A Flight in Spring Part 12

I cannot help thinking, however, that the story is, after all, a myth of the dreaded tornado so frequent in the West. I have a photograph of such a storm, taken in Iowa, and the huge, involving clouds, spread out like wings, and, the descending funnel or waterspout, reaching to the earth, destroying all it touches, exactly resembles a huge monster bird, in awful and sudden flight, devouring everything before it. The discharge of the arrows at the monster, thus killing it, may be a hint of the well-known fact, that any sudden impact upon a whirlwind, in its funnel-shaped motion, will destroy its vibrations and hence its progress. A rifle-shot, sent into a whirling dust pillar on the great plains, will reduce the dreadful thing at once to a clatter of falling dust and pebbles, and a dead heap of harmless stuff. So much for a theory anyway.

I returned to St. Louis by the Missouri side, having with me my lady friend and her little daughter. The route took us over the great bridges which span the two rivers just above their confluence. It was grand in its effect, to pa.s.s over two such great streams coming close together from their distant sources, soon to mingle in one mighty torrent, emptying itself more than a thousand miles away, into the Gulf of Mexico.

It was all a sort of enchanted excursion, waking up many memories of a past, so far removed from the present hour.

Our train brought us into the great Union Station, from which I had set out three hours before.

While in this splendid station I had the good fortune to have a long chat with the superintendent thereof. He tried to tell me, I should say, he did tell me, of its wonderful construction, its great extent, its complex machinery, its electrical appliances, its vast detail of business. I have only an impression of the sweet gentleness which so patiently explained all to me, and of the myriad ramifications which I could see, could but dimly understand, and vaguely remember. He has my thanks and grateful memory for his kindness.

We also saw in the St. Louis depot a thoroughly interesting American affair. It was an educational car, run by two or three bright young fellows, who quite captivated us by their intelligence and spirit. They were occupying a beautiful private car, fitted up as an office and a dwelling; and were travelling over the country in the interest of a great inst.i.tution called "The International Correspondence Schools." It opened up before one a marvellous vista of business energy and splendid results. A circular, which we brought away with us, stated that instruction was given by this method in 42 courses, to some 40,000 students in 137 States and countries. The inside of the circular contained ten headings, and each heading had four lines of detailed information, looking like quatrains of poetry. I take at random one of them, as a sample, under the heading

SUPERIORITY

Students can be taught wherever the mails can go.

Each student regulates his own hours of study.

Written lessons qualify for written examinations.

The method cultivates memory, brevity, accuracy and independence.

It really did seem all like poetry, full of resplendent possibilities, to see the specimen books produced by the students; and, above all, it was poetical to see those young men in charge, so very young and yet so full of confidence, so intelligent, and so keen. They were at once at their ease with our party, and ere we left St. Louis, at ten o'clock at night, they visited us, and with mandolin music, and college songs, we wiled away a pleasant hour.

At ten o'clock we departed from St. Louis, pa.s.sing through the tunnel, and out on the great bridge, from whence we looked at the mighty flood of the Father of Waters, far beneath us, reflecting in its turbid depths the lights of St. Louis, which were soon hidden from our sight, as we rolled out into the darkness, over the prairies of Illinois.

XXIV

Through Illinois, Indiana, Ohio.--Columbus.--The Beautiful Station.

--Church Service.--Nearing Home.--Parting Thoughts.--Our Amus.e.m.e.nts.

--To Ethel Asleep.--A Parting Wish.--Pilgrimages of Patriotism.

It was well on in Sunday morning when we reached our next stopping-place, Columbus, Ohio, where we stayed until Monday forenoon.

The morning light, as we journeyed on in the early hours, showed us the smiling country in its Sabbath rest. It was all such a contrast to the far West, and the Pacific Slope, and not an ungrateful one.

We were pa.s.sing through Ohio, which, one might say, is no longer the West, but the centre of our land. It is a glorious country, rich, fertile, and prosperous-looking.

Columbus quite pleased us, by the evidences of its bustling activities and improvements; as well as by a certain old-fashioned dignity and state. It is the governmental seat of Ohio, and has some quite respectable public buildings, all done in the American-Greek-Cla.s.sic style--rows of pillars, pediments, and all that--which, I confess, I like better than the strained effort after effect, seen in some more modern structures.

A new piece of architecture at Columbus, however, the beautiful railroad station, was charming. It is full of beauty, like a rich Italian palace, all warm with golden carvings, yellow marble walls, and mosaic pavements.

The interior effect of the waiting-rooms was exquisite, with the arched and coffered roof, and the graceful outlines of all.

On Sunday night we all attended church, where we heard a good sermon, and joined, with keen relish, in a fine choral service, rendered by a well-trained surpliced choir of men and boys. The leader of the choir evidently had a heart for the n.o.ble effects of Gregorian music, while not such a purist as to rule out all modern compositions. In this he was right. Gregorian music is like salt, really necessary as a healthful adjunct in church song, but too much of it is as bad as none at all.

It was toward evening when we reached Pittsburg, where we made but a short stay; and in the early morning hour we were once more at the Pennsylvania Depot in Jersey City, where we took reluctant leave of each other and our good car "Lucania."

Sleep had refreshed us, as we flew, all unconscious, through the splendid scenery of the Alleghanies. But what were such mountains to us now, who had seen the Rockies; and what was the Horseshoe Curve, compared to the daring engineering of Colorado railroads! Nothing. We were more than satisfied with all we had seen.

But before closing this scattering record of our "Flight in Spring,"

surely it will be well to look back, once more, at its pleasant hours, and sweet companionship.

In those six weeks of our trip, equal almost to a lifetime of contact, under ordinary circ.u.mstances, how well we got to know each other.

Surely the more each knew of each, the more did trifling fault fade away, and clear goodness come out into pleasing prominence. Was it not so?

So that when we came to part at the station, it was with a regret for that parting, and a hope that friendships were cemented on our journey, which nothing ever could dissever.

Let us think, too, with grat.i.tude of the unwearying attention given to our comfort by Mr. Payson, in whose charge were all the details of our transportation, involving so much of most serious importance, as well for our safety, as our comfort. How wonderful to think that our eight thousand miles of travel was all conducted like clockwork, with entire reliability, and precision, from point to point, across the continent and back again, without hitch or accident.

Then we must remember the Pullman employees, to whom the whole journey was but an episode, in lives of such journeys; and yet how enthusiastic and attentive they were, at all times.

And we must remember Delia and Charles, in their sphere of usefulness, ever ready and willing to carry out the hospitable intentions of our good host and hostess.

It is all over, our "Flight in Spring," with all its pleasant incidents. Some of the sweetest moments were, when we turned in upon ourselves for amus.e.m.e.nt and pleasure, at the evening hours, when formal sightseeing was over; or in those hours of travel, when the eyes refused to gaze longer on the flying landscape.

Then came the Nonsense Verses, and the Stories, and the Songs, and the Machine Poetry, and all the fun. Shall we not gather up some of those trifles, as worthy of preservation in our record? Yes, certainly we will.

We will first start out with the machine poetry. Rhymes were furnished, which were these dreadful collocations, "give, live, dove, love, merry, cherry, go, slow, tease, squeeze, muddle, fuddle." A hopeless list surely.

Dear Fred, who said he could not write poetry, evolved the following:

POEM BY FRED

And when a pretty orange he did give, He thought it was too sweet to live, So he gave it to his dove To ever sustain their love.

One day when all was merry, He gave to her a cherry; And he said she should not go, For fear it would be slow.

First he began to tease, Then he began to squeeze, Until there was a muddle-- Soon afterwards a fuddle.

This realistic effort was received with rounds of applause. The next poetic effort on the procrustean rhymes was by Miss Hayden, as follows:

POEM BY MISS HAYDEN

Oh, why should I give, Or expect me to live, When, you called me a dove, Yet you now cease to love?

I once was so merry, My lips like a cherry, I wept when you'd go, And my heart beat so slow.

Then at once you would tease, And kiss me, and squeeze,-- But--my brain's in a muddle, And--you in a fuddle.

This effort, too, was greeted with approbation, and its tenderness duly appreciated.

But the Nonsense Verses were the best fun. One would shout out a line, an additional line would come from some one else, and by the time the whole thing was complete, it would be hard to discriminate as to who was the author.

Here is one hurled at me:

There was a Canon named Knowles, Whose mission it was to save souls; When out on this trip, He said, "Let them rip, We'll save them all yet from the coals."