The Vermont watchman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1883-1911, 1885-03-04
Select MlistelIamp.
A Short Cut from Icicles to Oranges.

There are many homes to-day out of
whose gates sorrowful men and women
are driven yearly by as memorable
mandate as any set forth in the ancient
legends. 1t would not be, perhaps, too
forced figure TO say that in the minds
of a majority of these exiles the icicle
is the modern emblem of that old fam
ing sword which shut up Eden. How
anxiously they watch November skies,
study the records of distant "cold
waves" said to be approaching, COM
pare statistics and recollections of first
SHOWS in different years, seeking by all
these means to exc out few more
days of safety at home, none but they
themselves know; nor with what pre-
ternaturally increasing rapidity the
baleful season seems to them each year
to return. The very calendar appears
in league with their unkind fate; even
the wild goose to scream more mock
the last.
What boon to Colorado refugees is
South California, so near at handl But
three days and three nights journey,
but two changes of cars, and not a
mile of the way without its own espe-
cial interest. Only few hours south
and southeast of Denver one meets a
west-bound express train from Kansas
City. Three hours we waited at La
Junta for the through express from
Kansas City to arrive. From La Junta
to Deming, the point where the first
change of cars is made, is night and
a day and night; all, except the first
few hours in New Mexico; the weirdest,
oldest wilderness ever called "new,"
its only towns the ancient pueblos,
whose altar-fres, for aught we can
prove, antedate Cortez, and whose
crumbling adobe walls are the most
venerable ruins in our country. But it
is newly ours, and there was touch
of gracious courtesy-no doubt uncon-
sciOus and unintended-in permitting
the surrendered lands to still keep the
name of the empire which had been
forced to part with them.
The most interesting thing along the
whole line of the Atchison a. Topeka
railroad through New Mexico is the
sight of their villages-some of them a
mere handful of mounds, Just distin-
guishable in the stretches of barren
wilderness; some, nearer at hand, cheer
full little groups of brown, nest-like
homes, surrounded by green fields and
vineyards, in the river bottoms; others,
which have had-shall we dare say the
misfortune? of having the railroad pass
within their limits, fast being over
Swallowed, disintegrated, blotted out OF
existence, to make room for the white
mans activities. Las Vegas is one OF
these last. The old town and the new
town lie perhaps third of a mile apart
the new-town houses upright, narrow
gay colored and gaudy, tlimsily built OF
boards; the old-town houses low, mud
walled, straw-thatched cottages, soft
tinted, enduring; the new town resonant
with unmusical sounds-the scream Of
the steam-engine, the clatter of ma
chinery, the daily gong of the railroad
hotel; the old town noiseless as pinor
forest, save for the occasional tinkle o
mule bells, as the wood or water car
riers file through the silent plaza. A
all hours in the old town are to be seer
women leaning in the open doors, arms
folded, dreamy eyes looking out from
under the folds of the cowl-like BLACK
shawl; dreamy, content, and uneXpect
ant; in the string of scarlet peppers
making such a brilliant contrast o.
color on the mud wall behind them, lie
all the flavor and spices their days lif,
will have. The pinon forests around
them will last for centuries yet; hand
full of pinon nuts is NEAL why SHOULD
the women take thought? Dreamy, con
tent, and unexpectant! their sisters il
the new town, bargaining, buying
brewing baking, studying fashion
plates, driving sewing-machines, wor
rying hour in and hour out about in
Vulnerable things, might well thin
twice before they pity them, and NOR
than twice before they despise them.
The very names of these pueblos ar
significant, tell the story of their origin
and seem a mute protest against tn
oncoming age in which they have n
part to play. Romero, Gusano, Gle
rillos, San Miguel-are they not NOR
to be desired than " Sands, " " Rowe,
and " Fulton ~? Fulton! of all sound
and syllables to hear called in a Ney
Mexico wildernessl 1t was evidentl
a thing of yesterday, its being there
half dozen pine-board shanties, wit
the inevitable battlement-fronted sa
looms accompanying them, set up in
pinon forest. The very trees wore tn
air of being astonished and affronted a
its presence. AS far as the eye coul
reach were low hills densely grown wit
pinon trees; beyond them, in the ia
horizon, mountains, also pinon-grown.
1t will be bold and master hand tina
succeeds some day in catching and re
producing on canvas the dignit
and pathos of the pinon tree. !
master even of photography might d.
it. If we could have such studies o
the pinon as we have had of Englisl
beeches it would be great contribu
ton to knowledge of trees. The pinol
is unlike all other pines in contour.
has writhing, twisting, knotting an
knotted branches, like the Californi
sycamores. Huge trunks, whose fur
rowed bark shows them to be of i'm
mense age, are bent, bowed, lifted n
again, turned to right and to left, eacI
attitude and angle apparently havin!
been held for century or two. Tn
expression of patience and conflict thu
given is something that can be realize
only by long familiarity with the tree
And through it all it is green-gree
so long as it lives. When, finally,
= dies, and the gnarled outlines stand i
full relief il hecomes indeed majestic