies with nerve and sinew for the toils of war." You are finding many halls in Philadelphia, but they were probably all very necessary in the "birth- place of liberty." In the older parts of the city are many other landmarks. You enjoy discovering them as you walk along. The modern business of the city surges about the historic spots. You need to watch or you will miss some of them in the rushing commerce of the practical Red City. RED BRICKS AND "BUSY-BODIES" There seems to be endless rows and rows of two- story and three-story bricks, most of them individ- ual houses. There are some apartment buildings, but many more rows of single dwellings. This seems natural. You would expect a Quaker to want a house of his own. And Quaker influence is still felt in Philadelphia. Did you ever hear of a busy-body? Not a gossiping old lady, if you please, but a strange little device which you may notice on the window ledge of almost any of these red brick houses. Two or three mirrors are placed in such a way that anyone sitting near the window may see the reflection of the street below. They must be curious folk, one Philadelphia, Birthplace of Liberty 85 imagines, to want these saucy "busy-bodies," for- ever spying on what takes place outside the win- dow. In spite of their demure and dignified looks, the Quakers must have been as curious as anybody about the doings of their neighbors. Chestnut Street, by the way, is an aristocratic thoroughfare. It has been compared to New York's Fifth Avenue. Here are small shops filled with choice and expensive articles. Here you may buy old books or exquisite china or laces. Other shops offer luxurious clothing and jewelry. And there are tea rooms and elegant hotels, and after these come handsome residences. AN INTERESTING BOY'S SCHOOL Beyond the red brick houses there are attractive suburbs. Fairmount Park is a splendid pleasure ground of about 3,000 acres, with the Schuylkill River flowing through it. Here exciting boat races attract thousands of visitors. There are lovely drives beside the river and along wooded hilltops. You notice a colossal equestrian statue of Washing- ton, also one of Grant and a bronze statue of Lincoln. In the west part of this park the Centen- nial Exposition was held in 1876. Horticultural Hall and the Memorial Art Gallery are buildings which were erected at the time of this first "World's Fair" in America. 86 Little Journeys in America Near the west park entrance you find "Letitia House," the original residence of WilHam Penn, moved here from its old site in the crowded city. You may follow a narrow footpath along the Wissahickon to one of the most picturesque of wooded glens. The University of Pennsylvania is a great institution on the west bank of the Schuylkill. You find near here a beautiful Greek Temple at the center of a group of buildings belonging to Girard College. This school was founded for the education of poor boys, by Stephen Girard, one of Philadelphia's richest men. Its founder was a stern, reserved man; and he imposed the strange decree that no clergyman should be allowed to enter even the grounds of the institution. This provision has been respected. Un- less you can prove conclusively that you are not a preacher of any sort, you will not be allowed to set foot in the grounds or buildings. Girard College is a splendid charity school, paying the entire ex- Copyright Underwood and Underwood Home of William Penn Philadelphia, Birthplace of Liberty 87 penses of the boys who are taken. Boys are entered at the age of eight years and may remain until they are eighteen. A CITY OF FACTORIES You should not forget that Philadelphia claims the largest locomotive factory in the world. You would enjoy a visit to the Baldwin Locomotive Works. The principal manufacturing plant covers seventeen acres, and there are extensive shops and foundries outside the city. The industry was founded in 1831. Baldwin locomotives are now sent all over the world at the rate of about 2,500 every year. There is an immense ship-building industry in Philadelphia, and large cotton and carpet mills. The city's nearness to great coal fields has done much to aid the growth of her giant factories. She also has good transportation by water and by land. You may be interested in the handsome publish- ing house of the Curtis Company on Independence Square. This is the one great magazine office in this home of the first American newspaper and the first magazine. YOU LEAVE ALONG THE PIKE An interesting way to depart from Philadelphia is along one of her famous old pikes. Beyond the 88 Little Journeys in America factory chimneys and the soHd rows of brick houses you may journey toward old-fashioned farm homes and quaint churches where Httle companies of elderly people still attend "Quaker Meeting." Should you care to peep into one of these meeting houses you will notice that there is no pulpit, only rows of benches sitting quite solemnly side by side. You can imagine them filled with quaint, gray-clad worshippers sitting quietly in the simple room, women on one side and the men on the other. These people knew the magic of silence, an almost forgotten charm, it would seem in our noisy modern habits of life. Along this old pike there are also delightful inns, most of them with yellow walls, green blinds, and historic traditions. Here Washington dined with other colonial celebrities. Here the members of the Continental Congress stopped for the night when on their way to the new national assembly hall at Washington. You pass ancient toll gates with ancient keepers, large white farm houses, sturdy orchards and vine- yards. If you can arrange your departure so as to pass through Valley Forge it seems a logical leave- taking of Philadelphia. THE OLD CAMP GROUND About twenty miles northwest of the city is the little ravine in which Washington and his half- Philadelphia, Birthplace of Liberty 89 starved, half-clothed army spent the terrible winter of 1777-78. There was an old forge here, in the very early days, which gave the valley its name. There was also a mill and the stone house in which Washington made his headquarters. You may visit the old house, and some army huts, repro- Copyright Underwood and Underwood Washington Inn, Valley Forge duced to show visitors in what sort of quarters the patriots wintered. They are rude cabins, cheerless enough without the added discomforts of insuf- ficient food and clothing. Washington's bitter reports remind us of the 90 Little Journeys in America sufferings of those days. On December 23, he said that 2000 men were barefoot or otherwise unfit for duty. By February there were nearly 4000 unfit for service. By "an eternal round of the most stupid mismanagement," Washington declared, *'the public treasury is expended to no kind of pur- pose, while men have been left to perish by inches with cold and nakedness." There were smallpox and other diseases among the soldiers. Scarcity of blankets compelled num- bers of them to sit up all night, hovering over campfires. When we remember these disheartening conditions. Valley Forge seems a kind of national altar of sacrifice. The old camping ground is now a state park. Red squirrels and bluebirds are plentiful, and the trees droop gracefully over the water where the old forge and the old mill once stood. There are covered wooden bridges over the "Valley Creek." In winter snow lies deep along the paths and road- ways and clings in feathery handfuls among the brushy woods. Boy Scouts are fond of meeting here, and in summer there are thousands of visitors. THE WESTERN RESERVE TOURNEYING westward from the Atlantic ^ coast through Virginia, you may cross the famous Natural Bridge on your way to the mountains of Kentucky and Tennessee and the fertile Ohio Valley, which was wild frontier country in the days of Daniel Boone. Tall trees grow under the arch of the great bridge, but they do not reach its roof. You may want to climb the precipice that towers steep and rugged above the gurgling little Cedar Brook, supporting the arch of rock with its broad wagon road above. Many people have climbed the wall and cut their names in the limestone. Up about twenty -five feet is the name of Washington. For many years this was the highest name. Finally, somebody climbed the whole 215 feet to the top. Beyond the Natural Bridge you come to the leafy, flower-bordered canyons of Eastern Ken- tucky. "Kentucky is the greenest, leafiest state I have yet seen," said John Muir in a book of notes about his long walk from Wisconsin to the Gulf of Mexico. You will notice the density of foliage which makes each mountain-side a wall of green. Your train winds through the Cumberlands, over dashing 91 92 Little Journeys in America streams, around massive shoulders of rock, past ancient-looking cabins perched beside a patch of corn or a forlorn bit of "clearing." You may catch sight of shy barefooted children, slipping nimbly among the rocks and trees. HOW DO THE MOUNTAINEERS LIVE? Lonely mountain roads lead away through the dense woods to other faded gray houses of rough boards or round logs. These homes of the Ken- tucky and Tennessee mountaineers are strangely primitive in the midst of a long-settled country. You might easily imagine one of them to be the frontier cabin of Daniel Boone, where the dauntless pioneer roasted his piece of venison before an open fire and rolled into his bunk of skins after carefully barring the door against the attacks of wild beasts. You see only scampering fox squirrels or cawing crows, with now and then a bluejay, a red-headed woodpecker, or if you are especially fortunate, a beautiful Kentucky cardinal. \ Many of the mountaineers still live in the primi- tive fashion of the earliest settlers. In dilapidated lumber wagons drawn by miserable looking mules or^ horses, the mountain farmers drive with their families to a distant "settlement" or to Sunday services in a country schoolhouse. Sometimes the women sit on kitchen chairs placed in the back of The Western Reserve 93 the wagon box, and these seats slip up and down in a most alarming fashion as the crude vehicle jolts over the steep and stony mountain roads. Water is often carried from a spring a half a mile or more from the house. Old women smoke corn- cob pipes and take snuff. A few of them spin and weave; but calico and jeans have taken the place, in a large measure, of the more substantial home- spun materials. Old folk-songs and stories are handed down from parents to children in these remote country dis- tricts. Some very charming ballads have been preserved in this way. But the mountaineers are slowly changing. "Moonlight schools" held in the evenings did much to start these people to thinking more of the outside world. The schools were at first held only on moonlight nights, as then the pupils could find their way over the steep mountain paths to the schoolhouse or settlement. Old men and women who had never learned to read became interested in these night classes. The mountaineers have many interesting and admirable characteristics, in spite of their shiftless way of living. They are very loyal to anyone who befriends them, and their devotion to blood rela- tives was one of the causes for the terrible feuds which you have read of in stories of the Kentucky and Tennessee mountains. 94 Little Journeys in America WHERE IS MAMMOTH CAVE? The mountain country is so beautiful it seems as if people ought to be happy living in it. Soft white clouds fluff over the green ridges. The sky is a soft, warm blue above the lofty treetops. Oaks, hickories, sycamore, and a great variety of other trees are found. In autumn the woods are a blaze of color. Frost glistens on the red and gold leaves that flutter down to form a brown carpet. Bitter-sweet and dog- wood berries flame in the cool shadows, and there are wild grape vines and red haws and waxy mistle- toe. Astors and goldenrod border the purple forest paths, and brooks leap clear and silvery through rocky ravines. "The Cumberland must be a happy stream," said John Muir, 'T think I could enjoy traveling with it in the midst of such beauty all my life." Ninety miles south of Louisville you find Mam- moth Cave. This cave is about ten miles in length and is the largest cavern known. You fol- low a narrow ravine to the funnel-shaped mouth with its fringe of green fern. A strong cool wind comes out of the opening, and is known as the "breath" of the cave. People sit about the door- way on hot summer days and are fanned by the current of pure air which has been cooled in the dripping depth of the great dark chambers. The Western Reserve 95 You would travel over 150 miles if you explored all the avenues, chambers, rivers, and cataracts within this cave. There are vast domes, lakes, abysses, and grotesque shapes of rock. Bats squeak and circle about the lofty walls as you enter. Moisture drips from the dank ceilings. The chief temple covers about four acres and has a dome of solid rock 120 feet high. In the Star Chamber there are glistening white points in the dark lofty ceiling that look like stars in the glim- mering electric light. The river Styx is 450 feet long and is crossed by a natural bridge thirty feet high. You have a strange feeling, half dread and half delight, in this mysterious under-world. White, eyeless fish glide about in the pools or streams. And there are lizards, frogs, and crickets who some- times get out for a glimpse of sunlight. In the Bridal Chamber you are told the story of an ingenious maiden who had promised at her mother's death-bed that she would not marry any man on the face of the earth. She came to the dim cave chamber and was wedded, underground. The cave is interesting and mysterious, but you are rather glad to follow your guide back to the sunlight and the rocky path which leads to the hotel. Geologists estimate that there are about a hundred thousand miles of open caverns beneath 96 Little Journeys in America the surface of limestone which covers this part of Kentucky. IN THE BLUE GRASS COUNTRY In western Kentucky you pass through the famous Blue Grass region. Large, comfortable farmhouses and broad fields of tobacco, hemp, and corn are a striking contrast to the poor weather- beaten cabins and straggling garden patches of the mountaineers. Here are fine orchards, rolling pasture lands, fat cattle and sheep, and splendid thoroughbred horses. The blue grass waves in a rippling gray-green curtain over hills and along driveways. It is trim and velvety in well-kept lawns. It is said that the sleek-coated, fine-limbed Kentucky horses lose many points of excellence when they are kept for a few generations away from their famous blue grass pastures. Western Kentucky is a prosperous, easy-going spot. Great stone houses stand on rich old estates, with negro cabins that were built "fo' de wah." Some of the slaves came back to their masters and the comfortable cabins, and worked on as if there had been no war. The Kentucky slave-holder had a reputation for being kind to his black folk. He had a reputation also for lavish hospitality and his children have kept this spirit of friendliness The Western Reserve 97 and sociability. "Be sure to come to our house when you visit Kentucky," says the cordial Ken- tuckian you meet in New York or London or San Francisco. And there is something about the warmth of the southern accent which makes you eager to accept the informal invitation. Kentucky also has a reputation for beautiful women and tall, well-built men. She did have unpleasant fame as a place where frequent quarrels were settled with pistols and bowie knives, but she has outgrown this uncomplimentary record. ALONG THE OHIO The Ohio River winds busily back and forth through limestone banks, over beds of slippery soap- stone, and along sandy bottoms. Before the days of railroads it offered direct communication with the older settlements east of the mountains around Pittsburgh. And it led on to the Mississippi and the French settlements at the Gulf. So the first homes in this section of "Western Reserve" states were made along the Ohio or northward on the Great Lakes with their friendly water routes. Later, more adventurous pioneers struck into the prairie lands to the west and north. The Ohio Valley is a mild, sheltered region, with peach orchards, apple orchards, and grapes and "small fruit." In southern Ohio there are many 98 Little Journeys in America fields of tobacco. You may watch it being stripped from the coarse main stems of the leaves, or you may see it drying in open sheds where it has been strung in long brown rows. Some corn, wheat or other grain is raised on the more fertile hills or along the valleys. You should really stop for a leisurely ride along one of the old country "Pikes" of Ohio. You pass, on one of these long white ways, infrequent toll- gates, where a small fee is charged for the up-keep of the roadbed of pounded limestone. A sleepy old man tends the gate ; or it may be left to the care of a keeper's wife, who dashes out from her kitchen labors as your buggy is seen to approach. Having paid your toll, you pass on through green meadows, up and down steep hills, and perhaps through a shadowy covered bridge — a favorite haunt for robbers in the early days, you are told with a kind of delicious shudder. You pass farm houses and peach orchards and drowsy old country churchyards with their moss- grown tombstones and myrtle-covered mounds. Along the Pike are little "string-towns," a line of houses on either side of the narrow road. The Pike is the only street in town; but the houses are all huddled against it with the tiniest of front yards, or none at all. And they are stooped, weather- beaten houses with picket fences at the side and The Western Eeserve 99 back. They look somehow like staid, angular maiden ladies as they huddle along the street in a stiff, dingy row. Women with white aprons and stiffly-starched sun-bonnets walk primly down the one street to the one store where the post office is kept. Or they work among the zenias and four-o'clocks in the back gardens, or stop for a bit of gossip at a neigh- bor's front gate. The weeds may wave from between the boards of the narrow side-walks, and you may look from the back porches into a farmer's cornfield or cow- pasture; but Stringtown people feel the dignity of their town, for all that. They speak with an air of "going to the country" for a vacation. But the Pike is an entertaining thoroughfare. You feel a kind of drowsy content in the old- fashioned farm houses, the grape arbors, the bee hives, the peach and apple orchards, and the cool spring-houses where butter and milk are kept. PROSPEROUS CITIES In the cities of this section you find less of the spirit of dreamy content which marks the villages along the pikes. Indianapolis you may have met in Booth Tarkington's stories, or in the poems of James Whitcomb Riley. It has shaded streets, home-like old houses, and some very handsome 100 Little Journeys in America new ones, and more leisurely manners than you find in Chicago or Pittsburgh. Cincinnati is rather a stirring place with five bridges across the Ohio and a variety of handsome buildings. It packs pork and manufactures cloth- ing, food products, iron, soap, jewelry, and drugs. It calls itself the "Queen City of the West." Columbus, Ohio, is a dignified old town with an air of substantial self-respect. Cleveland has forged ahead recently on account of her growing lake trade. She manufactures a big steamer in ninety days or less and the Cuya- hoga river makes a good harbor for boats. Coal is carried to Duluth and Superior; and the return cargo of red iron ore is taken to Cleveland or other lake ports or is passed over to Pittsburgh, the great steel city. Cleveland has broad streets, grimy old houses, prosperous stores, and a splendid civic center. She has a brisk spirit of industry, that seems to surprise even herself at times. CLEVELAND, THE FOREST CITY "OESIDE the blue waters of Lake Erie and the '^ wooded ravines of the crooked Httle Cuyahoga River, you find Cleveland, the largest city in Ohio and one of the most interesting in the country. From the brink of a giant cliff at the lake's edge, a broad mall stretches back to Superior Street. Along this stately parkway Cleveland has placed her public buildings, planned by expert architects and constructed as a carefully unified group. The tract of land is a half mile long and a quarter of a mile wide. It lies in the heart of the city and has been set apart for the city's special use. Here you find the Court House, the Federal Building, the City Hall. A new art museum, a fine public library, an imposing union station and a court of honor joining the other buildings at either end, are part of this great civic center scheme. As you leave your steamer and wander away from the lake front, you may wonder why Cleve- land came to distinguish herself by this splendid group of buildings. Naturally, it must be the result of unusual civic spirit. It reflects the fine vision which Cleveland had of a beautiful and useful city. She has cared about her personal appearance and the happiness and well-being of her citizens. 101 102 Little Journeys in America All over the country there are community centers which have been patterned after this ideal which Cleveland had the courage to realize. You find also that there were pride and perseverance and faith away back in the beginning of Cleveland. "Oh, yes," says the loyal citizen who escorts you down Euclid Avenue. "Cleveland was one of the first cities in the United States to have a free public school. She believes in service for the people." You rather like Euclid Avenue. The old houses are somewhat grimy, to be sure; and business is clearly crowding its way where private leisure used to reign supreme. But the huge lawns and porti- coed homes have a kind of lingering dignity even in the face of the newest automobile shops which have crowded about. "It's not what it used to be," admits your guide. "But it's growing into a fine business section. It was our old Euclid, you know, that Bayard Taylor once declared the most beautiful street in the country. It isn't so much to look at now, but it's gettin' busier all the time." You learn of other Cleveland ideas. There is the Community Trust, for instance. It controls mil- lions of dollars bequeathed for educational and charitable purposes. A non-political, non-secta- rian committee serves without pay to see that the income from these funds is used as it should be. Cleveland, the Forest City 103 If some hungry children in Cleveland need help, they are not left to starve while the money trickles through the hands of grafting politicians. Cleve- land long ago decided to manage her own house- keeping. On the whole, she is a surprising success at the business. Copynght Underwood and Undirwood Public Square, Cleveland LOOKING AFTER PEOPLE'S MOUTHS Some unique movements have originated here, such as the National Mouth Hygiene Association. Did you ever stop to think that a great deal of illness and very many deaths have come from neg- lected teeth or diseased throats that were not con- sidered serious.'^ Cleveland realized this fact and started a campaign against "mouth evils." 104 Little Journeys in America The movement became a nation-wide drive for better health among school children through proper cleanliness and good "mouth habits." It helped to make the people of the United States famous for their well-preserved teeth. Cleveland resolved to take care of her poor people in a businesslike way, and her Federation of Charity and Philanthropy became noted. The success of the plan led many other cities to adopt one similar. Cleveland runs her own street cars and gives the people transportation at cost. She was the first city to introduce a three-cent fare, with free trans- fers. A company is hired to operate the lines, but the city controls the service and the upkeep of the property. The fare is raised or lowered in accord- ance with the actual cost of operation. Water works, electric light plant, garbage plants, and bath houses are also owned by the city. In Edgewater Park you may dance in a municipal dance hall, conducted with the utmost propriety and with refined spirit prevailing. Cleveland has had her three-cent movies, regulated by a depart- ment of public health. GOOD TEAMWORK Enthusiastic teamwork has done much to make Cleveland the thriving, contented metropolis which Cleveland, the Forest City 105 you find it. Of course, there have been other rea- sons for the city's growth. What are they? You remember, first of all, the Great Lakes water route upon which Cleveland is the first port of entry. Then, too, there is the Erie Canal, not so important as it was when finished in 1832, but still a useful waterway. Before the era of railroads it gave Cleveland a great advantage over the other lake ports. It connected the winding Cuyahoga with the Ohio, and so with the Mis- sissippi and the Gulf. And it carried Cleveland products direct to Buffalo, Albany, and New York. Then there is another reason for Cleveland — the same thing which has largely made Pittsburgh. Coal and oil fields are near at hand, and iron ore is easily obtained from Lake Superior regions. Also, Cleveland is a convenient half-way point. She not only uses these products for herself but distributes them among her neighbors. Coal and coke from Ohio and Pennsylvania, and iron and copper from Michigan load her many steamers with smutty cargoes. Nine miles of lake shore and eighteen miles of river front are lined with docks. You may visit large steel mills here, besides many automobile and clothing factories. Cleveland is the great wire-nail city, and it makes paint and varnish and does some meat packing. 106 Little Journeys in America YOU GO WADING IN WADE PARK OR ROCKY CREEK Away from the dingy wharves and factories you find broad, shady streets and fashionable houses. There are very few tenements. Gardens are popu- lar, and the many native trees have bestowed the pleasant name of Forest City. Rockefeller is the largest of many beautiful parks. It includes the valley of Doan Brook and is connected by splendid boulevards with Gordon and Wade Parks. At Edge water you may enjoy boating and bath- ing and a pretty beach. Along the shore you find Lakeview cemetery, a beautiful wooded tract of over 300 acres, with Garfield Memorial rising 200 feet above the lake. Here is a chapel contain- ing a statue of Garfield and symbolic panels repre- senting events in his life. Beneath the chapel is Garfield's tomb. You may ride for hours on beautiful drives which connect parks and cemeteries and wind along the lakeside. You pass valleys thickly wooded, and many pleasant bridges over the writhing course of the Cuyahoga River. There are great clumps of fern along cool ravines. You could sit down in the center of one of these circles of fern and be hidden completely. The crushed leaves give out a delightful odor. The Cleveland, the Forest City 107 fronds grow rusty brown when they grow old and ready to crumple down and enrich the bed where new shoots will spring up. You may find lady's slippers and soft beds of moss along the wooded paths. Tall chestnut trees drop their yellowed burs with the first heavy frosts. Wading in the rocky little stream is great sport; but you need to "watch your step," for the smooth soapstone bottoms are as slippery as anything you can imagine. Many a cheerful wader has sat down suddenly and unexpectedly on these flat, soapy stones. NAMING THE STREETS You do not find many landmarks in Cleveland. It was a trading post in 1786 and was laid out as a town ten years later. Perry's statue in Wade Park recalls his great victory on Lake Erie. There is an interesting Goethe-Schiller monument, and the Brookside Zoological Gardens are worth a visit. It seems quite a j^outhful city to have attained such importance in industry and in its civic life. Two hundred and more years ago it gathered in furs and lumber in place of the present loads of grain, live stock, and minerals. But its whirring motors, its steamers and factories seem very modern. There is little to suggest the early pioneer life. 108 Little Journeys in America Western Reserve University with handsome grounds and buildings, and the Case School of Applied Science are conspicuous among the educa- tional institutions. There are interesting art galleries. Printing and publishing holds an impor- tant place. Churches, schools, and theaters are well supported. Other proofs of Cleveland's enterprise are the immense viaducts spanning the river and the long breakwaters forming a safe and roomy harbor. Ohio sandstone and limestone have been used in many of the buildings. Motoring along beautiful Bellflower Road or Juniper and Magnolia drives, you may remark that the streets are well named. And that reminds your host of a good Cleveland story. "They ought to be. We named 'em all over the second time," he observes. "Yes, it was sort of confusing at first," he admits. "Something like re-christening a large family of grown-up children. But the new system seemed better." So now you find all cross-streets numbered and the diagonal roads or drives named. It is an orderly system in place of the old hit-or-miss plan which did not agree with the city's growing ideal of self -improvement. The new scheme was better; and so Cleveland had it, even if it did cost a little inconvenience. Cleveland, the Forest City 109 Cleveland is friendly and hospitable. Whether you shop at the excellent stores, attend the theater, or walk about the streets, you are likely to meet with gracious treatment. Its homes are open to you. The real Clevelander responds to your appreciation. It is his city. He has had a hand in making it, and he feels a just pride in whatever it has that is worth while. THE SOUTH /^RAY Spanish moss drips from the spreading ^--^ hve oaks; patches of pond hhes He basking in the sun ; saw-edged grass waves ten feet high about you, as your canoe winds the rippHng paths of the HMt' ^KMa.jjrw^m ■■II IM ■■K-WI-^^H ^^^■HH ■v-k m .|i 1^^^ W^x ^1^^391 ■Pfcll H||Vl ^^■i ^■>iP mM 1 ^^^1 IP^ 1 1 ^S Copyright Underwood and Underwood Moss Covered Oaks, Florida Florida Everglades. Glossy green vines mat them- selves into walls and towers like fantastic summer houses. Giant ferns stretch frond fingers ten feet in length. Delicate orchids lift fairy blooms. 110 The South 111 There are the rich odor of hyacinths and the clean fresh scent of long-leaved pines. The fascination of the strange and unexplored, haunts these tropical swamp lands. But before following far the lure of the shining water ways spread among flat, grassy islands, you should secure the services of a faithful Indian guide, one of the brown, bare-footed Seminoles whose fathers threaded this treacherous wilderness centuries before the coming of the white man. An Indian has the peculiar ability to cross the Everglades at will. This is an accomplishment which many whites have imagined they might also possess. But disaster lies in wait for the venture- some paleface. He becomes confused by the maze of smiling waterpaths and the multitude of grassy islands. Chilled by the thick night vapours, weakened by the dank day heat, and tortured by swarms of black gnats and flies, many white explorers have been glad to trust to some red-turbaned Seminole who happened to cross their trail in his dug-out canoe. But one might travel days without meeting an Indian, though there are about 300 living in the Everglades. Their rude palmetto-thatched huts perch along the island shores, and the Indians seem equally at home on water or land. 112 Little Journeys in America SNAKES AND TURTLES There are snakes in the Everglades, though you probably will not see them draped across your path as frequently as some pictures of Florida would lead one to expect. Deadly moccasins and rattle- snakes there are, but they seem to hold no terror for the placid Seminole. As your boat skims a shadowy shoal, you may detect a venomous hissing. This may be the voice of a lurking serpent, but it is more likely the *'bluff" of a large mother turtle who is contemplating a journey up the beach for the purpose of digging a nest in the sand and who wishes to discourage any curious intruders. Turtles are plentiful along the Florida coast. A turtle lays hundreds of eggs in a deep sand pit, covers it carefully and leaves the hatching to be done by an obliging tropic sun. Turtles are caught, you know, by being turned over on their backs; in this position they are helpless. So the turtle hunter goes along the beach upsetting every huge shell-back he can find, and leaving them for later collection. Many springs gush forth in this balmy land of flowers. They trickle over moss and fern in a most refreshing fashion. It seems little wonder that old Ponce de Leon and other romantic persons sought here for a fountain of immortal youth. If there were any such precious treasure it would be right at The South 113 home among the green forests and velvety breezes of southern Florida. Springs supply the Ever- glades and keep the water fresh. IS IT ALWAYS SUNNY? But for all the charms of the "Sunny South" you should not expect banks of bloom in January. You may find, instead, an air of somberness in the tangle of grasses and scrub willow along the flats. And you may be absolutely homesick for the sight of a hill. There are sometimes chilling northeast winds. And there is much rather desolate white sand. Sometimes the rain pours in drenching torrents. But springtime bursts forth with a bower of blossoms that will satisfy your most flowery dreams. And the great pine woods are always fas- cinating. There are rare bouquets to be gathered here in the midst of winter, and an added charm is given by the necessity of hunting a bit. Jessamine wreathes its yellow bells over festoons of gray moss. Crisp holly leaves and crimson berries spread woodland cheer. And the sun gleams warm through the tall pines and the branching live oaks. Ferns and grasses are plenti- ful, often springing from the upper sides of oak limbs. When the sap comes up, there are singing negroes 114 Little Journeys in America gathering turpentine from the largest pine trees. Gashes are cut at the base of the trunk, and the white gum collects here and is then removed and taken to market. Excellent lumber is provided by these straight-trunked pines. Cypress trees grow in the lower coast regions. They make the best canoe wood. But a cypress has to be about two hundred years old before it is large enough for lumber. WHERE ARE THE BIRDS? You have heard of the gorgeously colored or delicately plumaged birds of our southern forests. Some few of these remain, but most of them have perished through the white man's greed and the white woman's desire for feathery adornment. Says a Florida traveler: "An Indian leaves enough of the old birds to feed the young of a rookery, but a white man kills the last plume bird he can find and leaves the young ones to die in their nests." Bird life has suffered cruelly at the hands of tourists. You hear whip-poor-wills calling in the long soft evenings, and you will find wild turkeys and heron in the swampy woodlands. Pelicans sweep like white clouds along the sandy costs. Gold and scarlet humming-birds shimmer against gray- green mosses. The South 115 WHITE FIELDS OF COTTON As you travel around the circle of the Gulf, you find large fields of rice and sugar cane. Cotton lands are here, also. Texas is the leading state in the production of this important crop. You may watch hundreds of busy pickers snatching the fluffy tufts and filling huge canvas bags that look like feather beds. Galveston is a large port from which rice, lumber, and cotton are shipped. New Orleans is a great sugar and rice market. Back of the low coast lands you find small fruit and vegetable farms in the mountain foothills. The corn belt reaches down through northern Georgia and Mississippi. But before you leave Florida for the mountains and valleys farther north, you will want to visit old Saint Augustine. Here you walk down dreamy southern streets, past trickling fountains and blossomy gardens. There are long avenues of magnolia trees, rustling palms, blue skies, and shining sands. Here are the old city gates which once frowned in the face of the invader. Here, also, are the time-stained ram- parts of Fort Marion, where the Spanish flag waved in the days of Saint Augustine's youth. Quaint St. George's Street is overhung with Spanish balconies. You may visit the "Fountain of Youth," a bubbling spring where Ponce de Leon is said to have drunk hopefully, only to be disillu- 116 Little Journeys in America sioned by the clear mirror of the laughing little fountain. Saint Augustine seems a truly ancient city. You feel the subtle spell of centuries in its long, tree-bordered streets. Yet it is a place where one might well dream of the magic of youth. Copyright Underwood and Underwood Oldest House in United States St. Augustine, Fla. RESTFUL DAYS AT SAVANNAH There is a soothing joy in the luscious restfulness of Savannah. Public parks stretch serenely 118 Little Journeys in America through her broadest avenues. Lovely old homes are tucked away behind iron fences in twisting side streets. Near the city are some of the famous plantation houses with stately grounds, shaded drives, and humble slave quarters. T^hese seem a little lonely and pathetic now, with their memories of other days. Along the water front are busy wharves as well as silver marshlands, magical in moonlight and the salt breath of the sea. On an old estate near Savannah there is a grass-grown graveyard where the naturalist, John Muir, slept for a night or two while he was wandering through the Southland. Some funds that he was expecting did not arrive as scheduled; and being without money to pay a hotel bill he thought of the secluded graveyard which had charmed him with its beautiful trees and long spongy grass as he came through it on an afternoon ramble. He returned, found a grassy pillow, and slept serenely under the stars. Charleston, South Carolina, has been called "the aristocratic capital of the United States." It has proud old southern families, broad verandas, fine trees, gardens, vines, and Saint Michael's Church. There are mellow old bells in Saint Michael's tower, which date back to the building of the church in 1764. The bells were once taken by a British officer during the Revolution, but The South 119 were returned after they had been shipped to England. They were broken to pieces by Sher- man's devastating army; but the shattered bronze was recast in the ancient molds, and the bells ring on as in the years of Charleston's youth. You may walk in the churchyard, which keeps its sacred calm in the midst of busy streets. You read famous Colonial names where jessamine and oleander riot over the moldering tombs. Set in their blossoming gardens are homes of the present aristocracy of Charleston. The houses are red-roofed and creamy -walled. The gardens are mossy and half-hidden, with grilled gateways and subtle, illusive fragrance. A moonlight ramble through Charleston streets gives you a strange feeling of enchantment. In the early morning many negro hucksters drive their carts through the narrow streets, crying their vegetables or sea food. Battery Park is a fas- cinating pleasure ground with its semi-tropical trees and its fine view of the harbor. Out from Charleston are many delightful side-trips. You may visit the Isle of Palms; you may drive to old plantations; or you may call at Summerville, a rambling resort in the midst of shaggy pines and moss-draped oaks. In Charleston is the Colonial Exchange Build- ing where General Moultrie walled up 100,000 120 Little Journeys in America pounds of gun powder; and it remained, without being discovered, while the British held the town. Here a ball was given in honor of General Washing- ton. IN THE OLD DOMINION At Richmond you visit the historic capital, top- ping Schokoe Hill and recalling the spirit and tradi- tions of the Old South. Here is the splendid Houdini statue of Virginia's famous son whom she gave to be the "Father of His Country." This is a notable work of art and regarded as the finest statue of Washington. Richmond has dignified streets, beautiful green hills, and the lordly James River. In Hollywood cemetery are the graves of James Monroe, John Tyler, and Jefferson Davis, with many soldier dead. St. John's Church in which Patrick Henry made his famous speech, is still standing in Richmond. The city has a modern, as well as an ancient, spirit. She has much of the charm of the grand old days, but she is also alive to the present. There were decades of poverty; but since those post-Civil-War times, she has built skyscrapers and miles of pavement. The social life of the old capitol is still alluring. Gay young girls fluff their hair before the self -same mirrors that reflected belles of a century or two ago. Gallant young men motor The South 121 through dusky streets and ahght at the doors of great square houses where the beaux of an older Richmond reined their pracing horses. The same splendid water-power which the Eng- lish settlers found here in 1609 has led to the devel- St. John's Church, Richmond opment of various mills and factories. You may visit modern tobacco fields along the James where the Indians once cultivated this interesting plant and introduced it to John Smith and his followers. Tobacco is still a leading export, also grain, iron, and flour. 122 Little Journeys in America Beyond Richmond lie the beautiful Shenandoah Valley, the peaks of the Blue Ridge, and the rocky streams and leafy forests of the Kentucky and Tennessee mountains. NEW ORLEANS, THE OLD FRENCH CITY T TNDER quaint iron balconies in the old French ^^ Quarter of New Orleans you walk through ancient narrow streets, past battered shops and walls of adobe, past patio gardens abloom with violets and jessamine. The balconies cast a grate- ful shade in the long summer afternoons ; and when it rains, they are also a welcome shelter. A parrot calls from behind a deep stone doorway, and you follow the covered entrance to a sunlit courtyard shut in by low old houses and shaded by blossoming trees. Here are other balconies, half hidden with clambering vines, and broad outdoor stairways leading to the second and- third stories. The fountain that once gurgled musically in the courtyard is rusted and empty, but the magnolias are fresh with glossy leaves and blossoms ; and the sky smiles softly over the red-tiled roofs and the ruined walks and decaying walls. A little of the leisurely splendor of the old French city seems to have lingered here in the grass-grown patio. Perhaps a gray -haired madame smiles at you with gracious courtesy. Perhaps a group of Italian children chatter on the steps where French children used to play. "The Quarter" is slowly 123 124 Little Journeys in America losing its ancient charms, but it still makes New Orleans our most foreign city. It reminds us of the years when New Orleans was the capitol of the French colony of Louisiana. Though the country was ceded to Spain in 1763, the French spirit still remained strong; and the Spanish added their characteristics to the pic- turesqueness of New Orleans. Then Louisiana again became a French colony, and was purchased by the United States in 1803. On down the balconied street is a gorgeous old mansion now falling to decay, which was prepared for the exiled Napoleon. Oh, yes, it was a great secret in those old days when New Orleans was young ! The little Corporal was to have been res- cued from ignominous St. Helena, to have been borne to liberty by a swift pirate ship, and to have lived magnificently in the old house at 514 Chartres Street. "The plan was never carried out.^" you question. "But, no," sighs the gentle old care-taker who has told you the story. "Alas! A sailing ship brings the news. He is dead!" In the midst of his reminiscent grief the old man shrugs faintly at the finality of the end. "Otherwise," he adds with a bright smile, "we have, what you say .f' Kidnapped him, yes." You observe the old care-taker's "we." Ah, New Orleans is still a little French! Yes? New Orleans, the Old French City 125 YOU FIND THE OLD MARKET You visit the picturesque old market, with its weahh of food and color — purple and blue in the fish stalls, like a bit of the shimmering sea; also the scarlet of lobsters and the silver of speckled trout; baskets of oranges, groves of bananas, heaps of wild flowers; limp gray ducks with violet neck- feathers; bronze turkeys; and bunches of bright little reed-birds. You discover the Hotel Royal, once used as a capitol, now a ruinous tenement. Here great statesmen and beautiful ladies dined in the old days from plates of gold. In the musty rotunda is the ancient slave block. You visit the old Spanish court house, its only relic of justice a set of iron-bound stocks. Another structure reminds you of the Spanish period in New Orleans, from 1763 to 1800. St. Louis cathe- dral is still substantial and impressive. Its crypt holds the bones of distinguished Frenchmen and Spaniards alike. Its tiny back garden was a favorite dueling place. AT THE FRENCH OPERA HOUSE Many gay scenes have been staged in the French Opera House, none more splendid, perhaps, than the annual Mardi Gras revels. Here met the wealth and beauty of a bygone century. Great 126 Little Journeys in America singers bowed to the approval of New Orleans while New York was regarding the opera as a doubtful venture. Having felt something of the spirit of old New Orleans, you will understand the spirit of the famous Carnival of Mardi Gras. You would enjoy the merry maskers, the huge flotillas, the richness and beauty of this gorgeous pageant, when the new city as well as the old joins in the fun and frolic of the rule of jovial "King Rex." Begin- ning with 1837 these great parades were given annually, and there were celebrations of Mardi Gras before that. The festival season really begins twelve nights after Christmas with the ball of the "Twelfth Nighters." Other celebrations occur, and there are great planning and secrecy in regard to the final event. KINGS AND QUEENS OF THE REVEL On the Monday before Ash Wednesday, King Rex arrives in royal state. He is given the "keys of the city" and parades the streets in a golden car, followed by attendants in splendid costume. Queens of love and beauty hold sway. Proteus appeared with another cavalcade, and a great ball at the French Opera House. The next day, Mardi Gras, or "Fat Tuesday," is the great day of days. Maskers throng the New Orleans, the Old French City 127 streets in the most fantastic of costumes. King and queen parade in a glory of purple and gold and rose. A prince in blue velvet finds his blushing Cinderella. From morning till night the streets are filled with revelers and the day of pleasure ends with a pageant and ball at the Opera House. Lights, music, dancing, laughter, fairyland! New Orleans has them with Latin abandon. Thousands of dollars are spent on parades, and thousands of visitors come to the city for the carnival. But New Orleans is more than a m^d street frolic or quaint old court yards and historic buildings. There is plenty of modern business, the work of today as well as the dreams of yester- day. Beyond Canal Street is the new city, teeming with traffic, busy in its cotton mills, its sugar refineries, its repair shops, its railroad offices, its giant warehouses. THE WHARVES ARE CROWDED But you must visit the wharves to appreciate the New Orleans of the present. Here you find levees, those huge walls which hold the river water in a channel that is higher than the low flats around the city. You climb up the banks of the "Father of Waters" and look down at the level streets. If the levees should break .^ That is an "if" 128 Little Journeys in America that must never happen. The city will try very hard to see to that. New Orleans knows the terror and devastation of flood. The yellow waters are now carefully guarded. There are bags of sand along the banks for repairing the slightest weakness of the levees. Caution has been learned by experience. But you find a busy harbor here, 110 miles from the mouth of the Mississippi. Sugar, molasses, cotton, coffee, rice, fruit, lumber, pork, tobacco, hides, these are some of the things which pass through the great river port, some of the freight which you see heaped under steel sheds extending for two miles along the levees. For the city's own manufacturing, coal is shipped down the river from Pittsburgh and the Middle West. Sailors from all over the world man the ships which you see along the wharves. There are ships from Calcutta and Liverpool and Glasgow. East Indians with red caps and ear-rings; Mexicans, Spaniards, French, English, German, South Ameri- cans, Africans: a motley crew it is to tread the long wharves and handle the ships from many lands. Here are stalwart negroes unloading a cargo of bananas from Costa Rico. A queer yellow building stretches out huge, leverlike arms, dang- ling the chains which haul up the long green New Orleans, the Old French City 129 bunches. The negroes take the bananas and load them on cars to be shipped by fast freight to the north. You see bags of sugar in sprawHng heaps. Sugar is the great export of New Orleans, though cotton is also an important item. Coffee arrives from South America and is sent on to interior cities all over the country. Watching the stream of trade down the yellow river and through the warehouses to the raih'oads, you will appreciate the foresight of Governor Bienville of Louisiana, who chose the site for the city, away back in 1718. IS IT A CRESCENT CITY? You have doubtless heard New Orleans called the "Crescent City." It has now outgrown the name which was given to it when the old French town spread around the river, bend in the form of a crescent. It is now much more than a crescent. For a time the softness of the flat marshy ground made the building of skyscrapers impracticable. The dampness also caused yellow fever and malaria. But an excellent drainage system has now been provided. The ground has become firm enough for a skyscraper foundation, and the city is adding tall buildings to her modern business streets. Many other cities could profit by her methods of guarding against the mosquito menace. 130 Little Journeys in America Cisterns and even waterspouts must be kept screened to prevent the breeding of these germ- carriers. And the old yellow fever scourge is no more. New Orleans is a city of fascinating gardens. Beautiful palms, magnolias, and other semi- tropical trees border the avenues of the residence sections. Orange, lemon, fig, and camphor trees mingle with oaks, maples, and willows of a more northern clime. Outside the city are forests of cypress and live oak hung with long gar- lands of gray Spanish moss. Lake Ponchartrain is a popular outing Carondelet Street, New Orleans plaCC, witll fislliug, boating, and picnics in abundance. Audubon Park is a fine stretch of 300 acres along the river front. You may sit here and bask in the luxury cf soft winds and orange blossoms. And sometime you should seek the magic spell of southern moonlight and mocking birds. New Orleans, the Old Frencli City 131 BREAKFAST AT MADAME'S In the ancient "Place d'Armes" you meet the equestrian statue of Andrew Jackson. Here the victorious general was welcomed after his defeat of the British and conducted to the solemn Te Deum in the cathedral. The statue was erected in 1846, and the name of the Place changed to Jackson Square. In one of the tall brick houses across the way, Jennie Lind stopped during an engagement. French names meet you at many corners. There is a broad thoroughfare bearing Napoleon's name? and on either side are his victories — Jena, Berlin, Milan, Marengo and Austerlitz Streets. You will find cafes, dingy and romantic, where you may enjoy the far-famed New Orlean cookery. There is Madame Bugue's, for instance, where you breakfast most fastidiously, once you have climbed the rickety stairs and found a place in the long low dining room. It is many years since she began the serving of breakfasts to the French market-men, but her delicious respasts gradually became known to city people and tourists; and finally, her cafe was as famous as the old churches and pretty balconies. The Madame left the little cafe many years ago, but her name and her fame have survived. There are many other restaur- ants, more elegant and less famous, where southern delicacies abound. New Orleans, the Old French City 133 And that you may feel the tragedy as well as the life and gaiety of the old French city, you should see her cemeteries, the great tombs, the long sealed ovens, and the famous names of the past. Jean Lafitte, Dominic You! Are the names familiar? They belong to the tales of picturesque buccaneers. They belong to the days when pirates were bold. It was Dominic You who was to have made the dash for the exiled Napoleon. Priests and pirates sleep side by side in the placid city of the dead. And beyond flows the yellow river, busy with its tearing of banks and its build- ing of deltas, burdened with its ships from the far blue seas. THE MIDDLE WEST /^REEN meadows sprinkled with wild flowers, ^^ bits of woodland beside placid streams, miles of tasseled cornfield and stretches of golden wheat or oats: these you find in the Middle West in midsummer. A two-days' trip by train — from Chicago to Des Moines and from Des Moines to Denver — will give you a suggestive view of the vast farming region, which produces more ,food- stuffs than any other part of the United States and feeds a very large share of the world. It is a beautiful stretch of country with its own charm of landscape, though far from the moun- tains and the sea. There are picturesque bluffs along its many rivers; and groves of oak, elm, and hickory with festoons of wild grapevine; and occasional pine and box elder. Dogwood, like great bridal bouquets, waves its white blossoms in springtime. Wild crab-apple trees spread bowers of pink bloom along the hill slopes, and violets blue the roadsides and wood-paths. Red and yellow sweet-williams flame across the prairies in summer, and wild roses and columbines bloom on sunny hill-tops. Shy, fluffy "cotton-tails" bob down grassy ravines, like terrified balls of fur with pointing 134 The Middle West 135 legs and ears. Chattering squirrels flirt their plumy tails in the oaks and hickories, blue-jays call rollicking notes from old apple orchards, and meadow larks trill from hedges and fence posts. It is a comfortable homelike country, with only a hint of wildness in its most secluded wood- land glens. You will pass pleasant looking farm houses in their groves of maple and willows, and large green yards with rows of lilacs and hardy rose bushes. There are huge barns for stock and immense round silos where hay and fodder are stored for winter feeding. But the green and yellow corn land, which surrounds you on every side, is perhaps the most striking and characteristic feature. In late summer the corn has reached its greatest height, sometimes eight or ten feet, with crisp green blades, thick, drooping ears and tossing, tan-colored tops. The long rows whirl past your train like spokes in a giant living wheel of a thousand centers. A rich odor of green ears and rank leaves comes from the sturdy mass. With the first frost the corn turns pale yellow ; and if the stalks are to be left standing, wagons begin to rattle through the long rows. The horses nibble corn to their hearts' content; and men, two to a wagon as a rule, gather the ears and toss them over the high side-boards. Granaries are filled 136 Little Journeys in America for the great herds of hogs and cattle ; for it usually pays better to feed the corn and then sell the stock than to ship the grain itself. There are large packing houses at Omaha, Kansas City and Saint Louis as well as at Chicago, the great meat center. PROSPEROUS FARMERS Though this is the corn, hog, and wheat section, fine cattle, h(5rses, and sheep are also raised. Automobiles have largely taken the place of the horses and buggies that used to travel the dusty or muddy roads, and the roads have been much improved in consequence. You pass thriving little towns with their stores and streets crowded on Saturday afternoons, when the whole farming neighborhood goes to do its weekly shopping. You would find in the country stores something of the old custom of barter, when fruit and vegetables, as well as butter and eggs, are traded for tea, sugar, and "dry -goods" or whatever the farmer wants that he does not raise in his own fields and gardens. Rural mail routes and telephones and the auto- mobile have brought the Middle West farmer into close contact with the outside world. His is no longer the lonely, isolated existence which his father or grand-father experienced when the country was newly settled. Many of the old The Middle West 137 pioneers drove to their homes with ox-teams, fording the streams and building their own rude houses a hundred miles or so from any real center of population. The first ones settled along the wooded streams, sheltered from the piercing winter winds by hills and trees. They made log cabins of huge tree trunks or drove fifty miles or so for lumber at one of the towns on the Mississippi. They had to cut timber and clear the land for their crops; while those who braved the treeless prairies found fertile fields ready for planting, once the tough prairie sod had been "broken" with the plough and harrow. Wood or mines of soft coal furnished fuel, and the early farmer often had to haul these from a distance. There are two great coal areas in this section, the Illinois coal fields and the Iowa- Missouri district. He became very independent, this pioneer mid-westerner; and something of his spirit of sturdy industry and self-reliance has remained. The country drained by the Missis- sippi-Missouri system has been called "The Great Valley of Democracy," and it deserves the name. Vast rustling corn fields or the waving wheat lands of the west and north are now the farmer's chief source of wealth. The Middle West feeds a large part of the world, and this fact makes the 138 Little Journeys in America farmer a very important person. His dairies and grain fields furnish our bread and butter; his hogs and cattle and sheep and poultry provide our meat and eggs in large quantities. We could get along without almost anybody else better than we could without the Middle West farmer, and he knows this as well as we do. GOLDEN WEALTH OF MAIZE Often the corn is harvested green, when the ears have matured. Large machines run by steam or gasoline cut the whole plant off near the ground, and other machines called shredders tear it up into small pieces. The grain is shelled from the cob and ground into meal. The shredded stalks and leaves are stored in air-tight silos and used for feeding. On the smaller farms the cutting is often done by hand. Corn is the most valuable crop raised in the United States; and the great corn states are Illinois, Iowa, Nebraska, Mississippi, and Kansas. Almost any time of year you are likely to meet long lines of freight cars loaded with hogs and cattle for the great packing houses of the mid- western cities. Here are mills also for grinding the corn into meal. Corn is sometimes stored for several seasons in huge bins called elevators which you will notice along the railroad tracks at many stations. It is shipped by railroad or river and The Middle West 139 lake routes to eastern cities; and from there much of it goes to England, where the climate is too cool and damp to grow corn well. It is interesting to remember that corn, or maize, is one of the things we got from the Indians; and that these mammoth crops had their begin- ning in the little patches of cultivated lands that the red man dug up with a clam shell or some other primitive tool and planted by hand several hundred years ago. The long summer season, frequent rains and plenty of sunshine, together with rich soil and level fields which are easily cultivated, have made the middle section of the Middle West the greatest corn belt in the world. The United States produces about four-fifths of the world's corn, and most of it is grown in this vast fertile region across Illinois and through Kansas. Corn is said to bring in more actual money than all our gold, silver, and lead mines. If we include the value of the cattle and hogs which the crops feed, the income which farmers receive from this one grain is enormous. Much improvement has been made recently in the quality of corn and in the amount raised per acre. Boy's Corn Clubs, started by the Agricul- tural Department at Washington, have encouraged the farmers' sons to produce the best crops possible. Girls' Canning Clubs have interested the girls in 140 T.ittlo Joumoys in Anieriea the best methods of putting up fruit niui voiro- tables. Hay is another great crop \vhich you will notitv on a trip thivugh this seetion. Timothy and doA'er, mixeil. form beautiful fields of waving green graces and flutfy pink blossoms. If you were wanting to plant something to make the prettiest sort of meadow imaginable you cv^uld hardly choose a more effective combmation. Alfalfa fields are a deeper green with bluisli purple bloom which is even more fragrant than reti clover. These hay fields usually produce two crops in a season, and sometimes more. The great hay area is much the same as the corn territory except tliat it extends farther east. All of the states raise some hay. those which lead in its production being Iowa. New York. Nebraska. Kansas, and Minnesota. WHERE WHEAT FIELDS W.U'E As you pass through Iowa and eastern Nebraska you begin to leave the waving corn lands, varied by fields of yellow oats and purple alfalfa and the green and red of timothy and clover. A little farther north and west is the wheat, hmidreds of acres of it. rippling in the prairie wind like a golden inland sea. If you should visit these fields in harvest time, you would find immense machines drawn bv engines or manv teams of horses: and *l€SI ^laftttBBa Or tie sveef 142 Little Journeys in America the world. The Chinese have used it for nearly five thousand years. America is now one of the greatest wheat countries. Some of the largest flour mills are in Minneapolis. Denver is also a great flour market. Rye is grown in the northern part of the Middle West. Lumber was once a great product in Wis- Minneapolis from Across the Mississippi consin, Minnesota, and Michigan. Lumbering is still carried on in these states, but the forests have been greatly reduced. You would find very few mines on your trip from Chicago to Denver. Soft coal in Illinois and Missouri and Iowa mined for local consumption. Some lead is mined in Missouri, Kansas, and Wis- The Middle West 143 consin, and copper is still an important product around the Great Lakes. You might notice ledges of limestone as you cross the Mississippi. This is quarried for building purposes, and there are other useful building stones in various local- ities. EXCELLENT SCHOOLS HAVE BEEN ESTABLISHED The farms which you pass on your trip west from Chicago have changed very much in the last twenty -five years. It is a different country from the catamount-haunted woodland and the coyote- haunted prairie which the first settlers knew fifty or sixty years ago. Large modern homes have replaced most of the old cabins; graveled roads have succeeded the mud-rutted Indian trails; and schools, villages, and important cities are frequent. The Middle West is interested in many things besides hogs and cattle. Iowa has a record for sending more of its young people to colleges and universities than any other state. There are fewer illiterate people in this state in proportion to the population than in any other equal area in the world. Excellent state universities throughout the Middle West rank with any similar institutions in the country, and there are many small colleges and private schools. Agricultural colleges are 144 Little Journeys in America naturally well-developed in this great farming section. At the university of Illinois you would find an interesting agricultural department, and the influence of these schools is being seen in the scientific farming and stock-raising of the country. In Kansas City, Missouri, you might visit one of the largest automobile schools. In Minneapolis, Saint Louis, Chicago, and other cities there are splendid universities and professional schools. Many of the pioneer settlers came from New England and other eastern states, and they were eager to build schools and churches such as they left in the earlier settled sections. So the changes came quickly. You might meet a gray -haired woman on your trip across Iowa who could remember when the country west of the Mississippi was in danger of Indian attacks, and the scattered settlers gathered for safety at old Fort Des Moines. She could tell you how she and her mother and younger sisters were gathering wild black berries in the woods and hid like frightened partridges when a group of painted Indians passed on an old trail below. Then they scurried home to warn the father. For war paint meant trouble, and the lonely frontiersman could not risk his family's safety too long. Then came a hurried departure at night with a few other neighbors. The heavy wagons moved, slowly over The Middle West 145 the long road to the Fort. The men carried guns. There were terrifying shadows among the trees and the starthng cries of owls and coyotes on the open prairies. The Iowa settlers usually escaped in safety, but terrible massacres in Minnesota marked the advance of the white race. The Middle West leads in the production of corn, hogs, wheat, oats, and cattle. Chicago, Saint Louis, Omaha, and Kansas City are great railway and meat-packing centers. Minneapolis, Saint Paul, and Denver are flour markets. Coal, lead, and building stone are mined. Lumbering is still an important industry in the northeast section. CHICAGO, THE CITY OF THE LAKE AND PRAIRIES A BOUT the first thing you encounter in Chicago '^^*- is the lake breeze. Cool and refreshing in midsummer, raw and chilling in gray days of winter, boisterous and giddy in the early spring- time, it pervades the whole sprawling, sky- scraping metropolis. And when you have threaded the city by auto- mobile through its connecting parks and boulevard or by the elevated trains which scream and thunder past its back doors and around its business blocks, you are still, even in the bleak, dizzying monotony of its buildings, aware of the two great natural features which have made Chicago — the Lake and the prairies. In all the city's smoke and noise and vastness these remain, the tossing opal sea before its twenty -four miles of lake front, the stretching level immensity of corn and wheat and grazing lands to the west. You may wonder at first how the spirit of the prairie has managed to creep upon you in the midst of the rushing streets. The lake is there before your eyes at so many grimy corners, spreading its clean, ruffled blueness along such sweeping drive- ways, smiling at the very doorsteps of the bustling, 146 Chicago, the City of the Lake 147 business section. And besides there is the lake breeze. But the sense of the prairie comes a bit more subtly and in the end, perhaps more power- fully, over the grassy parks and along the windy avenues, through the flat, gray bleakness of manu- facturing neighborhoods and the boasting young opulence of wealthy residences, even into the heart of this most commercial city — a city of packing houses and tailoring shops, and factories for soap and iron and steel and harvesting machines. GRASSES AND STAR FLOWERS The largeness and openness of the prairie charm you along the famous "Mid-way," with its grass and trees and flowers, stretching 660 feet wide and a mile long, from Washington to Jackson Park. There are rows and rows of pompous houses and apartment buildings on the way, and there are the stately walls and towers of the university of Chicago; but these seem mere children that the prairie has taken to her heart. It is prairie sky and levelness and soft green grass and rows of planted trees. Then there are tawny vacant lots left here and there between the brick apartment houses, bits of actual wildness with unbroken sod upon them. Here you may sometimes find real prairie grasses 148 Little Journeys in America and quaint blue-star flowers, and perhaps even a specimen of wild onion, that odorous prairie vege- table for which Chicago is the Indian name. Some- thing of this same level vastness has persisted in the parks in spite of formal gardens and artificial terraces and trim green hedges and groves of shrubs and trees. It sweeps through the maze of Copyright Underwood and Underwood Field Museum streets and building and elevated tracks and looses itself only in the white-capped freshness of the lake's blue waves. This prairie vastness is especially impressive toward evening with the sun swung low in a blur of purple haze. In the parks you find also reminders of the prairie country in the historical associations. Statues of Lincoln and Grant and Logan, and at the Chicago, the City of the Lake 149 end of Michigan Avenue, a tablet marking the site of old Fort Dearborn. The Field Museum of Natural History is located in Grant Park. The Art Institute in Grant Park faces the Public Library across the Avenue. Adjoining the Institute and overlooking the park towards the 1 . ;j^^^^| ■^,- \ Wf 1 ' a# m ^BR 1 ti ■ -: ^r\.^,,t'^' .»"TT.V.-'«fe5 '• h 1 tm==^i^^m 1 1 „..■ ■■ -o ■ V^'S'-^i-:^* m " ^^^ Copyright Underwood and Underwood Lincoln Park, Chicago south is "The Great Lakes Fountain," by Lorado Taft. Five figures compose the fountain group and each represents one of the lakes and holds a vase from which water pours into the basin below. Parks cover 4,600 acres of the city's 291 square miles of area and the system of boule- vards totals seventy miles. 150 Little Journeys in America TRAINS AND FACTORIES In the noise and stir of the down-town sections and in the teeming traffic of its great railway stations, you feel the powerful pulse of the city's industry and commerce. It is the greatest rail- way center in the United States and is the terminal of every railroad that enters it. The roads which converge in or are contributory to the city operate 120,000 miles of line, which is half the total mileage of the United States. Connections reach every state in the Union and Canada and Mexico, and steamer lines to all parts of the five Great Lakes supplement the railroads. Below the surface the earth is honeycombed with tunnels. Flowing, underground rivers supply- ing the city with water are said to rival if not surpass in extent the famous aqueducts of ancient Rome. Tunnels for street cars pass under the Chicago river, and thirty feet below the surface there are sixty miles of tunnels to carry heavy freight and thus relieve the streets above. The city contains more than twice as many miles of elevated tracks as do all the other cities of the United States combined. These thousand of trains and boats gather in the grain and live stock from the great inland regions and send them out in return for mer- chandise from the east. And though she imports Chicago, the City of the Lake 151 many factory products, Chicago's own list of manufactured goods is a long one. Her factories and packing houses form a great wilderness of buildings. At night her busy furnaces flame red against the sky. THE LARGEST STORE IN THE WORLD Covering more than a block and having a total floor space of forty -four acres, the retail house of "Marshall Field and Company" is the largest department store in the world. The Chamber of Commerce is one of the finest commercial struc- tures, and there is a handsome Court House and City Hall. The tower of the Montgomery Ward Building is 394 feet and the highest point in the city. Here a great goddess of bronze revolves as a weather vane. In the noise and smoke and dust of the business area, these great buildings seem to stand for the monstrous wealth and energy of the inland metropolis, the second largest city in Amer- ica, the city of the prairies and the lake. Chicago has about forty newspapers, a number of them representing the great masses of foreigners who largely man her industrial plants. On a busy corner in the heart of the city is the seventeen-story building of the Chicago Tribune, the city's widest circulating daily. Five miles southwest of the City Hall are the Union Stock Yards covering 152 Little Journeys in America 475 acres. Here 32,000 men are employed; and millions of dollars worth of cattle, hogs, and sheep are slaughtered and packed annually. The average of hogs is 6,000,000 head a year. With all this surging enterprise, this clash of competition, there are, of course, some things crushed and stifled, some ugliness and cruelty of crowding. You may see it in the miserable slums and Ghettos, in the scrapped wrecks of men and women, crippled poor and criminal, which haunt gray side streets. But Chicago has tried to be generous to her poor and her sick people. Free hospitals, libraries, schools, and museums are there. And in the slum district of the great West Side, there is famous old Hull House, one of the most efficient settle- ment houses in the world, the result of Jane Addam's dream of neighborliness. Other missions and charities reach a hand to those in distress. Germans, Swedes, and Poles are the most numerous foreigners, though you seem to meet every nationality and foreign type in a half hour's walk along Halstead Street. The rapid growth of Chicago has given it a rawness and crudity in certain quarters, which we do not find in older American cities. But the inhabitants of Chicago are usually patriotic, know their city and admire it in spite of its faults. A New Yorker confines Chicago, the City of the Lake 153 himself to that part of his metropoKs which most appeals to him and shrugs his shoulders at the rest. But a true Chicagoan is frankly conscious of the stock yards, even if he lives on the Lake Shore Drive. FIRST CABIN BUILT IN 1779 In 1779 a cabin was built on the west shore of Lake Michigan and used as a station for fur traders. In 1804 this house was bought by John Kinzie, who was the first white man to make his home where Chicago now is. The place had been a popular camping ground for Indian tribes, and it is probable that Mr. Kinzie had occasional callers from among his dark-skinned brothers. Other- wise, he must have been quite lonely. The name, Chicago, was given it by the Indians, probably because of the wild onions' being very plentiful here. The old French fathers, Joliet and Marquette, had stopped for a few days in this locality away back in 1673. Fort Dearborn was erected in 1803, on the south bank of the Chicago river. But as late as 1830, when the town was laid out, there were only twelve families beside the fort's garrison. It must have seemed a meager handful for a town here on the untouched prairies, with the blue lake at its front door. 154 Little Journeys in America Only about forty years later the city became a heap of ashes from the great fire of 1871. There were 200 deaths, and 17,450 buildings were destroyed. With almost unbelievable energy Chicago rose from her ruins. In 1887 the city covered less than forty-four square miles. Six years later its area was over 186 square miles. So Chicago has reason to be proud of her acres and acres of towering structures, of her wealth and activity and her great world-reaching trade. One of the greatest of universities, many first class technical and other special schools, splendid parks and boulevards, notable art treasures, the most efficient of street car systems, the largest railroad traffic, the greatest department stores, beautiful homes and churches : these are a few of the things her energy has achieved in less than a century. THE TWIN CITIES T ATE summer or early autumn is an interesting ■*-^ season to visit St. Paul and Minneapolis, the thriving twin-cities in the beautiful lake and forest region of eastern Minnesota. If you come from the East and especially from the eastern cities, you feel a delicious sense of openness and freedom in the cool, wooded rivers and the spreading fields of wheat. If you come from the treeless western deserts and prairies, you revel in the restful blue lakes, the fresh-leaved oaks and maples, and best of all, in the joyous, gurgling water falls which leap down shady ravines in a riot of feathery spray. These charms of nature are all within or close about these great sister cities of a great northern state. From Minneapolis, "city of laughing water," you may go by trolley to the silvery falls from which came the Indian part of the name. If it is early autumn, the maples will be flaming yellow and crimson beside the water; and some of the freshly turned leaves will flutter down to eddy about in the current, or to lie in spots of red and gold on the leafy banks below. There is a bridge across the river back of the falls, and beyond that are stone waUs and a much-traveled roadway; but 155 156 Little Journeys in America down in the glen it is secluded and quiet with the tall trees and the blue sky, and the water dashing over the rocks just as gracefully and just as laugh- ingly as it did when the Indian youths and maidens walked here and wondered at the music of the falls. A statue of Longfellow in this beautiful park seems to be eternally dreaming over the immortal romance of Hiawatha. WHAT BECAME OF ST. ANTHONY If you approach Minneapolis by train from St. Paul, you may catch a glimpse of the famous old St. Anthony Falls if you look down from the top of the stone arch bridge. But this torrent, which used to plunge so gleefully over its fifty feet of sheer precipice, has been surrounded by giant flour mills built of the limestone which lies in vast ledges all about the city. The mad power of the waters has been used to turn steel rollers which grind out the many millions of barrels of flour that cause Min- neapolis to be known as "the flour city" the world over. The same water-power runs the street rail- ways in each of the Twin Cities. It turns the wheels of huge saw-mills where nearly 600,000,000 feet of lumber were produced annually before the vast pine forests of the Mississippi Valley and the North began to fail. In St. Anthony Falls, tossing and shouting down Minnehaha Falls, Minneapolis 158 Little Journeys in America the Mississippi gorge, lurked the power to build cities and railroads, to turn great acres of wheat into food for millions of people. And one really doesn't mind so much if the giant cataract has been harnessed and obscured, the roar of the water lost in the roar of the mills. Besides, the force of the rapids was threatening the ledge which formed the falls; and in 1875 a "wooden apron" was built by the United States government at a cost of nearly a million dollars, to protect this rocky shelf. Thus the power of nature's mighty toy was saved and turned to serve the needs of men. It seems a very restless and untamed torrent still, especially if you view it leisurely from beneath the stone bridge at the foot of Sixth Avenue South. You would enjoy a trip to one of the Twin City saw-mills in the autumn season before the northern rivers have frozen over. From the river bank you may watch the floating tree trunks ; occasionally a nimble athlete in flannel shirt, high boots, and khaki trousers steps unconcernedly across the bobbing logs as they roll over and over in the water. It is this athletic workman's business to select the logs which are escorted by endless hooked chains up an inclined plane to the level of the saw- ing floor. Here they are rolled upon monster carriages and fed to the different saws, according The Twin Cities 159 to the quality of the timber and the kinds of lumber wanted. Men work silently in the long, noisy rooms. The flying saws whir and scream; there is the spicy smell of freshly cut wood; sawdust drips from the flashing steel blades; and what had been only a little while before a grove of tall, straight pines and sturdy oaks is now lumber for houses and rocking chairs and automobiles and railroad ties and matches and agricultural machinery. WHEN THE GRAIN COMES IN In October and November the grain rush is liveliest. From the stretching prairies of Min- nesota and the Dakatos, where thousands of harvesters have labored, comes the flood of the yellow-brown wheat. There are also millions of bushels of rye and oats and corn and flax; but the wheat supply is so much the greater that the other cereals are insignificant in comparison. Thousands of grain cars are sent to the Twin Cities every year to take care of the autumn harvest. They trail like huge dark serpents across the yellow plains. From the elevators or grain warehouses of every railroad station they gather the stores which are to be poured into St. Anthony's flour mills or shipped out to hundreds of surround- ing millers as far east as Indiana and Ohio. Min- 160 little Journeys in America neapolis is the largest primary wheat market in the world. In spite of the splendid railroad facilities at hand which St. Paul had started to develop while Minneapolis was still an aspiring village, the immense yards are often blockaded; and not enough cars can be found to handle the millions of bushels of wheat. It, of course, takes an army of harvesting and other machines to care for the tremendous grain crops; and recently the manu- facture of agricultural implements has eclipsed even the flour and lumber interests of Minneapolis and St. Paul. All of these industries only increase the importance of the railroad business which made St. Paul a great city after her once famous river traffic became insignificant. In St. Paul you may view the old "William Crooks," the first locomotive which ran into the virgin country of the great Northwest. In St. Paul also you may learn the story of James J. Hill, the boy who began his work in the city as assistant wharf master and ended it as "Empire Builder," the man who realized his dreams of developing the splendid resources of the old North- west. "Yem Hill," as the Twin City Swedes called him, was a genial millionaire whose engaging enthusiasm won him friends and fortune. He was also a musician and painter and a clever art critic The Twin Cities 161 as well as a man of wealth and an expert railroad chief. HOW DO THE TWINS PLAY There are excellent amusements as well as interesting work shops in the Twin Cities and their picturesque neighborhood. Canoes dart merrily about in the glistening, green-rimmed lakes of the wooded parks. And these lakes are not the self- conscious, man-made affairs which many city park-builders are proud of. They have been dug and inoulded and tree-fringed by the gigantic fingers of old Mother Nature herself. The banks are fascinatingly irregular, with rocky ledges and nooks and sleepy, cool lagoons. You may paddle your own canoe around these alluring sky-blue waters; or you may take one of the public launches, say the Sprightly "Maid of the Isles," and ride for an hour and a half for twenty -five cents, through Lake Calhoun and Lake Harriet and Lake of the Isles. Shaded driveways wind along the shores and across the bridges through leafy glens and over gurgling streams. From Lake Harriet the road trails along Min- nehaha Creek to the Falls. Here are 200 acres of parked land including the grounds of the Min- nesota soldiers' home, and from here you may follow a parkway to the summit of the Mississippi river cliffs about a mile below St. Anthony Falls. 162 Little Journeys in America It is a wonderful park system. Everywhere are trees, rocks, green grass, and sparkling water. Flowers brighten the banks and braes in summer; birds sing, and white sails glisten against the lakes' clear blue. To the south wanders the great "Father of Waters"; to the west are the wheat fields with their waves of green or gold. Yachting, swimming, fishing, and hunting are sports you may enjoy in addition to golf, tennis, and the usual outdoor games of warm weather. From the middle of November until early in March there is usually good skating; and before snow falls, as a rule about Christmas time, the streams and lakes may be skirted for miles around. Many of the park lakes are kept clear of snow all winter; and curling, yachting, sleighing, and horse racing on the ice are extremely popular sports. The dry, invigorating air lures one to the woods, even in mid- winter when trees are gray and brown, and lakes and waterfalls are lovely crystals. HOW DOES THE MISSISSIPPI BEGIN? If you have known the Mississippi only in its somewhat sluggish and yellow lower course j^ou will delight in the dashing spirit of youth it shows in its picturesque beginnings, frolicking over the ledge at St. Anthony's and flashing turbulently below the bluffs at St. Paul. The source of the The Twin Cities 163 river near lake Itaska is only about 150 miles in a direct line from Minneapolis. St. Paul was built at the head of navigation on the Mississippi in the days when the river was a great highway. This made her a famous center for trade in furs. River traffic has now given way to railroads, and the Twin Cities hold their own in this important industry. The Falls of St. Anthony led to the founding of Minneapolis, and the river has carried its millions of logs from the vast pineries of the North. From half a dozen bridges you may have picturesque views of the gorge. While you are calling on the Twin Cities, you will want to visit old Fort Snelling, perched on its high bluff at an equal distance from St. Paul and Minneapolis as if impartially guarding the safety of both. You may go by automobile up the beauti- ful river drives or by electric trains, and you will find there the great round tower with its Rifle port- holes and the hexagonal blockhouse just beyond. When the fort was first occupied in 1820, the nearest white people lived at Prairie du Chien, 300 miles away. Candles, beans, pork, and flour made the long journey up the river from St. Louis. At first the mail came semi-annually, then quarterly, and not oftener than bi-monthly until the country began to be more thickly settled. There are modern barracks and other buildings 164 Little Journeys in America now around the old fort where Charlotte Clark, the little daughter of the first Major, gathered wild flowers and strawberries in the lonely first summers. A strong guard was kept to shield the early settlers from Indian attack. The Sioux and Chippewas were continually fighting each other and were often hostile to the whites. The two Pond brothers, who were the first missionaries in this region, did much to promote the friendli- ness of the Indians, who were being angered by the steady encroachments upon their lands. These devoted teachers lived in a rude cabin which they built, at the suggestion of Chief Cloud Man, on a site overlooking Lake Calhoun "so that they might hear the loons at night." Their house of logs, bark, and rough slabs cost them much labor; but the cash outlay was only a shilling for nails. They studied the Indian language and customs and lived on Indian fare. For they tried to understand the red man; and in order to do this they believed that it was necessary to "talk like a native, walk like a native, and as far as might be able to live like one!" They did their best to keep whiskey from the Indians. They printed a paper in the Sioux language and worked against the evil influence of idle soldiers and cheating traders. Some of their faithful converts saved the white settlers when massacres threatened. The Twin Cities 165 Returning along the river to St. Paul, you find palatial homes lining Summit Avenue, which runs around the crest of St. Anthony Hill ; and you will find it hard to realize that little more than half a century ago the younger of the Twin Cities was a straggling mill town and the older a frontier river post. St. Paul's new state capitol is a dignified monu- ment to the good taste of her citizens and the greatness of her state. It is as beautiful a struc- ture as will be found among the state capitols. Historic murals on its walls suggest the story of Minnesota's rapid growth. St. Paul has reason to be proud also of her Auditorium, the first theater in the country to be operated by a city government. It is a home for opera, drama, state and national conventions, and popular civic concerts. You will find the Minneapolis Art Museum a stately building, one of the finest of its sort and filled with original tapestries, furniture, sculpture, and paintings. Out at the edge of Minneapolis, with neighborly nearness to St. Paul, is the Univer- sity of Minnesota. Giant oaks cover much of its beautiful campus of 108 acres overlooking the cities and the falls. A spirit of adventurous enterprise seems to pervade the streets of Minneapolis. You feel a 166 Little Journeys in America more sedate pride in the dignity of St. Paul. In both cities are shaded streets and handsome dwelhngs, churches, schools and business blocks. A Residence Boulevard in Minneapolis DETROIT, THE AUTOMOBILE CITY TN making a tour of the Great Lakes, you come -'^ to a narrow strait about thirty miles long, which connects Lake Erie with Lake St. Clair. On this stream is the city which the French called Detroit, meaning "the strait." Detroit River is the name now usually given to the forest-bordered stream which makes a waterway for thousands of busy steamers plying between the cities of these great fresh- water seas. Your boat journeys on from Lake St. Clair to Lake Huron, and on through Michigan or Superior to whatever porti,t is bound. But as you pass the beautiful shores of Belle Isle in front of Detroit, you are attracted by the city, stretching nine miles along the river in the midst of splendid parks. Detroit is worth a visit. It is busy as well as beautiful. The government census gave the city a population of 465,766, in 1910; and according to the local count the number has been doubled in the following eight years. If you take an automobile ride along the wide boulevard which encircles the city, you may be able to discover why Detroit has grown so rapidly. A good place to start is at Belle Isle Bridge. At 167 168 Little Journeys in America first you pass grassy lawns shaded with elms and maples. There are pleasant-looking churches and schools. Fountains splash in the sunshine, flowers bloom in gorgeous masses, and birds flit about. In the distance is the blue water with huge freight boats, white steamers, and perhaps a shining sail. It seems a clean, homelike city, with its many handsome houses, its green parkings, and glowing beds of flowers. You pass the building of the Packard Motor Company, and you are minded that Detroit is an automobile city. It is the home of the luxurious "Packard" as well as the humble 'Tord." "The Automobile City of the World," says your driver with justifiable pride. AUTOMOBILES AND PINS Thirty -five factories and over a hundred acces- sory plants send out a million and more cars a year. The 100,000 employees of these immense industries make a city in themselves. Some six hundred million dollars are invested, and many of the workmen are the highest paid mechanics in the world. It is estimated that Detroit provides more than half the world's supply of automobiles. You pass other motor factories, and the "Samari- tan Hospital," the "Nurses' Home," the "Thomas Normal Training School," the "Henry Ford Detroit, the Automobile City 169 Hospital," the "La Salle Gardens" with splendid houses behind long avenues of poplars. You come again to the river front. But you have seen a few of the things which make Detroit a great industrial center. Over 12,000 people are employed in the stove factories. It has the largest wire-cloth industry and the largest pin factory in the world. Pins are manufactured here at the rate of 12,000,000 a day. A visit to this factory makes you wonder more than ever before where all of the lost pins go. Detroit is the first city in the world in the output of varnish and the first on the Great Lakes in the building of ships. The Pewabic Pottery Shops will repay your trouble if you have time to call. An artistic building with trees and grass about provides an appropriate setting for the making of beautiful vases, bowls, and other pieces of earthenware of dis- tinctive patterns. But the automobile industry dominates the place. The first successful "horseless carriage" was driven through the streets of „ ,, ,. . , , ^^ , , '-' topynght Underwood and Underwood Detroit in 1894, and The First Automobile 170 Little Journeys in America the event introduced a new era for the city as well as a new invention for the world. It was an interesting pioneer, that first awkward, high-wheeled vehicle like a one-seated buggy, with the tongue wound up over the dashboard in the shape of a long-handled crank. The tame little "carriage" attained a speed of twenty miles an hour and was run by a gasolene motor of four cylinders. Charles B. King, its inventor, organized the King Motor Company, which today makes an eight-cylinder car. In 1896 Henry Ford brought out his first car. So Detroit not only started the automobile business but has kept it up. And now we are beginning to wonder what the world was like before there were any automobiles. BUILT LIKE A WHEEL It seems rather fitting that the greatest auto- mobile city should be built on the plan of a wheel. But this plan, of course, originated long before the automobiles. Detroit is like Washington in having its streets radiate from a hub. Its open plazas give a delightful sense of roominess. Its broad avenues and fine roads make it an excellent place to run automobiles as well as to make them. The city has over eight hundred miles of streets and many splendid country drives surrounding it. There are handsome and substantial business Detroit, the Automobile City 171 and public buildings. The Wayne County build- ing at the east end of Cadillac Street and facing the City Hall is a five-storied structure covering over an acre. Its tower, gold dome, and bronze lantern are distinctive features. Above its classic arch you notice a relief representing General Anthony Wayne conferring with the Indians. The "Marine Post Office," a tug with a govern- ment flag afloat, is said to be the only institution of its kind in the world. It approaches passing freighters which do not make port here, and receives and distributes mail. The Detroit Ath- letic Club has a very handsome building, and on the corner of Jefferson and Hastings you find the Art Museum with a good collection of paintings and other art works. Then there is the new art center on Woodward Avenue. Down town there is an unusually fine Y.M.C.A. building with an automobile school in connection. THE CANOE TRAIL Although the automobile seems the native vehicle of Detroit, you should not leave the city in summer time without taking a boat ride or two. Indian canoes swept the waters of the strait and the surrounding lakes long before there was any Detroit, and the early settlers followed the Indian trails; by canoe and by sleighs or snowshoes, they 172 Little Journeys in America traveled the water courses before roads were built. Now the city is one of our greatest inland ports. It commands the great waterways leading from a rich interior to a thickly settled coast region. It is before the break in the Appalachian Highlands, where the products of the West and Middle West, the North and the South, pour into trains and steamers for the coast cities or the distant world ports. It is said that more tonnage passes yearly through the Detroit River than through Liverpool, London, and Hamburg combined. Many pleasure boats also sail its fresh, cool waters. Loads of jolly picnic parties or summer tourists fill its steamers. From the foot of Wood- ward Avenue you may catch a boat for a trip to Belle Isle. And you may hire a canoe and thread the canals of this lovely wooded island and reach forest nooks that must be quite unchanged since the waters rippled to the stroke of the Indian or the pioneer white man. At places the canal widens into lakes dotted with tiny green islands. If you tire of the solitude of dense, lofty forests, there are the bath-houses, the Casino, the Zoo, and the Aquarium. Or you may hire a pony cart for a brisk trot around the smooth driveways. For excellent fishing you may take a motor- boat trip to The Flats, called the "Venice of Detroit, the Automobile City 173 America"; or you may find splendid bass over at Put-in-Bay. There are many interesting trolley trips through the suburban parts, and other short trips by train which are full of interest. STIRRING PIONEER TIMES Though not one of our oldest cities, Detroit has a historic background with many high lights, as suggested by various landmarks around town. None is more appealing, perhaps, than the old French pear trees found along the earliest streets, and bearing fruit as vigorously as when they first lifted their boughs behind the Indian stockade. One of these veteran trees is nine feet in girth. There are also orchards of russet, snow, and other varieties of apples which the French settlers introduced. But though founded by the French, the city has not retained much of the French atmosphere. Settlers from Virginia, New England, and other eastern states have overshadowed the pioneer traits of the French. But the founders showed their mettle in more than one fierce encounter with Indians and English. You may visit the former home of Grant, a rather bleak two-story dwelling, now in the midst of the Italian quarter. It was occupied by Grant 174 Little Journeys in America when he served here as a Heutenant from 1848 to 1851. You may discover a tablet in the Art Museum dedicated *'To Madame de la Mo the Cadillac, the first white woman to land upon these shores." It was in July, 1701, that Cadillac arrived with a company of about a hundred soldiers, traders, and artisans to round the settlement. Two years later his wife braved the long wilderness journey from Quebec in order to be with her husband in this rude little village of men within its protecting palisades. Cadillac was a scholar as well as an officer and a knightly adventurer. It is said that his pen was as sharp as his sword. He started the town with wise caution which made it safe in a wilderness of more or less hostile Indians. There were rich loads of furs brought in from the north lands, and the French had been generous enough in their trading to win the friendship of the Indians; but when the English came to take possession of the post after the surrender of Quebec, the Indians were not pleased; and Pontiac resolved "to stand in the way" of these new proprietors. After the first years of settlement, Cadillac was made governor of Louisiana. Always a military post, Detroit had many lively skirmishes with the Indians before the country Detroit, the Automobile City 175 surrounding it was finally settled. For five months the fort was beseiged by Pontiac and his warriors, who gave the garrison a severe beating at "Bloody Run," now largely covered with stove factories. The commanding officer was in favor of staying behind his stockades; but a new detachment was sent to relieve him, and this general insisted on sallying forth to meet the redskins. The English force was riddled, and the survivors were glad to escape to their fortifications. At last, so large a force was sent to reinforce the post that the Indians were frightened and withdrew. RISEN FROM THE ASHES Like San Francisco, Detroit was once wiped out by fire and recorded the fact in a motto of her seal: Resurget Cinerlbus, *'She has risen from the ashes." It was after the fire that the city was re- built on the plan of Washington, and narrow streets became broad avenues radiating from the Campus Martins. You leave Detroit with a pleasant memory of her homes and streets, and this in spite of the fact that she is a great industrial center and that her population is seventy per cent foreign. Her Poles, alone, number 100,000; and you may find solid sections of Italians, Greeks, Hungarians, 176 Little Journeys in America Servians, Belgians, and Jews. These little foreign cities within the larger one seem to be becoming rapidly Americanized. They are building churches and schools and taking an interest in the great city's life. Copyright Underwood and Underwood Grand Circus Park, Detroit The four large parks and many small squares, the broad streets, the trees and green parkings, and a spirit of prosperity give a favorable im- pression of Detroit. "Indian Village" is the name of a popular residence district out near Owen Park where one feels something of the city's special charm and friendliness. There is always a com- munity Christmas tree in the park, and the Detroit, the Automobile City 177 "Indian Villagers" sing carols and place lighted candles in their windows on Christinas Eve. Across the river is a real Indian reservation where pretty birch-bark baskets are made. This strangely enough, is not called an Indian village at all. SAINT LOUIS, THE GREAT RIVER CITY 'll rHEN Saint Louis, the largest city on the ^ ^ largest river, was the center of a great inland water trade, hundreds of singing negroes used to work day and night loading and unloading the steamboats that crowded the wharf for three or four miles. Saint Louis is still the largest fur market in the world and makes a fifth of the shoes in the United States, but the glory of the old river trade has departed. If you should visit Saint Louis by steamer today you would notice the Eads bridge which spans the Mississippi fifty feet above high water and which has helped the railroads to rob the river of most of its early traffic. Two double steam railroad tracks and one for street cars, beside foot walks and a carriage way, cross this great bridge which saves Saint Louis a million dollars a year for transportation. The city is still a commercial center, as it was in the old French fur-trading days. Almost a hundred years before the Civil War, Laclede Liquest, a merchant of New Orleans, saw the opportunities of this location where the Missis- sippi joins the Missouri in the midst of a fertile 178 Saint Louis, the Great River City 179 country. The founder was wise, too, in making friends with the Indians; and from the few log cabins which were built in 1764, a thriving settle- ment grew up in the wilderness that was then French territory. If you leave the river front and wander up town for a few blocks you may come upon the old market place where French, English, Indians, Spanish, and Portuguese met in the pioneer days and bartered skins and gold for grain, cotton, or manufactured products. The old market is now crowded with Missouri and Illinois farm produce and with fruit and nuts from Florida, Louisiana, and California. WHERE SLAVES WERE SOLD A little farther on is the dingy gray Court House from the steps of which slaves were sold during the early days. And still farther on, where the newer business section begins, we find the largest office building in the world. We might visit, too, in this mid-western city the world's largest lead works, brick works, drug house, shoe house, buggy factory, terra cotta works, street car plant, and wholesale paper house. At least, you find good authority in Saint Louis for these superlative establishments. Saint Louis has been called "the largest city entirely surrounded by the United States," and 180 Little elourneys in America it seems there is no disputing this distinction. It lies in the center of our most productive farm region. So many con- ventions are held here that it has also been called "the assembly city." You might land in Saint Louis by twenty-seven dif- ferent railroads; and you would find one of the largest passen- ger depots through which millions of travelers pass every Olive Street Canyon, St. Louis YOU SHOULD VISIT SHAW'S GARDENS You would want to be sure to visit the Shaw Botanical Gardens of seventy-five acres which contain 11,000 specimens of plant life and are excelled only by the Royal Botanical Gardens of Kew, England. On a hot day you would enjoy a dip in one of the two great municipal swimming pools or a motor trip through the shady drives of Forest Park, the third largest park in America. In the park is the River des Peres and several lakes; and you find the stately figure of "Saint |¥l^^|HKA 1TB III ^H II . ,^i|n[ II rH •tJ^^^M ^^K MR ^9 f^HHIl r***^ g|M^B ^^^B ^^B Im jiU L JlRl ■"■■■•iBMI K^^BLir 'HH i J s.-.H:;JIMH[ E^i Saint Louis, the Great River City 181 Louis," mounted on his spirited steed high on the brow of Art Hill which overlooks the city and the river and wooded bluffs beyond. Back of this statue is the Art Museum, which was built for the World's Fair in 1904, and across the park you can see the beautiful, columned arch of the Jefferson Memorial. The city schools of Saint Louis are regarded as models; and Washing- ton University, at the edge of Forest Park, includes a most attractive group of buildings in a uniform style of architecture. At the great, open-air theater in a natural park ravine, one might see a performance of "Robin Hood" or some other wild- wood play with a real setting of forest trees, rustic bridges, and dancing green. You find some of the streets rather ugly and crowded where the city has spread over what were once the aristocratic residence sections. The old homes seem forlorn and out of place in their sordid or commercial surroundings. There are still picturesque remains of the old French districts; and one meets many Italians, Negroes, and other types in the tenement districts. Beautiful resi- dences with great flower gardens, shade trees and rose-bordered lawns are found along the parks and boulevards. But the early French atmosphere of the city has mostly vanished. A Eugene Field school building reminds us that a 182 Little Journeys in America genial poet lived for many years in Saint Louis and wrote some of his best verse there as well as yards and yards of newspaper stories. Out along the Mississippi are picturesque bluffs and woodlands which recall the pictures we have had of old Saint Louis. All sorts of people came and went on this great water way. It was here that Mark Twain learned to steer a river boat and met many of the quaint and amusing characters and adventures which he afterwards wrote about. The oldest inhabitants still remember the Mark Twain days; and some of them speak of the river as "Mark's river," because he loved it and described it as nobody else has done. Saint Louis has been described by Winston Churchill in the "Crisis" and other novels, written from the author's own experiences in the old French river town. THE ROCKY MOUNTAIN HIGHLANDS "T^OWN the deep-walled, winding trail of the -^-^ Royal Gorge, the train sweeps through the midst of the picturesque Rockies. Beside you the river leaps and boils with a wild, bubbling roar that drowns the noise of the engine. You seem to be running a losing race with the foaming brown waters that dance and curl below the giant cliffs towering 2,600 feet above you. In this Grand Canyon of the Arkansas you glimpse the heart of the great Western Highlands. Here are the splendid peaks, the massive ridges, the jutting precipices. Coming from the west over the Denver and Rio Grande Railroad, you follow the river for miles through this deep and narrow pass. Here you are descending a lofty grade; but at length you mount again, trailing around abrupt angles with two or three huge engines ahead and another or two pushing. You may look out across a bold curve and watch the tail and head of your train threading the dizzy passes. Trees grow along the route where there is enough soil among the massive boulders. The fresh dry air is sweet with the odor of ferns and pines and mountain wild flowers. You pass great "castle rocks," turreted cathedrals of nature's building 183 184 Little Journeys in America that awe your soul with their silent majesty, here in the wildness of river and canyon. Descending the Royal Gorge at nightfall is a particularly thrilling experience. The waters are darkly boisterous and the depths grow steadily blacker as you near the lowest level. The huge walls tower beside you; the cliffs hang above; and up and up, at the very brink of the narrow chasm, the stars gleam. Lights flash here and there, making you feel that there are other human beings beside the tense passengers who are leaning with you at the open windows of the observation car. You really forget, in a way, the people and the train, as you drink in the almost diabolical grandeur of the mountain wildness, deep in its mystery of night and shadows and starlit peaks and rumbling waterfalls. The lights which you see are likely to be those of switch- tenders or camping road-builders. Towns and cabins are rare along this mountain trail. ON THE ROOF OF THE WORLD Beyond the Gorge, to the west, are other routes quite as beautiful if a shade less spectacular. You climb around lofty summits in some of the most daring and skilful curves which modern engineer- ing has achieved. You pass friendly little mining villages perched crazily among the cliffs. Up The Rocky Mountain Highlands 185 beyond the timber-line you go, where the air is sharp with frost; and you look down from a splen- did barren "roof of the world" to the green pines in the sheltering canyons. On one of these routes in central Colorado you pass the same little mining town five times on your spiral ascent. The last time it is far below you, and the first time you were below it. From Denver you may ride "Around the Circle," a scenic trip which crosses and recrosses the Con- tinental Divide, threading the famous canyons and mounting the towering passes over the tops of the Rocky ranges and returning in a thousand mile circuit to the "Queen City of the Plains." You may pass mines of gold and silver yielding ore worth millions of dollars, and you will doubtless pass unexplored riches worth millions more. There are many attractive inns and mountain camps where you may stop for more leisurely enjoyment of the unsurpassed scenery, the bracing air, the fun of horseback riding and motoring in the heart of the wilds. Clear brooks trickle over the brightest of pebbles; furry little animals and per- haps furry big ones meet you in these mountain walks ; about you the pines spread thick carpets of needles; and above you the clouds float, touching the tops of the glistening snow-white peaks. North of Leadville, Colorado, a giant white 186 Little Journeys in America cruciform marks the "Mountain of the Holy Cross." Two great snow-filled ravines which interesect at right angles form the cross, which may be seen for hours as your train swings east toward Colorado Springs. At Hagerman Pass the railroad crosses the Continental Divide at an ele- vation of 11,530 feet. On the flanks of the mountains and in the pro- tected valleys there are stretches of grazing land; and irrigation canals have been constructed, some- times utilizing all the available water in the streams. Though the rainfall is light there are plateau regions with enough grass for extensive stock ranches. With a little irrigation and careful dry farming some of these regions are made very productive. Laramie Plains, Wyoming, is one of the best grazing districts in the country. MANY HEALTH RESORTS Health resorts are frequent all through the Rocky Mountain region, as the high dry air is exceedingly favorable for lung trouble. Here you realize the extent of the "great white plague," for tuberculosis patients from all over the world crowd the sanitariums and tent cities. Before the disease has too much weakened its victims, they flood the towns with applications for work. Thousands of people are able to live in this altitude, who would The Rocky Mountain Highlands 187 soon die in the low damp climate of the eastern coast. There are many "arrested cases," the disease having been checked so that with careful attention the patient may live comfortably and happily for many years, perhaps a normal lifetime. There is pathos in this struggle against disease ; for although "T.B." exiles may laugh bravely at their fate, they are often homesick and lonely. Perhaps it is this phase of his life which makes the Rocky Mountain westerner more friendly and thoughtful of his neighbors than is almost any other person in the world. The vastness and isola- tion of the country may also have something to do with the kindliness of the inhabitants. But what- ever the cause, the people are notably generous to anyone in trouble, and they surprise the stranger with delightful little courtesies, which the busy easterners are likely to forget or to reserve for intimate friends only. YOU ARE WELCOME IN DENVER Denver is a mecca for thousands of tourists. A great bronze arch bidding you "Welcome" spans the street before the station. The city has adver- tised her climate and her charms so effectively that her vast hotels are filled and her long railway depot is crowded. Denver and the surrounding towns 188 Little Journeys in America and camps have become a great summer play- ground. With the rolHng, treeless prairies before her and the jagged, snow-capped mountain wall at her back, the city is impressively situated. You will meet all sorts of people in the broad streets and pretty, open squares. Ranchmen and miners ride down from the mountains on long- necked cow-ponies; invalids or pleasure-seekers crowd the hotels. There is much long-distance motoring through this part of the country, and the fine art of camping is appreciated and practiced. You may enjoy the best plays in Denver, though not so frequently as in a less isolated city. Elitch's Garden is gay in summer with its charming res- taurant and playhouse in the midst of an old apple orchard. There are long shady paths under the trees and "apple-blossom time" at Elitch's is a rare little paradise. You find beautiful parks in Denver, vivid green in the midst of the arid coun- try, and handsome brick and stone buildings. The handsome state capitol stands on a high hill. Denver is a new city. The old stage driver who takes you for some motor side trip can recall the days when he hunted deer in what is now the city park. He may tell you of dusty emigrant wagons trailing one of the busy streets which was then the old Santa Fe Trail. He remembers the pack trains of loaded mules that toiled in from the distant The Rocky Mountain Highlands 189 mountain camps with ore, and returned twenty- five miles through the snow with the winter's supply of bacon and coffee and flour. The old stage driver is proud of Denver; and so are the many others who have come from east or south to make their homes here. It is a charming little city; it has the western spirit of pluck and pride which downs all sorts of obstacles. It is a gay little city, too, in spite of its sanitariums. It likes to call itself "The Paris of America." UP PIKE'S PEAK South from Denver on the way to Colorado Springs you pass Casa Blanca, a huge white rock, 1,000 feet long and 200 feet high. About six miles westward you. reach Pike's Peak, the famous summit rising from the Colorado front range to a snow-capped height of nearly 14,200 feet. By a cog-wheeled railway you may ascend to the small hotel on top and view the mountains, glens, and mining camps for miles around. Below you are forests of pine and oak, and some of the mineral springs for which the region is noted ; but the peak is bare rocks, usually snow-covered. Through the romantic Ute Pass, used for cen- turies by Indian travelers, you may reach the "Garden of the Gods" with its grotesque figures of red sandstone huddled about you like queer, silent 190 Little Journeys in America giants. A road winds through the narrow gateway between two huge crimson boulders over 300 feet high. The "Garden" is about a mile square and is filled with these unique, wind -carved monsters. Farther south is Pueblo, with its great mineral palace of twen ty - eight domes into which are worked specimens of all the Colorado minerals. Westward beyond the Veta Pass is the abrupt "Mule Shoe Curve"; and beyond this is the San Luis, the most extensive of Colorado Parks which is 6,000 square miles. Here the triple-peaked Sierra Blanca sentinels you from the west. It is the loftiest Colorado moun- tain and rises 14,500 feet. ALONG THE OLD MORMON TRAIL Farther west, in the center of the Rockies is the Great Basin of Utah and Salt Lake, eighty miles long and from thirty to fifty miles wide. No fish can live in this briny pool, except an ugly little shrimp that looks as if it might live anywhere. Garden of the Gods, Colorado Springs The Rocky Mountain Highlands 191 You would find a bath in the lake a novel experi- ence, for the density of the water is so great that you float around in a very bouyant, light-headed fashion. You couldn't sink if you tried. The salt- ness of the water varies from 14 to 42 per cent as Pikes Peak — "The Monument of the Continent" the lake is high or low. When you remember that the salt of the ocean is only three or four per cent, you realize how briny this lake is. It is supposed to contain hundreds of millions of tons of salt. To this desert country Brigham Young led his Mormon colony of 142 people by the long weary Copyright Underwood and Underwood Scene in Yellowstone Park The Rocky Mountain Highlands 193 trek across plains and mountains from Illinois, here they built the city of Salt Lake, the irrigated gardens, and the immense walled temple of granite which took forty years to complete. Here too, is the huge Mormon tabernacle, and pleasant homes and business streets. But around the city stretch the barren plains and mountains and the white snow-beds and shores of old salt lakes. The sun glows gorgeously over desert and mountains, but you feel lonely and shut in by the vast desolation. In Wyoming are still some of the mammoth cattle ranches; and at Cheyenne the annual "Frontier Days" is a great event, rehearsing the old rough-riding and lariat tricks of the early cow- boys, who drove cattle over the plains from the Yellowstone to Old Mexico. Some of these dashing horsemen are still at large, with a little smaller range than in the old days and minus some of the picturesque trappings that one usually sees accom- panying cowboys in the movies. WHERE THE LARGEST ANIMALS LIVED [ Fantastic buttes, or water- worn mounds, and the hanging rock in Echo Gorge are interesting. Wyo- ming has produced more skeletons of enormous, prehistoric beasts than any other state. Not long ago, the skeleton of a huge beast whose foot covered a square yard' was unearthed. The same mighty 194 Little Journeys in America force which upheaved the Rocky Mountains tilted the rock beds of these ancient monsters so that the wearing of winds and waters would sometime bring them to light. The world seems rather youthful and very gigan- tic in the Rocky Mountain Highlands. When the scientists dig up a colossal dinosaur, the largest animal ever discovered on the earth, it gives us a little thrill of contact with the ages ; and the world seems still more gigantic and very interesting, even though we seem to dwindle to mere specks among the rocks and the centuries. It makes one feel the need of human companion- ship to travel these lonely wilds ; and it makes him forget some of his littleness and pettiness to view these towering mountains and to sit for a while with the silent, eerie figures in the great "Garden of the Gods." The Rocky Mountain Highlands lead in the production of gold, silver, copper, lead, iron. They also export cattle, wheat, lumber, salt, borax, and sulphur. THE GREAT SOUTHWEST T^REEDOM and hospitality, blue skies, purple "*■ mesas and sweeping, sunlit plains await the traveler in the fascinating summer land of the American Southwest. It is the land of painted deserts, or gorgeous sunsets, and cool, pine-scented canyons. At first sight, it may seem barren and lonely; but a subtle fascination grows with a closer acquaintance. There is a fine spirit of adventure and comradeship around its mountain camp fires and along its desert trails. Even in the fleeting glimpse which one gets from a car window, there is the thrill of adventure which belongs to great spaces as yet hardly explored. As the train toils westward from the broad grazing lands of Texas and Oklahoma, the traveler observes a subtle but steady change in the land- scape coloring. The gray-green of the cattle ranches gives place to a tawny yellow-brown in the more arid plains of eastern New Mexico, and the towns grow continually farther and farther apart. There are still scattered farm houses with their protecting cotton-woods or willows and their patches of green irrigated land. But these grow fewer as you travel farther west. Bleached wooden 195 196 Little Journeys in America shacks stand alone in the wind-swept, dry -farming regions ; and there are miles and miles with no sign of a human dwelling. Fat, yellow-brown prairie dogs, a loping coyote, weird little prairie owls, or slim, jSashing lizards may be detected in the tawny, treeless plains if you have sharp eyes for these earth-colored creatures. This increasing yellow-brownness is the desert color; and it puts its mark upon everything — soil, vegetation, and even animal life. It is the pre- vailing note in the vast, half -arid stretches of our great Southwest. In the short rainy season about July or August there may be delicate veils of green over the semi-aridness ; but as one travels on, this transient freshness disappears in the golden mesa country of western New Mexico and Arizona. The irrigated orchards and gardens are less and less frequent; and the glowing plains stretch on and on, broken by flat, sand-colored mountains or the crouching, ridgelike mesas. HOT WINDS AND BLINDING SKIES The sky is a blinding turquoise blue, and the wind grows hotter and is often sharp with the sting of sand. Windows are closed as the train nears the heart of the desert country, but the sand sifts in at every crack and crevice. Electric fans whir, and shades are drawn to keep out the blinding light. The Great Southwest 197 Sometimes the thermometer registers 130° ; but it is a high, dry heat and is no more oppressive to most people than 90° or 100° would be in a low, moist climate. There are occasional Mexican huts of yellow adobe, and groups of Mexicans wave and call from their flat-car homes beside the track. Sometimes a lone automobile is passed, speeding along the motor trail which runs parallel with the railroad. But signs of life are rare, for the most part, after you reach the real desert. An occasional hawk or buzzard hangs in the shimmering blue; and giant cacti lift their stiff, thorny branches like grotesque skeletons of vegetation. At the gray cement stations are sun-browned men and women with wide-brimmed hats. Many trains stop for meals at these desert towns ; and the sound of tom-toms beating merrily greets you as a summons to the lunch counter or the dining room of the famous Harvey eating houses. At iVlbuquer- que, New Mexico and Needles, Arizona, there is always a group of Indians in bright-colored native dress with strings of beads and baskets of pottery. They crowd around the train and hold up their gaudy wares to sell. Some of them can speak only a few words of English, but they have learned to count money and drive a good bargain. . Wrinkled old men and women carry great ropes of bead necklaces or armfuls of pottery; and young 198 Little Journeys in America girls smile and chatter and beg you to buy the ugly little rain gods which tourists like as souvenirs. Some of the Indian work is very beautiful and interesting, but many of the things brought to the trains are cheap and insincere. They have been made to supply the taste of commercial buyers and do not represent the true art of the Indian with its unique symbolism and originality of design. But the Indians now have a taste for the white man's money, and summer and winter they tramp the desert trail to meet the train with its curious eastern travelers. WHITE DRIFTS OF SAND In some parts of Arizona the sand is almost as white as snow and lies along the track in huge drifts, continually shifted about by the hot winds. Most of the soil is exceedingly productive when watered, and the splendid possibilities of irrigation have only begun to be realized. Fruit ranches and gardens become more frequent as one passes into Southern California, where the soil and the climate are much the same as in Arizona. Interesting spots to visit in the Southwest are the Grand Canyon of Arizona with its gorgeous color and picturesque cliffs and chasms; the Indian villages of the Pueblos ; the ancient ruins of the prehistoric "Cliff -Dwellers" ; and Santa Fe, The Great Southwest 199 which was for 300 years the capitol of a vast domain once described as extending from the Mississippi to the Pacific and from Chihuahua to the unknown north. In fact any of the older towns are full of historic interest and have the romantic charm of the old Spanish-Indian civilization which is gradually giving way to a more enterprising spirit of northern industry. But much of the sparselysettled region comprising New Mexico, Arizona, and southern Nevada is still "the land of tomorrow"; where brown-skinned Mexicans live in little adobe vil- lages, cultivating little garden patches, and laugh- ing and dreaming beside their adobe walls. The Mexicans are a friendly, childlike people, likeable in spite of their shiftless ways and their occasional lawlessness. From Spanish ancestors they have inherited a fondness for music and dancing, and their love of the out-of-doors is a trait common to both Spaniards and Indians. PICTURESQUE SANTA FE At Santa Fe there is the old Palace of the Governors, used during the early Spanish period as a capitol and executive mansion. Its thick walls bear the scars of early conflicts when it was a government fortress and the people of Santa Fe gathered for safety in its inclosed patio. The 200 Little Journeys in America palace now serves as a museum for New Mexico's historic and archeological collections. It faces the shaded plaza, where a simple stone monument marks the end of the old Santa Fe Trail. To the west is the new art museum built in Spanish-Indian architecture to harmonize with the old Palace and with other quaint buildings in the narrow streets. Up the avenue is San Miguel, said to be the oldest church in the United States. It contains Spanish altar paintings which have been pierced by Indian arrows when the pictures were carried by a procession of monks who were fired upon in the early, dangerous days. The Kit Carson monument in front of the Fed- eral building recalls thrilling pioneer tales. There are orchards of apple and pear and peach trees planted by the Franciscan friars when Santa Fe was, in fact as in name, the City of the Holy Faith of Saint Francis of Assisi. There are crooked, picturesque streets with brown adobe walls where you meet black-shawled Mexican women, brown, half -naked children, and perhaps a stalwart Indian in his native blanket and moccasins. One of these streets is called Burro Alley because so many Mexican wood-carriers drive their laden donkeys along the way and often leave them to pick a scanty meal while their owners are dining in one of the native restaurants or chatting in the The Great Southwest 201 plaza. The wood is gathered from the juniper and pifion-covered slopes of the mountains and can- yons. About ninety miles from Santa Fe is the old town of Taos, where a colony of painters from New York and other cities are now living and painting the Indians and the colorful New Mexico landscape. Near the village are the two best preserved Pueblos or community houses in which about 600 Pueblo Indians now live in much the same manner as their ancestors were living when the Spanish explorers under the leadership of Cabeza de Vaca came upon them in 1546. The pueblos are of unknown age and are beauti- ful specimens of primitive architecture. Ladders lead to the flat, terraced roofs; and round clay ovens are built outside the walls where the Indian women bake their bread made of corn meal. The Indians still hold some of their ceremonial dances here, and in September the annual San Jeronimo races occur and are attended by hundreds of white people as well as Indians. Parts of the ancient walls which surrounded these community dwellings still remain though the Indians have long lived in peace and have been spared the danger of attacks from wandering plain tribes. Corn, beans, squashes, and fruit are raised on the reservation farms. 202 Little Journeys in America TO THE CLIFF DWELLINGS Just off the dusty Taos Plaza is the old home of Kit Carson, a simple adobe structure with a rude porch and deep, brown walls. The whole town is a cluster of picturesque Mexican houses surrounded by the green valley of the Rio Grande, a half -arid plateau, and the glowing ranges called "The Blood of Christ Mountains" by the old Spanish priests. Copyright Underuvod and Underwood Cliff Dwellers Taos is twenty -five miles from the nearest rail- road and is reached from Taos Junction by a rnotor stage, which trail;s through the precipices of the Rio Grande Canyon, the towering cliff walls far The Great Southwest 203 above and the river splashing over its falls below. It is a wild hair-raising route, but it gives you a glimpse of the coolness and greenness which is found in some of the mountain forests and canyons even in arid New Mexico. Canyon de Los Frijoles, meaning "canyon of the beans," contains some of the most interesting ruins of prehistoric cliff dwellings. It is thirty -five miles from Santa Fe. On the face of an almost per- pendicular cliff are the tiny, celllike houses, cut into the walls and reached only by ladders. A huge shelf of the cliff is honeycombed by these rooms and contains also a kiva or ancient cere- monial cave where many of the religious dances were performed. In this balcony and in the almost inaccessible cliffs, smaller and more peaceful Indian tribes doubtless sought refuge from their warlike ene- mies. Their location had the advantage of a natural fortress from which stones and arrows could be hurled upon any intruders. One little walled city lies in the very bottom of the canyon, near the stream which comes dashing down among the rocks and pines. The ruins of this city show only one entrance, suggesting again the necessity for pro- tection from hostile neighbors. Old ruins and cities are being excavated all through this region by the School of American 204 Little Journeys in America Archeology at Santa Fe. Interesting and almost unexplored ruins are found in the great forest reserves of the upper Gila. Here the dense native timber and the clear mountain streams form a striking contrast to the great tracts of arid, treeless land. OLD MISSION CHURCHES Old mission churches are scattered throughout this country and indicate the tireless zeal of the early Spanish priests. These buildings are almost as simple as the Indian pueblos. They also are of adobe and were built by Indian workmen under the direction of the Spaniards. Indian women and children did much of the work on these ancient churches. It was not considered a man's business to "build walls." Phoenix, Arizona, is a delightful wintering place, with palms and other tropical vegetation such as one finds in southern California. The state uni- versity here has done much to arouse interest in the history and the archeology of the Southwest. Instead of the oil wells, which are making for- tunes in Texas and Oklahoma, there are great cop- per mines, probably the richest in the world, in the mountains of New Mexico. Fruit and alfalfa are grown in the fertile Pecos valley where Artesian wells provide water for irrigation. Cattle and The Great Southwest 205 sheep are raised throughout the Southwest. The high altitude of Santa Fe and other cities of the Great-Divide-region prevents the extreme heat which might be expected in this latitude. The American Southwest is probably the greatest health resort in the world. Cool nights, clear and invigor- ating days, and the freedom of vast unpeopled plains and mountains are fascinating features of, this land of sunny skies. THE PACIFIC SLOPE \/'0U leave San Diego, the oldest and perhaps -*■ the most picturesque of California cities, with many vivid memory pictures of the quaint Spanish streets, beautiful homes and gardens, and the charming old Mission, where the early padres made friends and followers of thousands of Cali- fornia Indians. Twenty-one of these Missions are scattered along the coast, a day's journey apart; and many were the travelers who found welcome here when these homes of the Fathers were the only inns which the wilderness afforded. The red- towered Coronado, advertised as the "largest resort hotel in the world" forms a striking contrast to the simple half -primi- tive missions built by San Gabriel Mission . ^ t i • i the Indians and priests. The Coronado accomodates more than a 206 The Pacific Slope 207 thousand guests at a time and never seems crowded. Its peninsula site commands the ocean's thunder on a long sandy beach, and its tropical gardens bloom in a climate of perpetual summer time. No frost, no heat, but tumbling, sunlit waves, brilliant flowers of countless varieties, and brilliant .birds in their great open-air cage. A motor trip from San Diego to San Francisco gives you an idea of the color and contour of this famous state of the Golden West. You find burning deserts, blossoming hills and valleys, snow-clad mountains, redwood foriests, and con- tinual glimpses of the violet-blue Pacific beyond avenues of palm trees or the gray green of olive groves. Before leaving San Diego you may want to run down to the barren border of Old Mexico, a few miles south; and you will, of course, visit Point Loma with its graceful, sinuous length and its old stone lighthouse at the north of San Diego harbor. Here the bay gleams like a vast opal in the midst of green hills. Range after range, the mountains stretch away in a shimmer of soft haze, and the city lies basking in the sunlight. You may find it hard to leave the dreamlike beauty of this old southern town, but flower- banked, palm-bordered roads beckon you on. If you choose a time between the middle of May and 208 Little Journeys in America November for your motor trip you are quite certain of good weather; for this is the dry season in CaHfornia, and the sun glows golden over the purple mountains, the opal sea, the flaming poppy fields, and the orange and lemon orchards. May- time is a magic season of birds and bloom in southern California. The motor purrs down a long white drive beside the sea and beyond to the distant hills and moun- tains. You are on King's Highway, with the silver blue ocean beside you, the gold blue sky overhead, and the lure of the open road before you with its promise of adventures strange and new. Wind-swept pines cling crouching at the edge of lofty headlands, and there are gum and acacia trees, and gnarled cypresses hundreds, and perhaps thousands of years old. The tossing white spray creeps up the beach, lifting the shells and seaweed and lapping the yellow and pink sand flowers— queer little blossoms of wax and silk. Winding into the highlands, the road skirts patches of yellow mustard and lavender wild radish. In the desert foothills are cacti and dwarf cedar. Bluebells, lilies, primroses, and dahlias star the wide meadows and the grassy glens. Pink verbenas gleam along the beaches, and poppies spread their flaming orange boldly across the desert rim. The Pacific Slope 209 WITHIN GRAY WALLS You will find homelike inns where you may spend the night with your windows opening on the sea. And you may want to sit for an hour in the fascinating patio gardens with a flood of moon- light that makes you think of the Arabian Nights. South of Los Angeles is the Mission of San Juan Capistrano, one of the most beautiful of these interesting establishments which represent the earnest labors of the devoted Spanish priests. Capistrano 's time-browned arches are now curtained with vines, and roses which clamber along the red-tiled roofs and moss-green walls. In the cloistered court you seem to enter a world of long-forgotten peace and romance. A slim brown Mexican girl places flowers on the ancient altar. From behind the chapel comes the sonorous chanting of Latin prayers by the dark-eyed priest. The padre welcomes you with gentle courtesy. With his long brown robe and sandaled feet, he might have stepped out of an old high-prowed Spanish galleon. But he shows you the marks of time in the ancient mission, the shattered walls of his sadly ruined church. Roses are young as spring in the cloistered patio; but the bits of plaster falls from the old church walls; the stone steps are worn; and the pillars are crumbling. Over a century and a half 210 Little Journeys in America have passed since the bells of Capistrano first rang their call to prayer in this alien land. Beauti- ful silver candlesticks adorn the sanctuary. There are quaint carvings and decorations, crude old statues and paintings. In the library are illumined books, the work of patient monks, signed only with the words "Laus Citrus Orchard, near Los Angeles Deo." Ten years after the mission's founding, in 1776, there were over five hundred Indians under the care of the padres. They learned the cruder industrial arts from the Spaniards and new methods of agriculture. And they learned to reverence their alien teachers. The Pacific Slope 211 ROSE GARDENS AND ORANGE GROVES Orange, lemon, and walnut groves line much of the road about Los Angeles. There are also grain fields, long tracts of lima beans, and many Japanese truck gardens. Up the San Fernando Valley- are olive and apricot orchards, and occasionally a mill where olive oil is made. Roses nod along the roadways until you enter the canyons, where great oaks form an arch overhead. You drop swiftly down the Santa Clara Valley with a mag- nificent view of hills and mountains. Purple and gold in the distance and now and then a shimmering mirage make this seem an enchanted fairy -land. Here are tall eucalyptus trees, shedding their fragrant yellow bark and clinging firmly to their hard green leaves. Grace- fully drooping pepper trees with clusters of creamy flowers and bright berries border the road in spicy, luxuriant green. About Ventura are thousands of acres of lima beans and sugar beets, and there are still orange and lemon groves and dusty fig trees. Toward Santa Barbara you pass exquisite woodland nooks and hills purple with wild lilac bloom. A MAMMOTH GRAPE VINE Near Santa Barbara you find a mammoth grape vine, ten feet in trunk circumference, with 212 Little Journeys in America brandies covering a trellis a hundred feet square. Fourteen tons of grapes have been gathered from this vine in a single season, and one cluster some- times weights twelve pounds. The vine is said to have been planted in 1809, and it looks as if it were likely to live a hundred or so years more. As the road winds on along the coast you notice huge oil derricks standing in the water. They pump the oil from wells beneath the surface of the ocean. Santa Barbara is one of the most beautiful and popular of Pacific Coast resorts. Handsome hotels are here and a superb view. The Santa Barbara Mission is one of the best known of the chain which links gardens and desert and moun- tains and forests along the sunset slope. Here are mission bells two hundred years old; a cemetery with many rare plants and shrubs; and the secluded garden of the inner court, which an ancient order forbids any woman to enter unless she be the "reigning queen." It is said that Mrs. Benjamin Harrison was once admitted to the garden as eligible under the provision of the old Franciscan rule. On to Monterey you find a picturesque route — more missions, gnarled cypresses, flaming poppies, geraniums, roses, and an old adobe hotel where Robert Louis Stevenson once lived. Of the scene about you, this lover of the sea wrote: The Pacific Slope 213 *'No other coast have I enjoyed so much in all weather— such a spectacle of ocean's greatness, such beauty of changing color, and so much thunder in the sound — -as at Monterey." Weird, wind-blown cypresses fringe the coast and floating kelp makes patches of royal purple in the dark blue bay. You may have high winds along this route, days when the sand whips your face and beats unmercifully at your eyelids. But you always press on with a kind of gipsy joy in the wildness of the tugging gale. Near Monterey is the charming little village of Carmel-by-the- Sea, a haunt of artists and writers. Beyond, you come upon vast orchards of cherry, apple and prune, deliciously fragrant at blossom time. You may visit great out-door canneries or fruit-packing houses somewhere along this route almost every season of the year. At Vera Cruz you meet the giant redwoods. A few miles north of the town is a grove of eight hundred trees. The largest of this group is twenty-two feet in diameter and three hundred and six feet high. One fire-hollowed monster provided a house for General Freemont when he camped here in 1848. You feel a thrill of awe and delight at these stately, lifting trunks; at the lofty boughs towering above you into the shining, cloud-flecked sky. To one who loves trees, no experience can ever quite parallel his first walk under the redwoods. 214 Little Journeys in America WHERE EARTHQUAKES ARE MEASURED Beyond the majestic giants are pines, oaks, birches, and sycamores, with the occasional red glow of the madrona. At San Jose is Lick Observa- tory at the top of Mount Hamilton, which you may motor up. Among the interesting instruments in the observatory building is the great refracting telescope through which visitors are allowed to look, on Saturday evenings only. Another interesting device is the sensitive seismograph for recording earthquakes, which are very plentiful in this neighborhood. The guide will tell you that hardly a day passes without its quake, usually so slight that you would not notice it. As long as the shocks occur regularjy, there is little to fear; but an entire absence of tremors for several days is likely to be followed by a violent quake. Northward the road leads you to San CopyriglH Underwood and Underwood _ rranClSCO and tUC Scene in Yosemite Park SplcudorS of the Gold- The Pacific Slope 215 en Gate. After this long motor trip you will doubtless prefer a boat or train to take you to the mountains and forests of Washington and Ore- gon. And you will realize that you have skimmed only the merest edge of the vast Pacific Slope. Back of the coast ranges are the falls of the great Yosemite, the glories of the Feather River Canyon, the wonders of Lake Tahoe, and the white gloom of Death Valley. Back in the mountains also are California's vast stores of gold, silver, quicksilver, lead, zinc, and copper. Pe- troleum has become an important product. Cali- fornia oil is used for locomotives as far north as Washington and Alaska, and has replaced coal on Puget Sound. TO NORTHERN CANYONS AND CEDARS But you are bound for the north and the cedars and lakes of the other Pacific Slope states. You find the coast of northern California narrowing to a high rocky wall which faces the sea with hardly a break after the San Francisco Bay. At the head of the Sacramento River Canyon are the snow- crowned Mount Shasta and the parks and lakes of the high Sierras. In western Oregon are fir-lined hills, lofty peaks, and the mighty gorges of the Snake River. The mild moist climate favors wheat and other cereals; and the mines produce 216 Little Journeys in America a great variety of metals including gold, silver, copper, and platinum. East of the Cascade ranges which cut Oregon and Washington in two, there are less rainfall and consequently less luxuriant forest and other vegetation. But farms are made productive with a little irrigation. nil ■^ fell ^BiiiKr 'M r .-'M \ ■:;:^ '"*'- "■-^'«i< ♦ 0^^ K . 1*-^^ ^^ • • ^ * » ' il"^ mw A."^. ^W" ^^^ jft^J^ -f ^ ^'"^'»'*^ . "- - -v-v- %■■ ' #^. ^ 'f ^i^^ " E^HH #■ ,.v SI^SiiRI! A Typical Home, Portland, Oregon You find Portland a great seaport, though fifty miles inland; for its docks are connected with the Columbia River which is navigatable for four hundred miles. Beyond the city is Mount Hood, a cone-shaped, snow-clad peak rising majestically from the river bank and the green of firs and pines. Portland is a beautiful spot with trim streets. The Pacific Slope 217 blossoming rose gardens and Colonial houses which make you think of New England. Here roses bloom the year round, and you may gather home-grown strawberries in October. Shops and office buildings are busy; and lumber and wheat vessels crowd the wharves. Seattle, Washington's largest city, is splendidly located on Puget Sound. A spirit of alert enter- prise pervades this port with its sea trade with Alaska and the Orient. Back of the city are high ridged hills and a chain of beautiful lakes. Only nineteen miles distant are the Snoqualmie Falls with their wild plunge of 270 feet. And along the mountain slopes are some of the most beauti- ful forests in the world. A clean, rain-washed appearance distinguishes the luxuriant forests of Washington and Oregon, which are often almost impenetrable on account of the rank underbush. Vines hang from lofty tree tops, moss spreads its green velvet over fallen trunks and across rocks and branches. Wild flowers spangle the vivid green with spots of color, and birds flash their bright plumage through sunlit vistas. "THE MOUNTAIN THAT WAS GOD" Green and fragrant, with stately gray trunks, the trees whirl past your train windows. They 218 Little Journeys in America glisten rich and feathery in the sunKght, or they are dim and darkly mysterious in veils of clinging fog. Douglas fir, spruce, giant cedar, and western hemlock, with sometimes a slender aspen grove or a ghostly clump of birches: they are green temples of magnificent beauty, musical at the slightest touch of the wind. Washington has been called the "Evergreen State" because of her verdant forests. There is the clean sweet smell of lumber in these temperate northlands, and there are salmon and halibut fisheries and vast fields of oats and wheat and barley. There are splendid orchards of apple and plum and prune and delicious wild berries as well as tame ones. The cities are noted for their fine public schools. The University of Oregon at Eugene, and the University of Washington at Seattle are prominent among higher educational institutions. Near Tacoma you may visit the glacier of Mt. Rainier, or Mt. Tacoma, as it is called by the people of the town. It is an impressive spectacle, tower- ing in icy solitude above the forests and the sea. With the help of skilled guides you may cross the dangerous crevasses of this river of ice and follow its steep trails to the lofty summit. From there you may gaze down with the air of a con- querer, or a discoverer, over the city, the moun- The Pacific Slope 219 tains and the far blue ocean. In sunlight the glacier glistens like frosty crystals; in cloudy weather the summit is shrouded with fog wraiths. The Indians called this "the mountain that was God." Lumber, gold, silver, and copper are important Salmon Fishing products of Washington and Oregon. Fish is shipped from the coast region; and wheat, oats, barley, and apples are agricultural products. Cali- fornia has a very great variety of minerals, fruits, 220 Little Journeys in America grains, and fish. Gold, petroleum, quicksilver, sugar beets, and citrous fruits are products in which she has been the leading state. Other important crops are nuts, hay, wheat, oats, lumber, rye, and cotton. Among the many fruits raised are raisin-grapes, oranges, lemons, prunes, olives, figs, pineapples, pears, grapes, dates, citrons, cherries, and berries. The deer, bear, wolf and big-horn are native wild animals of the Pacific Coast states. There are many varieties of birds. SAN FRANCISCO, THE CITY OF THE GOLDEN GATE A STIFF, fresh breeze ruffles the blue bay ^^^ withm the Golden Gate; a white sail, flecks the far horizon; a gray gunboat basks beyond a» pier; and a silver air-plane circles in the shim- mering sky. Before you lies the city of San Francisco on its yellow hills and sand dunes, spreading its parks and streets and buildings beside the peaceful harbor. * Across the bay is Oakland, with Goat Island midway between the two cities. At the foot of Market Street you find ferries leading to all parts of the inland coast. Here you may take a car to Golden Gate Park by way of Market Street, which will give you a good view of the city; or you may prefer one of the numerous sight-seeing auto- mobiles. You will notice cable cars climbing steep slopes like giant bugs on brown walls. There are many towering hills and cliffs and frequent grassy squares. On or near Market Street in the down- town section are shops, hotels, and theaters. It seems very sunny and open with no crowding skyscrapers and with many wide walks and streets. At the famous old Market Street corner, which 221 222 Little Journeys in America used to be called Cape Horn because it was so windy, you find the "Lotta Fountain" — a gift to the city by Lotta Crabtree, who was delighted with San Francisco's appreciation of her talent as an actress. On Portsmouth Square is a monument to Stevenson, another artist whom San Francisco loved and understood. A-top of the smooth shaft is a ship, its sails spread full to the wind, but it never reaches port. It just careens grace- fully there in the ancient plaza where the gracious story-teller used to chat with sailors and brown- skinned vagabonds from the far corners of the world, who answered the call of his comradely soul. The monument seems a fitting memorial to the romantic sea-lover with his spirit of high adventuring. On the stone you may read the quotation from Stevenson's creed, beginning "To be honest, to be kind, to earn a little, to spend a little less — ." It is a wholesome lesson from one wanderer to another who stops to sun himself in old Ports- mouth Square. SOME FAMOUS BUILDINGS At the top of Nob Hill is the brown stone home of the Pacific Union Club. This is as handsome a building of its sort as one may find anjswhere, and San Francisco, Golden Gate City 223 it has a superb view over the roofs and out to sea. The Bohemian Club is a famous organization made up of writers and other artists. It gives an annual out-door play in the redwood forests up in the hills. At this same corner is the Art Insti- tute with a notable collection of California paint- ings. Near by is the club house of the Native Sons of the Golden West, with its ornamental bas-reliefs of burnt clay in which you may read a brief story of California's romantic history. Beyond Market to Dolores is the old Mission settlement which took its name from a green-fringed stream that the priests called "Our Lady of the Weeping Willows." The stout adobe chapel which was built in 1782 withstood the earthquake with hardly a sign, but a modern church crumbled in ruins beside it. Where once was a waste of sand dunes you will find the lovely Park of the Golden Gate. Here are pools, waterfalls, trees, vines, flowers, Grecian portals. Stow Lake spreads its glistening blue at the foot of Strawberry Hill, and Huntington Falls pour a lazy cascade over the curving shores. You may drink tea in a fascinating Japanese Garden or visit bird house, conservatory, music temple, or zoo, as you choose. Interesting Indian relics and Spanish, Mexican, 224 Little eloiirneys in America Russian, and American heirlooms will attract you in the National History Museum. Along the drive are many memorial statues, and flowers flame in masses of pink and scarlet and yellow and blue. And beyond are the cliffs, the broad Pacific and the beating surf. THE PEOPLE YOU MEET You meet many nationalities in the streets of San Francisco or among her varied shops and along her busy wharves. Indians, Portuguese, Italians, Mexicans, Japanese and Chinese, French Canadians, Alaskan gold-diggers: they all seem at home and a picturesque part of the great colorful city. You may have seen other China towns, but the San Francisco specimen will interest you. It is not the squalid scene of the old town either. The cleansing torch of the fire swept away much of its crime and vileness. But the new Chinatown is still a little patch of the Orient. Women and girls patter about in loose coats and trousers, sometimes of gorgeous silk. Wise, sober faces meet you at flower stalls and curio shops. Long, brown fingers sort lily bulbs and poppy baskets or fashion jade settings and gold embroideries. At night the swinging lanterns glow above your head and queer, slant-eyed folk glide into mys- terious, pagody -towered houses. San Francisco, Golden Gate City 225 There are New Year's celebrations on February first, with firecrackers, incense, lanterns, feasts, and midnight processions. Worshippers toss their bamboo slips before the joss-house altars, and accept without question the fate which the gods decree. You may glimpse a funeral procession with prayers flying about in the shape of imita- tion paper money. The body lies high on its bier, followed by the priests and the white-robed mourners. You have a wide choice of Chinese restaurants where you may sip tea and nibble cakes, if you don't fancy something hot and spicy, with chop- sticks. Here are more wise faces, also carved teak screens and embroidered tunics and a highly poetic name such as "Balcony of Bliss," or "Garden of Almonds." But you will find many other public dining-rooms with less atmosphere and better food. San Francisco is a city of excel- lent hotels and restaurants. She is said to surpass New York in the number of first-class eating places in proportion to the population. EARTHQUAKE AND FIRE On an April morning in 1906, the scourge of fire swept over the city which was awakened with its stoutest walls tottering like childrens' blocks; and a clever newspaper writer began his message 226 Little Journeys in America to an eastern paper with this sentence, *'And San Francisco was." The sentence was considered a masterly bit of journalism. But San Francisco has long since refuted its cleverness and has risen like magic from her pathetic ruins. Fires had swept the city in the early days and had led to the placing of the phoenix upon the municipal seal. After the earthquake the city proved equal to the spirit of her emblem and like the feathered marvel of Arabia, emerged trium- phant from a bed of flames. Only a few old scars remain to remind you of her terrible disaster. And you will find San Francisco a most modern city and feel the pulse of vigorous youth in her midst. Her people are fond of pleasure. They know the call of the wild; and they love the sea, the mountains, and the desert by which they are surrounded. You feel a rare sense of comradship in this youthful joy in the out-of-doors and the far, camping places. But by way of contrast there are gay-lighted streets, luxurious clubs and restaurants, shops with the costliest wares, and crowded theaters and concerts. Beaches are thronged in the summer season; and when the sea grows too cold for comfortable bathing, there is the "Giant Tub" or glass-roofed Sutro Baths where San Francisco takes a salt plunge. San Francisco, Golden Gate City 227 You will enjoy a trip to Palo Alto, southeast of San Francisco, where Leland Stanford Univer- sity lifts its red roofs and buff walls in the midst of a campus of nearly 1,000 acres. Tuition is free to men and women who are residents of California. The university is the most heavily endowed private institution in this country and is a memorial to Senator Stanford's son who died in early manhood. The exquisite chapel with lavish carvings, sculpture, and mosaics is beautiful as ever. And most of the other buildings have been restored since the heavy damage of the earthquake in 1906. AROUND THE BAY On a clear day you will find the ride across the bay to Oakland a pleasant excursion; but a heavy fog sometimes impedes passage. Fine houses, shaded streets, and a lake in the heart of the city make Oakland a charming spot. In the Piedmont Park Gallery is an interesting art collection with many striking Russian paintings. Near at hand is Berkeley with its famous Claremont Hotel, its Country Club, and hand- some homes, and the splendid state university. Oak-shaded lawns and ivy-covered buildings give this new educational community something of the mellowness of years. Creek, lily-pond, por- 228 Little Journeys in America ticoed halls, Greek theater, all have their charm and give to the University of California an atmos- phere of sensuous beauty. South of Oakland is the famous home of Joaquin Miller, where the "poet of the Sierras" lived twenty-five years and planted 80,000 trees. Back to San Francisco with the sunset flushing the lofty hills and painting the sparkling waters of the bay, you begin to sympathize with California's adoration of her Golden Gate. San Francisco markets are full of life and color. Here are the magnificent fruits of the vast orchards and gardens, in luscious heaps, with the crisp green of celery and lettuce and all sorts of fresh vegetables. Flowers are banked in glowing masses, wet and fragrant, gaudy and delicate. Shuffling chinamen walk to market with brimming baskets at either end of a long pole supported on the shoulders. Swarthy Hindoos finger strange charms and heavy bracelets and bright bits of silk and tapestry. There are Indian curios and Japanese shops and great stacks of sea food. It is said that you can buy 130 varieties of fish in the San Francisco markets. Over 5,000 workmen are employed in the coast and river fisheries. Some of the California vineyards are the largest and best cultivated in the world. Nowhere San Francisco, Golden Gate City 229 could you find a greater variety of products, or a richer background of natural scenery. The shat- tering blow of the earthquake revealed the city's vigor and optimism. San Francisco touches the Orient as easily as she touches New York. Shut away from the great bulk of the West and Middle West by vast deserts and mountains to the east, she has developed a sense of world contact. Her railroads span the continent, and her steamships trail the seas. LOS ANGELES, A CITY OF FLOWERS AND SUNSHINE '1 7[ /"HEN snow storms and cold gray skies are ' ^ the order of the seasons in the eastern, central, and northern states, it is pleasant to slip away to a land of flowers and sunshine and orange groves. Even if you like winter, you will enjoy the climate of Los Angeles, the beautiful metropolis of California to which the old Spanish founders gave a long and musical name meaning "The City of Our Lady, the Queen of the Angels." Matter-of-fact Americans soon shortened the title to Los Angeles; but the romantic charm of golden summer time, which the Spaniards loved, is as beguiling as ever and attracts thousands of tourists every year to this city surrounded by ocean, desert, valley, and mountains. The climate and other things have also attracted many people to go there and make their homes. With a population of nearly 600,000, Los Angeles is now the largest city on the Pacific coast. It increased 80.3 per cent between 1910 and 1920. Los Angeles is fifteen miles from the sea, but it receives the cool breezes which freshen its perpetual summer time. Palms and other luxuriant plants and flowering vines line its streets or shelter its 230 Los Angeles, a City of Flowers 231 roofs and porches. As you enter the city from the hot, deserthke valley to the east, you are surprised at the coolness of the glowing, sunlit streets; and you enjoy the delightful homes and gardens. To the north are the Sierra Madre mountains, often snow-capped and always beauti- ful in the golden splendor of mid-day or the purple and rose of evening. WHERE DOES IT RAIN? Sometimes enough rain falls during the late spring to water many kinds of summer crops. But irrigation systems are quite generally provided around Los Angeles and as a rule are necessary for part of the year. From December to May is the rainy season, not a perpetual deluge such as falls in the tropics, but frequent showers and plenty of moisture for orchards and winter gardens. From May to December it almost never rains. One of the delightful things about Los Angeles is its interesting neighborhood, the seaside resorts which are reached by electric car lines or auto- mobiles. At the splendid harbor is San Pedro, where ships come and go from Panama, Alaska, Japan, Hawaii and, of course, in a lesser way from every other port on the great sea routes. Ship building is an important industry here. Opposite San Pedro is Long Beach, a famous 232 Little Journeys in America health and pleasure resort, and a city of beautiful homes. Venice, Ocean Park, Huntington, and Redondo Beach are other popular ocean towns near Los Angeles. And twenty miles out at sea is Catalina Island whither one sails in a great glass- bottomed boat through which the strange and beautiful gardens of the sea may be plainly viewed. Avalou I?;iy, Catalina Island Queer, bulging-eyed fishes stare at you through this glass floor and then dart away among feathery groves of brilliant, waving sea plants. Grotesque sea urchins and perhaps a clutching octopus scurry about in the water under your feet. And Santa Catalina sits smiling in the sun like a veritable siren of an island in the midst of the bluest of waves. Los Angeles, a City of Flowers 233 THE HOMES OF THE MILLIONAIRES Pasadena is another fascinating suburb to the northeast of Los Angeles. It is sometimes called the homes of the millionaires, and there are manj^ costly and elegant residences and elaborate gardens and drives. This is in the historic San Gabriel Valley with the towering mountain wall to the north and the quaint old Mission with its vine- yards and orchards to the southeast. Up through the glossy-leaved orange groves you may ascend Echo Mountain by railway and visit the Lowe Observatory and a very fascinating- inn at the top. From these interesting excursions you may return and enjoy a trip to Chinatown with its yellow-skined Orientals, who glance at you side-wise oiit of black, almond-shaped eyes; and who seem to look quite through you, somehow, in just one of those crooked, side glances. Children with old, wise-looking faces patter around in bare feet or sandals; wizened old men squeal and chatter; and women slink about wearing queer, black trousers and flowing, bright-colored blouses. The old Plaza church, which was the head- quarters of General Freemont when the city was first taken from Mexico, is a picturesque land- mark. There are magnificent botanical gardens and parks. The Museum of History, Science, and Art is a beautiful building in Exposition Park, 234 Little Journeys in America Fossils of huge prehistoric animals, many of which have been found in this section, are among its unique collection which is one of the best in the Southwest. Otis Art Institute, which was formerly the home of Harrison Gray Otis, is a most attrac- tive place. Sunken Gardens, Los Angeles Just outside the city are the alligator and ostrich farms. Here you may ride in a cart drawn by one of the tall, swift-running birds; or you may pet a baby alligator, if you so desire. The ostriches are kept behind high, wire fences; and you need to look out a little for their huge bills. You can buy a freshly -laid ostrich egg that looks big enough for a dozen breakfasts. The ostriches are named Los Angeles, a City of Flowers 235 for very famous people, such as the presidents of the United States and the kings (who used to be) in Europe. NUTS AND FRUITS There are many groves of Enghsh walnuts around Los Angeles, and nuts form one of the most valuable exports. You can go by automobile up into Orange county where tons and tons of the golden fruit are placed in great sheds until they can be packed for shipping. You will also notice many Japanese working in their gardens all about the country. Fruit and vegetable stands are kept by the women all along the roadways, and it is quite convenient to stop at these little shops for a bag of fruit or nuts as you are motoring along. Los Angeles has splendid stores, banks, and school buildings. You feel a sense of prosperity in her busy, sunny streets. There seems to be no such thing as slums, such as one finds in large eastern cities. Perhaps it is because of the warm, healthful climate that you notice so little evidence of extreme poverty and misery. The ragged, barefooted boys seem as brown and happy as the millionaires. Los Angeles is a great center for the automobile industry as are all California cities. Garages line the streets, for California probably has the best 236 Little Journeys in America and most-traveled motor roads in the world. You may watch ship loads of all sorts of material being loaded at the busy port. Gold, silver, iron A Mountain Automobile Road ore, copper, lead, zinc, petroleum, fruit, live stock, oil, and cereals are shipped from Los Angeles. ALASKA "OETWEEN the green, wooded shores of Puget ^^ Sound you sail out from Seattle, past forests of fir and spruce and cedar, past silvery water- falls and rugged mountains, through a sea of changing violet and pink and purple, to Alaska, the land of snow and ice and flowers and bubbling hot springs; the land of gold mines and salmon hordes and reindeer and dog sledges; the strange, far land of the midnight sun. There are quaint bungalows along the tree- fringed banks of the sound; and sometimes you sight an Indian camp, or an Indian canoe skimming the shadowy shoreline. Seattle spreads beneath her picturesque background. Everyone stays on deck to watch the scene. The ship quickens her pace. Above the dark green foothills, you see Mount Rainier, almost three miles in height, her glaciers gleaming like fields of diamonds against the sunlit sky. You pass little fishing towns nestled in dense forests. You pass wooded islands. A trout leaps out of the cool water; a gull wheels overhead. The sea widens and grows speckled with fishing boats and freight ships and passenger steamers from Alaska and Japan. The sun sets in a flame 237 238 Little Journeys in America of gorgeously colored sea and fleecy cloud banks, and stars shine white in the darkening sky and in the misty depths of the gleaming water. Huge fish dart away from the sides of the ship. It is bed-time, but you linger and watch the receding shores, the mountains against the sky-line, and W^ I 1 11 ^ ■ 1 ■ ^ ::^ 4 _ %^M ^H ;;j&?>;-M!^ hb H «■"■ 'sr9H| I^BHIHflBS IhOM^^^^H ^^^H^^HI ^^^^^^H 1 .5 HW" '■"*■ ^^ H| r*' ^? Mt. Ranier the gently rippling sea-path which is leading you into the great Northland. The next day you find that the shores are still beautiful. You are skirting rugged, tree-fringed coasts through waters that are pink and lilac and silver-gray. Beds of ice glitter on the hilltops; moss and ferns and delicate wild flowers crowd the underbush of vines and berry-bushes which Alaska 239 mat the wooded slopes. The air is warm with the bahny breath of the Japan Current, but it is fresh and invigorating. FLOWERS AND ICEBERGS Moss hangs in curtains from spruce and fir and cedar boughs; trees sprout from moss beds on the sides of other trees and dangle brown roots to the ground. Gold and violet humming birds flash against the vivid green. Rivers cascade into the land-locked ocean, and salmon leap and turn summer-saults before the foaming falls. These strange, flashing fish are seeking to climb the current and reach the fresh water spawning pools above. In numberless masses they surge up the rivers or lie waving below the cascades. You pass Indian settlements with their grotesque totem poles, and you may stop at Metlakahtla, the Indian village of "Father" Dunkan's guiding care. Here are Indian stores, canneries, black- smith shops, and gardens. You face on northward with shaggy trees and kelp-spread, salmon-filled seas beside you. Sometimes a mass of floating, wind-broken timber passes your course in its drift- ing route to some far Pacific island. You may glimpse a slimy porpoise or a spouting whale. On shore are fields of tall grass and wild flowers, and just beyond a rocky inlet holds a vast crystal 240 Little Journeys in America glacier creeping slowly down to sea. The ocean is dotted with glistening icebergs, like great floating palaces of crystal. The huge chunks of ice make a thundering noise as they crash out into the water. On up the coast to Skagway the scenery con- tinues delightful. Wild berries grow thick in the surrounding woodlands; and crisp, delicious vege- tables are cultivated at the scattered towns. The days are begin- ning to grow longer, and you may read at ten o'clock in the evening, by daylight. Some of the oldest and richest Alaskan gold mines are on these shores. There are also immense beds Inspiration Point, Alaska ^f coal and Valuable copper mines. The Indians meet the steamer at various stations and try to sell you baskets, beaded moccasins, hammered copper and silver ornaments, or carved trinkets of ivory. Gold combs and jewelry are also beautifully made and carved. Indian women and children have great fun gathering berries and roots in the woods. They take their camping Alaska 241 kits and stay as long as they like. The roots are soaked and scraped and used for making baskets. If you wish a long and rather monotonous sea journey, you may sail around the Alaskan coast through the Aleutian Islands to Nome, the largest city on Bering Sea, and then up the Yukon to various interior points. But a more picturesque route will be overland from Skagway by railroad or river to Fairbanks and then down the Yukon to Nome. If you have thought of Alaska as a land of barren snow fields you have been pleasantly surprised in the mild, equable climate of the coast. Here grain, fruit, and vegetables are easily grown. Because of the warm Japan Current the ther- mometer hardly ever falls to zero on the coast, as far north as the Aleutian peninsula. Inland a hundred miles beyond the wall of mountains the summers are hot and the winters exceedingly cold. But Alaska has every variety of climate. It is a land of changing moods and striking contrasts. In places there are summer days six months long, and in other places there are nights with no sign of the sun for six weeks. Islands have risen out of the sea in bold lofty peaks, sputtering fire from their tops and scalding millions of fish in the boiling water. Then they have disappeared as abruptly, leaving no sign above the tranquil waves. 242 Little Journeys in America Volcanic mountains flame suddenly into action hurling masses of steam and cinders over the sizzling snows. Glaciers drag off the tops of mountains and plough deep ravines for grim currents of ice. Rivers plunge down foaming rapids or float languidly through quiet valleys. DOG TEAM OR REINDEER? Wild grass grows over the inland prairies, great waving hay fields as far as you can see. Thousands of caribou and moose herd in the gulches. Sheep and goats haunt the lofty mountain crags, and there are several kinds of bears, including the polars which live among the ice floes of the Arctic Ocean. For a dashing sleigh ride around the Klondike country, you may take your choice between a string of dogs or a team of reindeer. The reindeer were once wild caribou but have been domesticated by the natives, and as they find their own feed of moss and grasses they are cheaper to keep than a pack of dogs. Their wide- cushioned feet do not sink into the snow, and they travel thirty or forty miles a day over un- broken trails. But you should not try to mix dogs and reindeer, as the deer run frantically whenever a dog team comes in sight. ?a The dogs are very swift, also ; and dog-racing is a great sport in Alaska. In the long treks through Alaska 243 terrible snow storms some of these dogs have shown themselves real heroes. More than once a faithful "wheel dog" has refused to leave his fallen master. When a driver is overcome by the cold this intelligent dog will lie on the man's body in an effort to keep it warm, and sometimes he saves the man's life. He knows the danger of Arctic winter and starves in the cold, when he might go home to safety. Alone in the desolate waste, he crouches over his driver. The other dogs chew themselves free and run to camp. Then searchers start on the trail and are attracted by the lone dog's barking. TEAM WORK IN THE WILDERNESS Fierce wolf packs range across the inland plains and kill many deer and caribou. The moose herd together to protect themselves from the wolves. They form a circle, keeping their calves in the center, and with their forefeet fight the wolves back. A baby moose is a big-eyed, pathetic little animal which runs toward a hunter with absolute fearlessness. Prospectors say that when horses are turned loose in winter to shift for them- selves until taken up in the spring they "yard up" with the moose and protect their colts by this combination team work. Horses are used where trails are fairly well 244 Little Journeys in America traveled, and some of them become expert climbers. Wiry and sure footed, they toil up the treacherous passes carrying packs for ambitious miners. But if a horse once falls off a jutting precipice and has to be dragged up with ropes he is likely to develop "nerves," and to shrink and shiver at the sight of climbs that he took courageously before his fatal slip. If you are riding a well-trained trail horse, it is well to let him have a free rein as he doubtless knows the business better than an inexperienced rider; he is no more anxious to tumble off a cliff than you are to have him. You may visit a fox farm in Alaska if you don't mind going a long way from civilization. Foxes are raised for their valuable skins, and of course one couldn't have a poultry yard in the near neighborhood. Some of these fox farmers go to town just once a year, and the rest of the time they live alone with their foxes. They have very few callers. In some of the large gold mines you may watch hydraulic mining where huge streams of water are used to wash out the ore instead of the more laborious process of pick and shovel. But the older method is also used. If you decide to become a prospector you learn to "mush" along a desolate trail with the temperature at seventy degrees below zero. You sleep in a fur-lined bag with Alaska 245 flaps buckled over your head; and you make a camp fire, boil coffee, and heat your frozen pork and beans with astonishing rapidity. You eat anything from wild duck or juicy caribou steak to shoe leather soaked in oil. You learn the value of warm, light-weight clothing and brisk exercise. Much of Alaska has never been explored, so there is plenty of room for prospectors. "THE SILVER HORDE" Spring, with the salmon crowding up the streams, means a busy time at the cannery towns. It means, also for many ports, the first steamer after eight long months of being shut away from the world. In spring the ice-locked harbors are free; the grass spreads out across the meadows; the rivers dash down their rapids; and flowers bloom with magic swiftness. Up the steams come the flashing silver salmon, leaping and squirming in their landward flight. The fish are taken alive from traps and are sent through a set of whirling machinery which turns them out, canned and soldered, about five minutes from the time they are landed on the wharf. The output varies but is always large, and the supply seems inexhaustible. Natives dry salmon, and seal and store them for winter use. They use nets made of strips of leather. 246 Little Journeys in America Seal fisheries of Alaska have been another great source of wealth. But by greedy and reckless slaughter the immense herds were being rapidly destroyed until government regulations prevented seal fishing for a number of years. Whale hunting is an exciting occupation, and it used to be very dangerous when the harpoons were thrown by hand from the deck of a small boat. Natives still use this method, but the modern way of white men is to shoot the harpoon from a machine gun on the deck of a ship. Whales frequently turn on a small craft and lash it to pieces with their huge tails. Whaling vessels sometimes stay out for two or three years, going into winter quarters in some lonely Arctic region where the monotony of the icy sea is exchanged for the monotony of snowy wastes under the gloom of six weeks of darkness. The whales are valued chiefly for their bone, and thousands of dollars worth are taken from a single animal. Early settlers in Alaska repeatedly heard stories of a tribe of white-skinned, blue-eyed Indians. The natives were very vague about the location of the tribe, and usually declared it lived a long way, perhaps "five snows" that is a five years' journey. Many people thought the story only an Indian myth, but finally Professor Stefansson discovered a race of unknown people who answered Alaska 247 the description. These Indians had fair skins and bhie eyes and reddish hair. They are probably of European origin, and suggest the corresponding source of other Indian tribes. Alaska has long been a land of great adventures and of peculiar charm for the people who have once lived there. Having tasted the lure of the north, you want to return. You love the clean sweep of the vast reindeer pastures, the glistening glaciers, the balsam-scented forests, the soft, almost tropical summer time, and the gleam of the northern lights over fields of sparkling snow. The lawlessness of the old gold-hunting days is gone, but similar lawlessness would probably arise with the news of a fresh "find." In mining, the leading industry, there is always an element of uncertainty. Salmon fishing and the seal fur trading are also games of chance. Life itself seems a great, open-air gamble; the Alaskan usually keeps from being bored. The vast resources of the country have hardly been sampled, and the future of Alaska would seem to be a period of remarkable development. Alaska's chief products include gold, fish, lumber, coal, fur, copper, silver, hay, grain, and potatoes. All kinds of fruit and vegetables thrive in the moist temperate regions along the coasts. PORTO RICO Tj^OUR days' sailing from New York City brings ■*■ you to the purple mountains and palm-fringed shores of Porto Rico, our picturesque West Indian possession. The sun gleams over the blue waters, and the wijid blows soft from tropic seas. As the steamer nears San Juan you see the gray walls of Morro Castle, and beyond these, the red and yellow roofs of the town. San Juan is the capital of Porto Rico and has been many times attacked from the sea. But the stout old forts have repelled invaders, again and again. You may see on the walls of Morro the scars of shells from United States gunboats, made when Admiral Sampson unsuccessfully bombarded San Juan in 1898. Ships crowd the rock-rimmed harbor, and the old city wall stretches along the shore. Behind these, San Juan rises, a strange mixture of ancient and modern, with Spanish churches and American office buildings, glistening, white palaces and iron-barred fortresses, ox-carts and motor cars. Beyond Morro is the grim vastness of San Chistobal with gloomy dungeons and gray towers, a fort and a prison where citizens have been pro- 248 Porto Eico 249 ^cted and enemies tortured during the long ears of Spanish rule. San Juan has prospered since Uncle Sam moved I to Porto Rico in 1898. Sanitation and public •hools followed the :ars and stripes, lodern industries bow the crumbling lins. Energetic busi- ess men from "the ;ates" mingle with rown and black and sllow men along the irrow streets. There ^e trolley cars and isoline launches, a 3w railway station, tneys, and depart- ent stores. But you ijoy most the old-world atmosphere which tigers amid these newer things. Porto Rico is ill picturesque; and since the United States troduced modern sanitation, it is one of the ost healthful spots in the world. IN OLD SPANISH STREETS You wander up San Justo street leading from le docks through the business section; and you Street Scene, San Jose, Porto Rico 250 Little Journeys in America pass ancient Santa Ana with her sixteenth-century images and altar paintings. Across the street is the American Bank looking as modern as Fifth Avenue. There are quaint, shadowy patios hidden away from the up-to-date shops and electric signs. Turning east, you reach the shaded square of the Plaza Principal. Near here is the governor's palace, Santa Catalina with its beautiful courts, its stately throne room, and audience chambers. Beyond is the great cathedral, the burial place of Ponce de Leon, who founded San Juan. Beyond this are ancient monasteries; the Plaza Colon, with its statue of Columbus; and broad streets that lead out of the city to the splendid highways winding over the mountain ridge which extends through the center of the island. You may hire an automobile and journey across the interior to Ponce, an important port on the southern shore. Porto Rico has an area of about 3,600 square miles; and there are excellent roads crossing it and circling its coast. You leave San Juan by Puerto Tierra, a suburb which took its name from the old land gate in the city wall. There are crumbling bits of wall remaining, but no sign of a gate. You cross San Antonio bridge to the mainland of Porto Rico, and then through palm-lined streets. Porto Rico 251 past beautiful gardens to the open valleys and gray-green mountain slopes. You meet many different sorts of vehicles in the streets and on the country roads. DONKEYS AND OXEN There are lumbering, two-wheeled ox-carts with the oxen yoked at the horns, Spanish fashion. There are ponies and donkeys half hidden by their great loads of green grass, and there are motor cars and carriages and galloping horsemen. Bare- footed natives follow narrow footpaths and carry loaded baskets on their heads, or push wheel- barrows filled with fruit, cakes, and vegetables. Beyond the city the road winds through cocoa- nut groves and grassy plains up to the foothills and the dizzy mountain precipices at the crest of the central mountain ridge. There are many splendid views along the way. Red-roofed towns lie in sunny valleys ; and there are thatched huts of the natives, masses of gigantic bamboos and avenues of palms. You pass ancient Spanish bridges and banks of fern and orchids and rows of poinciana trees with flames of scarlet bloom. Below you are shimmering rivers, lilac foothills, green, sunlit pastures, and flashing waterfalls. About you are towering peaks and gigantic canyons, glowing gold and purple in sunlight and 252 Ijittle Journeys in America shadow. Barranquitas is a lofty interior town where the air is always cool and bracing. About it are coffee groves and a wilderness of palms and tropical plants. These jungles are never sultry; they have a decided chill after sundown. "HOW BEAUTIFUL!" "Aibonito," meaning "How beautiful," is the appropriate name which the Spaniards gave another town near the summit of this lofty roadway. You climb on through groves of coffee and banana trees. Flowers bloom thick beside you, and there are masses of sturdy tree ferns. Aibonito Pass is 3,300 feet above sea level. Close to the edge of giant cliffs the road winds and dips, and you descend to Ponce in the midst of a level valley. The buildings here are typically Spanish. There are the usual shaded plaza, stately cathedral, and flowery Ratios. Balconies drape their vines and blossoms against stucco walls, and homes are embowered in gorgeous gardens. Two miles from the city are docks and ware- houses, from which coffee and sugar are shipped. From Ponce you may circle the island to the west and north, passing Guayanilla which has the largest Porto Rican sugar factories. Here General Miles landed in 1898, when he entered the island Porto Rico 253 with United States troops. The town has a bloody history, having been destroyed a number of times by pirates and Indians. Farther west is San German, the picturesque "city of the hills," with a ^'cool, invigorating climate and huge barracks built for the use of Spanish soldiers. Near the center of the west coast is Mayaguez, the third city in commercial importance, with a population of 40,000. It lies in a fertile plain and has a good harbor. Behind it are forest-covered mountains and large coffee groves. It has clean streets, attractive homes, and interesting markets. You may enjoy its delightful seaside drive or buy curios, palm-leaf hats and exquisite drawn works at its enticing shops. AN INDIAN STORY Northward is Anasco, a village with a single historic incident. Here, says tradition, the simple- minded Porto Rican Indians first exploded their initial theory that the Spaniards were angels from heaven. The natives had been growing suspicious of the immortal character of their conquerers; and when they captured an unlucky Spaniard called Salcedo, they determined to see if it were not possible for him to die. * They held the poor man under water until he was drowned. 254 Little Journeys in America and they became convinced that these white people were of mortal flesh like themselves. We can imagine the Indians lost much of their awe of the Spaniards after the death of Salcedo. You next reach Aguadilla, noted as the spot where Columbus first touched Porto Rico. He took on water for his ships from the springs along the beach and called the place "Ojo de Aqua," "The Water's Eye." At Arecibo, on the north coast there are immense sugar fields made by draining the surrounding swamp lands. As you return to San Juan you visit the little native village of Contano in its mangrove swamps just across from the capital. South of this is Bayamon, the town which Ponce de Leon founded at the place of his first landing on the island. You may gather magnificent grape fruit, pine apples, oranges, and bananas from the orchards about Bayamon. AN ISLAND OF CONTRASTS From the draining of swamps you may turn to the watering of the dry lands in the south. Both industries have been encouraged by the United States government. On some of the inland plains giant cacti, Spanish bayonets, and other desert vegetation appear. Irrigation is necessary here, and immense cane fields have been developed. Porto Rico 255 Native grasses grow over most of the island, and these are cut and marketed green. Spanish is spoken very generally in Porto Rico, though English is the official language and is gaining in use through its being taught in the schools. But you meet many people in stores and offices who do not speak English, and you will find a knowledge of Spanish very useful if you stay long in Porto Rico. It is estimated that only about twenty per cent of the Porto Ricans are able to read and write. But the people are very loyal to the United States and are interested in the schools and anxious to have their children educated. Porto Rico is a land of contrasts, yet without the extremes of poverty one finds in a less fruitful spot. There are bamboo huts and glistening white palaces, broad plantations and tiny cane patches. But you can hardly imagine anyone's going hungry in Porto Rico. A little cabin among the bamboos, a garden that bears the year round, tropical fruits dropping beside the door: these and the pink and yellow churches, the glittering shops, the cool trade-winds, and bowers of fragrant bloom might easily seem paradise enough for an easy-going native. At night there is rare enchantment, with the yellow stars aglow in the deep, dark sky. Fountains 256 Little Journeys in America play in the shadowy courts, and the air is heavy with the scent of orange blossoms. There is strange, barbaric music in the little huts, and laughter and songs and the call of night birds and the glimmer of fireflies. The waves lap softly against the warm white sands, and the moon rides calmly over the heaving sea. WARM PATHS OF THE OCEAN All about are other tropical islands, lying like wraiths of purple clouds against the sky. Ages ago, perhaps, the Caribbean was an inland sea; and the chain of West Indian Islands with Porto Rico in the middle, a mountainous coast. The warm Gulf Stream pours its waters out between Cuba and Florida ; the tides rise high on the inland coasts; and the wind blows balmy and salt from the tropic seas. Porto Rico is undoubtedly the most foreign part of the United States. Its people have the fire, the romance, and the langorous ease of sunny Spain. They are more oriental than western, and they are likely to be as proud of their lineage as the Anglo Saxon is of his. The old Spanish walls are crumbling to ruin, but the influence of Spanish blood will linger. Yet the people are responding with enthusiasm to the government which they welcomed with cheers in 1898. Porto Eico 257 Porto Rico is about 100 miles long and 36 miles wide. With men and supplies from Santo Dom- ingo, Ponce de Leon made the first settlement in 1509. After that Sir Francis Drake and other privateers tried unsuccessfully to capture the island. Dutch and English made attempts, also, but were driven off. Then Sampson bombarded San Juan with little effect, and the United States took possession after the peace protocol had been signed with Spain. You find few mines in Porto Rico; although iron, copper, gold, and other minerals are known to exist. The climate is rather hot along the coast, but cool and delightful in the interior plateaus. The population is something over a million, and about fifty thousand are negroes. There are some mixed races, but the large part of the popula- tion is of pure Spanish descent. Porto Rico's chief products are sugar, coffee, tobacco, fruits, and vegetables. Vegetables of almost all kinds are raised and some Indian corn, but no wheat. Flour is a principal import. PRONOUNCING VOCABULARY a byss' (bis) a ca' cia (a ka' sha) ad ven tur oils (us) ag ri cul' tur al A"gua dil'la (X"gwa de'lya) Xl"bo ni'a Al"bu quer'que (al"bu ker'ke) Al le ghen'y (al"e ge'ni) Ar'e u'ti an (al e u'shi an) al'ien (yen) An as'co (yas) an tiq'ui ties (an tik'wi tii) Ap pa lach i an aq'ue duct (ak'we dukt) ar"che o log'i cal (ke) ar is"to crat'ic (ik) ar'mo ry ar ti fi'cial ly (shal) ath let'ic Au'du bon Aus'ter litz bal'co ny Bar"ran qui'las (ki lya) bar bar'ic bar'ges bas"-re lief (ba"re lef) Bay'6 mon Bea'con Hill (be'kiin) belles be nign' (nin) be queathed' (kweth) Bien ville (bi an"vil') bois'ter ous (us) Bol'shi vik bo tan'i cal bou'le vard (boo'le vard) bow'ie (bo i) braes buc"ca neer' buoy'ant (boo, boi) Ca be'za de Va'ca Cal cut'ta Cam'bridge cam paign' (pan) cam'phor (fer) ca reens Car"ib be'an car'i bou (boo) Car'neg ie (gi) cas cade' Ca"sa Bi an'ca cat 'a racts (rakts) ca the'dral ce leb'ri ty (se) cen ten'ni al (sen) chan"de Hers' (shan"de leer') char"ac ter is'tics (kar"ak ter is'tiks) Ches'a peake (peek) Chip pe was (pi) Cle"o pa'tra clois'terd Con ta'no c6n"te nen'tal con'tour (ur) Cop'ley Cor'co ran (Kor ko) C6r"o na'do 259 260 Little Journeys in America cor'ri dor (kor) dah'lias (yas) dank daunt'less dec'ades de lec'ta ble Delft de moc'ra cy (sy) de scent' (sent) Des Moines' (de moin') des'o late De So'to de sp6nd'ing di ag'o nal dif'fi cult (kult) di min'ished dl no saur' (or). dis as'ter Dom'i nic (nick) dra mafic (ick) Dru'ids (droo) Du luth' dun'geon (jun) ed'i fice (fis) eer'ie E man'ci pa tor (si) em'i grant en vi'ron ment (run) ep'i thet e'qua ble (e kwa) e ques'tri an Ev'er glades ex ceed' (ek s eed) ex'ile (ek) ex'qui site (eks'kwi zit) fan tas'tic (tick) fas'ces (siz, or sez) Fan'euil (fan'el) fer'iy fer'tile (till) fiends (fends) fi nal'i ty floes (flos) flo til'la fod'der fo'li age for'eign (in) for'mer ly foun'dries (driz) Freer, Charles L. fre'quent ly (kwent) fres'coes (kos) fronds fron'tier' (teer) gal lants' gar'ish gal'le on (li tin) gen'tians (jen'shiins) Get'tys burg (tiz) Ghetto (get'o) gi gan'tic (ji gan'tik) Gi'la (hi'la) ging'ko tree gip'sy (jip) Gi rard', Steven (je rard') girth gla'cier (sher) gnarled (narld) Goe'the (gu'te) gra'cious (shus) gro tesque' (tesk) Guay a nil la (gwi"a ni'ya) Guer in, Jules (ge"ran') Hal'stead han'som Pronouncing Vocabulary 261 har mo'ni ous (us) head'lands (hed) he ro'ic (ik) hi er o glyph'ics (glif) hi lar'i ty Holmes (homes) Hol'yoke' Hoo'sac hor ti ciil'tu ral (kul) hos'tile (til) Hou di'ni (ha di'ni) hiick'ster ig no min'i ous (us) il lifer ate im mor'tal in ac ces'si ble (ak ses') in ex haust'a ble (eg zost') in gen'ious (jen'yus) in sin cere' (seer) in vig'or at ing Je na (ye'na) Jo li et (zho"li"e') jus"ti'a ble kelp khed ive' (ked iv') L'Enfant, Major (lah"fan') La"Fay"ette' (la"fe"etO Lafitte (la"fit) lan'guor ous (ger us) lei'sure ly (le'shur) lib'er a tor L6s"Fre jo'les (ho lez) lux u'ri ous (luk shti ri us) Mad ro'na mag ni'fi cent (sent) Mall (mol) man 'grove Man hat 'ton Mar quette', Father (mar"ket') mas'sa ere (ker) May a gez (mi"a gweth') mec'ca me'sa' (ma sa) Met la kaht'la (kat) Mil an' (mil'an, or mi Ian') moc'ca sins (mok ka) mois'ture mon'as ter ies mo not'6 nous (us) Mon te rey' (ray) Mor ro Cas tie Muir, John mu'ral Nar"ra gan'sett nat'ti ral ist neg lec'ted (lek) niche (nich) Ni a'ga ra Nome non-sec ta'ri an (sek) no to'ri ous ly (us) nH'mer ous (us) 6b 'e lisk o le an'der or'chid (kid) o ri en'tal pag'eant (paj'ent) pa go'da pal'i sade pan'el 262 Little Journeys in America Pan'the on Pa tap'sco (sko) pat i o pa'ti o (a) ped'es tal Per'es, River (ez) philanthropy (fil an throp y) Phoen'ix (fe'nix) piers pig'mies pin on' (yon) pi on eer' pi'rate plac'id (plS.s) plu'mage po"co hon'tas Poin"ci an'a (se) Pon ce de Le on (pon"the da le on') P6n"char train' Po to 'mac (mak) pro'file (or, fel) pri va t eer' Puer"to Ri'co (Por"to) Pu'get ra vines (veen) reined (rain) Re vere' (Paul) rus'ti cate Sal"ce'd6 (sa) Sa'lem San Chris to'bal San Di e'go (de a') San Je ron'i mo (He rS'ni m5) San Jus'to Ca"pis tra'no (Hus) San Mi guil (mi-gel') San Sal"va dor' Say'brook Schen'ley (Shen) Scho'koe (Sho) Schuyl'kill (Skul'kil) seis'mo graph (sis; siz) Shen"an do'ah Shas'ta, Mount Si er'ras si en'na si'lo Sioux (Sti) Skag'way Smith so'ni an Sno qual mie Stuy've sant (stI) Styx (stix) Ta co'ma Ta hoe' tech nol'o gy (tek) Te De'um Tho reau (Tho rS'; tho'r5) tier (teer) trail Ty'ler (John) Wis"sah hick'Sn Yo sem'i te Yu'kon ■ ■ 1 1 ^^H ^H 1 1 H ■