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Wednesday, May 25, 2022

Anticipation: Hopefulness vs. Worry

We can never know about the days to come. But we think about them anyway. This is the opening line of Carly Simon’s iconic 1971 song, Anticipation. These words have been especially poignant for me during these past few months. In 2020, my daughter and I had scheduled a vacation in Denmark, but it was canceled due to COVID. We now plan to take that trip in a few weeks. I’m looking forward to the joy of vacationing and seeing the sights I’ve been hoping to visit for so long. Even so, I have some trepidation about the war in Eastern Europe and the potential for another COVID spike.

Thinking about these polar opposite feelings has led me to consider, just what is anticipation?   One of Merriam Webster Online’s definitions is: visualization of a future event or state. This is something we can all relate to—anticipation of Christmas morning, or a blind date, or even waiting for ketchup to emerge from its bottle. These visualizations can be either hopeful or worrisome, or a combination of both.

Okay, so can I characterize anticipation as an emotion? Yes, according to Wikipedia, “Anticipation is an emotion involving pleasure or anxiety in considering or awaiting an expected event.” But Brene Brown’s Atlas of the Heart did not include Anticipation as one of the 87 emotions she listed, although both hopefulness and worry are included. Maybe this categorization doesn’t really matter. What does matter to me, both personally and as a writer, is the impact of anticipation on life.

In The Legacy, Anna looks forward with hopefulness–-pleasurable anticipation—to being reunited with the love of her life, Jorn Stryker. In her diary she writes:

…we have our wedding to plan, and I hope he will show me his vast farm, which he described so proudly when he told me of his life in Iowa. Many times, I have imagined what his house looks like, since I am soon to become its mistress. I wonder how many servants we shall have. Probably quite a few, since he has helped so many people emigrate from Denmark.     

   Oh Jorn. Your Special Girl is here and ready to begin our life together.

If her expectations are met, the story goes one way. If not, it takes a far different turn.

In The Claim, Katie’s fiancĂ© has arranged passage for her to join him in the Klondike. When she reaches her destination, it’s not at all what she expected, leading her to worry about her future:

     Katie stood on the deck of the steamer and studied the deserted town through the drizzling rain. Haphazard drab, log-cabin buildings. Sloppy streets of mud. Nothing that looked like a theatre. She swallowed against the sour taste rising in her throat.

    Only a few scruffy residents met the boat, and Charles was not one of them. She pulled her cloak tighter around her.

     “Are you sure this is Forty Mile?” she asked the captain again.

     “Yes ma’am,” he replied in his annoyingly patient tone. “But these folks say that most of the town moved upriver to Dawson when gold was discovered in that area last year. I’m sure your Mr. Gasnier has probably gone there, too.”

     The captain was probably right. There would be no point in operating a theatre in a town with too few people to attend the plays.

     A woman with a face painted bright with scandalous amounts of rouge and lipstick moved along the rail, closer to Katie. “You mean Frenchy Gasnier?”

     Katie frowned in distaste. “His name is Charles. He is my fiancĂ©.”

     The gaudy female stared openly at Katie. “Then I guess it can’t be the same guy.” A garish red grin broke across her face. “Frenchy’s going to marry me.”

     Katie forced a smile. “Maybe they’re brothers.”

     The woman’s rosy mouth formed a pout. “Maybe. But Frenchy didn’t mention having a brother.”

     Neither had Charles. Still, how common could a name like Gasnier be up here in this God-forsaken country?

     “I think we should go on to Dawson,” the woman said, more to the captain than to Katie. “Our men most likely moved down there with everyone else.”

     The captain’s gaze flitted from her to Katie. “There will be a slight charge for the extra passage.”

     “I’m sure Charles will pay you the difference when we arrive in Dawson.” Katie had little money left in her handbag. “He bought my passage to Forty Mile.”

     “If he doesn’t, you’ll be responsible for it.”

     “Yes, sir.”

Katie’s arrival in the north is not what she had anticipated, and trepidation begins to set in. Will Charles meet her in Dawson? If so, will she realize the life he’d promised her? If not, what happened to him?

Anticipation can lead to realizing joyful expectations, to disappointment, to disorientation, to preparing—physically and/or emotionally—for negative outcomes and a myriad of positive or negative emotions. This mechanism allows me as a writer to show the reader a deeper understanding of a character.

And personally, anticipating both positive and negative potential outcomes provides me at least a modicum of mental preparation for however an event plays out. Perhaps, in a way, it’s a self-preservation mechanism. At any rate, Carly Simon’s observation of anticipation captures a universal human behavior we can all relate to. And I’m looking forward to vacationing in Denmark despite the mix of hope and worry thinking about it engenders. 

  Ann Markim




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Monday, May 23, 2022

Hunting. A Medieval Passion.

                Hunting. A Medieval Passion.




Hunting in Anglo-Saxon England was a pastime for the rich. Spears, nets, horses, men and dogs were often needed.  Of the bigger hunted game, wild boar were extremely dangerous, most of all when cornered and brought to bay, but they were seen as worthy adversaries. The god Woden was a god of hunting and the god Frey rode a boar called Gullinbursti.


As a sport, hunting was mostly for the well off. However the forests were largely free for landowners and their people to gather wood, honey and fruit and to pasture animals. Rights to woodland, heath, moorland and wetlands were shared by all by ancient custom.


1066 and the conquest of England by the Normans saw a massive change in the law. King William appropriated huge tracts of land as hunting preserve—the New Forest being the most famous.  In such areas the law was forest law, a new import into England, and bitterly resented, being regarded as oppressive. All game was protected and reserved for the king and his nobles.  There were deer parks, enclosed stretches encircled by stakes and earthen banks, costly both to set up and to maintain. Breeding and training dogs for the chase were also expensive. Edward III spent about £80 a year (around £49,000 in modern money) keeping a pack of hounds of various types. Costumes for the hunt were often specially made and favourite hounds might have silver collars.


Hunting was frequently portrayed in art and in literature. The month of December was often shown in illuminations, symbolized by a deer or boar hunt.  In the poem “Sir Gawain and the Green Knight”  there are several hunting scenes, each vividly described.


With all this tasty food and opulent display, the nobles were keen to gain royal grants so they could also hunt on their lands. Although both lords and ladies hunted, tracking and killing large prey was seen as a form of single combat, man against beast, and a means to train young warriors for war. Because of this martial association priests were not supposed to hunt or hawk, although these strictures were often ignored.


Those less than noble despised the changes. The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle complained that the Norman King William I  “set aside a vast deer preserve and imposed laws concerning it….Whoever slew a hart or hind should be made blind.”  On his death in 1087, the Chronicle broke into verse:

“For he loved the stags as dearly

As though he had been their father.”

The death of his son and successor, William Rufus,  within the New Forest, was seen by later chroniclers as divine punishment for driving so many off the land to accommodate the beasts of the chase.   


               In these circumstances it is perhaps not surprising that many folk turned to poaching in the woodland to eke out their diet and to defy the authorities. The fact these poachers were successful  is shown in the statue of 1390, which stated that any artificers, labourers or peasants with lands worth less than £10 a year (around £7000 in modern money) could not hunt deer, rabbit or hares. Still poaching went on—Robin Hood hunts in the greenwood as a gesture of defiance and to supply himself and his men with venison from captured deer. Perhaps it tasted particularly sweet?


Hunting could also be a cover for assassination – as is suspected in the death of William Rufus by way of a hunting “accident”. I used the same threat in my novel “TheSnow Bride”, where the hero Magnus has to go hunting with his enemy, Denzil.




Out in the forest, Magnus glanced so often at the sun’s position that Gregory Denzil chaffed him. “Eager for the night, Magnus? That luscious redhead is a trophy, before God, and we all envy you!”

His men added more, which embarrassed even Mark and set Magnus’s guts grinding in slow fury. Keeping his countenance was easy. His scars meant most men had trouble guessing his mood. Except for Elfrida, of course, but she was unique.

“I remember you with that blonde from Antioch,” Denzil added, “but this new one is better.”

“Elfrida is not for sale,” Magnus repeated. He hated to sully her name by speaking it in such company, but Denzil and his men had to learn. He gripped his spear, a flash of memory returning him to Outremer as he saw in his mind’s eye a Templar screaming in agony as a spear passed through him. “Where is this rich game?” he demanded, snatching at any diversion and wishing only for the night. Elfrida in his arms again and him seducing her, kissing her in her most secret place...

He heard a faint click and creak behind him and knew at once it was a bow and arrow being readied and aimed. There was no game in the wastes and thickets of hazel ahead, so he must be the target.

Before he completed his conscious thought, he had reacted, dragging his left foot out of its stirrup and head-butting down into the snow, not considering the speed of his cantering horse or where he might land. Snow-crusted brambles snagged and broke his fall, and as he urged his flailing limbs to roll away, he felt the vane of the arrow score the top of his shoulder, where the middle of his back would have been.

“Maaagnusss! Areee yeee weeeeelllll?”

Gregory Denzil’s question crawled from his mouth as the world about Magnus slowed into thick honey. As his jaw crunched against a branch and threatened to loosen more teeth, he felt a trickle of blood run into his eye.

He compelled his sluggish body to sit up, a devil caught in a thicket. He knew he would make that picture, and he grinned, raising an arm to his men and yelling, “Hola! What a ride!”

Denzil and his mob nudged their horses closer. Mark had already leapt from his own with his hunting spear aimed at Denzil's throat. Magnus stood up, cursing with all the oaths of Outremer he could remember, and looked around him. His own men were honestly puzzled, while Denzil's wore expressions of studied innocence.

“Not a good time for archery practice,” he said. All good fun, all men together.

Denzil smiled thinly. “A fool, too eager for sport.”

“Indeed.” As an assassination attempt, Magnus rated it as poor to moderate, but Gregory Denzil had always been lazy. And in the clustered mass of hunters, he saw no skinny stranger with distinctive rings.

“Time to go on?” he asked, knowing if he suggested it, Denzil would say the opposite, which he did.

“We go back.”


 Lindsay Townsend 

Wednesday, May 11, 2022

Mother's Day, Five Generations, and Marty Robbins by Kaye Spencer #prairierosepubs #lovesongs #generationalfamily

Bear with me. This is a stream of consciousness article.

With Mother’s Day just this past Sunday, the females in my family are on my mind. Specifically, these four females:

My mom is 89. I’m  67. My daughter is 43. My oldest granddaughter is 25.

Why did I choose just these four females, when I have three younger granddaughters (and two grandsons), a sister-in-law, and two daughters-in law whom I love dearly?

Because my oldest granddaughter will have a baby boy in June, and this gives us five generations. That is amazing to me. Five generations alive at the same time. This is a simple, but joyous, thing that I’m thankful for and it brings a bit of love, hope, and happiness to my usual state of cynical hopelessness for humankind. With the weight of so many ‘unjoyous’ things in the media these days, I’m grabbing every bit of joy I can find and holding onto it with both hands.

I will leave you with the greatest love song ever written (you’ll never convince me otherwise) as a tribute to the love one man has for his wife. I’m sharing it, because the song, and the artist who wrote and sang it, bring me great joy.

Also, the song epitomizes the many reasons I write romances.

My Woman, My Woman, My Wife by Marty Robbins

Until next time,
Kaye Spencer
writing through history one romance upon a time

Monday, May 9, 2022

1848 Colt Dragoon

In my 2019 short story WANTED: THE SHERIFF, the hero, Sheriff Matthew Tate, carries a matched pair of 1848-Model 3 Colt Dragoons.

The Dragoon grew out of the problems with the Colt Walker revolver, a 4.5 pound, 15” long hunk of steel. The Dragoon was only 4 pounds, 2 ounces. And, where the Walker’s barrel was 9” long, the Dragoon’s was only 7.5”.  The Walker was a powerful weapon, but its size meant it was used mostly as a saddle-mounted weapon. It was just too long and too heavy to wear around your waist and draw from a holster.

And there was the propensity for the Walker to explode when users put in too much powder. Where the Walker held 60 grains of powder, the Dragoon held only 50 grains—less powder, less danger.

Also, the Walker’s loading lever tended to fall during firing, locking up the revolver and rendering the weapon useless. Not a good thing when you need a working gun. The Dragoon added a lever latch to hold it in place. Problem solved.

“Three major-production Dragoon models were produced between 1848 and 1860. The First Model had oval-shaped cylinder notches, no wheel on the rear of the hammer and no pins between the nipples. Colt produced about 7,000 First Models between 1848 and 1850. The Second Model had rectangular cylinder notches and a "wheel" on the hammer. First and Second models both had square-back trigger guards. The company made about 2,550 Second Models in 1850 and 1851. Approximately 10,000 Third Model Dragoons were made from 1851 through 1860, with many variations. All Third-Model Dragoons had a round trigger guard. Records show 8,390 Dragoons were ordered by the U.S. government.” (quoted from article on website of Cabella's)

The Dragoon revolver helped transform Samuel Colt's young pistol-making business into one of the most dominating forces in firearm history.

Tuesday, May 3, 2022

Tomfoolery and the Men of the Oaks

Tomfoolery and the Men of the Oaks

By C. A. Asbrey

Have you ever wondered where we get the term 'John Doe', why we call silliness, 'tomfoolery', or why Murphy has his own law? I certainly have. They are all examples of either placeholder words, or Eponyms—words used to indicate a concept or thing. When a placeholder word can be a general nonsense word, such as 'thingy', 'widget', or (my favourite Scottish version) 'cardumflement', the word is meant to informally take the place of a real word. Many sink into the lexicon of families, becoming their own jargon, and everyone knows what granny is asking for when she reaches out a hand and asks for the 'whatsit', 'kadigan', or 'thingumajig.' The context provides the meaning.

Sometimes the word is simply lost in a moment of concentrating on something else, and the placeholder name is just beyond the reach of the speaker's memory. At other times they are used to assign a generality to a universal truth, or to avoid stigmatisation. In at least one case, they did more than prevent victimisation—it helped provide legal redress.     

Tom Fool's Tree in Front of Muncaster Castle
Tomfoolery is based on real people. Since the Middle ages 'Tom Fole' was a name assigned to those who were supposed to be of little intelligence. Tom was a common name, so it was an everyman kind of designation. In the lower case, it was an insult. When capitalised, it was a stock character in every pageant, play, or entertainment—Tom Fool was a clown, a jester, or a buffoon. Tomfoolery became the word for general silliness.There is evidence that women were also performing this role too. Joculators appeared in documents from the eleventh century, and a Jocultrix called Adeline is recorded as owning land in 1086 in Hampshire. Roland Le Pettour was gifted thirty acres of land by King Henry II in the twelfth century on the provision that he return to court every Christmas day to, 'leap, whistle, and fart.' It's worth understanding that the jester only performed a couple of times a year at most, as regular appearances ate up material. The rest of the time they were trusted family servants and used that time to observe and perfect their act for special occassions. 

Rich people often had their own jester, and it was a dangerous role. Meant to entertain the king, the jester often spoke the truths nobody else dared to utter. Comedy without edge was dull. Too edgy, and a comedian could be laughing all the way to the gallows. Jesters were also the people chosen to deliver dangerous messages at times of war. The term, 'shoot the messenger is now figurative, but it used to be literal. It wasn't unknown for the messenger to be sent back to his own side by the use of a trebuchet, and sometimes it was simply the messenger's severed head.  

Thomas Skelton

By the middle ages the professional fool was quick-witted, educated, and astute. He no longer dressed as a clown, and wore normal clothes. He had the ear of the king, or local nobleman, and therefore was a dangerous enemy if slighted. One such dangerous jester was Thomas Skelton, who was said to have inspired Shakespeare's Joker in King Lear. He was the last professional jester at Muncaster Castle, the stronghold of the powerful Pennington family.

When a stranger passed by the castle, Thomas was notorious for judging people quickly, and the capricious man didn't hesitate to send those he didn't like on a 'fool's errand'. He would send them off to the marshlands and quicksands where they'd meet their deaths. If he did like them, he'd point out the genuine road. He is also infamous for conspiring with the rival in love for the hand of one of the Pennington daughters to have a local carpenter beheaded for daring to form a relationship with Helwise Pennington. 

Thomas Skelton died around 1600, and his ghost is said to still haunt the castle to this day.  

And what about 'John Doe'? The origins go back into legal history, used less as a way to name an unknown, but more as a way for the plaintiff to remain anonymous and beyond the reach of a powerful man accused of wrong-doing. It was a legal instrument in use since the twelfth century at least. The name could also be a placeholder for a group of people as part of a class action. 'John' obviously reflects the everyman aspect once more, but the 'Doe' is a giveaway to the Norman origins. There are various ancient versions recorded in court cases: John D'Oakes (John of the Oaks), John-a-Stiles (John of the Stiles), John Roe (reflecting roe deer, more than the general Norman surname of Le Rous, meaning redhead, and John Noakes (again pertaining to someone who lived amongst the oaks). All these cases have one thing in common; the plaintiff appears to live in modest circumstances.

device by which these cases could be heard by the lower courts, and therefore resolved more quickly. An obscure legal dodge developed whereby many John Does and Richard Roes claimed to have leased land from another party, and that party turned out to be themselves under another legal alias. These vicarious claims could be compounded by multiple layers of aliases, and as the original lessor had to be given a chance to defend the action, it made it much harder to get to the bottom of a property dispute. These medieval devices became obsolete by the Real Property Limitation Act of 1833, and by the 1850s the terms had fallen out of use in the UK, other than a 'John Doe' injunction. J.K. Rowling used this legal device to prevent an unnamed person selling stolen chapters from an unpublished book.

In the USA 'John Doe' continued to be used, mainly for the placeholder name for an unidentified person or body. There are many variants, the commonest being the female version of 'Jane Doe'. There have been cases where a plaintiff has been anonymised for their own protection, the most famous being Roe vs Wade.

I mentioned 'Murphy's law', and this is actually a very recent addition to our lexicon, and it's also based on a real man. Edward A. Murphy was an American aerospace engineer who worked on safety critical systems. The man himself reputedly said the real version was, "If there's more than one way to do a job, and one of those ways will result in disaster, then he will do it that way." Murphy regarded the more popular version of the saying as "ridiculous, trivial and erroneous". The phrase, "If anything can go wrong, it will go wrong" entered the public consciousness in 1952 when a colleague mentioned 'Murphy's Law' in a press interview.             

There are far too many examples to cover in a blog post. I'm sure most of you know that the Oscar is named after somebody called Oscar. Which Oscar is up for dispute. Some say it was named after Bette Davis' Husband, Harmon Oscar Nelson. Another version tells us that Margaret Herrick, an executive director in the Academy named it as it reminded her of her "Uncle Oscar", a nickname for her cousin Oscar Pierce. I'm also sure many think that the Caesarian Section is named after Julius Caesar. The operation is very ancient. Until recently, women died during this procedure, so it was only carried out in the most desperate circumstances. However, Julius Caesar himself couldn't been born by this method as his mother lived to the age of sixty-six, and died ten years before her son. Roman law dictated that a caesarian should only be carried out when the woman was already dead. The caesarian was not named after Julius Caesar. He was named after the Latin verb caedere, meaning 'to cut'—as was the caesarian.
Charles C. Boycott 

I'm sure you'll all be aware of the campaign of mass avoidance that brought down English land agent Charles Cunningham Boycott in Ireland. It coined the term now recognised for isolating people. Nicholas Chauvin, was so stubbornly loyal to Napoleon that 'chavinsim' became a byword for unthinking bias. Elbridge Gerry's proposal to change with voting boundaries in the eighteenth century caused the Boston Gazette to coin the term 'gerrymandering'. The Miranda rights in the USA—also known as the right to remain silent—is named after a criminal called Ernesto A. Miranda. He had his conviction overturned after the supreme court decided he had not been properly warned of his rights. You may be interested to know that the right against self-incrimination came from the abolition of the adversarial cross-examinations carried out by the English Star Chamber and High Commission. The accused gained more rights from the seventeenth century onwards. However, in Scotland, where the legal system was very different, and the rights of the individual were less hierarchical. A commoner could sue a king, and the monarch was not above the law. The Scots termed the king, "first among equals", so they were expected to behave better than ordinary people. Not many did, though.

Scottish law is a mixture of many legal traditions, but the trials are adversarial. That means that it is entirely up to the accuser to prove the case, and the accused does not have to help them. Originally, sheriffs investigated cases. Procurators Fiscal were introduced in 1776 to examine evidence, investigate, and prosecute cases, even when "the parties be silent or wald utherwayis privily agree". It meant that guilt was pursued even when someone was rich enough to buy their way out (in theory, not always in practice), or when the witnesses were intimidated. The records show that the accused were cautioned that they didn't have to cooperate. William Roughhead, the Scottish lawyer and criminologist wrote, "The uneducated criminal invariably gives himself away, and even intellectual malefactors, however adroit and wary, often are tripped up by its invidious meshes. The wise say nothing." And the court was not allowed to draw an inference of guilt from that silence.  

The caution used to protect the interests of the accused took a few forms, but one was recorded as: "You have heard the charge which has been read over to you. You have been brought here for the purpose of being judicially examined in relation to that charge. You are not bound to answer any questions which are put to you; but if you do answer, what you say will be written down and may be used in evidence against you at your trial.

In 1852 in Regina v William Baldry, an English judge advised that a similar form of words should have been used to protect the accused. This moved English law closer to the same protections against self-incrimination as Scotland, and most legal scholars accept that English law continued to influence American law well into the twentieth century. Even today, the Scottish system is more tilted towards protecting the rights of the individual than England or the USA—but it did contribute towards your Miranda rights.

As a footnote, just because I think you'll enjoy it: in 1985, two brothers accused of armed robbery discovered that the Norman right of 'Trial by Combat', had never been formally abolished in Scotland, and pressed for their right to fight the fifty-four year old Lord Advocate to prove their innocence. It was last done in 1597 The judiciary wisely declined this offer on the basis of the practice having fallen out of use, and supreme common sense.  


A wobble on the mattress jolted Sewell out of the arms of his dream-woman. He grunted and shifted under the covers, moving onto his other side. He suddenly felt a dead weight on top of him, an immobilizing, ponderous pressure which left him paralyzed and unable to move. Sewell gasped, sucking in a breath of a sweet, sickly miasma which filled his lungs as he took short pants of fear. His eyelids opened snapped open as the horror of his immobility climbed. He was pinned beneath his bedclothes, unable to move a limb, except for the feet which flailed and floundered beneath the tangling sheets.

He tried to cry out but found his impotent screams lost in the fabric jamming his mouth. He lay, pinned to the bed, rigid and immobilized as his eyes became accustomed to the darkness and a figure loomed into view. Sewell’s heart stilled at the sight of a hideous crone looming over him, her wild white hair standing straight out from her head in a tangled mass in every direction. Her lips curled back in disdain around a mouth which appeared to be laughing, but not a sound was to be heard. The hag’s eyes were in shadow, lending her the appearance of a screaming skull floating above him. She sat on his chest, rendering him unable to scream, or even move as the smell filled his nostrils. It felt like powerful arms and legs kept him pinned down. What kind of nightmare was this?

The gorgon pressed close, so close he could feel the heat of her breath on his face. All he could do was blink and tremble, too stupefied to move. It seemed like the longest time before the blackness crept in, and his eyelids dropped closed once more. The nightmare didn’t leave, it took him; engulfing him entirely until he felt nothing.

Dawn crept in by inches, the dark transitioning from black to gray, until the low morning sunshine added a warming brightness to the scene. The shadows were as long as the sunbeams were cleansing, chasing down the retreating darkness to a mere frown until the morning smiled on another new day. The sun’s confidence grew, climbing higher in the sky, proud of the majestic light which gave life and succor to the whole planet—well, not all of it. Sewell Josephson never saw another day. That day saw him though, swinging gently by the creaking rope fixed to the newel post at the turn of the staircase on the top landing. The ligature bit into the neck below the engorged face from which a purple tongue protruded from his dead gaping mouth.

The only life in the house stared at the figure with unblinking black eyes and a twitching tail. The cat turned her head at the sound of a key in the back door. A human at last. Maybe the cook would know what do to?

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Sunday, May 1, 2022

Where Did the Time Go, and Have Things Changed?

 Post by Doris McCraw

writing as Angela Raines

May 1, 2022.  Where did the time go? Seems like just yesterday we were celebrating the New Year. Now, here it is May Day and things are greening up outside, allergies are kicking in, and the days are getting longer.

I started looking into some older news publications with the thought of seeing if they celebrated May Day in the early days of Colorado. I was sidetracked by this article from "The Daily Herald and Rocky Mountain Advertiser, Volume 1, Number 1, May 1, 1860. (Denver, Denver County, CO) Although quite long, I thought I'd share the first couple of paragraphs.



LADIES and GENTLEMEN: — No more profitable subject of inquiry and speculation can engage the attention of the human mind than that of the gradual advancement of society from a state of barbarism to one of civilization; and it is a pleasing labor to trace, either in bold outline or minuter detail, the causes that have operated most powerfully in working out that advancement.

The student of history is aware that the contest has been long, severe and doubtful between the opposing elements of progress and retrogression — that sturdy barriers of prejudice and passion had to be broken down — that the dogmas of arrogant schools of philosophy, the superstition of religious systems, the opposition of tyrannical rulers, the hatred of the strong and the fears of the timid, have from time to time arisen in fierce antagonism to principles — that the human mind naturally dwells with satisfaction upon its immediate achievements, and views with distrust and suspicion any innovations likely to mar the harmony and certainty of established customs — that the wealth of the noblest intellects has been exhausted, and lives as chivalric as ever made battle-field glorious by their warrior death have been sacrificed, and that still, like the ebbing and flowing of the sea has been the wondrous tale of human improvement. Aye, like the great ocean itself has been the history of man's progression from the mythical days when the first rays of intellect flashed forth ever the chaos and night of universal ignorance to the present time. Now, rolling forward in grand and majestic tide, bearing down before its impetuous sway all opposing objects — the image and the embodiment of resistless power; and now, vexed by tempests end torn by conflicting winds, the waters have rolled backward on their course, rivaling the wildness of confusion, and terrible in their tumult and disorder. Yet notwithstanding the bigotry, the fanaticism and the opposition of men and systems, the jargon of timid sophists and the hatred of despotic governments, its course has been on the whole toward the consummation of a more perfect civilization.

In searching into the causes that have tended most to the attainment of the present advanced position of society, there are none that more readily strike the attention, enlist the enthusiasm and call forth the prouder feelings of our nature, than those revealed by an examination of the influences of literature and the finer arts.

Early Photo of Denver, 1860 
University of Northern Colorado

I found the article both interesting and maybe a little surprising. Denver had only been in existence for about two years. This tells me that there were people who were interested in not only literature but the arts also. I think sometimes we forget that part of the early civilization of the West.

Until next time, be safe, have fun, and keep writing. If you wish to read the full article, hopefully, the below link will take you to the digitized original.

Colorado Historic Newspapers

Doris McCraw