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JU ANITA: 
 
 :XHK STOI<Y OF 
 
 Swky ^ton\ Soiree. 
 
 BY ROSS LYNDON 
 
 A REFORMED COWBOY. 
 
 COPYBIGHTEn 
 1894. 
 
JU ANITA: 
 
 :XME STOI^'r OK:- 
 
 Sw^y S^i'oii) Soirie. 
 
 BY ROSS LYNDON' 
 
 A REFORMED COWBOY. 
 

 PREFACE. 
 
 It has been said that poetry needs no preface. If it doe 
 speak for itself, then no comment can render it explicit. To 
 the old proverb: "Good wine needs no bush." How about log\ 
 If my Pegasus be thought somewhat free for these very n 
 days, I can only say that at times I have found him too wild to 
 stride, and yielding only to the persuasive influence of the riata i 
 a pair of heavy Mexican rowels. Besides I have used the precp'"^ 
 to take out a (poetical) license for the animal, duly signed a 
 tested by that High Mucky muck of the f/enus irritabile, great A 
 
 Denver, Colorado, December 22, 1893. R. 
 
 
JUANITA. 
 
 A Highland lass I sing, Juanita hight; 
 
 But ere across the strings of my old gourd 
 The bow I draw, I claim the poet's right, 
 
 And ded'cate these lines to him hath soar'd 
 Above all others in his chosen walk, 
 Lord Byron, who rhymed well mere table talk. 
 
 II. 
 
 For what else is Don Juan? Yet methinks 
 The self-same poet says: ''Genius is gin," 
 
 In that case push the can, 'twill take the kinks 
 Out of one's mind, and put afflatus in. 
 
 Thy benison, Boccaccio, on me pour. 
 
 In this attempt the feminine mind t' explore. 
 
 If that mysterious bundle of small deceit 
 Can be said to have one — yet must I admire 
 
 Th' astonishing art that can emergence meet 
 With sm ling front, evasion them mspire! 
 
 Still do th ' grjin their point by tears and teasing, 
 
 And intuition serves instead of reason. 
 
IV. 
 
 A shallow stream, and yet there's quicksands in it, 
 F'oibear to launch, unless you know the channel 
 
 Flou ing so tranqil now — and yet next minute 
 There may not of your boat be left a panel. 
 
 They can be angels and may sink so low, 
 
 That to get deeper, vile man has no show! 
 
 V. 
 
 Sans judgment, logic, still they hesitate not 
 To pass on matters of the weightiest sort. 
 
 On love and destiny how deep their thought! 
 And yet so easily swayed by men's report. 
 
 But sweet the electric glance of woman's eyes, 
 
 Since the first gales blew over paradise! 
 
 VI. 
 
 God help us now we've given them the right 
 To vote, Mumm's Extra Dry they'll interdict. 
 
 Some Worth we may expect — unhappy sight — 
 To be our Czar — View suffering Kansas trick'd 
 
 Of prosperousness by this (and prohibition), 
 
 Rose-in-the mud, mouse-fearing politician! 
 
 VII. 
 
 But to my tale — The fair Juanita lived 
 
 In a modest cottage that o'erlooked the Platte. 
 
 A maid of sixteen summers, late bereaved 
 Of her dear mother, and the gay world that 
 
 Had looked so lovely, now all lonel\ seemed. 
 
 And different from what she had fond y dreamed. 
 
VIII. 
 
 Ah! much does earthly happiness depend 
 
 On kindred ties, yet little we suspect [friend 
 
 That should death's waves bear from us some dear 
 How soon the vessel of our hopes were wrecked, 
 
 — O'er all the dreary scene the cactus grows. 
 
 Where late did bloom the lily and wild rose. 
 
 IX. 
 
 So in the face of my beauteous heroine, 
 
 These two flowers struggled for the mastery,; 
 
 No prettier lass in Denver might be seen. 
 
 Her's was the brunette type (no blonde for me), 
 
 Of medium height, and f )r her shape, oh Venus! 
 
 How thy mouth would have watered, old Silenus! 
 
 She was her uncle's pet; one day he said, 
 
 (Though rather brusquely, for he loved to tease), 
 
 'C<»me hither, girl; what's in thy winsome head? 
 Wont tell? Well, blessings on thee, my sweet niece! 
 
 You're all right, even to the very feather 
 
 In your hat — only keep your knees together." 
 
 XI. 
 
 Ah well for her had she but taken to heart 
 The kind advice of thf well-meaning granger, 
 
 And well for all those fr^il ones, ere they part 
 With prudence to seek dalliance with a stranger. 
 
 Sure if one of those little things I carried, 
 
 I'd keep it to myself until I married. 
 
Xll. 
 
 Juanita, who, 'til now, the paternal roof 
 
 Had always sheltered, caring naught to roam, 
 
 Began to have ambitious thoughts; a proof 
 That she chafed under the restraints of home. 
 
 It was no more congenial, since another 
 
 Had come to share it with her — a. step-mother. 
 
 xiii. 
 
 In fancy had she trod this mortal stage 
 Full many a time, and acted glorious parts. 
 
 Brightly the footlights gleamed; her tender age 
 Did not prevent her being the Queen of Hearts. 
 
 In some romantic wild, by moonlit sea, 
 
 That's conjured up by maidens, **fancy free." 
 
 xiv. 
 
 To this end she'd resolved upon a lark, 
 
 All in a nice, quiet way, of course. So when 
 
 One day there came a note from city spark, 
 Asking the pleasure of her company again. 
 
 (He was an old admirer) to a dance, 
 
 By return mail his modest wish she grants. 
 
 XV. 
 
 O waltz, procuress of love's sweetest pleasures. 
 That lulls into rt^pose the fair one's bosom, 
 As they tread on waxen floors voluptu 'ij«; measures; 
 Forgetting their chastities until they lose 'm. 
 "The breast thus publicly resi^^ned to mm. 
 In private may resist him— if it can " 
 
XVI. 
 
 The evening of the ball at last came round, 
 Juanita danced, admired by all beholders. 
 
 Graceful she polkaed, and in schottische shone, 
 Envifd by all the tribe that bare their shoulders. 
 
 To men's ^aze; a trick to make them amorous. 
 
 Perchance.seeing ^//,they would not be so clamorous 
 
 xvii. 
 
 Old Burton mentions in his book, a clan 
 Of soldiery, stationed long since at a post, 
 
 Where "wild in woods the naked savage ran," 
 The unclad females passed among the host, 
 
 Who soon grew 'customed to the sight. Absurd 
 
 As it may sound to us, rapes ne'er occured. 
 
 xviii. 
 
 So have I seen a "walker," Sloppy Joe," 
 
 Who plies in Denver streets her nightly trade; 
 
 To her and the keg-draining bum, a foe 
 
 Is daylight, for what havoc time has made. 
 
 It shows too clearly; so the one ne'er visits 
 
 His mates 'til twilight comes; nor the other solicits. 
 
 xix. 
 
 But what I wished of this "soiled dove" to say. 
 She's dressed in black, the courtezan's shibboleth, 
 
 But of a rloth so old and thin, one may 
 See easily thro' it, a'd what lies beneath 
 
 HfT jersey soiled, and ; eneral slovenly way, 
 
 Have earned for her this peculiar sobriquet. 
 
XX. 
 
 Grass-widows mingled in the dancing crew, 
 'Tis a product of our modem civilization 
 
 That's on the increase; they're watching out anew 
 For other mates in the sea of dissipation. 
 
 So dainty, sweet, to masculine heart's confusion — 
 
 But seeing them eat destroys half the illusion. 
 
 xxi. 
 
 Old maids were rsnged around, a goodly store, 
 Poor things, you'll always see them at these places. 
 
 Their stale virginities attract no more, 
 
 For what the fickle world likes is new faces. 
 
 And "hashers," too, here met in equal station. 
 
 Though ill-disguised their greasy occupation. 
 
 xxii. 
 
 And present to the "guy" who always calls 
 
 For ^'something quick and devilish, you know," 
 
 Some reel or quickstep of the old-time balls 
 Our o-andsires went to. What a holy show 
 
 Would they seem now; knee breeches, powdered hair, 
 
 Would fail to captivate our modern fair. 
 
 xxiii. 
 
 But this back number knows no better, he 
 The story of his younger days relates, 
 
 What "fun and vinegar." et cetera. 
 
 He passed through, "afore I left the States," 
 
 To wall flower friend, who finds in turn his tongue, 
 
 And thus they'll chin 'til the last dog is hung. 
 
XXIV. 
 
 To supper now our dat^cers all adjourned. 
 
 Juanita's cheeks were flashed, she had enjoyed 
 Herself immensely, but her spirits yearned 
 
 For something else, when was joy unalloyed? 
 B^in^ naturally passionate, worked up by the dance, 
 She was now ripe for anything might chance. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Ah happy yielding time! if youths but knew 
 How seld'm that rich opportunity, it would 
 
 N )t piss unprofited. when open threw 
 
 The nympth fier char ns,her hot blood in the mood 
 
 They dream of love with the first days of summer, 
 
 Then to them boys, when they're in a yielding humor. 
 
 xxvi. 
 
 Juanita's gallant, thoutih, was all too tame 
 The conquest to attempt, girls rightly hate 
 
 Such milksops, the Y. M. C. A's fit game, 
 
 Who'd scarcely touch, if brought them on a plate. 
 
 Yet who disdain not (read it in their eyes) 
 
 'I he "Portugee pump's" gentle exercise. 
 
 xxvii. 
 
 Juanita's mother had a Spaniard been, 
 
 Born in that Southern land, where, as they tell us, 
 The women are so pretty, and the men 
 
 Such u^ly brutes (no wonder then they're jealous.) 
 Yet deem her not thence fragile, easily won, 
 For well that mother had her duty done. 
 
XXVlll. 
 
 To make her virtuous she all arts did use, 
 Which matrons know so well how to employ. 
 ''Men were to ask, and women them refuse." 
 I wonder were our grandmothers so coy. 
 Yet some of their slips have been handed down 
 To modern days, however they may frown. 
 
 xxix. 
 
 Whence it appears they granted certain things 
 
 To consummation very near related, 
 (Or else it's only one of Dame Rumor's flings) 
 
 Before the marriage rites were celebrated. 
 When two went walking neath the harvest moon; 
 And round her waist one arm went stealing soon. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 His restless fingers working where she lived, [doing!" 
 "Oh George, "she moans,you don't know what you're 
 But why need I go on; you're not deceived 
 
 In thinking George gets that for which he's suing. 
 And "Stolen Sweets" have always been in fashion 
 Smce Eve and Adam first gave way to passion. 
 
 xxxi. 
 
 But neverless the "gay and giddy" fair 
 To sport an angel's wrapper are inclined, 
 
 When in swift time they seem to glide on air. 
 The "figures forming, in and out they wind." 
 
 Praying the dehcious hours to move more slow 
 
 And tingling with delight at the flying fiddle-bow! 
 
XXXll. 
 
 Ah, then is heard the muttred innuendo 
 Anent the person dancing with a rival, 
 RisiHij above the violin's soft crescendo, 
 "The shameless little minx! Thatbiundenng devil! 
 When as some swain has stepped upon a trail 
 Costing per yard, 'steen dollars at retail. 
 
 xxxin. 
 
 The fun was kept up 'til quite a late hour, 
 (Early is the more prober word, perhaps). 
 
 The tired Tuanitd for home took the car, 
 
 It was the "owl train" that the Tramway chaps 
 
 Reserve for such revellers, and the "sports. 
 
 Whom late play has detained at the resorts. 
 
 xxxiv. 
 
 Her crallant at the gate dismissed, she rang 
 
 The door-bell, hav-mg no night key of h-r own. 
 
 Wnich fact to note does give me many a pang, 
 Since sad experience well its use h^^.^f.^?,^';. , , 
 
 To gilded youth; though when by "Phillip blinded, 
 
 The key hole being bald, they tail to find it. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 Tuanita rang, as I was saying, when 
 
 Uprose the step-dame from her nice warm bed 
 Beside her liege, though mad as a wet hen 
 
 To be so rudely roused; and as she sped. 
 Her mind was fullv m -de up, without boasting, 
 That she would give Juanita a good roasting. 
 
XXXVl. 
 
 For staying out so late. Opening the door, 
 The **sacred rag" she 'gan to masticate: 
 "This is a pretty time of night, for sure, [straight 
 To be coming home in, Miss. Now you march 
 Inside. Fine company you have found. 
 No better than they should be, I'll be bound." 
 
 xxxvii. 
 
 Thus the tirade went on. Juanita stood 
 It just as long as possibly she might. 
 
 With blazing eyes, until, in sullen mood, 
 
 She heard: "Begone! here vou have no more right." 
 
 Sudden she turned on her tormentor, cast 
 
 A look of supreme scorn, then outward passed. 
 
 xxxviii. 
 
 Slamming the door behind her. Nevermore 
 She hoped, would its portals echo to her tread. 
 
 O, pitiful! to be driven from the shore 
 Of refuge, pilotless to cast her lead 
 
 In unpathed waters — breakers on her bows — 
 
 All inexperienced sailor as she was. 
 
 xxxix. 
 
 Oh would our fond parents might remember 
 That they were young themselves once, played 
 the same 
 
 Wild pranks that now they chide, ere chill December 
 Had broken up their interest in the game. 
 
 The smiling May that once they frolicked with, 
 
 They really think it must havebeen a myth. 
 
xl. 
 
 Juanita banished, paused a moment ere [boiled 
 
 She bent her course down street. How her blood 
 
 To think how mean she had been treated where 
 Kmdness had reigned, though now by step-dame 
 foiled. 
 
 And set her wits at work to find a way 
 
 Of lodging with some friend until next day. 
 
 xli. 
 
 At last she hit upon a "ladi-fren," 
 
 She thought would suit,one quiet and discreet, 
 Who would be glad to have her come and spend 
 
 The night with her, and who would kindly greet 
 Her,share her sorrovvs,though the cup was brimming; 
 They can do nothing by themselves— the women. 
 
 xlii. 
 
 No sooner said than done; she forthwith hied 
 Hc-rself to the friend's residence, situated 
 
 Not far from Seamon's Gardens, where the pride 
 Of summer "mashers" nightly congregated; 
 
 The counter-jumpers, that diversion seek, 
 
 And try to lead fast lives on their five-a-week. 
 
 xliii. 
 
 The mansion soon was reached. Juanita knocked 
 And was admitted without ceremony. 
 
 Then followed a fond meeting; the girls talked 
 Until near morn, Juanita's dearest crony 
 
 She was, beside her that same night had danced, 
 
 So lost her **beauty sleep" also, it chanced. 
 
xliv. 
 
 But slumber and the night's fatigues at last 
 0'eicoi..e the friends. Juanita quickly dropt 
 
 Into the arms of Morpheus — lucky gucst: 
 He comes unbidden, but is never stopt 
 
 What fair forms has he pressed, most tempting fruit — 
 
 That is, when no one else was there to do it. 
 
 xlv. 
 
 Next day her friend, whom we'll call Daisy for 
 The present, pressed on hrr so hard to stay 
 
 Until such time, at least, that she had more 
 Assistance of the future, come what may. 
 "She had a friend in Daise, kind as a mother," 
 
 Whereat the girls most heartily hugged each other. 
 
 xlvi. 
 
 Juanita did not need much urging, she. 
 
 In secret hoped to hear from "father" soon. 
 
 With overtures for her return. If he 
 
 Would only take her part as he had done, 
 
 She knew that ere long her he'd reinstate; 
 
 But the overtures came not until too late. 
 
 xlvii. 
 
 Now Daisy had a cousin come to see her, 
 
 Named Clarence; a "Chicargo-bred" young gent. 
 
 Whose tout ensamble smacked somewhat of beer, 
 And other graces by the Midway lent. 
 
 His flashy speech eked out by stock-pit saws, 
 
 A lady-killer irom the heart he was. 
 
xlviii. 
 
 He saw Juanita, marked her for his prey, 
 
 For though he never professed to be a sage, he 
 
 Failed to see how she could resist that way 
 
 Of his, so knowing, traveled, spruce and cagy. 
 
 And masking his design with gay deceit, 
 
 He laid a pitfall for her tender feet. 
 
 xlix. 
 
 Meanwhile the girls went shopping, chaperon'd 
 By Clarence, not that they did really need 
 
 A body-guard, but that they found 
 
 Him handy to bear lingerie in the street. 
 
 And following out the idea, as it good were 
 
 Ladies oft hang a man's coat in their boudoir. 
 
 1. 
 
 To frighten burglars from their aim. A case of 
 Lu V e stoops to conquer,'twas with Clarence though 
 
 Albeit he had come within an ace of 
 
 Throwin- uo the job already, as being too slow 
 
 A way to win Juanita's favor, 'til 
 
 At last came the opportunity in a mill- 
 
 li. 
 Inery shop for which he long had sighed. 
 
 The ^oods were being sold out by the sheritl. 
 In the show-window looking. Nita spied 
 
 Something she wanted, no less thad a pair ot 
 Fr nch opera stockings. Lisle thread warranted: 
 And, knowing her slender purse, to Clarence said: 
 
Hi. 
 
 *'I wish some one would be so kind as to buy 
 
 Those hose for me," indicating which she meant. 
 They were alone; Daisy had gone to try 
 
 Her luck inside, responding to the hmt, 
 Clarence replied: "A present you I'll make them, 
 On one condition only, if you'll take them." 
 
 "And what conditions that?" Juanita said. 
 
 "That you will let me put them on,no more." [sped, 
 " *Tis done!" though when the thoughtless words h we 
 And plotting Clarence vanished through the door, 
 Juanita half regretted giving a handle. 
 However slight, that might be worked by scandal. 
 
 liv. 
 
 To th' prejudice of her fame. She was noprude, 
 To their false modesty was a total stranger 
 
 Who, shuddering, hands up, would fig-leaf the nude 
 In art, still skittish where there is no danger. 
 
 Reminding me of the answer tne traveler got 
 
 When, he asked the Arkansan why he never "sot ' 
 
 Iv. 
 
 His gals at work diggin taters. "Well," drawled he. 
 
 "Taters got eyes, and my darters hev no " 
 
 The sweet swamp angel! innocent is she, 
 
 Her mother dares not trust her out of doors. 
 
 She can "tail" and "crib" with any native blackey, 
 
 But will part with virtue rather than want' 'terbaccy." 
 
Ivi. 
 
 The hose were purchased, Clarence arguing 
 
 * That was all right," though in her heart the grant- 
 Ee would have liked to back out of her bargain. 
 
 But Clarence, "solemn oath and covenant," 
 That he would tell no one, not even Daisy 
 About it, made her feel the less uneasy. 
 
 Ivii. 
 
 And woman-like, beside, she rather hated 
 To own herself in the wrong; felt confident 
 
 That in the end his ruse would be defeated. — 
 One thing she vowed, no improper liberties went. 
 
 In pride of purity high as the Infanta; 
 
 What happened her you'll learn in the next canto. 
 
JUANIXA; 
 
 CANTO II. 
 
Around me are the Plains. Far-sweeping wold, 
 
 First looked on, seeming wild as an Indian's dream 
 Might fancy think that here Old Ocean rolled, 
 
 And the green rises frozen billows deem. 
 Here sylvan islands, beauteous flowers are found, 
 And gathering winds declare the Cyclone's stamp- 
 ing-ground! 
 
 II. 
 
 Unroll time's map, to that November morn 
 Some eight decades ago, when a little band 
 
 Of Regulars, in overalls forlorn , 
 
 Exploring came, by Government command. 
 
 The ''pungent, strange perfume of Desert sage" 
 
 Was wafted to them; in in great Nature's page 
 
 III. 
 
 They read new wonders with the living eye; 
 
 When — thrilling sight! the glorious Rockies burst 
 Into their view, the hoary summit high 
 
 Named after Pike, of land marks it the first 
 To guide the early pilgrim, and the line 
 That ''bull-whacked" through in days of "Fifty-nine. 
 
 IV. 
 
 The adventurous train toiled on; what dismal luck. 
 Mid-winter wandering through the trackless waste 
 
 They had, you'll find recorded in Pike's Book. — 
 The hasty burial, all signs effaced 
 
 By friends, to guard from timber- wolves' sharp teeth 
 
 The dead — their winding-sheet the white snow-wreath. 
 
V. 
 
 Ill-fated Pioneers! that lofty Range 
 
 Called by tht Spanish settlers of those parts 
 
 Sangre de Cristo— some of these brave hearts 
 Holds in its icy embrace; the Last Change 
 
 Awaiting with God-given patience meek, 
 
 When the summons dread shall peal from peak to peak. 
 
 VI. 
 
 But banish all such mournful thoughts as these 
 When in the saddle for a long day's ride: 
 
 What pleasure, as your favorite fans the breeze 
 O'er ''reach" and mesa, by Sweetwater's side! 
 
 Yet warily go when nearing a dog-town. 
 
 Lest horse and rider both go headlong down. 
 
 VII. 
 
 The prairie-dog — vile, stocky little beast! 
 
 He holds by right of squatter sovereignty; 
 Among the blue-stem and the buffalo-twist, 
 
 His watch-towers rise; from which his roving eye 
 Discerns the traveller, doubting his good intention, 
 He quickly dives in his subterranean mansion 
 
 VIII. * 
 
 With a shrill bark of defiance, punctuated 
 By tail-shakes, many as he has time to give. 
 
 Right well is he by all the ranchmen hated. 
 Who say that without water he can live 
 
 For months, — yet marvel not my reader dear — 
 
 Some topers have done without for a year. 
 
IX. 
 
 Yet are they changed— the Plains. Long bands of steel 
 Now cross the broad savannahs, that of old 
 
 Echoed to thunder-tread of Bison; hill 
 
 And vale were peopled in the rush for gold. 
 
 And thriving towns now stand (with some on paper) 
 
 Where the Ute's wicky-up once exhaled blue vapor. 
 
 But I have loved them. On my fleet mustang 
 In joy careered o'er the smooth-turfed prairie, 
 
 Far from the haunts of man — nor felt a pang 
 In the solitude. It was a land of Faery 
 
 To me, the Meadow-lark its minstrel sweet, 
 
 Still carolling the morn; the noontide heat 
 
 xi. 
 
 May not subdue his untaught melody. 
 
 The joy of living nature has endowed 
 Her creatures with, he tells most thrillingly. 
 
 Of penetrating timbre, rich and loud, 
 How throb the notes in the thin atmosphere! 
 He feels the electric spark who listens near. 
 
 xii. 
 
 Time has been, I have traversed all the West 
 In my chosen occupation, — cowboy, scout, — 
 
 Each had its turn. The spirit of unrest 
 
 Was dominant then — the fever that will out 
 
 Among young 'bloods," of manhood's dawn apprised, 
 
 And drives them on 'til it be exorcised. 
 
Xlll. 
 
 Wrapped in my blanket I have watched the stars 
 
 Gleam frostily in the Montana sky, 
 Beside the Yellowstone, where only jars 
 On silence deep the panther's wailing cry. 
 — Have plied the Round-up in the Big Horn Valley, 
 Where gallant Custer made his famed ''Last Rally.'* 
 
 xiv. 
 
 Some short weeks post, found myself in Durango, 
 With Fred my "pard" — old Comrades there to 
 greet us. 
 
 We shot out lights, mixed in the mad fandango. 
 And danced with the pretty, black-eyed senoritas. 
 
 Though masked their features by the reboza, 
 
 Love's lightning flashes through, as if to show 
 
 XV. 
 
 How ill-protected is man's tinder heart 
 
 From their lustrous orbs, by such a gauzy thing 
 
 That fans desire; we seek with ready art 
 To complete the romance of the evening. 
 
 For scowl of rival Mexican, who cared? — 
 
 Though his poignard would slip to us — if it dared. 
 
 xvi. 
 
 Next morning, miles away, our cavalcade 
 Were trooping by the sullen Rio Grande, 
 
 Wild, fearless, free, by roving careless made. 
 A manly crowd! — perhaps a shade too handy 
 
 With the six-shooter when their "tamarack's on," 
 (And the brand that they throw sticks,) yet to be won 
 
XVll. 
 
 With kind words always, I have one in mind 
 (Referring to my pard) for years the darling 
 Rider of the Trail— none better of his kind 
 
 Has ever donn'd the "chaps," or roped a yearling. 
 Viewed on his flying bronk'— the bridle reins 
 Firm grasped — you saw, a Centaur of the Plains! 
 
 xviii. 
 
 And he was on the level. This is plain 
 
 From what once came under my observation: 
 
 The pair of us had landed in Cheyenne 
 
 One stormy night, just come from out the Nation. 
 
 'Twas bitter-cold; the bleak wind blew the snow 
 
 In flurries through the streets; I was not slow 
 
 XIX. 
 
 In hastening to our rooms,~but Fred preferred 
 
 To saunter on, and finish his cigar. 
 He turned the corner, when a voice he heard 
 
 At his elbow, in tones soft as the guitar:— 
 ''Kind sir, you seem a gentleman by your dress. 
 Have pity on a poor girl in distress. 
 
 XX. 
 
 "I've walked these streets for hours— and this thin 
 gown 
 Is no defence against the cruel cold; 
 When I've asked alms, the passers-by would frown 
 
 At me, as being one of those who've sold 
 Their virtue — yet God knows I'm innocent, 
 'Tis my misfortune only"— and she leant 
 
XXI. 
 
 Her slight form 'gainst my pard's, and sobbed the rest: 
 
 "You look so kind, I feel that I can trust 
 Myself with you — O, find some sheltering nest 
 
 For me, where warmth and food are, these I must 
 Have. Now please don't refuse — this help afford 
 And you may stay with me for your reward." 
 
 xxii. 
 
 And blushing deep, her lovely face she hid 
 
 While waiting for Fred's answer. Soon it came: 
 "Of Beauty in distress, it shan't be said 
 
 I ever took advantage, on him shame 
 That would. — Here, Miss, this Eagle pray accept.'* 
 She took it with a thousand thanks; it kept 
 
 xxiii. 
 
 Her honor spotless, and relieved her "tight." 
 She lives a happy wife and mother now, 
 
 And honored, too — though memory of that night 
 
 Will sometimes bring a shadow to her brow; 
 -The grateful tear unnoticed fall again. 
 
 For the generous fellow who preserved her then. 
 
 xxiv. 
 
 But what of Nita, have I then forgot 
 
 To urge my Queen down Life's toboggan slide? 
 
 Ah, no — but from my distant, former lot 
 
 When winds of Memory blow, deep swells the tide 
 
 Of feeling o'er the shingle; if "gray matter" 
 
 May be thus styled — the metaphor don't flatter. 
 
XXV. 
 
 A pretty fix I left her in, you say; 
 
 Well, rather — yet not one inextricable, 
 And woman's wit, as usual, won the day. 
 
 She went to Clarence, with some little fable, 
 Procured the hose — her purpose he ne'er guessed — 
 And then a perforator did the rest. 
 
 xxvi. 
 
 To him they shortly after were returned, 
 
 Apparently unchanged — but, narrowly scanned, 
 
 The keen eye de la femme might have discerned 
 A number of small holes, near where the hand 
 
 Would naturally take hold to draw them on; — 
 
 Disruption threatened now, if this were done. 
 
 xxvii. 
 
 The hour arrived, when she had pledged to pay, 
 And with it Clarence, to exact his "pound 
 
 Of flesh" — no, not so much to bear away 
 
 He wanted, less would have his wishes crowned. 
 
 When in a certain posture, 'twas his plan 
 
 To throw her off her centre; the divan 
 
 xxviii. 
 
 Would have prevented injury, and then- 
 
 Yes, and then — honi soit qui maly pense^ 
 To bring the foe to terms had easy been. 
 
 One shot below the ravelin — ^-the defence 
 Would give up garrison. Weak, orthodox 
 Man's chief end seems, to opePandora's box. 
 
XXIX. 
 
 That queer contrivance of the Middle Ages, 
 "The '^Virgin's Safeguard," made to snugly fit 
 
 This *'box of troubles," — padlocked too, that pages 
 And others were debarred — argues small wit 
 
 In the then-gallants, easy to trepan; 
 
 'Twould not have baffled an American. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Quick witted race, fertile in deep-laid scheme! 
 — My gentle reader, picture to yourself 
 Juanita seated, — in creme de le creme 
 
 Of the latest fashions, Clarence with an elf — 
 Her tiny foot — compressed the ancle nigh — 
 Man's hand before had never been so high. 
 
 xxxi. 
 
 The unexpected happened — comical 
 
 The mishap following a too vigorous pull, 
 
 That laid our Clarence sprawling; in his fall 
 He bore part of his purchase, — and some tulle 
 
 Came also, — though not meaning to be rude, 
 
 He reached a little farther than he should. 
 
 xxxii. 
 
 With feigned surprise, Juanita quickly took 
 
 The other stocking, drew it partly on. 
 When, lo, it ripped, just as the first had done. 
 
 "Whoever saw such rotten goods?" She broke 
 The painful silence with, "Now you can't say 
 I kept not faith, — so sorry, but — good-day!" 
 
XXXlll. 
 
 So exit Clarence. Harold steps upon the stage, 
 The heavy villain of this Melodrame; 
 
 Now in the summer of Life's pilgrimage. — 
 
 Gay Harold, at whose birth the sparrows came, 
 
 And danced in amorous duets all the day, 
 
 While the cock-robin sang a roundelay. 
 
 xxxiv. 
 
 Cassandras they, foretelling his success. 
 
 In the warfare he should wage against the sex. 
 
 Nature had given him a handsome face. 
 
 Brown hair and ditto eyes. Thereto annex 
 
 A curling black mustache; a frame well-knit 
 
 And personable; — manly grace to fit 
 
 xxxv. 
 
 A gallant carriage; manners of the kind 
 That harmonize with feminine delicacy. 
 
 So easy, deferential and refined; 
 
 His linen always spotless (in their eye 
 
 No mean essential) — and you have engraved 
 
 One over whom the ladies fairly raved. 
 
 xxxvi. 
 
 That promises attract them; would you use 
 The subtlest flattery, like what they wish well. 
 
 Persist — what they yield and what they refuse. 
 Still are they glad to be asked for; to dispel 
 
 The ice of new acquaintance, the contact 
 
 Of persons always serves — which don't neglect. 
 
XXXVll. 
 
 Coarse-fibered souls the creature comforts lure: 
 Lull the suspicion of the blue-eyed Swede 
 
 With cake and brandy, she's apt to '"tank youre 
 A-tryin' to do her" else; but oh, to speed 
 
 Thy suit with the Yellow Girl, that fragrant blossom, 
 
 Lif up her spirit with chitlings and possum! 
 
 xxxviii. 
 
 These hints experience had him taught, and Ovid, 
 
 Successful master in the art of love. 
 Tis said of kissing, no one is above it; 
 
 But this is by-the-by. Past triumphs move 
 The sex's curiousness, — like the luck-penny, 
 They still draw others. Harold's had been many. 
 
 xxxix. 
 
 He met Juanita — how? by "personal." 
 
 Oh, be not shocked, conventional dames, at this 
 
 Irregular proceeding: the leaves fall 
 
 In Autumn, Nature's law obeying, Miss 
 
 Juanita also fell — a victim to 
 
 Mercurial spirits; pined for something new. 
 
 xl. 
 
 And Daisy, running her eye through the ads, 
 
 Found one entirely eligible accord- 
 ing to her standard, thus aloud she reads: — 
 
 "Acquaintance wanted, by an English Lord, 
 Of a refined brunette— -none but adults; 
 Object, a jolly good time, and — results. 
 
xli. 
 
 'Twas Harold's coinage. Daisy was a blonde, 
 But she resolved to answer just the same. 
 
 What did her coloring matter? the beau monde 
 Told her she was good-looking. Common fame 
 
 Extolled her lineage. Nita, nothing loath, 
 
 Joins in her wish, so she replies for both. 
 
 xlii. 
 
 Soon they receive a gentlemanly note, 
 
 Asking the favor of an early date. 
 'Twas granted, — Martine's the appointed spot. 
 
 A sign was given, to prevent mistake. 
 The friends arranging, Nita first should meet 
 Him. then each for his preference compete. 
 
 xliii. 
 
 That evening found our heroine arrayed 
 
 In conquering robes — don't ask me what she wore; 
 If you must know, this vision is portrayed: 
 
 A lake of rhine-stones; on the silken shore 
 Are paradise aigrettes, brown satin roses; 
 Green velvet are the hills; the land discloses 
 
 xliv. 
 
 Mountains of jet, and glittering cabachons. 
 Cascades of accordion plaiting; at their base, 
 
 Begirt with spangles, a fair river runs, 
 
 Reflecting clouds of chiffon and point-lace. 
 
 ■Kodak these things in miniature, ere you've lost 'em. 
 
 And you'll have some idea of her costume. 
 
xlv. 
 
 Harold, entranced at so much loveliness. 
 
 Scarce found his tongue — but this fault was redeem'd 
 By his eloquent eyes. Soon both were at their ease, 
 
 And chatting like old friends. The next "set" 
 claimed 
 Them partners, Nita tripping with our *'peer" 
 To an air she loved — the Spanish Cavalier. 
 
 xlvi. 
 
 Being a true fin de siecle girl 
 
 She must know everything; and Harold's ruse 
 Was shortly unmasked, putting him in peril 
 
 Of losing what he'd gained. He own'd his use 
 Of Truth economical — a case of battery — 
 And glossed it over with judicious flattery. 
 
 xlvii. 
 
 Such favorable impression had he made, 
 
 To mollify was easy. Nita failed 
 To speak for Daisy, as had been agreed; 
 
 By perfidy, alas, so strong assailed. 
 Somehow she felt, to Harold tender grown. 
 As if she wanted him for hers alone. 
 
 xlviii. 
 
 And she was humored. At the partmg hour. 
 The Beach was named as their next rendezvous; 
 
 They separated, soon to meet once more. 
 Harold's suggestion of a moonlight row 
 
 Was instantly approved. From crowds withdrawn 
 
 Their light skiff o'er Sloan's glassy wave speeds on. 
 
xlix. 
 
 The night was beautiful. Twinkling o'erhead 
 Shown half the convex-world; the Dipper bright, 
 
 And Jupiter, with the Constellations shed 
 
 Through all Manhattan's walks their dreamy light. 
 
 The Launch's merry crew, — with song and shout 
 
 Of the light-hearted rowers ringing out 
 
 1. 
 
 Across the waters still; mingling with these 
 
 The sweet strains of the band, combined to form 
 
 A butterfly existence. In deep peace 
 
 With the whole world felt Nita, let it storm 
 
 As't might, an unseen visitant working in her 
 
 The wondrous change. — First Love, the little sinner! 
 
 li. 
 
 , Ah, blissful period! when his radiant torch 
 Lights up the unknown region of the soul: 
 
 The far-off Glory-land looms nigh, where march 
 Hope's shadowy legions to their rosy goal. 
 
 Time disillusions Youth — the prospects gone, 
 
 No more to enchant as the years roll on. 
 
 Hi. 
 
 No Quaker meeting held they, our fond pair; 
 
 Found much to talk of in the interchange 
 Of confidences, while the wine-like air 
 
 Diffused abandon, blowingfrom the Range. 
 Far from the arc light's glare their boat had drifted 
 When — how it came about those who are gifted 
 
liii. 
 
 In hypnotism answer, — Luna saw 'm 
 
 Juanita's head pillowed on Harold's breast! 
 
 Her swimming eyes aud half-breathed sighs avow 
 Her conquerer, — and silence tells the rest. 
 
 The moments pass. — 
 
 Upspringing with a start 
 
 From his embrace, the blushing maid, her heart 
 
 liv. 
 
 Alarmed at the hour's lateness, in soft tones 
 
 Regretfully declares they must return 
 To shore — if he would be so kind — at once. 
 
 And shivering prettily, her seat in the stern 
 Resumes. Harold obeys. Soon on the strand 
 The boat's keel grates, permitting them to land. 
 
 Iv. 
 
 'Twas ended all too soon, the walk that followed. * 
 Constrained to say good-bye, Nita recalled 
 
 All that of Love the witching hours had hallowed, 
 But 'tis a world of partings. — Shakespere's told 
 
 Of Juliet's "sweet sorrow" in this strait. 
 
 Whose yearning soul had but one night to wait. 
 
 Ivi. 
 
 Most sad transition! with the morrow came 
 
 Our heroine's paternal; he had heaid 
 Reports (though false we know) wherein to blame 
 
 She was for sundry'lapses; hence inferred 
 She needed governing. In fashion grim. 
 Peremptory, he took her back with him. 
 
ivii. 
 
 Resistance had she made, but to what end? — 
 
 Her ally Daisy had resentful grown, 
 Being tricked out of her fellow. Other friend 
 
 Or resource that might have assistance shown, 
 She could not count on, save one diamond, — that 
 Had since gone to "My Uncle's" as collat. 
 
 Iviii. 
 
 Ihus the wherewithal, which paid for the ball-dress 
 Before described. — What sacrifice too great 
 
 For girlish vanity! That Loveliness 
 
 When unadorned's adorned the most, they state 
 
 Is a poetic fiction, not obeyed, for [played for! 
 
 'Tis known Diamonds are trumps when hearts are 
 
 lix. 
 
 My Muse shame-faced the sequel now pursues: 
 On Nita's home-arrival, she was locked 
 
 Up in her room, to meditate in close 
 
 Confinement solitary; and her diet docked 
 
 Of nearly everything but bread-and-water: 
 
 So thought the old gent to subdue his daughter. 
 
 Ix. 
 
 For she had shown some spirit (who would not. 
 
 So cavalierly treated) this would pass 
 Off though, — so deemed he, when repentance brought 
 
 Its sense of duty. Next, at early Mass — 
 A devout Catholic — he asked the priest 
 To call next day. Confession at the least 
 
Ixi. 
 
 Could do no harm. This self-same father bore 
 
 A jovial, not a saintly character; 
 Revered a monk — but loved good-living more. 
 
 A certain pastime, A. P. A's aver, 
 He held required by man's constitution, 
 (Who must, of course, have proper absolution.) 
 
 Ixii. 
 
 O Venery, thou nipping incitation! — 
 
 As Montaigue has it; love's thirst to appease, 
 
 We see around us striving all creation. 
 Does thy power over mortals ever cease? 
 
 Say, crone of seventy. — This her reply: — 
 'You'll have to ask some one older than I." 
 
 Ixiii. 
 
 Meanwhile the prisoner, of whom we've carolled, 
 Found durance irksome, slow-coach that time was; 
 
 She thought of many things, but mainly Harold. 
 A knock — in came the priest, all smiles. A pause 
 
 Then— "How does Miss Juanita, our fine dancer?" 
 
 'Quite well, I thank you," came the polite answer. 
 
 Ixiv. 
 
 She knew the father slightly — though the Church 
 Claimed few of her regards, its mummeries 
 
 Revolting an ingenuous mind. The search- 
 Light of Young independence sorely tries 
 
 Religion. But while we're digressional, 
 
 The priest is busy at confessional. 
 
Ixv. 
 
 Juanita's lips were sealed — a rare mishap. 
 
 He tactics changed, unscrupulous in his dealings; 
 With forceful arms he drew her on his lap, — 
 
 Presumably, to analyze her feelings. 
 *Hovv dare you, sir!" she cried, with cheeks aflame, 
 Strui^gling to free herself "Father, for shame!" 
 
 Ixvi. 
 
 The bird hath scaped! — the father's pursiness 
 Contributing to his defeat, else she had not 
 
 Got off so eas. . The fault to redress, 
 He made profuse apologies, besought 
 
 Her not to tell — it would the Virgin grieve; 
 
 Which promise, when obtained, he took his leave. 
 
 Ixvii. 
 
 One good effect his visit had, the "powers" 
 R "'axed severity; the Reverend's using 
 
 His influence to that end (the reason's ours). 
 She might have company — of other's choosing. 
 
 They said,— though this of the"dusky gemman"savored; 
 
 There was a suitor whom the old folks favored. 
 
 Ixviii. 
 
 A miner — , he had struck it rich in Creede, 
 
 Where his home was; but the old Campaigner tired 
 
 Of Bachelor's Hall — Lar and Penates need 
 A woman to look after them. He, fired 
 
 With Nita's beauty, wished her for his mate, 
 
 But she, alas, did not reciprocate. 
 
Ixix. 
 
 He was not pretty, this old family-friend, 
 His scarred face lilac'd as the poodle-dog's; 
 
 With anchor-toil his massive frame was bent; 
 
 A voice that might have pierced the briny's fogs. 
 
 Good-hearted, though; to Nita presents sent, 
 And though repulsed would never take the hint. 
 
 Ixx. 
 
 He called again — this time prepared to win 
 Or quit the field. A private audience 
 
 Securing with his lady-love (who'd been 
 Warned not to say him nay), he the events 
 
 Recounted of a chequered past, wherein 
 
 The vicissitudes of a miner's life were seen. 
 
 Ixxi. 
 
 Long months, one bacon-rind and Hope his sole 
 Support, in lonely canon, ^'diggings" muddy; 
 
 He ran it through from his first prospect-hole 
 To that proud moment when the main ore-body 
 
 That underlay the elusive "lead" and "seam," 
 
 Disclosed its wealth, beyond the wildest dream" 
 
 Ixxii. 
 
 Of Avarice! warmed with his theme he cries, — 
 Pointing a window that looked to the west — 
 
 'Behind those snow-clad peaks an tden lies. 
 Embowered in quaking-asp and pine; caressed 
 
 By zephyrs — here all nature smiles sublime; 
 
 O, fly with me, sweet, to this favored clim(b)!" 
 
Ixxiii. 
 
 But Nita heard him wearily, as one 
 
 Wool-gathering in a bible-house; although 
 
 It sems to me that she had better done 
 
 To *'work" the Reuben for his surplus "dough." 
 
 — She scorned his silver, knowing Governor Waite 
 
 Would shortly sow it broadcast through the State. 
 
 Ixxiv. 
 
 She was too young to marry yet, she told him. 
 
 (Her hopes belied this — but the first excuse 
 Comes handiest;) the answer over-bowled him — 
 
 He had not dreamt his offer she'd refuse. 
 Crestfallen, he left. 
 
 — Roused from a reverie 
 By a brownie of the human family. 
 
 Ixxv, 
 
 Familiarly termed ''kid" was Nita not 
 Long after; tapping timidly at the door 
 
 He entered, and deposed that he had brought 
 A note from Harold. It contained no more 
 
 Than — "he hoped she was well, not seeing her i 
 
 Tendered his services, and so — yours truly." 
 
 Ixxvi. 
 
 In view of what transpired, 'twas a plank 
 Thrown to the struggling mariner; for lo, 
 
 Th' rejected one was somewhat of a crank, 
 And carried to le pere "his tale of woe." 
 
 What, such a splendid offer to repel! 
 
 The girl was mad — and his displeasure fell 
 
Ixxvii- 
 
 On her more rigorous than it had erewhile. 
 
 Abriged of liberty, permitted now 
 To see no one, what wonder that the trial 
 
 Proved to severe — She would tell Harold how 
 They'd turned against her. While the twilight's flitting 
 (An author's privilege) let's see what she's written. 
 
 Ixxviii. 
 
 "My Only Dear One" — thus the letter ran — 
 "Your note was welcome as the flowers in May. 
 
 O, how I cried to think, ere I began 
 
 This, we can't be together! All the day 
 
 I've worried over it. What in the world, 
 
 Dear, makes me love you as I do? — impearled 
 
 Ixxix. 
 
 "Is your sweet face forever in my heart. 
 
 O, that tonight my lips might press upon 
 The lips I dearly love. Ah, who shall part 
 
 Us, with your arms to shield. I'd rather run 
 On Death than live away from you. But know 
 That Im in trouble, can not come-and-go. 
 
 Ixxx. 
 
 "(Oh, dear, its just more than a girl can stand) 
 My parents seek to force me to a match 
 
 That I detest; and here — cruel command! — 
 Im prisoned till submitting. Let them watch 
 
 Me as they will, to you I'll still be true; 
 
 And now pet, this is what Im going to do — 
 
Ixxxi. 
 
 "To run off to the one I love the best! 
 
 — What you think of my plan, without delay 
 Please write me, — but, (since so much I've confessed) 
 
 You must say yes, Im coming anyu ay. 
 Were they but real! — I send you many kisses. 
 Nita to her darling Harold." — No P. S. es. 
 
 XXXXXX X XX XX 
 
 Ixxxii. 
 
 O, erring woman. To the little god 
 
 Her deity, she sacrifices all! 
 — 'Twas this inspired that hi^h-born dame (who trod 
 
 In wedded paths — the story's from the Hill,) 
 To raise a senator, her power to prove; 
 
 And "Silver Ed" we owe to woman's love! 
 
 Ixxxiii. 
 
 The letter written, how was she to send it? 
 
 The cidevant Mercury was playing near, 
 And beckoning from the window she extended 
 
 The missive — "Would he carry it for her?" 
 (Bribed with three packs of "coffin nails" — the price.) 
 "Sure thing he would" — and starts off in a trice. 
 
 Ixxxiv. 
 
 Harold received it safely — kisses too, 
 
 Though these preferred he in the "original package;" 
 Wrote back: "Fear not, Til see you safely through, 
 
 Make up at once your necessary baggage; 
 I'll be on hand tomorrow ni^ht." — Then got 
 A rope ladder, and formed his plot. 
 
Ixxxv. 
 
 Big- with the fate of Nita the night's come. 
 
 'Twas rather muggy, as the English say, 
 Elopement favoring. In Juanita's home 
 
 Reigned quietness at ten, — one Httle ray 
 Of starlight through the utter darkness fell, 
 And seemed to whisper — ''Bless you, I won't tell !" 
 
 Ixxxvi. 
 
 The ladder placed, with many soft alarms 
 Nita descended, her heart beating like 
 
 Sunfish affrighted — fell in Harold's arms. 
 
 Then joy o'erflowed Convention's hindering dyke. 
 (I needed this word, the rhyme to complete; 
 
 It's not a good one — but poetic feet 
 
 Ixxxvii. 
 
 Must be observed.) When all was made secure. 
 
 The lovers fled away into the nigfht 
 To Harold's lodgings. As yet she was pure, — 
 
 Yes, absolutely pure, as Pri — ^to cite 
 A brand of Baking Powder; which invention 
 (Not being paid to puff it) I shan't mention. 
 
 Ixxxviii. 
 
 "This too will pass away." Now Harold leads 
 His fair companion to a terraced pile, 
 His temporary quarters; they must needs 
 
 Go in, their feelings to compose a while. 
 With pleasing tumults Nita's were oppressed, 
 The sylph that guarded Honor charmed to rest. 
 
Ixxxix. 
 
 Knt'ring- the room, she saw with glad surprise 
 A rich collation, Harold's thoughtfulness 
 
 For her provided; dainty wines on ice. 
 
 These were discussed, with piquancy no less 
 
 Because of the night's doings. 'Twas an hour 
 
 To balance years of sorrow that might lower. 
 
 xc. 
 
 Juanita's face was mantling with the joy 
 
 That woman feels, when her loved one's beside. 
 
 She rose impulsively^-"0, you dear boy!" 
 
 And with an angel smile — forgot was pride — 
 
 Her soft arms clung him in a sweet embrace, 
 
 The while her presence perfumed all the place. 
 
 xci. 
 
 A strange light shone in Harold's eyes; he said, 
 
 "Come rest yourself, my darling, you look wan;" 
 And drew her unresisting to the bed. 
 Her very soul was his. 
 
 The maid undone 
 Grov^^s very weak ere warming — ours, nathless, 
 Gave herself up to perfect happiness. 
 
 xcii. 
 
 I purposed here minutely to indite 
 
 The fair's sensations, pierced by knightly lance; 
 But 'tis a delicate theme — the details might 
 
 Prove spicier than the dear public wants. [time. 
 Yet those will know, who've "been there, many's th( 
 Just what to think, without help of this rhyme. 
 
xcni. 
 
 They passed the night in transports till gray dawn, 
 In '^ecstacies too fierce to last" for aye; 
 
 And not till Harold from her side had gone, 
 Did Nita miss the orange-blossoms that array 
 
 The usual bride, when Hymen's not turned traitor; 
 
 But 'twas all in the play, — they would come later. 
 
 xciv. 
 
 Some happy weeks fled by — and chivalry 
 Itself was Harold still: but Love has wings, 
 
 And so mast use them. I,n^3::rcepLibl/ 
 A change came over him, in many things 
 
 She noted (to say small would be mi sea in 4) 
 
 That showed Cupid's barometer was falling. 
 
 xcv. 
 
 At opera-bo u fife, where Mirth ruled all the scene, 
 He smiled not when she did; and when arose 
 
 The lofty diapason, — rapt serene 
 
 Her soul in blissful realms until its close — 
 
 He gave his plaudits not. and thus bereft her 
 
 Of needed sympathy. One day he left her. 
 
 xcvi. 
 
 We can't be always on the mountain-top: 
 Keaction came; Nita's affections were 
 
 Like some drycreek, when all its sources stop. — 
 So passion's Clo ad-burst had but left in her 
 
 Its barren sands, where lingered yet o-ie flower, — 
 
 Thit mournful tenderness, hir sex's dower. 
 
XCVll. 
 
 She's living in a trunk now, as girls say. 
 
 In furnished rooms, — the neighborhood's not chic: 
 Has many friends; is drifting the Burnt Way, 
 
 Whose cue — Come in, come in! it is to speak; 
 Whose creed is (though I won't vouch for its ethics), 
 This world — the next one — then the pyrotechnics. 
 
 xcviii. 
 My tale is done. 
 
 — The boding nightwinds moan 
 With eerie sound at the casement; to Nox tell 
 Their ancient rune. The greatest Mystery known 
 
 To Man, Life's secret they perchance reveal! 
 Speak, messengers of ^olus! — and close 
 I listen. No reply. Then — Adios! 
 
 THE END. 
 
THE COLORADO PILGRIM. 
 
 'Twas a pilgrim wight in worn-out shoon, 
 
 That "drilled into Denver one afternoon. 
 
 His tattered garments and antique "roof" 
 
 Of a tough experience gave ample proof. 
 
 While the crowd at the Arcade wondering gazed, 
 
 But its 'josh" the stranger never fazed. 
 
 **Are you any good?" was all he said. 
 A sport who'd a winning made nodded his head. 
 Whereat the crowd to the bar adjourned, 
 And soon his tale of the traveler learned. 
 
 '*Just a month ago," — thus his story ran, 
 
 "My trip from Salt Lake I began; 
 Hopeful I started, but ere the drill ended, 
 These bro^ans with baling wire I mended. 
 Walking the ties at midnight when 
 Fired off the trucks by the railroad men. 
 In the lonely desert where the Book Cliffs rise. 
 The awful'st solitude under the skies. 
 Not a bird nor coyote in that desolate land, 
 And no green thing grows in the shifting sand. 
 But I hurried on. though sore afraid. 
 Grand Junction the next stop I made. 
 The farmers were kind, and never denied 
 To s^ive me a "hand-out" when I applied. 
 God bless the tender heart of woman! 
 She'll ne'er refuse a starving human. 
 The shadows of night were falling damp, 
 When I struck a deserted mining camp. 
 
Empty the miner's cabin stood, 
 
 The owner had left the place for good. 
 
 To its wild first state the camp resigns, 
 
 Nature's mournful music, the wind in the pines. 
 
 The moonbeams glint on rusted steel, 
 
 And faintly the deep shafts reveal. 
 
 Where lies the snow, to Heaven-up-piled, 
 
 Broods the lone Spirit of the Wild; 
 
 And comes at intervals, the wail 
 
 Of timber wolf borne on the gale. 
 
 With spirits depressed I wandered on, 
 
 Until I came to Leadville town. 
 
 Here I met a Relief Camp refugee, 
 
 We traveled together for company. 
 
 A haystack formed our nightly cot, 
 
 Our breakfast at the brook we got, 
 
 I left him 'grafting' by the way, 
 
 And came in on the Santa Fe." 
 
 He closed, and to reward the knave, 
 
 The crowd a "set down/ at the Maverick gave. 
 
L' ALLEGRO IN THE HILLS. 
 
 Autumns tints with summer blending, 
 Send the prairie schooners wendiiig 
 Parkward; in wild swale or hollow 
 The campfires gleam, and we may follow. 
 Mark climbing, the pale blue columbine, 
 In its rocky lodge near timber line 
 A lovely flower that oft unseen, 
 The Oreads weave to crown their queen. 
 Now mountain mist the trail enshrouds, 
 And peaks commercing with the clouds. 
 Grim stony sentinels of Eld, 
 That lon^ these argent fields have held 
 In fee, with countless "leads" and "seams" 
 That haunt the miner in his dreams. 
 Thus on until the "schooner" stops 
 By the ^old-tinted a^pen copse. 
 Then down where naught the eye descries. 
 Save one lone tourist of the ties. 
 He greets our hail with nonchalance, 
 And orives the usual "song and dance:" 
 'Say. Pardner, ye ain't c^ot a quarter handy 
 Ye cud It t me have. Me name is Sandy; 
 Had a job up thar at Hill To^ Cnxssin' 
 Bur qu't it — not on account of the bossin' 
 And the Day was all right. Then why did I 
 
 leave? 
 'Cause I cudn't find anything to breathe!" 
 
 Still onward 'til the goal be won, 
 
Where rolls the rapid Gunnison, 
 In lonely grandeur, time-dtfying. 
 Huge boulders in the torrent lying, 
 Form many a sheltered little bay 
 Where the water-turkey loves to play; 
 The chipmunk shy its sole companion. 
 The frowning walls of the Black Canon 
 Look over, and the eagle's aery shows 
 On the beetling pinion's topmost boughs. 
 'Mid scenes like these, rarely-trodden ground, 
 The tonic of wildness may be found. 
 
 UNES WRITTEN IN THE OLD CITY CE/VIETERY. 
 
 High art thou placed, O consecrated spot! 
 
 From Maine to Alabama 
 In the new world or the old, there exists not 
 
 A grander panorama. 
 
 So eazing from thy summit, Taylor spoke, 
 
 None question that decision; 
 The mountain background — plains like ocean vast, 
 
 A glorious vision! 
 
 Fit spot for meditation formed; and yet 
 
 Man's greed hath soiled 
 Even holy ground; view here the cenotoph 
 
 And tomb despoiled. 
 
Canst read on headstone gray the story brief — 
 
 Father and son, 
 Here sleeping out the Sabbath of the dead, 
 
 Life's ramble done. 
 
 With tired hands folded o'er her aching breast, 
 
 Tnere rests a mother. 
 The harsh world stayed too long her falt'ring steps. 
 
 Ne'er such another. 
 
 Peaceful the scene and quiet all, save note — 
 
 A coronach impromptu 
 Of wild bird flitting o'er some lonely grave; 
 
 'Tis what we all must come to. 
 
 Oppressive thought! that hopes must shortly lie 
 
 Beneath the furrow. 
 My wandering steps the rabbit hears, and darts 
 
 Into his burrow. 
 
 Now twilight's messenger, the night hawk, rises, 
 
 Chanting a vesper hymn. 
 Learn thou the lesson that all nature teaches. 
 
 And bide thy time. 
 
THE CATTLEMEN»S YARN. 
 
 Night on the Little Mussleshell; 
 
 That beaver-haunted stream, 
 Where the lone trapper keeps his fearful watch, 
 
 And the sands have a golden gleam. [from 
 'Tis the Blac< -foot reserve. Strong sounds come 
 
 The dim horror of the wood, 
 And the Northern lights look coldly down 
 
 On the Selkirk solitude. 
 But hark! the hoofstroke of a horse! 
 
 The Montana stag in his lair 
 Starts from his slumber as the clink of steel 
 
 Rings out on the shuddering air. 
 Now he comes into view, and his rider is seen, 
 
 Plying the quirt and spur, 
 Fa^t-gallopino, soon is he lost in the darkness, 
 
 Leaving the glen all a stir. 
 But scarce has it lapsed into silence again, 
 
 When lo, a fresh tumult is on, 
 Two horsemen, fine-mounted, come riding hard 
 
 On the track of the first that had gone! 
 Their gun's gripp'd for action. What deed 
 had he done, 
 
 Whom vengefully they pursue? 
 Overtaken at last, did his life expiate 
 
 For that of the comrade he slew? 
 It will never be known. The silent stars 
 
 They guard their secret well. [course 
 And the hours of night speed their wonted 
 
 On the banks of the Mussleshell. 
 
THE AUTHOR'S FAREWELL TO THE GREAT RIVER. 
 
 Lla the Fall of 1892 the writer formed one of a party of three who went from 
 Denver to Kansas 'Jity, wh3re ac ibin-b >at was built, size 30x10, in which we suc- 
 cessfully navisrated tbe Missouri ani Mississippi rivers, going as far south as 
 1 he St. Francis river, ArKaa^^as, wh -re the winter was passed. The "doctor" re- 
 ferred to was a harmless sort of '"river pirate" waom we encountered at Cairo, 
 111. He was mentally unbilanced, bat labored under the delusion that nature 
 had designed him for an autaor. He held iu MSS. quite a number of his perform- 
 ances—regular night-mard§, in fact, one novel notably so, entitled "Oscazel.'* 
 He, too, witii Mike his hencnman, was floating down the Great River] 
 
 One autumn morn we left K. C, 
 
 Our starting out was sunny, 
 And merrily the time passed on 
 
 While we had luck and money. 
 To lead a shanty boatman's life 
 
 Who would not brave the fury 
 Of winds and waters w Id and rough, 
 
 Upon the old Missouri? 
 Had favoring gale?, ne'er ceased to blow 
 
 Down stream from dawn till set of sun, 
 And cheered my discontented mind 
 
 With solace of a good days run; 
 Had not the "blues" companioned me 
 
 Through dark hours of wind-bound affliction, — 
 Perchance then t/iou wouldst not have earned 
 
 My parting malediction! 
 "Fond" recollection still will dwell 
 
 On our bold foraging expeditions, [changed 
 
 When things portable, "murphies" and wheat owners 
 
 The pale moon giving of light a sufficience. 
 How coolly once, at midnight hour, 
 
 Without a pause or tremor. 
 We took on board our apples — barreled — 
 
 Like any other steamer! 
 
The barnyard grouse had to roost high, 
 
 And hogs came at their peril nigh. 
 Pig-oo-ey through the woods went humming 
 
 When the natives saw our craft a coming. 
 Past "tow-head" island, point and bar, 
 
 The wild geese watched us floating. 
 Rose many a dismal anserine squawk, 
 
 When our scatter guns began to talk. 
 Came Irom rail-fence or cornfield far, 
 
 The hail through thick Boetian air — 
 *'Just travelin' about or goin' somewhar?" — 
 
 A Missourian denoting. 
 The squirrel from his arboreal lair, 
 Barked as he saw our frugal care 
 
 Of walnuts on the roof a- drying; 
 For us the paw-paws ripening grew 
 
 (Missouri's banana), 'simmons too. 
 And if we cared to "jugging" go 
 
 The "channel cat" and '•buffalo" 
 Afforded sport and change of fare; 
 
 To gastronomies satisfying. 
 Of mammoth size: I mind me well, 
 
 When overboard one day there fell 
 A goose's pelt; like bird in air 
 
 'Twas gone ere scarce it touched the water 
 
 From side to side our boat did totter, 
 Rocked in the waves the passing "gar" 
 
 Left in his wake (To this I'll swear.) 
 And lanternless. those nightly "runs" 
 
 Are still in memory cherished: 
 The Grand Tower Rock and its whirling pool 
 
 Where the bridal party perished. 
 
Viewed rightly, tiiis to the groom had been 
 
 A kindly dispensation. 
 Who tells what ills awaited him 
 
 Had he livc^d in the marriage station. 
 The "Doctor" comes — inspired loon! 
 
 His "book" it was a "knocker." 
 He's either now in his "Island Home" 
 
 Or in Davy Jones' Locker. 
 And trusty Mike, all dangers past. 
 
 Which the boatman's life environ, 
 The chances are is holding up 
 
 Some Mississippi siren! 
 Full sweet the sound at evening's close, 
 
 When the violin's speaking melody rose; 
 And "Rolling River," "Old Zip Coon," 
 
 "Rich Man. "'^" Rye Straw," "Bonnie Doon," 
 "Prettiest little girl in the County, O!" 
 
 "Looked in the glass and found it so," 
 Went echoiner o'er the deep. 
 
 Past waving fields of cotton 
 We drifted; all we thought on 
 
 To see St. Francis sweep . 
 Into the parent stream. 
 
 Hurrah! the cane-brakes now uncover 
 His waters bluish gleam; — 
 
 Our long, lone "float" was over. 
 A simple race the swamper folk, 
 
 With taste for story and broad joke. 
 Content their humble state to fill, 
 
 And let the world wag as it will. 
 They give the interpretation free, 
 
 Of the owl's note heard in the cypress tree, 
 
As (and who knows that it be not true) 
 
 *Who cooks for you! who cooks for you!" 
 No more along thy steep, cut banks 
 
 Will swiftly glide our vessel; 
 No more by willow-crowded shore 
 
 We'll hear the red bird's whistle. 
 No more will anxious thoughts intrude 
 
 As rocked in our rude slumber, 
 To sandbar's side the boat was tied, 
 
 And shy of spar-pole timber — 
 Lashed by November gales she would 
 
 By **bumps" give timely warning, 
 That if our cable gave o'er night 
 
 Where we would be next morning. 
 'Tis past — but still will fancy weave 
 
 Its visions of our trip forever; 
 And rapt in that sweet southern clime, 
 
 Where cold and storms come never — 
 'Till our shadowy barque, with her crew of three. 
 
 Lies moored on Suwanee River! 
 
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