g
waves. Some years ago when out on a little coast ride for pleasure,
(if that's what you call it) I said to the captain: "How long till we
reach the shore?" When he answered forty minutes, I felt I couldn't
live that long. But I did, and when the boat touched the wharf I felt
as the old lady did who landed from her first ocean trip saying:
"Thank the Lord, I'm on vice-versa again."

When Mrs. Bain had seated herself on one side of that hand car I fixed
myself on the other, gripping the edge of the car. Off went the brake
and we started. In a few minutes I said to myself: "Farewell vain
world, I'm going home." As we ran along the wrinkle of the mountain,
and swung out toward the point of a crag with seemingly no way to
dodge the mighty abyss below, I was reminded of the preacher's
mistake, when in closing a meeting with the benediction he said: "To
Thy name be ascribed all the praises in the world with the end out."
Around frost-filed mountain crags, over spider bridges, through
sunless gorges, we went down that mountain like an eagle swooping from
a storm. When we reached Boulder, Mrs. Bain jumped from the car like a
school-girl and while she was thanking our host, I was thanking kind
Providence that we were back in Boulder. On our way to the hotel I
said: "Were you not frightened when we started down that mountain?"
"Why not at all," Mrs. Bain replied; "I knew the superintendent would
not invite us to take the ride unless it was safe."

I said: "Well, you had more confidence in him than you have in me.
When I call at the door with a new horse in the carriage or phaeton,
you won't get in until you know all about the horse."

"Yes," she said, "but I know _you_."

I do not regret having had that thrilling experience, but I _do_ feel
by that hand car ride, as the Dutchman felt about his twin babies. He
said: "I wouldn't take ten thousand dollars for dot pair of twins, and
I wouldn't give ten cents for another pair."

That evening I gave my last lecture at Boulder and in closing said: "I
suppose you who live mid these mines would like to know how I stand on
the money question." They cheered, showing their desire to know my
views on the then popular question, and I proceeded to dodge by
saying: "Last evening I stood on yonder veranda watching the sun as it
went down over the mountain's brow, leaving its golden slipper on Flag
Staff Peak. Colorado clouds, shell-tinted by the golden glory of the
setting sun, were hangin