HARD WORK AND LONG JOURNEYS 397 



Moth Commissions) upon which he served, and the mining or- 

 ganizations with which he was connected, filled up most of the 

 hours left over from his college duties. 



That Mr. Shaler was working too hard at this period of his life 

 was evident to those immediately about him, as also to others 

 who saw him less frequently. In a letter relating to some ques- 

 tion in which he was interested that had come up for discussion 

 at the National Academy of Science, his friend Professor N. M. 

 Storer writes : 



May 10th, 1894. 



. . . You should not, ought not, must not work so hard. No one can say 

 but that you made things merry in your time; but there are those who wish 

 to have the sweetness long drawn out. . . . 



Various mining enterprises continued to call for long journeys 

 which, as we shall see from his letters, became each year more 

 burdensome. He writes from near Cleveland : - 



9 A. M., Saturday, '97. 



One of the days of exile is over; the train is on time and will, I trust, put 

 me in Newport to-night. And the evening and the morning will be another 

 of these cursed days. 



I had a fairly comfortable night, a lot of baby music in the next section, 

 but it seemed rather familiar and domestic. It rained into my window and 

 made me sloppy, but the air was fresh and even the water refreshing. This 

 morning the land is a deluge and streams hurrying about in a crazy way, 

 apparently bewildered in their new-found freedom. The grass is growing and 

 the wild ducks are going north. The people are waxing grimier, and now 

 and then an old hat in the window ; all of which means that I am getting on 

 towards the sunny South. 



Near CHICAGO (on the road to VIRGINIA, MONTANA). 



One more of the days is done. It is the same old West in summer, hot, dry, 

 and dusty, rich in all good things, but a weary land to the wayfarer. I have 

 been paying for my continued spree with coffee, but a bit of starvation 

 promises to set me right again. Mr. B. is with me; as he is a silent man I 

 have some rest. 



Near SALT LAKE CITY. 



This is the fourth day of this dusty furnace. Since yesterday noon it has 

 been a monotonous desert, as hard as original sin. Here and there a patch 



