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.