The Cecil Whig. [volume] (Elkton, Md.) 1841-current, 1873-05-10

Whether they did or not is Il very unin
portant question, since there is no doul
about the actual Bend The entir
phenomenon of these hills, their yello,
uglinesss and apparent sterlity, and thei
abundant water supply and luxuriant veg
citation, is beyond the philosophy of Hora
ito, or any other fellow whom we can a
present call to mind. What is a countr
without "grit - Transferred by som
subtitle chemistry TO the internal arrange
ments Of the people who wander westward
it is one of the constituent elements 70
making this valley to blossom as the rose
Since the time of the tedious journey O
four years ago, change undreamed o
then has come over this wild and beautiful
scene. 1t is 4 change which lea Ives tn
sunshine and the sky, the winding vale,
and the silent river, still the same. TIL
acres Of flowers and long leagues of wilt
beauty are there still. But it is a chang,
of mOmentous interest to the bread earn
ing portion of mankind. The dominion O
the bison has been laid off into imaginary
squares, invisible in themselves, but con
shutting the rule of allotment by which
lucky men describe that portion of the
earth's surface which they own, with al
under it to the abyss, and all above it te
the sky. {" to have and to hold forever."-
| The surveyor has been here and has set the
upright stones, with their fateful hero
glyphics, which reclaim the desert of a
thousand years to the dominion and use OF
men. There is prophecy in the selfish
act. The wild goose, whose phalanx
wings its way northward in geometric
lines, will henceforth utter his melancholy
note to the early pleughman and pass on
in his wonderful journey, finding no rest
ing place beneath. The coyote will linger
for while, and then turn his sly, triangu-
| lar visage behind in a last look and wag
westward. The shaggy bison will take up
his awkward gollop to the land of the
Comanche, leaving behind the huge, white
skull and faded tuft of brow hair. The
sage-hep, that diminutive of the ostriches,
will leave its nest of sticks and forsake its
dirty-white eggs, and flap its attenuated
anatomy into unknown regions, The par
tition has been made, and all these are
left without reservation. For twenty
miles on either side of the long black par
allels of iron, each alternate six-hundred-
and-forty acres belongs to the men who in
vaded the region with raging fires and his
sing steam, and energy and iron. These
are known as the odd-numbered Sec
tions, and all even numbered tracts Of like
dimensions belong to the public domain of
our country. The literature of govern
ment surveys is well understood. 1t is
hardly necessary to say that by this ar
rangement the railroad lands and the lands
open to homestead and presumption lie side
by side. You can take your choice. But
the United States does not advertise, does
not furnish prospecting tickets, is not anxi-
Gus to sell. But she takes the advantage
of the fact of railway facilities, and charg-
es $3.50 per acre for her lands within the
}
choice, for here are the terms of the rail-
way company as against the government
plan, which allows only eighty acres of land
for homestead 1cnhin the ten mile limits,
against one hundred and sixty outside of
such limits. In the case of preemption,
the land must be paid for in cash. within
a given time.
In conclusion, let us say that the border
no longer exists. 1t is gone with it's
strange people, its curious life, its ruffianly
shivalry, its tragic deaths. In other pages
the writer of this has tried to catch and
preserve the rare aroma of its fleeing days.
Henceforth we must chronicle other events,
and describe, as well as may be, the mar
vellous change which is coming over the
scenes the borderer has forever left. Even
the dreaded barrier of the Sierras cannot
stop the westward march. Gather your
jewels together, oh Israelites in the Egypt
of the crowded East. 1t is not we who
bid you come; it is fate. Beside this rail-
way born at an Indian ferry cherished
through vicissitudes which have no history,
the hedge will grow green in endless lines;
the robin will sing in the garden, and the
quail will call to his mate in the standing
corn. We can no more find the campfire
ashes Of the olden time, than we can find
the graves Of Marathon. If the charm
of the wild life must go so soon, it were
exchanged for the better charm of prosper
Gus homes.
This may seem dream and the product
of romantic thoughts. Homes, wealth,
happiness, and in the desert. So were
the bleak hills and coasts of New England
a dream and q romance. So were the fens
which lay around old jamestown, in the
first hardy attempt at home making on the
banks of the forest-environed stream
The wild of Western New York were not
long since far more inhospitable than the
banks of the Arkansas are now The
reader may turn away from any written
description of the Great West and what it
contains, doubling in his heart. His grown
ooIo VIII iiot 81 oouUt. ne westward
march is one of the inevitable things re-.
sulting from the growth of wealth and
empire To make homes is the great bust
ness of the American people, and the
young men of to-day prefer all the depri-
vations and hardshps. of frontier life
even though they were as great as before
the days Of railroads, rather than remain
landless and crowded among old assooia-
tions.
The manner of settling the border has
changed, because the best people are now
cmigrants. A home on the border now is
very much as a home is in Massachusetts,.
The library is there, and the piano. The
school-house is near, and the church. The
lyceum fourishes in the new village, and
bare-footed girls and coarse and skin-clad
border, ruf1ians are few and far between.-
There are, it is true, certain classes who
go before. They build the board towns
and open the scent of upturned sod and
the tameness of civilization, and go when
! the farmer comes.