after its
conference. And when the latest word is uttered what is there more
to fame! I shall hold myself fortunate, indeed, if, departing, I'm
remembered by half so many half so long. But wherefore extend
ourselves regretfully? We may meet again; the game is not played
out. Pending such bright chance, I dedicate this book to you. It is
the most of honour that lies in my lean power. And in so doing, I am
almost moved to say, as said Goldsmith of Johnson in his offering of
_She Stoops to Conquer_: "By inscribing this slight performance to
you, I do not mean to so much compliment you as myself. It may do me
some honour to inform the public that I have lived many years in
intimacy with you. It may serve the interests of mankind also to
inform them that the greatest wit may be found in a character without
impairing the most unaffected piety." I repeat, I am all but moved
to write these lines of you. It would tell my case at least; and
while description might limp in so far as you lack somewhat of that
snuffle of "true piety" so often engaging the Johnsonian nose, you
make up the defect with possession of a wider philosophy, a better
humour and a brighter, quicker wit than visited or dwelt beneath the
candle-scorched wig of our old bully lexicographer.

ALFRED HENRY LEWIS.

Some Cowboy Facts.

There are certain truths of a botanical character that are not
generally known. Each year the trees in their occupation creep
further west. There are regions in Missouri--not bottom lands--which
sixty years ago were bald and bare of trees. Today they are heavy
with timber. Westward, beyond the trees, lie the prairies, and
beyond the prairies, the plains; the first are green with long
grasses, the latter bare, brown and with a crisp, scorched, sparse
vesture of vegetation scarce worth the name. As the trees march
slowly westward in conquest of the prairies, so also do the prairies,
in their verdant turn, become aggressors and push westward upon the
plains. These last stretches, extending to the base of that bluff
and sudden bulwark, the Rocky Mountains, can go no further. The
Rockies hold the plains at bay and break, as it were, the teeth of
the desert. As a result of this warfare of vegetations, the plains
are to first disappear in favour of the prairies; and the prairies to
give way before the trees. These mutations all wait on rain; and as
the rain belt goes ever and ever westward, a strip of plains eac