Year: 1875

of hopes and aspirations, the sun shines
brightly on our path, and we begin to
climb the hill. Afar off upon the summit
everything is beautiful-flowers of brill
liant hues cover the nights. Their faint
fragrance reaches us we are determined
to pluck them. But the way at length
becomes toilsome and dreary. Thick
clouds darken our glorious morning sun.
or it blazes out into the fierce and burn
ing strength of noontide. We grow foot
sore our mouths and throats are parched
for want of the water we left below.
The fairy realm that enchanted our vision
at the start, dwindles down to dull reality.
The landscape that blended into beauty
in the distance resolves itself into rugged
ness and monotony. The soil is coarse
and rough. The towers we coveted are
worthless in our grasp; their odor sickens
in its profusion. The height is gained.
Is 1t not human nature to turn and gaze
back at the receding glories of the noon
On tke whole, a mans life is nothing
more or less than all this. 1t is an estab-
lished truth that we all have-well, a sort
of horror-of old age. "Silver threads
among the gold," or ebon, look we'll in
print, or sound well in song, but they are
generally an unpleasant reminder in fact.
Still everything in nature is subject to
the law of compensation. The heights
once crowned, a new feature of the Jour-
ney occurs. The way becomes smooth
and easy-a positive relief to the wearied
limbs-and calm creeps over the mind.
We find time to enjoy the beauties around
us and be happy in the dreams of the
past. The feverish haste Of the forenoon
is forgotten. We are going down the
grade. Some experience in reference to
this l am certain must come to us in
liEris waning years.


But such thoughts as the above speedily
gave way to new impressions and ideas
upon my arrival here. All were so full
of questions and had so much to say that
the time thus far has been fully taken up
between meals with the wagging of jaw
bones and with these people, when facts
were too tame liberal draught on re-
liable imagination has answered the pur-
pose. Any one with good conversational
powers is appreciated here. Have already
met with an exstudent from one of the
Eastern colleges and also philosophical
grammaran. They whiled away the
golden hours in attempts to entertain each
other, or more properly perhaps, each
endeavored to catch the other on the va
rious technichalities of our language
Could short-h hand reporter of the De
troit Free Press have been here to EN-
body with mbellishments usual to tha
sheet all that escaped through key holes
cracks in the floor, ard other avenues,
would promise its readers as rich trea
as they have yet had. On recent even
ing talk about the blazing hearth turned
upon the chivalry and politeness of tn,
gallant southron. Uncle Ned, our ole
colored friend, since the passage of thu
Civil Rights Bill, has enjoyed considera
Bile religious freedom. So he soon chimec
in with his views. Said while once roam
ing over the hills and wales of western
Missouri he fell in with house. The
inner man beginning to grumble for re.
freshments, he stopped and knocked al
the door. A voice within said


"Who's thar ?"


"Me."


The door opened cautiously, and a pair
of eyes almost buried in mat of tangled
hair, peered out. Ned forced himself in,
and saw dirty man with dirty year-old
baby in his arms. He was tall man
with prodgious feet, and when he sat
down he shut up like jack knife.


"What dye want ?"


Ned allowed that he was hungry and
that piece OF bread, meat or pie would
fill the bill with him particularly the
pie. With that the man laid his head
over the back OF the chair and yelled:


Mother there's NIaGER out here
wants some PIE |"


Ned's descriptive powers were inimita-
BILE, and when he craned his neck and let
out the concluding yell, it fairly brought
down :he house. When the emotion had
subsidized, tear glistened in each eye and
a heightened color was apparent on every
face. This is a healthy place now-and
no wonder. The fun that nightly circu-
lates through the camp is enough to put
II baw window on any lean man in few
weeks time. Hostetter's Bitters, for the
stomach, are nowhere. Took stroll up
to the village cemetery last Sunday. The
path, on nearing the place, was so nearly
oblterated that l walked around the
square, back almost to my starting point,
before discovering the gate. Entering
here, a young pine loomed up in front,
which, with plentiful underground,
impeded further progress without some
exertion. Fell to thinking whether the
scene of Gray's "Elegy" was anything
like this.


Shooting matches have become quite
an institution here of late. There were
two here the other day and small betting
was lively. Miss Allen, of Lake county,
the champion feminine shootist of the
State, was up here last Summer in COM
pany with her father and others on a
hunting excursion. The slaughter among
the deer was said to be great. The young
lady, in recent match with two noted
San Francisco marksmen, outshot both
of them, and it is said, in her own county
has made as high as $50 month from
squirrel shooting.


The Indians have had big time among
themselves across the river, two miles
from town, All Summer was spent in