99

THE MEN OF THE MOUNTAINS

Mrs. Peattie Writes of Them
and of the Capital of
the Rockies

Denver as Seen With the Eyes of a Visitor
From the Frairies-Views and
Impressions.

Cities, like plants are the result of
conditions; and the nature of those conditions
determines the quality of the
plant-or the city. That is to say, man
makes some cities by force of attrition,
production and competition. Human
like itself is the soil grom which the city
grows. The precious manure is prodigally
exponded to keep in existence such hotbeds
of effects civilization as Berlin and
Paris. The necessities of man, the
meeting of his demands, the catering to
his pleasures, his education and his
vices, are the causes of the city's prosperity
and its continuence. It is like the
sea, in which fish feeds upon fish, and
some fishes seem born only that others
may fatten upon them. Such cities are
like coral reefs, which the builders build
with their lives, making the voluntary
sacrifice naturally, and in
obedience to the instincts of their
nature.

But here is the western part of this
republic are cities which have come into
existence, and which are sustained for
different reasons. These are the cities
born literally of the earth. They feed
men and do not prey upon them.

Two such towns are Omaha and Denver.
Both are the fruits of earth. Both
the natural, healthful offspring of the
vast mother. One is born of the plains;
the other of the mountains. One is the
result of corn, wheat, hay and the
garden. The other of gold, silver, lead
and coal.

One does not talk about one's own
town any more than one puts his own
portrait on his writing desks. As it is
pleasanter to look at the face of another,
so it as pleasanter to talk about another
city than the one of which he is a part.

Denver is the miners' paradise. To
earn-Denver considers that stupid.
Like Timon of Athens it digs 'roots,
roots, roots," out of the earth-roots
which make the wealth of nations. The
streets upon the streets of business
blocks, residence, schools and churches
are built literally out of the mountains.
The many colored stone that architect
and builder have used with exquisite
art were quarried from the mountains.
Giant powder, hydraulic machine, and
miners' pick brought out the lead and
silver that filled those homes with
luxury and paneled the club houses
with onyx, and wainscoted the hotel
rotundas with marbles and carvings of
wood. Minerva did not more triumphantly
spring from the head of Jove than
Denver has sprung from the mountains.
And above her those mountains hang
always, inscruiable, terrible, beautiful,
always changing, warred upon by the
elements, making in tender mists a mask
beblud which their sterness bides fascinating
and inviting the beholder.

There is in Denver a peculiar class of
men. They are essentially men of the
mountains. They may have their weaknesses,
but cowardice is never one of
them. They are men with a peculiar
development of certain faculties . They
handle money as a farmer handles seed
corn-only as a means of producing
more. They are always spendthrifts.
Misers do not live a mile above sea-level,
where the ether intoxicates, and
a hysteria of hope disturbs the emotions
of even the best poised.

Physically, these men of the mountains
are remarkable. Their chests average
four inches more in breath than
those of the men of the cast. They do
not become giddy. They can climb
anywhere. They can walk all day.
They can sleep anywhere. And they
can eat anything, but are naturally luxurious,
and the miner's cabin frequently
knows finer viands than the dining room
of the conventional and pretentious citizen.

Denver has lived like a Monte Chrislo.
Now suddenly, it is in the midst of
poverty. The people who live in those
magnificent homes are many of them
penniless. They are haunted by the
sheriff, who follows them like a Nemesis.
Yet the old habits of luxury will
not easily desert them. They give banquets
for which they cannot pay. They
lock the door on the sheriff
and drink their champagne. They
refuse to be dull. When
they are melancholy it is with a sort of
furore that makes them threaten secession.
Not that they mean anything
treusonable. They are the most loyal
people in the world. But up in that altitude
you have to be more or less spectacular.

Besides, to have been one day the
Sodom of this republic, that is the richest
and gayest of cities, and the next to
be panperized-isn't that enough to
furnish excuss for a little ill-advised verbosity?

Not that Denver is discouraged.
"Just let the government decide what
sort of money it really wants," said one
of its citizens, "and we will go out to
our mountains and dig it up."

Apropos of the effect of Denver upon
the emotions, it may be safely said that
it arouses the ambitions as no
other city does. It is, perhaps,
for this reason that there is within it a
more brilliant "smart set" than it is to be
found anywhere else in the United
States, excepting New York. But there
is this difference: The leaders of the
New York smart set are women. Those
of Denver are men. They are of various
nationalities, but mostly English and
American. They keep elegant establishments,
stables of blooded horses, are
members of the Denver club, and connoisseurs
in the giving of dinners. They
are collectors of bric-a-brac, pictures,
rugs, horses, and picturesque personal
episodes. Prodigality is their foe of entrance
into social circles. Omaha has
some rich young men, but the most reckless
of them have never essayed
the dash that is the leading
characteristic of the Denver smart act.

Of course, where there are ten persons
of this sort, there are a thousand domestic,
quiet, modest, hard-working citizens,
who love their own homes better
than society, and a reputation for reliability
more than a glittering popularity.
But no home is so modest or no
family so domestic and steady-going
that dreams of sudden wealth have not
entered it. The slow earning of money
always seems the last resort to the Colorado
man. He cannot get over the idea
that he has only to go out there among
the mountains and dig it out. In his
dreams he sets the dull glow of the
preclous ore in the cold recesses of the
long, draughty shaft.

In short, the Denver man has become
so accustomed to the unnusual that he
cannot accept the usual with anything
save feelings of protest and impatience.

Where people are prodigal and gay
they are also generous. No one is going
to starve or freeze in Denver, bad as
the times are, and formidable as is the
army of unemployed men. Until recently
the state hardly knew what it
was to have a poor person-one dependent
upon charity. One has to be
very careful in Colorado not to judge a
man by his dress. The man in torn
jeans may have his hundreds of thousands
in a pretty little pocket up
on the dark mountain there, where you
see that snow-wreath whirling so
cruelly. If every the whirligig of time
wrought strange tricks, it does it in
Colorado.

Politics out there are perplexing.
There are seven tickets in the field.
There are the result of divergent business
interests. To understand the political
intrigues of Denver is as difficult
as to understand the court of Louis XIV
of France. Every man is attached to
his own little particular faction, and for
reasons which are apt to be strictly personal.

Almost every man in Denver, and at
least half of the women are in favor
of equal suffrage. The daily journals
advocate it openly. The leading women
of the city in intelligence, wealth and
social position are for it, and are conducting
a dignified campagin in its behalf.
It is much more than likely that
Colorado will join with Wyoming in
giving equal suffrage to its men and
women citizens.

The last time I was in Chicago a
woman tried to board one of the Harrison
sirect horse cars. She had a heavy
2-year old child in her arms, and made
several futile attempts to get upon the
crowded car. Her strength was hardly
equal to the task. None of the men
near her moved or offered any assistance.
The conductor stood with his hand
on the bell rope, watching her angrily.
Everyone glared at her as if she
were a vampire, sucking their lives-as,
indeed, they considered that she was in
thus compelling them to-lose a few seconds
of the time they affect to consider
so valuable. At length the conductor
could conceal his rage no longer.

"Give me that there young 'un," he
cried snatching it from the frightened
woman, who looked, not without reason,
as if she expected it to be dismembered
before her eyes.

The other day, when I was in Denver,
a home-bound car at the busy hour of
6 in the evening was stopped by a very
sweet faced old lady who was leading
two tiny children by the hand. The
motor had not yet reached a full stop
before two gentlemen and the conductor
were on the ground besides her assisting
her and her pretty charges into seats
that had been vacated for them. Then
everybody smiled pleasantly at the
party, and the ladies who sat nearest
played with the children. That makes
one of the differences between Chicago
and Denver.

There's no denying that they have red
blood out in Denver.

One thing is noticeable to a stranger
which does not strike him pleasantly,
and that is the nonchoiance with which
theft, waste and misappropriation in
public office is spoken of. Men do not
resent the words "theft" and "boodie"
as we do here. Perhaps this is one of
the invidious effects of living in a speculative
country.

Denver has more fine residences than
any other city of its size.

The streets are narrow, but beautiful.
The architecture is distinct, intelligent,
consistent, and original.

A frame building is an anomoly.
In the residence district the hard
alkali roads are as nature made
them, without paving of any kind. In
the business district asphalt is used.

Bicycles are almost as much used as
legs.

Even the boot-blacks understand the
silver question.

Some of the clergymen enjoy an
enormous popularity. One of them is a
poet. Another was asked to run for
congress, but refused.

The school buildings are magnificent.
The women dress like New Yorkers;
and the men are also fashionable and
fastidious.

Electricity is used to the greatest extent.
Almost all the nicer
houses are lighted by it and
many of them are heated by it as well.
It runs the street cars and illuminates
the streets.

GReat is Denver! An intoxicating
volatile, bewitching town! May its prosperity
return! And may adversity inculcate
some useful lessons.

Look, see the mountains, where a mist,
like mother of pearl rises, swathing the
highest peak of all! And over yonder
is a mountain wrapt in purple, and with
bent brow, like a sad king. And there
is a slender peak, rosy as dawn, and looking
as if only summer airs blew there!
Who could guess the bleak pass at its
side, and the canon where men die forgotten
in the sephulchers shaped for
them when the hills were young?
ELIA W. PEATTIE

WHY THE CITY EDITOR FAINTED.

He was a young man with a bright face
and he told the city editor that he was
very anxious to become a journalist. He
said that he had graduated from college
last June and that while in school he
wrote a number of "items" for the
paper, and his friends said they
were splendid and that he should be a reporter.

The city editor was short man and so
he told the young fellow that he could go
around to the undertaking shops and see
what was new. He was gone for an hour
and when no returned he sat down
at a desk. He destroyed a ream of
paper before he got started and
then he turned in his copy.
I was seated in the next room and I heard
the city editor grumbling to himself as he
read the new man's copy.

"Holy Neille! but that man is a terror."
I heard the city editor mutter, " I don't
believe he knows what a paragraph is.
Now wouldn't this kill you; The corpse
lay quietly in the casket." I suppose he
thinks the corpse should have turned over
a couple of times and whistling "Buffalo
Girls are you coming out tonight." or
something else. Great Len! how's this;
The relatives of the girl stood silently by.'
I suppose he thinks they should shoot
craps or dance!"

There were continued mutterings and
comments on the new reporter's matter
and then I heard a body fall heavily to the
floor. I rushed in and saw the city editor
lying prostrate on the floor in a dead faint
and with a sheet of the new reporter's
copy clasped in his hand.

I hastily raised his hand and poured a
few drops of whisky from a convenient
bottle down his throat; and as I did so I
saw the cause of his faintness, for his
thumb rested on the sentences;

"Her untimely end casts a gloom over
our entire community!"

RAY EATON.