Chapter XXI

Denver.--The Union Station.--The Departing Trains.--The Beauty of Denver.--Dean Hart and the Cathedral.--The Funeral Service.--Seeing Denver.

It was quite late in the evening when we reached Denver; but late as it was, we could enjoy, for an hour or so, the handsome Union Station, and watch the trains, made up for their midnight start, east, west, north, and south. It is really a beautiful thing to see those various trains, awaiting their departure, side by side upon the tracks.

Their appointments are so splendid; the life exhibited so varied; and the lighted trains, the uniformed attendants, and the whole scene so interesting, that it is well worth observing. The quiet of the whole thing, too, is remarkable. It is all intensely busy, but almost noiseless and at rest. American force, ever quiet, is behind all. Off the trains go, as if by magic, just a little creeping, gentle motion at first; and then, the great steam monsters in front eat the ground, and in thunderous motion the long trains speed away, to their one, two, or even three thousand-mile destinations. How splendid it all is! To some, perhaps, a mere commonplace thing, but to me, ever a scene of deep interest, filled with human force, and freighted down with human cares, and hopes; with sorrows, too; and, let us hope, also, with many joys.

In the morning we could see how Denver looked by daylight. The little city is a beauty that need not fear the day. One gets such an agreeable impression of Denver from the very first. The great Union Station is attractive, and when one leaves it for home or hotel, one is greeted by a garden of living green, and by trees and shrubs in flourishing verdure. These gardens which greet one on emerging from the station, are like the beautiful initial letters one sees on old manuscripts, all glittering in gold and colors, inviting one to peruse and value the precious pages.

We had two lovely days in Denver, and our party scattered about at will. Some went to call on old friends, and cemented anew the ties which might rust, but could never break. Some went shopping, while others lounged in delicious idleness, without helm or oar, just drifting.

To visit Denver and not see Dean Hart at the Cathedral would be an irreparable loss. We called upon him, and found him, as he always is, genial, animated, and brimful of good humor and hospitality. Busy as he also always is, he yet found time to call at the "Lucania," and to tell more than one of his good stories.

Some of our party attended a missionary meeting of ladies, held in the Cathedral, and brought from thence impressions of earnest workers, of bright, telling speeches, and of much hospitable good cheer.

The Cathedral at Denver is a Romanesque structure, of quite stately proportions, with an effective interior; some very good stained glass; a choir screen of wrought iron, interesting in workmanship; and the whole place has a comfortable sumptuousness quite attractive. It is the intention to face the outside, some time or other, with native sandstone, and the interior also with some suitable material of more ornamental character.

I have a memory of a service held in that Cathedral, which in sad solemnity I have never seen surpassed.

It was the funeral of a gentleman who lost his life in the wild waters of the Grand Canon of the Colorado. He was with a railroad surveying party; the boat he was in was upset, and the waters were so violent, that his body was instantly sucked down in the boiling depths, and never more was found.

His dear wife was in London, when the news reached her. At once she returned to Denver, and hoped that once more she would lay eyes on her beloved dead. But all in vain. No human hand could reach the depths, where all that was mortal of her love, was forever hidden.

In this sad condition of circumstances, it was determined to hold the funeral services, as if the body were present, to his wife and friends, as it was to God, Whose All-Seeing Eye beholds all depths.

The mourning group was met at the door of the church; the sentences were read as usual, proceeding up the aisle; the service went on in the accustomed manner, and the words of committal, "Earth to earth, ashes to ashes," were read, with the added awfulness of that body being we knew not where. The thrilling silence and tears of that congregation were almost painful as the words were uttered. Then came the final prayers, and, while we were yet on our knees, the organist, in deep, muffled tones, whispered out the Dead March in "Saul."

No one moved until all the strains of that sublime, yet simple wail of sorrow were ended; and then, all rose in silence, and remained standing until the mourning party had left the church.

It was such a funeral as few have ever seen with all its strangeness, and its pathos. I have never forgotten it.

Perhaps during our stay in Denver, our trip on the street-cars gave us most pleasure, and this, too, at little cost. On a sign at the Brown Palace Hotel we saw an inscription--"Seeing Denver, Twenty-Five Miles, Twenty-Five Cents." There was genius in that simple, fetching announcement. At the hour named for starting we got on board an electric car, and away we went. We were switched in all directions through the business part of Denver, by all the public buildings, round and round, and then away out to the suburbs. At one point we had a magnificent view of the mountains, with Pike's Peak, eighty miles away, snow-crowned, and plainly visible.

We had a magnificent ride, and it seemed even more than twenty-five miles. During it all we were accompanied by the proprietor of the enterprise, a keen-looking young fellow, who acted as guide, giving us his information, in a sort of languid manner, which made his witty sallies more witty still. His closing speech, in which he intimated that his sole and only motive for getting up this really convenient system of "seeing Denver" was for our special benefit, was irresistibly comic in its assumed seriousness. He deserved all he got from the trip, and we wished him the extensive patronage he deserves.

When we left Denver it was as if all the special novelties of the trip had come to an end, and the sooner home the better; such is the effect of satiety even in the luxurious travel we had been enjoying.

We left Denver, teeming as it is with interest, the Paris of the West; and night settled down upon us as we bore directly east from Pueblo.