348 



RECREATION. 



rod in hand, is a panacea to the man played 

 out in the struggle "on the street ;" ner- 

 vous dyspepsia disappears before the sim- 

 ple fare prepared over glowing coals irk 

 Nature's grill room. The soft musical 

 lullaby of tinkling brooks, the drowsy noc- 

 turne of winds soughing in the pines, the 

 patter of rain on a canvas roof, bring bless- 

 ed relief to the city dweller accursed with 

 nerves and insomnia. If this be savagery, 

 would to God more men would forsake the 

 walks of civilization. 



But we have met a forked trail, and 

 must back track. Too long have we tar- 

 ried outside that magnetic window with its 

 little knot of men, filching a few minutes 

 from business to dream dreams and see vis- 

 ions. I doubt not every chap there was 

 rehearsing in his mind some episode dear to 

 his heart; felt his blood tingle at the strike 

 and run riot as the reel sang and hummed 

 with the rush of some monarch of the 

 waters. A bright eyed, clean limbed young 

 chap knocked my particular dream into a 

 cocked hat by touching me on the arm and 

 inquiring, "When are you going?" 



When was I going? I swear the idea of 

 going had not crossed my mind, but quick 

 as a flash I said, "To-night ;" and I went. 

 What a joyous scramble it was to get 



ready. Business affairs were whipped into 

 a proper state in a jiffy. I wired my "Jim" 

 that I was coming up country. I drove my 

 family into a state of fever with my prep- 

 arations. The duffle was thrown into my 

 war-bag without preamble, and much fine 

 gold passed out of my hands into the till 

 of the store with the magnetic window. 

 When I dropped into my seat on the night 

 express, I was as tickled as a pup with 

 your wife's best hat to chew. 



All the world seemed to be going a-fish- 

 ing. A whole bunch of royal good fellows 

 foregathered in the smoking compartment 

 and talked it over until it was almost fool- 

 ish to think of going to bed. Jim met me 

 at the station with a grin and the old sway- 

 backed buckboard. More than that, he was 

 genuinely glad to see me. Go to Europe 

 and stay 5 years, and when your city ac- 

 quaintances greet you on the return they 

 give you a flabby handflap and murmur 

 some rot about being glad to see you 

 back. When one of your old guides wel- 

 comes you back, it's vastly different. Jim 

 gave my hand a grip like a No. 4 trap, and 

 fairly howled, "By George, here we are 

 again !" That was all, but it was worth 

 the price of admission. The rest would 

 come in the evenings by the blazing fire. 



A PLACE JUST WEST OF KANSAS. 



FRANK WHITE. 



There's a place just West of Kansas that is 

 wondrous bright and fair, 



With its rugged, lofty mountains and abun- 

 dance of pure air; 



All the atmosphere's been laundered, and 

 ironed out so smooth and fine, 



There not only do they wash things, but 

 they also add the shine.. 



If you're sick of all those people, so you 



don't know what to do, 

 And don't think that you'll be lonesome 



when you cross the old Mizzoo, 

 Just come out here, West of Kansas, where 



the space is wide and free; 

 For it's out here in the mountains that I 



know you'd love to be. 



Do you hear the train a-coming? Quick, 

 then; jump right on behind; 



And while you are going Westward you'll 

 through scenic beauties wind. 



You'll pass out o'er plain and prairies, leav- 

 ing all the dust and sand; 



And when you can see the mountains, you'll 

 be in that golden land. 



Come out here to Colorado, where the crys- 

 tal streamlets flow, 



Where the sun is always shining, and the 

 Western breezes blow. 



Come out here and see the mountains, with 

 their white tops in the skies; 



Come and gaze on nature's wonders till you 

 scarce believe your eyes. 



True it is, at times in winter, all the hills 



are bleak and cold ; 

 You must see them in the autumn, when 



they're living green and gold. 

 Never brush can paint their picture, never 



pen their glories tell, 

 For though simply woods and mountains, 



Nature built them passing well. 



And when your day's work is over, and you 

 close your weary eyes, 



We will lay you in the foothills, 'neath our 

 pleasant Western skies. 



Then in sunny Colorado, where the great 

 plains onward sweep, 



In the shadow of the Rockies you will soft- 

 ly, sweetly sleep. 



