The climax. [volume] (Richmond, Madison County, Ky.) 1887-1897, 1889-12-25
A MINERS CHRISTMAS.
HOW THE YULE TIDE IS cELE-
DRAFTED UP IN THE ROCKIES.

''staE" Oanees-In the Lonely Cabins
Where Two "Pards" Are Shut I'm Tor
Months by the Snow-FIowers from Low
ing Letters-"HOme, Sweet Home"
Imagine a point in midair about two
miles above New York city, and you
have the elevation at which over 1000
miners in Colorado spend the holiday
season They are shut in by snow and
ice, and for months to come they will
know as little about what is going on in
the busy world as though they were sail
Ors on some vessel frozen up for the win
ter amid the icebergs of the Arctic re-
gions- Early in the fall, before the
snow flies, they are housed in on some
of the lofty peaks Of the Rocky mount
aims, and not until May or June will they
again mingle with their fellow men.
tits often the case that some one of the
boys is a good fiddler, and Christmas
night he will rosin the bow, tune UP the
old fiddle, and with alternate ''pards" for
girls the boys will dance and make
merry.
But there are tbesSNho are not as for
tUnate as the miners who are shut up in
the big mine for the winter. There are
the lonely cabins. far up on the mountain
side, many miles distant from human
habitation. Here three or four men are
snOwbOUnd together for the winter
Often there are Just two "pards," and
''pard" in the mining camps means al
most the same as 'comrade" does in the
army. Their Christmas meal is a frugal
one, and with eager longings their hearts
will reach out from that deep gorge
or lofty peak TO eastern homes, and
wonder what the loved ones there are
doing. It is at these holiday times that
the prOspectOr and wanderer longs for
The old associations of home and the
dear faces he has not seen for years
For months they have undergone many
hardships and privatiOns, been through
hairbreadth escapes and thrilling adven-
lures, and yet in the Christmas time all
the tenderness and love that comes with
thoughts of home is in their hearts. In
the mining camps of the Rocky noun
tains l have heard little groups sing
Home Sweet Home" on Christmas eve.
How each felt i'll 1t was not sung so
much, as it was the melody each felt in
heart as he thought of home. It was
sung in that dreamy kind of way, show
ing that the thoughts of all were far
away, and each one was thinking as
well as singing, and that if a tear did
steal down some grim visaged face, there
was nothing unmanly in it, was there?
/ was writing about the lonely cabin.
The scene there is not always one of
merry making at Christmas. OF those
two who dwell there alone, far away
from all contact with the world-gold
hunter ascetics-one may be sick. If
you could force your way through that
wilderness of snow, lift the latch gently,
for it is never bolted, you will find one
nursing and keeping faithful watch by
his sick ''pard." 1t may be a son watch
ing by the cot Of father. Why is that
old man Drawing all these hardships?
Aye, there is the mortgage on the eastern
home. If they find the precious vein by
spring, next Christmas will find that old
home free from debt. Mr.. Banker, could
you witness such scenes as these, as !
have done, you would tell the old man
that you would be a little easy about the
interest on that ar mOrtgige," that has
troubled him so long.
One Christmas / spent up on the
mountain side with two or three others.
and there we had our holiday dinner,
and it was a wholesome meal, but want
ing in those delicacies that a mother or
wife can best prepare. A snow storm
was raging along the mountains, but
with our cheerful fire and warm cabin.
we cared nothing for it.
'If we had some flowers for the wish
table, said one of the boys.
We all wished the same.
Get out your old letters" said one.
We all knew what that meant, for
many flower from the old house finds
its way in letters to the boys ous west.
One found a rosebud, another a violet,
another a daisy, and then another rose
was found in mothers letter. Withered
and faded were these tokens from the
old homes, but never did men value
flowers more than we did that withered
bouquet
Cant some one say grace, said one
of the boys.
No one volunteered.
THE closing lines in my mothers let
ter" said boyish fellow, might do"
"Read them" was the response that
came from all.
Heads were bowed around that frugal
Christmas board, and the young man
read:
God bless you, my son. and God bless
us all"
then looked up and saw tears on the
cheeks Of weather beaten faces.-Denver
Cor. st. Louis Globe-Democrat