Lippincott'S Magazine Of Popular Literature And Science, Volume 26 December, 1880. - Various None (e book reader android txt) 📗

Volume 26 Title 1 (Lippincott'S Magazine Of Popular Literature And Science) Pg 1

The Day Might Have Graced The Month Of June,  So Balmy Was The Air,  So

Warmly Shone The Sun From A Cloudless Sky. But The Snow-Covered

Mountain-Range Whose Base We Were Skirting,  The Leafless Cottonwoods

Fringing The Fontaine Qui Bouille And The Sombre Plains That Stretched

Away To The Eastern Horizon Told A Different Story. It Was On One Of

Those Days Elsewhere So Rare,  But So Common In colorado,  When A Summer

Sky Smiles Upon A Wintry Landscape,  That We Entered A Town In Whose

History Are To Be Found Greater Contrasts Than Even Those Afforded By

Earth And Sky. Today Pueblo Is A Thriving And Aggressive City,  Peopled

With Its Quota Of That Great Pioneer Army Which Is Carrying Civilization

Over The Length And Breadth Of Our Land. Three Hundred And Forty Years

Ago,  As Legend Hath It,  Coronado Here Stopped His Northward March,  And

On The Spot Where Pueblo Now Stands Established The Farthermost Outpost

Of New Spain.

 

The Average Traveller Who Journeys Westward From The Missouri River

Imagines That He Is Coming To A New Country. "The New West" Is A

Favorite Term With The Agents Of Land--Companies And The Writers Of

Alluring Railway-Guides. These Enterprising Advocates Sometimes Indulge

In Flights Of Rhetoric That Scorn The Trammels Of Grammar And

Dictionary. Witness The Following Impassioned Utterances Concerning The

Lands Of A Certain Western Railroad: "They Comprise A Section Of Country

Whose Possibilities Are Simply _Infinitesimal_,  And Whose Developments

Will Be Revealed In Glorious Realization Through The Horoscope Of The

Near Future." This Verbal Architect Builded Wiser Than He Knew,  For What

More Fitting Word Could The Imagination Suggest Wherewith To Crown The

Possibilities Of Alkali Wastes And Barren,  Sun-Scorched Plains?

 

A Considerable Part Of The New West Of To-Day Was Explored By The

Spaniards More Than Three Centuries Ago. Before The English Had Landed

At Plymouth Rock Or Made A Settlement At Jamestown They Had Penetrated

To The Rocky Mountains And Given To Peak And River Their Characteristic

Names. Southern Colorado,  New Mexico And Arizona Have Been The Theatres

Wherein Were Enacted Deeds Of Daring And Bravery Perhaps Unsurpassed By

Any People And Any Age; And That,  Too,  Centuries Before They Became A

Part Of Our American Union. The Whole Country Is Strewn Over With The

Ruins Of A Civilization In comparison With Which Our Own Of To-Day Seems

Feeble. And He Who Journeys Across The Plains Till He Reaches The Sangre

Del Cristo Mountains Or The Blue Sierra Mojadas Enters A Land Made

Famous By The Exploits Of Coronado,  De Vaca And Perhaps Of The Great

Montezuma Himself.

 

Volume 26 Title 1 (Lippincott'S Magazine Of Popular Literature And Science) Pg 2

In The Year 1540,  Francisco Vasquez De Coronado Was Sent By The Spanish

Viceroy Of Mexico To Explore The Regions To The North. Those

Mountain-Peaks,  Dim And Shadowy In The Distance And Seeming To Recede As

They Were Approached,  Had Ever Been An Alluring Sight To The

Gold-Seeking Spaniards. But The Coveted Treasure Did Not Reveal Itself

To Their Cursory Search; And Though They Doubtless Pushed As Far North

As The Arkansas River,  They Returned To The Capital From What They

Considered An Unsuccessful Expedition. The Way Was Opened,  However,  And

In 1595 The Spaniards Came To What Is Now The Territory Of New Mexico

And Founded The City Of Santa Fe. They Had Found,  For The Most Part,  A

Settled Country,  The Inhabitants Living In densely-Populated Villages,

Or _Pueblos_,  And Evincing A Rather High Degree Of Civilization. Their

Dwellings Of Mud Bricks,  Or _Adobes_,  Were All Built Upon A Single Plan,

And Consisted Of A Square Or Rectangular Fort-Like Structure Enclosing

An Open Space. Herds Of Sheep And Goats Grazed Upon The Hillsides,  While

The Bottom-Lands Were Planted With Corn And Barley. Thus Lived And

Flourished The Pueblo Indians,  A Race The Origin Of Which Lies In

Obscurity,  But Connected With Which Are Many Legends Of Absorbing

Interest. All Their Traditions Point To Montezuma As The Founder And

Leader Of Their Race,  And Likewise To Their Descent From The Aztecs. But

Their Glory Departed With The Coming Of Cortez,  And Their Spanish

Conquerors Treated Them As An Inferior Race. Revolting Against Their

Oppressors In 1680,  They Were Reconquered Thirteen Years Later,  Though

Subsequently Allowed Greater Liberty. By The Treaty Of Guadalupe-Hidalgo

In 1848 They Became Citizens Of The United States. From One Extreme Of

Government To Another Has Drifted This Remnant Of A Stately Race,  Till

Now At Last It Finds Itself Safely Sheltered In The Arms Of Our Great

Republic.

 

Such Is The Romantic History Of A Portion Of Our So-Called "New West;"

But It Was With A View Of Ascertaining Some Facts Concerning Occurrences

Of More Recent Date,  As Well As Of Seeing Some Of The Actors Therein,

That We Paid A Visit To Pueblo. We Found It A Rather Odd Mixture Of The

Old And The New,  The Adobe And The "Dug-Out" Looking Across The Street

Upon The Imposing Structure Of Brick Or The Often Gaudily-Painted Frame

Cottage. It Looked As Though It Might Have Been Indulging In a Rip Van

Winkle Sleep,  Except That The Duration Might Have Been A Century Or Two.

High _Mesas_ With Gracefully Rounded And Convoluted Sides Almost

Entirely Surround It,  And Rising Above Their Floor-Like Tops,  And In

Fine Contrast With Their Sombre Brown Tints,  Appear The Blue Outlines Of

The Distant Mountains. Pike'S Peak,  Fifty Miles To The North,  And The

Spanish Peaks,  The Wawatoyas,  Ninety To The South,  Are Sublime Objects

Of Which The Eye Never Grows Weary; While The Sierra Mojadas Bank Up The

Western Horizon With A Frowning Mountain-Wall. A Notch In The Distant

Range,  Forty Miles To The North-West,  Indicates The Place Where The

Arkansas River Breaks Through The Barriers That Would Impede Its Seaward

Course,  Forming Perhaps The Grandest Canon To Be Found In all This

Mighty Mountain-Wilderness. Truly A Striking Picture Was That On Which

Coronado And His Mail-Clad Warriors Gazed.

 

[Illustration: General View Of Pueblo,  Colorado,  Looking

North-West--Pike'S Peak In The Distance.]

 

A Motley Throng Compose The Inhabitants Of Pueblo. The Dark-Hued

Mexican,  His Round Face Shaded By The Inevitable _Sombrero_,  Figures

Conspicuously. But If You Value His Favor And Your Future Peace Of Mind

Have A Care How You Allude To His Nationality. He Is A Spaniard,  You

Volume 26 Title 1 (Lippincott'S Magazine Of Popular Literature And Science) Pg 3

Should Know--A Pure Castilian Whose Ancestor Was Some Old Hidalgo With

As Long An Array Of Names And Titles As Has The Czar Of All The Russias

Himself. Though He Now Lives In a Forsaken-Looking Adobe Hut With Dirt

Floor And Roof Of Sticks And Turf That Serves Only To Defile The

Raindrops That Trickle Through Its Many Gaps--Though His Sallow Wife

And Ill-Favored Children Huddle Round Him Or Cook The Scanty Meal Upon

The Mud Oven In a Corner Of The Room--He Is Yet A Spaniard,  And Glories

In It. The Tall,  Raw-Boned Man,  Straight As A Young Cottonwood,  Whose

Long Black Hair Floats Out From Beneath His Hat As He Rides Into Town

From His Ranch Down The River,  May Be A Half-Breed Who Has Figured In a

Score Of Indian Fights,  And Enjoys The Proud Distinction Of Having

Killed His Man. There Is The Hungry-Looking Prospector,  Waiting With

Ill-Disguised Impatience Till He Can "Cross The Range" And Follow Again,

As He Has Done Year After Year,  The Exciting Chase After The

Ever-Receding Mirage--The Visions Of Fabulous Wealth Always Going To Be,

But Never Quite,  Attained. The Time-Honored Symbol Of Hope Must,  We

Think,  Give Place To A More Forcible Representation Furnished By The

Peculiar Genius Of Our Times; For Is Not Our Modern Rocky-Mountain

Prospector The Complete Embodiment Of That Sublime Grace? His Is A Hope

That Even Reverses The Proverb,  For No Amount Of Deferring Is Able To

Make Him Heartsick,  But Rather Seems To Spur Him On To More Earnest

Endeavor. Has He Toiled The Summer Long,  Endured Every Privation,

Encountered Inconceivable Perils,  Only To Find Himself At Its Close

Poorer Than When He Began? Reluctantly He Leaves The Mountain-Side Where

The Drifting Snows Have Begun To Gather,  But Seemingly As Light-Hearted

As When He Came,  For His Unshaken Hope Bridges The Winter And Feeds Upon

The Limitless Possibilities Of The Future. Full Of Wonderful Stories Are

These Same Hope-Sustained Prospectors--Tales That Are Bright With The

Glitter Of Silver And Gold. Not A Single One Of Them Who Has Not

Discovered "Leads" Of Wonderful Richness Or "Placers" Where The Sands

Were Yellow With Gold; But By Some Mischance The Prize Always Slipped

Out Of His Grasp,  And Left Him Poor In all But Hope. And In Truth So

Fascinating Becomes The Occupation That Men Who In Other Respects Seem

Cool And Phlegmatic Will Desert An Almost Assured Success To Join The

Horde Rushing Toward Some Unexplored District,  Impelled By The

Ever-Flying Rumors Of Untold Wealth Just Brought To Light. The Golden

Goal This Season Is The Great Gunnison Country; And Soon Trains Of

_Burros_,  Packed With Pick And Shovel,  Tent And Provisions,  Will Be

Climbing The Range.

 

Pueblo Has Likewise Its Business-Men,  Its Men Of To-Day,  Who Manage Its

Banks,  Who Buy And Sell And Get Gain As They Might Do In any

Well-Ordered City,  Though,  Truth To Tell,  There Are Very Few Of Them Who

Do Not Sooner Or Later Catch The Prevailing Infection--A Part Of Whose

Assets Is Not Represented By Some "Prospect" Away Up In The Mountains Or

Frisking About The Plains In Herds Of Cattle And Sheep. But Perhaps The

Most Curiously-Original Character In all The Town Is Judge Allen A.

Bradford,  Of Whose Wonderful Memory The Following Good Story Is Told:

Years Ago He,  With A Party Of Officers,  Was At The House Of Colonel

Boone,  Down The River. While Engaged In Playing "Pitch-Trump," Of Which

The Judge Was Very Fond--And In Fact The Only Game Of Cards With Which

He Was Acquainted--A Messenger Rushed In announcing That A Lady Had

Fallen From Her Horse And Was Doubtless Much Injured. The Players Left

Their Cards And Ran To Render Assistance,  And The Game Thus Broken Up

Was Not Resumed. Some Two Years Later The Same Parties Found Themselves

Together Again,  And "Pitch-Trump" Was Proposed. To The Astonishment Of

All,  The Judge Informed Them How The Score Stood When They Had So

Volume 26 Title 1 (Lippincott'S Magazine Of Popular Literature And Science) Pg 4