The citizen. [volume] (Berea, Ky.) 1899-1958, 1916-07-06
HOWARD wHIrAKERs LETTER
Butte. Montana. June q, i9it

Wnlle Slttlng mere near Tue VIII
dow of the office. looking out upon
the snowcapped range Of the Rock
les 10 the southeast, my thoughts
turn to "My Old Kentucky Home far
away" and while have few leis-
ure moments. I shall write to my
friends thru the columns of The
Citizen, a little Of my trip thru the
West.
When I learned that should have
the pleasure of being in st. Louis
during the Democratic National Con-
vention. I was very glad of the OPP
portunity, and accordingly. the ser
ond day of the Convention we enter
ed the city. II was a splendid
sight as we crossed the Mississippi
To see the buildings so gaily be-
decked for the occasion, with flags
and banners floating out over the
crowded streets, from the lowest
stone house of the Spanish occu-
pancy. to the tops of the tallest sky
scrapers. did not feel at home"
until had followed the example OF
the crowd,-donned a Wilson but
ton about as large as cup,-and
had I turned my steps toward the
Coliseum. But | did not stay for
a session of the Convention, primar-
lily, because there were rumors
abroad in the city that my friends
were considering putting me up as
n dark horse for Wilson's running
mate. and secondarily, because
didn't happen TO have a seat (prob-
ably an oversight of the National
Committee), and couldn't get hold
of one. Being anxious to see more
OF the West, we left that afternoon.
To make this journey from st.
Louis to Butte is a great expert
ence. The Mississippi. calm as
crystal sea, vending its way toward
the Gulf of Mexico; those green, fer
tile farms Of the Missouri valley thru
which ran innumerable little
streams, shaded with willows and
water maple with their moss grown
and bush covered banks: those broad
spreading plains Of Nebraska, the
land of cloudless climes and starry
SKIES" running in limitless lines to-
wards the purple horizon; the arid
desert land Of eastern Colorado; the
Rockies to the west of us, with their
onely peaks and pine fringed ridges,
stretching from Denver to Butte, all
formed a wonderful sight.
II was interesting to note that on
he desert in the western part of Neb-
'aska and also in the eastern part
IF Colorado, for hundred miles or
more there was not a tree, weed,
shrub or blade Of grass on the great
ANDY wastes; but that white flow
RS. something like those Of a wild .
'ose, were scattered here and there
,ver the desert, unprotected, and
exposed TO the scOrching rays Of the
un. While thinking Of the difficult
v a flower must have in the fight
or existence in such a region, my eye
'hanced to fall upon a paragraph in
he book I was reading, Trine's "On
lies Open Road" which read some
hing like this: "The most unattrac-d
i've life has some beautiful traits II
We but pause to look for them; the
darkest days have some sunshine,
liflcult as il is sometimes TO
zee and believe" I could not help
nut think of the parallel TO those
ines, which was spread out before
ne.
10 was toward the middle OF the
fternoon when we entered the Wind
liver Canyon, in Wyoming. II was
sight never TO be forgotten. The
granite walls heaved
heir mighty masses high into the
ir, Approaching each other so near
y at the top, that only a narrow
trip Of blue canopy above could be
cen. The little pine trees, sending
heir searching roots into the few
arth-0lled crevices, stood watch at
all the way up those geof-
eously colored and Enthusiastically I'M
cal slopes, like sentinelsI on the
eights OF Quebec. From the tops OF
hose jagged peaks and under those
ranite cliffs, came little streams
nd springs which joined the raging,
,aming torrent, which ran dashing
nd glistening in the sunlight at the
not Of those almost perpendicular
Opes. Down thru the green dark
wines, II swept until, coming into
river, changed from a wild. storm
Ig rivulet into quiet stream.
long its banks one might see wild
Dwers and ferns; along the side OF
lose steel bands DER which we
'ed, the larkspur and bleeding