CHEYENNE THE BEAUTIFUL 233 



cms and suggestive that this opening song, 

 in which all the birds of the neighborhood 

 seem to take part, abruptly ceases after a 

 certain length of time, and the efforts of the 

 remainder of the day are scattering and 

 sporadic, unlike in every way. 



A very different service of song greeted 

 me in the Rocky Mountains, at the foot of 

 Cheyenne the Beautiful, with its tender and 

 sad memories. The journey thither had pre- 

 pared me for changes, for I went through 

 Nebraska. 



When a traveler from the Atlantic coast 

 enters that state, he is impressed with its 

 wonderful adaptation to farming. Not a hill, 

 not a rock, not a stump to be seen. He re- 

 members dear New England's stony heart, 

 and Michigan's miles of stumps, and won- 

 ders that any one wishing to till the ground 

 can stay where are roots to be grubbed up, 

 rocks to be blasted, stones to be removed, 

 and trees to be cut, and why all the world 

 does not rush to this fertile plain. But as 

 the hours go by he begins to think fondly 

 about variety in scenery, and to yearn for a 

 few trees, and to long for a rock or two, and 



