P s £-505 LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. \5h^ Chap.i._.rf. Copyright No. Slielf_i_t-5--C5^ UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. v; a: ON COLORADO'S Fair Mesas XniscellanH IN [ILLUSTRATED] BY / Wm. b. ebbert. 9\ Mail Publishing Oo. pubblo, colo. 1897. ^r-^' • < ir T5 \^^^ ^ Copyright, 1897, by Wm. B. Ebbebt. TO MY SIX OHILDBEN. W Table of Contents. Frontispiece— Pike's Peak. A Tiny Blossom of the Plain 1 Pro Patria 2 The Old Clock 3 Home-Made Trousers, for Boys 4 Mary 5 Riley 6 Wagon Wheel Gap and the Rio Grande. The Maid of Costilla 7 Christmas 8 The Rain That Didn't Come 10 Thompson 11 Dear My Wife 12 The Last Day of School 13 The Summer Days are Ended 14 A Plea for the Down Man 15 On the Promenade 16 Farewell 17 Before an Open Album 18 The Poet, Burns 20 Don't 21 A New Race 22 The Spanish Peaks. Robert ^^ Fletcher Hill, Pueblo 25 The Old Shop 26 Tonight 27 The Tramp 29 At the Brook '^^ On Legs ^^ Confidence in Human Nature 32 Colorado 33 On Thanksgiving 35 Williams Canon. Wa-ah 37 The Buckwheat Cake 38 The Veteran's Day 39 Hazel 40 A Summer Idyl 41 'Gene Field and Labor's Rewards 42 Our Schools and the New West 44 Set Speeches 45 A Modern Hero..' 46 He Wore the Sweetest Smile 47 Lincoln 48 Joe Jefferson 49 A Song Comes to My Heart Tonight 50 The Half-Way House 51 Bill Nye 52 A Vizzut to The 23 53 The Cigar Stump 55 Our Tall Boys 56 Bun Jessup 57 My Friend, Elmer 58 A TINY BLOSSOM OF THE PLAIN. There is a flower that unto thee doth lend A gladder voice, and all thy senses thrill; Some simple bloom that decked thy native hill- Some flower with which life's holiest passions blend. Is it the appealing glance so meek and coy, Its comely form, its Heaven-imprinted face, Its wildwood-fragrance, or its modest grace. That stirs thy soul with deep, transporting joy? Is it for all the memories that wake From out the bowery aisles of glen and grove, Where trilled the birds their sweetest notes of love? Or is this fair bloom cherished for its sake? I know a tiny blossom of the plain, That speaks to me, and speaks to me alone, Of one upon whose breast its glory shone, And lights with gentle fire her eyes again. That wreathes with vernal air each golden hour Till low the sun sinks to his ancient rest; For me I know not which I love the best — The magic of its presence, or the flower. PRO P ATRIA. [To Two Friends, on the Pouadins of the Pueblo Saturday Mail.] The lofty soal who frames in deathless lays His hig"h-wroug"ht strains, from an empyreal iyre, Which deep attune the nation's heart to praise, Or wake our love, or virtuous aims inspire. Bestows a g-ift that breathes a holy fire. Nor may the trusted rulers of a state, Or yet its martial heroes proud, aspire To mould with surer hand its opening- fate. Or reap rewards so rich as those which him ay/ait. And you, within a kindred sphere, may write That which shall long- constrain to g-enerous deeds, And firm, your name and reverent praise unite. Behold, the cause of honest labor bleeds ! Trusts are enthroned; an age of pride succeeds To one of true resolve; and patriots m.ourn To see God's imag-e, dread of Saracen, From, all our loyal, hig-h-browed manhood torn! Proclaim with rag-e sublime and flam.ing- pen That Freedom dies where states repudiate their men ! THE OLD CLOCK. The old clock that ticks as I write, that ticks loudly, for the night is still and the sleep- ers sleeping- softly, recalls a cluster of hallovred memories. I have had it thirty years. Nothing- about me has been my companion so long", and nothing" inanimate touches as it does the tender chords of my heart. Its kind face has beamed over my hearth-stone when I have sat wearied and care-worn; it has told the hours of the birth of my children; it has awakened me to consciousness when with exhausted frame and energy I have fallen asleep at the bedside of the sick; it has g^reeted me upon my return from many a journey abroad; and it has seemed to sorrow with me when I have taken up my mournful pilg-rimag-e to the city of the dead. Let us keep, dear old clock, not with another, but as two friends, the secret of our wander- ing's, and disappointments, and heart-burning's, and joys, and feasting-s. I know you will, for your ticking- tones are now as heart-throbs, and laden with the g-entle voices of those whose forms are in the dust. I renew my vows of constancy, and shall keep you where you are, for the hands that placed you there have clasped hands with God ! HOME-MADE TROUSERS, FOR BOYS. The revival, in my immediate family, of home-made trousers, recalls one of the most painful and humiliating- trials of my boyhood. The fashion in home-made trousers, for boys, does not vary from year to year, as is the case with flowers, sleeves and bonmots, but remains the same yesterday, today and forever. It shows no trace of art, and lacks any and all conformity to the g-raceful outlines of a boy's middle and leg's. The trousers, cut and sewed to the fashion under consideration, are a full inch too short, and flaring at the bottom; the side seams come well forward; the width is the same all the way up; the seat is extremely baggy; a singular fullness distinguishes the waistband; there are odd seams here and there in the upper half; the pockets are sideling, and the buttons too wide apart. Also, the home- made trousers, for boys, are generally napless, and often shiny, going to show that they have been cut down, or, it may be, that they are the product of infinite labor and pains, "When at the age of ten I was dressed up in mine, which were somewhat outre, my mother expressed great admiration at my neat appearance in 4 them, for they were her own handiwork, and her first and last effort on any boy; but when I went out, and my chums saw me, and made grame of the stilted thing-s, I became heartsick: and to this hour I feel an inward sinking- when- ever I think of the day I first turned out in my home-made trousers. MARY. Did rose e'er bloom as fresh as this? Or features set with kindlier g-race? Did dewy morning- ever kiss The blushes on a sweeter face? RILEY. As to James Wliitcomb Riley. This g"en- tleman of versatile genius appeared before a crowded house at the Grand on last Monday nig^ht. The Lyceum Bureau had him in chargfe and is deserving- of praise for its enterprise in bring-ing- him within hailing distance of Pueb- loans. But it was the Hoosier poet's renown that packed the house, and no assemblage that ever gathered at the Grand quit this beautiful temple of art in better hum.or, or with more hearty rejoicing in the fame of its entertainer, than that which greeted and scrutinized and laughed and wept with Mr. Riley. There are other mimics, delineators, fun-makers, reciters, just as good. But there are few the world around who, having captivated us with the strength and beauty of their verse, can exert over us, as Riley can, the power of the necro- mancer, by breathing into their characters the breath of life for our edification, and adding a fresh fragrance to the perfumed fields where the honey-dew drips and the bees and birds drone or twitter in the summer air. CD (X> p- CD O p- THE MAID OF COSTILLA. Sweet maiden of the crested land, Thy native home shall speak for thee; "Where God's most wondrous temples stand To guard, inspire and make thee free. Untaught abroad where academes Their partial rules of life impart; Thou singest by the mountain streams — Thy cloister close to nature's heart. Above the pride which men allow To wealth or station, race or blood, Thou liftest high thy tranquil brow Girt with the wreath of womanhood. Shall prudish art resist thy charms? Or taint the birthright all thine own? Thy worth is more than coats-of-arms; Thy heart is greater than a throne. As radiant as the sunset dyes, When hast'ning east the storm-clouds roll, No fairer form to mortal eyes Has ever clothed a human soul. CHRISTMAS. Today is Christmas; and Christmas, whether of Judean origin — whether it falls at the time of year when the shepherds once watched their flocks hj nig-ht — or is an accom- modation to the old German Yule-feast; or yet is a fiat once meant to impress the heathen nations with the divine character of Jesus of Nazareth by locating- it in the winter solstice; whatever the circumstances of its beg-inning-, it has come to mean in this place and time a day of rest and peace and g-ood will. Drop out of mind for the moment all thoug-ht of Him whose praises are exulting-ly sungf wherever in the temples of Christendom voices ming-le in hosannas today, and Christmas is blessed still. If there is nothing- in all the hovering- cloud of precious memories which sanctifies it; nothing- that softens it with true, maternal love; nothing that makes it mellow. or lends it the fragrance and beauty of a day that was charmed in A.uld Lang Syne, it is still blessed. For it is a day of cessation from toil and strife. It is a day also when men's thoughts are turned away from, themselves. "Then gently scan your brother man" is a pre- 8 cept of Burns that is a living-, breathing- senti- ment on Christmas. The shortcoming-s of our fellows fade, or are blotted out, in the era of g-ood will. If, as Goethe says, a man never leaves a room the same man he entered it, then the moral g-ain to the nation in the passing- of Christmas, with its unselfishness, its joyous- ness and its chastening- influences, is incal- culable. To most of us, aye, I would fain believe, to almost all of us who have traveled bej'ond the romantic period of life, Christmas is a renewing of youth. Not only because the memory of the old pine-wreathed and snow-hung- Christmases is so vivid as fairly to carry us back ag-ain to the days when Time loitered with us as a play- mate, and when our overflowing- streng-th and spirits revealed life to us as a series of triumphs, alternating- with a round of transporting- pleas- ures; but also because, in merry prattle and shouts of ecstasy, the little towheads and raven-locks re-enact before us then the scenes of those haloed hours which are all the more treasured because irrecoverable. We feel ag-ain the flush of the sunlig-ht of life's morning-. I pity — out of my heart I pity — the man who cannot enter into the joys and surprises of the children's world of wonders on Christmas, or who does not sympathize with their g-ladness to 9 the extent of giving- them the iiouse if it pleases them to take it. Dear boys I Dear g-irls! "We are stronger and are better Under manhood's sterner reign; Still we feel that something sweet Followed youth, with flying feet, And will never come again." THE RAIN THAT DIDN'T COME. Oh, the odor how delicious, Of the rain that didn't come! Oh, the promise how auspicious, Of the rain that didn't come! Brown the fields — our labors thwarted- Droop the hearts of the stout-hearted; Oh, the hopes that have departed With the rain that didn't come! 10 THOMPSON. This week, on Monday, I carried in a sack to the heart of the city, and "lost" there, a good and useful cat, who had been in the family two years. We wrote his name Thompson, but called him Tom. Tom had just been accused of hig-h crimes and misdemeanors, and while the evidence against him was wholly circum- stantial, and the case a very weak one, still we thought he had better go out into the v/orld and seek his fortune. He was never forward, but always of a retiring disposition, affectionate, of gentlemanly deportment and cleanly habits, and highly educated in the matter of mice. We hated to see him go, and, especially, we hated and hate to think of him as an associate of common cats, under cold buildings, or down in the slums, uncared for, pursued by cur dogs, and lacking the good food that he was used to. I believe he is worthy of confidence, and if you see him, a yellow and white fellow, and take him in, I think he will do you good. He answers to the name of Tom, not Thompson. 11 DEAR MY WIFE. Dear my wife, I cannot be As dear to thee as thou to me; Words only mock the love I feel, Which still the passing- years reveal. Blithe my wife, the linnet gay, Thy gladness grafts upon his lay; And heeds the robin as he trips, The cheer that's native to thy lips. Fair my wife, of all the flowers Thou tendest 'mid the summer hours, I have in truth the first to see That is by half as fair as thee. 12 THE LASl DAY OF SCHOOL. Yesterday was the last day of school, so it was! And now we're going- to have fun, so we are! Real fun! Lots of fun! And we don't care if we never, never see school again! I suppose, my dear reader, that the manj' tasks set before the 5'^oung in our schools have been shown to possess a value for the proper discip- lining of the mind — proper when related to the work of life as we perform it, or as we think it ought to be performed. But the tasks are hard. Remember this — they are hard. No other suras in life are so hard to "do," no other lessons so hard to "get," no other difficulties so hard to surmount, no other burdens so crushing; no other discouragements arise which leave you so helpless and undone, so start the tears and palsy the energies, as those which relate to your school-days and the school-room. I wonder sometimes when I see parents so anxious that their children should "pass," and see them adopt extraordinary means to stimulate a tender mind, already overstrained and weary, if they have calculated the profit and loss, or if they know what they are doing! And so, I am right with the boys and girls who drop their 13 books and run with a shout from the school- house, glad to be done with the old thing, now that summer is here, and the lawns are green, and the gorgeous woods invite them, and the birds are gay. Yes, and if they "never want to see school again," why, that's natural. THE SUMMER DAYS ARE ENDED. The summer days are ended, and Deserted is the grove, — The north wind now is on a lark While I put up the stove; Oh, how my flesh creeps when I think Of what I've got to bear, When the frost is on the whiskers, and There's whiskers on the air! U A PLEA FOR THE DOWN MAN. Do the men who do the work of the world, the necessary work, the hard work, the work that costs pain and produces exhaustion, the work that wears out human lives, the work that bottoms all our commerce, material progress, national prosperity, rich men's fortunes, luxu- rious living-, mortal existence — do these men, I ask, deserve to be in a pinch when there is plenty for all? You will scarcely deny that there is plenty for all, but you may deny that the faithful toiler cannot make a good living. Very well, then. Now, would you say to your brother, or son, that if he entered one of the laborious pursuits, worked diligently, never drank, forswore speculation, got married, had children, gave them good opportunities, paid all his debts, helped the church, surrounded him- self with comforts, still worked hard on his wages; that at the age of fifty he would cer- tainly be ahead? The man who lays the basis of the general prosperity is entitled to some- thing more thah a rough board shanty and a crust. His contribution is fundamental, its quality in the general structure, substantial, 15 and as compared with that of the do-nothing, it is regal. The application of what is called the law of supply and demand to human labor is so hoary with antiquity as to seem to bear the sanction of divine authority'. But so far from this it is brutish; horrible, if Christ's law is holy, and it testifies to the Christianly growth of our generation that everywhere men are cry- ing out against it, and declaring that the fruits of labor shall first fill the mouth of him who labors. ON THE PROMENADE The wind took his hat 'Cross the highway and flat, In the dust and all that; While he sped through the air, With his wild, streaming hair, And a look of despair. He got it at last — A forlorn looking cast — And viewed it aghast; Then stripped of conceit. With an air of defeat. He walked up the street. 16 FAREWELL. TO THE COW-BOY BAND. [On its departure for a tour of the world.] Not soft Italia's fervid strains, Nor Scotia's ballads dear, Can wake my breast to rapt delight, Or charm my willing- ear, L/ike fresher notes that rise and swell From vale to mountain crest, And shed the breath of butte and heath, Within the g-olden west. Where shine the peaks and gleam the plains, And blend in fadeless grace, Where freedom from her lofty height Surveys a sturdy race, There minstrels' harps by unseen hands In ecstacy are pressed — There lifts the crown of melody Upon the golden west. 'Tis thine to bear a wreath whose tints No flowers but these have known — To bear to other lands afar The music of our own; Thy gentle mission shall call forth A welcome from each breast, But waits the brimming welcome here. Within the golden west. 17 BEFORE AN OPEN ALBUM. It is g-iven to but few to write worthily in albums. Here is an album whose contents are too heavy with religious sentiment to come naturally from those who, for the most part, are under eigliteen years of ag-e. Not that I do not approve such sentiments in such a place; but I hold that the charm of these mementos lies in the likeness of the written thought to the average mood, or bent of mind, of the writer. The best samples of album literature make the reader say: *'That sounds just like Jack;" and, "You can see Polly Wiggins in every line of this." But custom, which is oftentimes a grim and sharp-nosed monitor, sends the sweet little girl to the album to write, as in this one, "Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal," when the child does not know even the mean- ing of the words She would do better to say, "I was six years old last month," or, "My kitty is gray and I call her Helen." The few of the middle-aged, who have written here, came up to their tasks as if their present indentures were to live forever, and great and mighty issues hung upon their words. The result appears in the inscription of empty platitudes, 18 or bits of overdone commonplace, instead of off-hand sentiments which furnish the touch of nature. Here and there is a dash of humor, or a pleasantry, or an allusion to a witty episode, or a streak of neig-hborly abandon, which throws light, even to the strang-er, on the char- acter of the author. For I am a strang-er to all the scribes, and even to her for whom the scribes have written; but the liberty I take in these comments shall not invade the realms of license, nor approach the limits of identification of these friendly autographers. This, which appears here for the thousandth time, is always fresh: "When you grow old and ugly As people sometimes do. Remember that you have a friend Who's old and ugly too." The writer of the following- stanza went to the last page from choice. There are numerous blank spaces, but it is supposed that these lines constituted his only stock and store: "Last in your album, Last in your thought. Last to be remembered, And first to be forgot." It is a rare page, however, which contains a more brilliant or practical thought than that which says: "Dear Friend: That cats may never make a boiilevard of your back-yard fence is the sin- cere wish of Yours Truly." 19 THE POET, BURNS. In almost every citj'- as large as, or larger than Pueblo, next Mondaj^ will witness a revival of Burns, especially by the sons of the fathers who ha' wi' Wallace bled. No name among the poets, excepting alone the name of Shakespeare, is better known throughout Chris- tendom than that of the Bard o' Ayr. He was born one hundred and thirtj^-eight years ago and died one hundred and one j^ears ago. In no work or line of Shakespeare does Shake- speare appear, but everywhere in the lyrics of Burns the character of the author is revealed. Shakespeare was a playwright, Burns a singer. The former wrote to the mind, the latter to the heart. The Knglish poet is discussed, the Scot- tish poet beloved. Burns wrote out of the full- ness of his heart, giving a new beauty to Caledonia and making the whole world love a lover. He, more than any other poet who has ever risen, is the poet of the people, the inter- preter and champion of the common herd, and this is why his praises are upon the lips of all, wherever his name is known, and why they gather to honor his memory after the flight of a hundred years . It was said by Gilbert Burns, his 20 brother, that the poet used to remark to him that he could not "well conceive a more morti- fying- picture of human life than a man seeking- work." It was while under the influence of this sentiment that many of Burns's later poems were written, and especially the poem, "Man Was Made to Mourn." He shared the fate of all who battle for the lowly. Those who had flattered him became his enemies for it, and called him "a Jacobin." And he was finally turned out to die of a broken heart ! DON'T. Don't tell me of daisies and bluebells, Don't tell me of people you knew, Don't sing- me that song- from Beethoven, Don't pout and beg-in to look blue; — But shove me the pickle and crackers, And fetch me a plain oyster stew. 21 A NEW RACE. [Suggested by reading the letter of a traveler which describes what he says is a distinct race, a peculiar people known as Coconinos, dwelling on the Colorado river.] I've sung of races great and small, From Mongol to Albino; But here's a race that heads them all — The ancient Coconino. Where boils the Colorado's tide, Which you may not, but I know; Here dwell his sons, and here he died — Old father Coconino. The Anglo-Saxon frets and fights For fame and power and rhino; Not so the peaceful, drowsy wights, The sprigs of Coconino. These make their cups of grape-vine leaves, And monkey at casino. And wipe their noses on their sleeves — These sprouts of Coconino. CO M 06 03 CO -r— < ROBERT. The most promising- boy in our school was my friend, Robert. He had a mother and four sisters. He was mj" playmate at six, my bosom companion at sixteen, and my correspondent for eig-ht years after the currents of life threw us apart. He had a g-ood mind, an ag-ile frame and a handsome face. When he saved me from drowning- at thirteen, I placed a small value on it: it was a matter of course. Perhaps I never mentioned it at home. It wasn't for this I liked him, but because he was an honorable, g-lorious boy. He became an accomplished billiard player at eig-hteen, and unfortunately beg-an to tipple at late hours. His business career, then just beg-un under the most favorable auspices, was the subject of frequent mention in our letters. He was very hopeful. But within four years, his employers, althoug-h patient and friendly toward him, found it necessary to dismiss hitn for insobriety. After an interval of some years he came to see me at my new home. My wife and children greeted him warmly for my sake. But he was not the same Robert. He was dull and insensate. For the only time in my life I then spoke to him of his besetting sin. He answered me solemnly that 23 he had not touched liquor for six months. He told me this while his breath was foul with the odors of the cup! After two years I made a long journey to see him at the old home. He came to the door supported by two canes, and g-rasping- him, I carried him bodily back to his easj' chair to look upon the most hopeless and unutterable wreck my eyes ever beheld. A year more and I went ag-ain, but he had been coffined and buried for three months. His dear mother, who was like my own mother, and who ever spoke to me as to her own son, broke to me the intelligence, and after adding- that among his last words he called my name, sat in utter sikence. For what could she say that would not reflect upon her boy, and against his fault her lips were sealed evermore I There is no moral beyond the words I have spoken. But don't blame me if I do those things that may save your friend, or my son, from Robert's unhappy fate. Vw^^ ■24 FLETCHER HILL, PUEBLO. Fletcher Hill, east of the Fontaine qui Bouille, is bathed in the morning- light a little, not much, earlier than the rest of Pueblo; and the soft rays of the sun linger lovingly there at eventide when the lengthening shadows have overspread the city, and the brightness is with- drawn that g-ilded its hundred spires with the glories of the sunset. And then the air of Fletcher Hill is not clogg-ed with sulphurous smoke, but rises ever balmy and sweet, laden with the fragrance of the meadow, newly shorn. The birds sing sweeter there, the burly, pitiless northwesters seem tempered there, the insinu- ating and boisterous snows, which torment the denizens of the valley, fall gently there, and set as a lig-ht crown over its summit to blink and glisten and sparkle awhile, as if in merri- ment, under the glare of the noonday sun. Fletcher Hill must not be overlooked in the day of our prosperity. 25 i HE OLD SHOP. I. I knew a smith of iron frame, Named Skopf — Hans Skopf — a crazy name, And often in the days long- gone. When school was out, my chores all done, I'd creep in where his g-reat fire shone — But he g"rew g^ray And passed away. II. Then Hans the young^er, spare and brown, Took up the tools Old Hans laid down; And kejDt the shop, and toiled and sweat In winter's cold and summer's heat — And each day'd each day's tasks repeat — But he g-rew g^ray And passed away. III. Now lyittle Hans that was is there — The bellows, anvil, forg-e, just where His gTandsire left them in his day; And there the sparks still form their spray, And o'er this Hans their lig-ht doth play — And he'll grow g"ray And pass away. 26 TONIGHT. Fierce the blast from wrathful skies, Writhe the cottonwoods with pain, Plaints from drifting- herds arise Where the tumult sweeps the plain; And the street-lig-hts come and go In the g"usts of sifted snow. In the falling-, flying- snow, On the half-deserted street. Men are pressing to and fro Where the winds contending meet; Turning-, hastening left and right To their several homes tonight. To their different homes tonight — To abodes with pleasant walls Where a stream of sumptuous lig-ht O'er each costly fabric falls; — Or to homes whose frosty air Weaves the image of despair. 27 Weaves the picture of despair Where the fading flame burns low, Where a face that once was fair Vacant stares in want and woe, And the lone and wretched room Is a charnel-house of gloom. Is a place of dreadful gloom. Though these hands have known the strife Since the day of youthful bloom Of a labor-burdened life: There is toil which none requite, There is unearned ease tonight. There are wedding bells tonight Sounding through the fretted nave. There are feasts and costumes bright, There are chaplets for the brave: O, where Want confines the door, God have mercy on the poor! 28 THE TRAMP. Is the tramp at your door a volunteer in the discredited army of tramps? Maybe not. Maybe he was once a capital fellow who by slow degrees lost his gfrip. Discourag-ement as the result of business reverses which swamped him, sickness, starvation wag-es, loss of position— these may have been the successive misfortunes which landed him among the friendless, the outcasts, the despised— the tramps. The church passes him by, society shuns him, the law visits punishment on him. For what? For being- a tramp, for flaunting- in rags, for begging bread. But he won't work. Is his class the only class that won't work? How much would you work for a slice of sad bread and a pickle, pushed at you with an air that implies: "You are a trav- esty on humanity; you have no right to live !" How much? Does any say, "Here, my man, is steady work at good wages. Here's a chance to live and to save, to start life again, to make something of yourself, to surround yourself with comforts, to take your place as an inde- pendent man among men?'' No, not one. Maybe our cities ought to say to every idle man, "Come and take a job on the public works 29 and we'll ^ive you your grub and clothes, besides so much money every Saturday night." If they did, begging and sneak-thieving might be reduced to the minimum, hold-ups might be rare episodes, the jail bills enormously reduced, the people happier and better, and the cities maieriaiiy improved. "And in the world as in the school, I'd say how fate may change and shift— The prize be sometimes with the fool, The race not always to the swift; The strong may yield, the good may fall. The great man be a vulgar clown, The knave be lifted over all. The kind cast pitilessly down." AT THE BROOK Come sit beside the babbling brook, And hear me read the babbling book; Come lean upon my glowing breast, But do not soil my glowing vest. 30 ON LEGS. On the subject of legs — men's leg's — it is remarked by a friend, who is a person of close observation, and a judge of small matters, that few of them are as straight as a die, ten per cent of the whole number of pairs suggesting an hour glass, being of the knock-kneed variety, and a large majority of the remainder being more or less bowed. Short men run to bow-legs, never to knock-knees, while many tall men, especially tall, meaty men, sport the latter fashion. Six-footers, wearing bows, are exceedingly ra.re, and five-footers with legs like a new-born calf's, rarer. Bowed legs are stronger and more durable than those that give inward, but as to which is the more graceful, this is a pure matter of taste. Scarcely any mates in bow-legs, or other legs for that matter, are of exactly the same length, the one ending in the right shoe being, as a general rule, a trifle the longer. Striking specimens of outre designs in oval legs, and those which divide at the knee-joint, are to be seen any day on our streets, and some of them, encased in rich cassimere, are worn by our best people. It is an interesting study — legs is. 31 CONFIDENCE IN HUMAN NATURE. My young- friend, you. will find in your breast a spark, and I hope a lively spark, of confidence in human nature. Cherish it as a g-ood possession. The world with all its faults is worthy of it, and your own heart and life need it. I admit that we are shocked sometimes by the downfall of a prominent man, whose g-reed or passions have wrought his ruin. But there are other men. Have you not known, or have you not heard of, scores and hundreds of men whose public and private lives were beyond reproach, whose names were never tainted by a scandalous breath, and who have laid down with honor to themselves every trust committed to them? Some of us have known scores and hundreds of women, too, g-rand women, whose verj' presence would banish every ignoble thoug-ht, and warm into fruitful life every emotion of honor, and truth, and usefulness, and kindness, and chivalry. What does this mean? It means that it is unworthy of us to class with these the malefactor and worldling; to withdraw our confidence from devoted and saintly mothers, and from the toiling, brave, noble men who, against odds, are lifting up the world. Join the ranks. 32 COLORADO. What hand shall sweep the trembling- string-s That hold a symphony divine, The meed that lavish nature bring-s — Where sits enthroned the columbine? There is no art, aspiring-, hig-h. Can move the soul as these do mine — These g-lories of the earth and sky Where blows the chosen columbine. Yon monarch peak! What touch but mars Its breast on which the clouds recline? Whose head is pillowed with the stars — Where sleeps below the columbine. Here fan the plain the west winds mild, The dreamy vale, the wanton vine; There canons crash with thunders wild. Where hides the timid columbine. 33 The pioneers, with hearts unmoved, Who came t' unlock the treasured mine, Beholding-, paused, and pausing-, loved, Where sweetly blooms the columbine. Now on the trail g-leam hearthstones brig-ht. And fanes proclaim the sacred shrine, And cities rise in g-race and might, Where proudly waves the columbine. Fair State, commanding-, hopeful, strong- — Thy sons' the virtues that are thine — May God thy days in peace prolong-. Where fondly g-lows the columbine. 34 ON THANKSGIVING. "There is that scattereth and yet increas- eth; and there is that withholdeth more than is meet, but it tendeth to poverty." Thanksgiving- day is past and g"one, but the flavor of it yet abides in the last hours of Thanksgiving- week. This feast day, appointed by proclamation from^ yea,r to year, has become fixed among our national institutions and promises to survive the agitations, changes and revolutions which are certain to checker the life of this and all other human govern- ments. It should be a season of chastening — a great leveler. It is the only day on which all the people are solemnly ca.lled by the national and state authorities — called, too, by the glo- rious memories of the past — to consider the fullness of the blessings which have descended upon us as a nation, and as individuals; to rev- erently look up to the Author of these great gifts; and to ponder upon our duty, as citizens and as neighbors, who have temporarily in our keeping the priceless boon of liberty, and to whom the unfailing harvests come with abounding plenty. No one, unfettered by party 3.5 discipline, will deny that there has set in, and there is going- on, a decay of the spirit of liberty. The all-pervading" and burning- desire of the men who ordained the course of the new-born states, wrote the declaration and framed the constitution, has now no place in the breasts of our law-g-ivers and expounders. Commercial- ism has become g-reater than the rig-hts of the citizen. Partyism, ag-ainst which Washing-ton warned his countrymen with infinite pathos and power, has blinded men, displaced patriot- ism, and become a national curse. The gov- ernment announces itself as helpless to protect its humble citizens against the machinations of money-combinations which are despoiling them, the bone and sinew of the land, and stealing away their liberties. To make headway against them through parties, seeking power, is impos- sible. To make headway by petition and remonstrance is idle to undertake. Men may cry, "Peace," but there is no peace, and will be none until opportunity is free and a light breaks over the land which today gives no token of its source or power. As neighbors, the day, and all its associa- tions, invite to forgetfulness of injuries, to great generosity, to a deep thoughtfulness for the poor, the afflicted and the friendless. Have you prospered? A hundred have not. Give of your great abundance with gladness. This little life will soon be spent and you will be judged here and hereafter, not by what you 36 o eg O 5 J have, but what you have given, and what you have done. The days which are great levelers, the days of universal fear, of universal disaster, of universal joy, the days when all men are kin, are worth more to the life of a nation than all the victories of diplomacy, or all the con- quests of commerce. WA-AH. I should rejoice in wa-ah. Where cannons loudly ro-ah; To be a victah on the field! — I should not a-ask for mo-ah. My blood I'd freely po-ah. For sca-ahs I do ado-ah; An officah on dress pawade! — I should not a-ask for mo-ah. Ca-an't we pwovoke a wa-ah Of calinag"e and of g^o-ah? To thrust and pawwy with the foe!- I should not a-ask for mo-ah. 37 THE BUCKWHEAT CAKE. Is there any place, I wonder, On the earth, above, or under, "Where a solid chunk of bliss occurs With never a pain or ache? Isn't unmixed joy a fable, Save when at the breakfast table, We have bested, and have feasted On the buck wheat cake? Oh, the roundelays that meet me, And the buttercups that g-reet me, As I press the frag-rant meadow When my fancied stroll I take; These, all frolicsome and cheery, Make me scorn my lot, so dreary; — But what beaming bliss comes streaming From the buck wheat cake! Ah, the lack of life's completeness! Ah, the snares in every sweetness! U'en the hopes that filled and thrilled me Have all given me the shake; Naught redeems the years from scandal, Where the game's not worth the candle, But the creamy, gleamy, steamy, Dreamy buck wheat cake! 38 THE VETERAN'S DAY. It has been truly said that the young- live in the future, the middle-ag-ed in the present, and the old in the past. To those who were full g-rown men and women when Ivincoln lived, and when the tiding-s of battle and the sig-hs of the sorrowing- were borne on every breeze, the day of days in the calendar is that on which the deeds of the civil war are recounted, and the sweetest flowers of the valley are strewn upon the mold where the ashes of the fallen repose. There is no eloquence too fervent, no laudation of the dead too lavish, no homage too profound for Memorial Day. And we should not wonder at it when we reflect that there is but one day in the year when the old soldiers, shining marks for the Great Reaper, turn out in every city and hamlet to close up their thinning- ranks, and, pledging themselves anew in the spirit of fraternity, pay open respect to their comrades-in-arms who have g-one before. It is the only day, too, on which they come before those of the young-er g-eneration, asking them to keep in memory the brave who have passed to their rest, and who freely offered all they had that their country, united in hope and destiny, might be preserved. 39 HAZEL. [Lines written on the first anniversary of the birth of Hazel Belle Dickson.] Upon life's threshold, Hazel, dear, Thou'st been a learner one full year; A peeping" round, you know, to see What sort of folks these "big- folks" be. And did you think these eyes of ours Were busy, too, as well as yours? For while you've looked us throug-h and through. We've summed up what we think of you. And this is it, my baby fair: You're like a jewel, rich and rare, A radiant sunbeam, in the grove, — The dainty sweetheart that I love. But how much more to him and her Whose life-streams thine own pulses stir! Thou art a burst of heavenly song Whose cadence vibrates all day long-. The scenes our daily thoughts eng-age, Are scarce behind the mimic stage In swift transition: g-rave or gay, They are forg-ot in yesterday. 40 So, soon thou'lt stand amid life's throng- A g-lowing maiden, fair and strong-; And if your brow betray one care, My heart will wish it were not there. A SUMMER IDYL. The jack-rabbit climbed up the strawberry tree, Rumpity tum.pity tum ; And perched by the owl that he chanc-edto see, Rumpity tumjjity tum. The coyote and prairie-dog waltzed on the green, Rumpity tumpity tum ; And the grasshopper greas-ed the mowing machine, Rumpity tumpity tum. The calf and the cottontail chuckled with g-lee, Rumpity tumpity tum ; While the antelope rop-ed the bum-elly bee, Rumpity tumpity tum. The burro wept softly, then told of his woes, Rumpity tumpity tum ; And the gobbler he solemnly blow-ed his nose, Rumpity tumpity tum. 41 'GENE FIELD AND LABOR'S REWARDS. The tribe of idlers who so willing-ly ascribe brilliant performance to unaided g^enius will find little that they can turn to account in the life of Kug-ene Field. One who knew him well, writing- recently for the readers of the New York Sun, says of him and his work: "The labor of filling- his column of Sharps and Flats so wore on him that at the time of his death he was struggling- to get out of it. * * * His capacity for work was prodigious But his work was never hastilj' done. He did not dash thing-s off. A poem or story g-rew in his mind until it was complete, and then it was written in a fine, microscopically perfect hand." In other words, he possessed the genius of labor and was not lacking- in the "capacity for taking- infinite pains." There are few Chattertons, but many Shenstones. Few Hamiltons, but many Gages. The differences between men in a g-iven profession arise more largely from in- equality of application than inequality of native capacity. I^abor counts. Without it, the man of splendid endowments will lose. With it, the one of mediocre talents will win. But all this is aside from money-making. Field, with his 42 great capacity for labor and his laborious habits, made no more than $5,000 a year during the latter part, which was the best j)art, of his life. The lout who lays schemes and squeezes his fellows, whose tastes run to shaving- war- rants and roping- in the unsophisticated, often beats $5,000, and always gets more than he earns. It's a pity. But there are spots on our system in which we can enforce rewards com- mensurate with the amount and kind of labor performed, and it becomes those who profess a love of justice to brig-hten these spots as occa- sion offers. In the meantime, such men as Field enjoy no light reward in the conscious- ness of power, and the generous recognition by others of the sacrifices and toils by which they attain it. 43 OUR SCHOOLS AND THE NEW WEST. [From an Address.] Great as it is to possess a land whose cli- mate is unexcelled, whose fields are fruitful, and whose riches in grold and silver are incal- culable, it is g-reater far to g-row splendid men and women! — Men and women of large souls and high purposes, whose divination of the truth and whose consecration to lofty aims shall furnish an inspiration to the world. "Ill fares the land, to hastening ills a prey, Where wealth accumulates and men decay." It seems to me, as it always has seemed to me, that our schools — the schools of Pueblo — in their moral tone; their clean, buoyant atmos- phere; their just estimate of the essentials; are doing their part in setting the feet of the rising generation in the sure way; and I have faith that the influence, on the character of our young people, of these imposing hills, this vast, stretching plain, these tumbling torrents, these fleckless skies of ours, the manifestations of the varying moods of nature which are to be seen here and nowhere else — revealing singu- larly, as I believe they do, the glory and the 44 majesty of Almighty God — I have faith, I repeat, that this New West, the land we love, favored above every land of which we are told in song- or story, will yet produce a race of men and women who shall lift higher the standards of Liberty and Fraternity, and in whose hands the cause of humanity shall go forward to sublimer achievements. SET SPEECHES. We hear a good deal about "set speeches" in the Senate. Set speeches do not necessarily set well, but they have their advantages. There is an end to them; they say more in a given half- hour, and they are more apt to say what the sayer wants to say, than the upset ones. Mr. lyincoln's memorable speeches were his set speeches, and so were E^verett's, and so were Blaine's, and so were Voorhees's, and so have been IngersoU's. The trouble, if any, with the set speech, is not in the setting of it, but the speaking of it. 45 A MODERN HERO. The throng- made way for Emmett Gray, And mirth g^ave place to sig^hing-; And many an eye o'erfilled with tears, His gentle mien descrying. Unblanched, he stepped to Vnlco's Cliff, Nor pride, nor fear could move him; — To Vulco's Cliff, whose cloud-wreathed cone Rose half a league above him. His gleaming blade quick smote the rock — Again its side was riven; And Emmett's step was fair upon The giddy trail toward Heaven. Up, up the giant rock he climbed, While hearts beat swift below him; Up, up — O Fate! forbid that dread Mischance shall overthrow him. The hours pass by; on, on he goes — Two hundred feet remaining; No earth-born creature ever yet One half his height attaining. 46 A shriek burst on the heavy air! — His upward task was ended; For bounding- 'gfainst the rugg^ed crag-, His clinking" steel descended. "What means his hig-h uplifted hand?" Men gfasped with lips a- quiver; Forth flamed his answer, bold and plain, "Grkgg's Tonic For The Liver." HE W()RE THE SWEETEST SMILE. Her dimpled boy, how she caressed! And kissed him oft the while; And hug-g-ed him fondly to her breast- He wore the sweetest smile. A tramp besought a frug-al lunch, The noon-hour to beguile; And keen began to sip and crunch — He wore the sweetest smile. I went to view a melon patch, Not over half a mile; — But now there stood a dog on watch — He wore the sweetest smile. 47 LINCOLN. The Scotland of the Bard o' Ayr is a new Scotland, born under the inspired touch of a peasant boy, who lived, in the formative period of his life, and at the time when he wrote his earliest song"s, under a roof where the occupants knew little else than the buffeting-s of misfor- tune and the pains of poverty. "Wordsworth, Scott, Southey, Byron, Long-fellow, Brj-^ant, Whittier — there are none among- these upon whom the freshness of a divine gift sat with such beauty and glowed with such fervor. * * * And in the early part of the century there was born in the hills of Kentucky, and in the cabin of a plain and hardy pioneer, a man upon whose shoulders were to rest greater responsi- bilities than had ever been laid upon the shoul- ders of any other citizen of the Republic. There were already families accustomed to the duties of diplomacy and statecraft, families distinguished for their patriotism and high character, but Almig-hty God chose to endow Abraham Lincoln with a g-enius for govern- 48 ment, and to invest him with the noble personal qualities necessary to direct the course of a nation with safety through the perils of an unprecedented crisis ana to show forth an example of administration and American man- hood that would be an inspiration to his own and succeeding- g-enerations. Veriljs there are lofty missions appointed to the poor, and there is virtue in the discipline of daily toil and hard- ship and poverty. JOE JEFFERSON. Joe Jefferson at the ag-e of 68 is still draw- ing- packed houses of old and new admirers in the eastern cities, still furnishing studies to the more ambitious of the young actors, still living over again, in their crowning joys and griefs, the lives of Rip Van Winkle, Bob Acres and Caleb Plummer, while thousands laugh or weep at the consummate art which has made him master of American comedy. It may as truly be said of Jefferson as has been said of another: "He had the wisdom of age in his youth and has the fire of youth in his age." The modern stage has not known a nobler character or a truer artist than the man who has quickened with life the legend of Falling Water. He has no rival and, in the quality of his genius, will leave no successor. 49 A SONG COMES TO MY HEART TONIGHT. A song- cotnes to my heart tonig-lit, That loved ones used to sing; Whose rippling- numbers clear and sweet, A wealth of memories bring — Of youthful form.s, and faces bright As wild flowers in the spring. A song comes to my heart tonigiit, A fond, appealing lay; V/hose cadence sanctifies the scenes That crowned a blissful day, When every path was love and light, And every heart was gay. A song comes to my heart tonight, Whose echoes fainter grow, And die away 'mid spectral forms Once warm with life aglow; Alas! that visions lure the sight, And singers come and go! 50 THE HALF-WAY HOUSE. We differ in our tastes and preferences as stars differ in their g-lory, but for one I would not exchang-e the views to be obtained from the lonely cogwheel road to Pike's Peak for all that the Manitou reg-ion offers besides. For a dis- tance of three or more miles the road traverses the base of a chasm, where a plashing- stream rumbles ceaselessly and the brilliant verdure is undefiled. The sides of the chasm are g-lorious in shrubbery of many hues, and in setting-s of vari-colored stones of shapes as fantastic as the 'Shadows of a dream. What is known as The Half-Way House occupies a spot than which there is no other in that country more alluring- to the man who is in search of a quiet mountain retr^t. It has its cascades leaping between stupendous natural walls, its lawns, its diverging- canons spangled with daisies and wild roses, and is beautified with rustic bridges, nestling pavilions, floating banners, and a cheery, inviting log cabin. The altitude here is 9,000 feet, and for solid comfort there are few situations that equal a place at the appetizing board of this unpretentious tavern, on a July evening, when the air is chilly without, and the cozy dining room is filled with light and warmth from the blazing logs in its great fire- place. 51 BILL NYE. It was not till yesterday, when I opened tny copy of The Industrial Advocate and found the space, formerly occupied by Nye's letters, filled up with advertisements — the Nye head lines absent, the characteristic and funny pictures g-one— that I felt a sense of personal loss in the humorist's death, or that I fully realized that he had indeed, and for good, dropped out. His pen had at last fallen from his hand, his final copy had been corrected, his series of letters was at an end! Nye was not always interesting- in his subjects; nor could it be truly said of him in his eiforts to amuse us, as has been said of another, that "the mercury of his g-enius always stood at the inspired point"; but no other American humorist has stood the test of a gen- eration and fared so well in the esteem and affection of his readers as Bill Nye. He was needed. His work was not slipshod, but showed the marks of the student, the painstaking writer and the conscientious artist. He was a man of extraordinary talent. And there is no one left in all the land to take his place. A VIZZUT TO THE 23. [I had an opinion yesterday; I have an opinion today; and I take no concern whether they agree or not.— G. G. Duggins, M. D.] Thinks I the other day — thinks I, "I'll take in that there club, That knows a blame sig-ht more'n me, Or any other scrub; I'll get an invite down to Doc's, Doc Dug-g-ins, — do you see? — An' hear them literary chaps They call The 23." A.n' so I strikes Judg-e Elwell, who Ain't very hard to strike, An' tells him I'll go with him when He's ready for to pike, An' hear them g-ladiators — if He'll take a man like me — An' see 'em wrastle with Old Doc, Down at The 23. I know'd Old Doc had writ a piece About the Standard Oil, An' cracked up corporations As a boon to them as toil; 53 An" so when Klwell says, "Come on!" Says I, "Old man, that's me;" An' off we moseyed to Old Doc's An' met The 23. Old Coulter, he held down the chair, An' Vories, why, he took The thing-s was said, and things was done, An' writ 'em in a book; An' Strug-nell, Cuddeback an' Wells An' Thum was there, I see, Just ranged around, an' a dozen more O' them there 23. An' soon Old Doc shot off his speech, A warmin' as he went. An' paintin' Rockefeller as An alabaster saint; "He hires," says he, "four million men Who would ha' starved but he Took hold of this oil bizness!" — Then dared The 23. Quick Thum jumps up with figures which Makes out Old Doc a liar, An' Haver, Stephenson an' Smith, Piled fuel on the fire; Then Hermond roared an' sawed the air Like Keene in tragedy. An' shuk his fist, till I sings out, "Hoop-ee The 23!" 54 "We'll have a fig-ht 'bout now," thinks I, But Old Doc shuk his head; "Don't tear your shirts, so, gentlemen, Just cool yourselves," he said; "I writ that speech last week, or so, An' writ it fair," says he, "But now our views is right in line, /V/7 w/fh The 23!" THE CIGAR STUMP. Well, now, that looked low and no mistake! A man of fifty, soiled, and down at the heel, picked up in my presence a cigar stump the other day, and, when he saw I saw him do it, seemed to feel a pang of shame, — but he stuck to his stump. Then I bethought me — How many men, who pass for his betters, stoop as low as he did to do small acts quite as shame- worthy, and never wince! The old soiled sinner needed a smoke to brace him up. Do the others, I wonder, need even to be braced up? 03 OUR TALL BOYS. Do our Rocky Mountain boys grow tall? Citizen W. D. I^tshaw says they do. Not many days ag-o this urbane g-entleman was moved by the spirit to buttonhole me and dilate for my exclusive ear on the tall-sycamore growths of our budding men. "There is my boy," said he, "and Rood's bo)', and young Packard, and young Dugg^ins, and young Bar- num, and young Studzinski, and young Elwell, and the Blunt boj's, and a number of others, all reaching- up to, or going- beyond, the six-foot line, and I believe the country is g-oing to pro- duce its full quota of six-footers." I thought a few years ag-o that the east was sending us large consignments of short fellows and that this whole strip of country was remarkable for the low average stature of its people. I feel sure yet that an Ohio or Kentucky town of 40,000 inhabitants will outrank Pueblo in the matter of big men — men who are big- up. But at the same time it seems true, as Citizen Lat- shaw has discovered, that our home product — the product which, familiar with the cactus and 56 jack rabbit from infancy, has known no other skies, or streams, or breezes than those which smile, or flow, or blow over the mesas of the mid-continent— is on the tall order; and also that Colorado may yet become as famous for its big- men as Rocky Ford for its watermelons. BUN JESSUP. Bun Jessup He's the meanes' kid Yo' ever want to see; 'N' sassier, 'N' sez dog-gon 'N' Eiv'rything- to me. 'N' then the Other day his ma She sed to him, "Now Bun, Yo' go ketch mice, 'N' 'en I'll give A Cent fur ev'ry one." 'N' he kep' takin' one mouse back, 'N' got his money ev'ry crack! 57 MY FRIEND, ELMER. When Blmer Woolsey died the career of a useful citizen ended. This young- man, who had worked as a dairy hand for the last three years, came to Colorado to recover his health and to join his fortunes with those of his brother, Fletcher, from whom he had long- been separated. There was nothing- peculiar about his life. He shared the common experiences and lot of the ever-plodding- multitude, with only the ambition to be justly rewarded for his labor, and with only the resolve to live a rig-hteous and sober life. On Monday last he formed a plan to g-o on the following day with his brother and his brother's wife to the Royal Gorg-e, and to view with them the wonders of the mig-hty chasm; but before the coming- of the hour set for the departure, he was in his shroud, and the pleasant family journey to the canon became instead a solemn march to River- view. I loved him because he was true and square and, living- or dead, my affections g-o out to him. Farewell, my friend! 58 LIBRARY OF CONGRESS iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiimiiiiiiiiiiiiiii 018 597 141 7