y, carriage, cart,
Vehicles formed with rudest art,
All forward, forward, forward dart,
Swift-forming on the level ground
Where most advantage may be found.

"Line up! Ho, there,
Line up, line up!"
The hurried order smites the air;
Above the silent prairies fair
Unseen progression holds her cup,
Filled to the brim with magic seeds
That harvests hold for human needs.
Excitement grows on beasts and men;
The saddle girths are tightened o'er,
The stirrups lengthened out once more,
And silence softly falls again;
Each bit and buckle, strap and band,
Is tested o'er with careful hand,
And man and beast in chosen place
Stand ready for the coming race;

The circling sun
His morning race has fully run;
A waving hand
Signals above the brief command
That sight and sense will understand,--
And open swings the desert land!
A shot! A hundred, thousand more
The grassy meadows echo o'er;
A shout! From countless throats a shout,
On rolling wings leaps madly out;
A yell, a raging roar, that flies
On bounding winds o'er hill and glen,
And 'round the land electrifies
A thousand living miles of men!
A mammoth stir,
A sudden dash,
Swift whip and spur
Together clash,
And wheels on wheels that totter crash!
They're off! They're off!
Away, away,
In mad array!
No stop nor stay!
The hurried charge they ride to-day
Would shame and scoff
The Tartar, Turk and Romanoff!
The race is on;
The host is gone;
The thronging legions madly ride
O'er hill and dale,
With hurried pace unsatisfied.
In fierce assail
Where none may fail;
And only phantoms dimly blent
Tell where the mounted armies went,
Like shifting shadows, faint and dim,
Or ghostly spectors, gaunt and grim,
Beyond the far horizon's rim!
Behold! Adown the valleys bright,
The last, lone straggler fades from sight,
And only hasty hoof-beats say
What thousands rode the race to-day;
What hosts, with hearts that build and bless,
Found homes amid the wilderness!

AT PERRY, SEPTEMBER 16, 1893.

Crowds! Crowds! Crowds!
Suddenly here as if come from the clouds
That faded away as they came;
Mad acres of people aflame
With thirst for a morsel of land;
Wild hunters of fortune, whose game
Is ever escapi