LVI.
PREFACE
Just why I should write a preface I know not, except that it is fashionable to do so, and yet in the present case there would seem a little explanation due the reader, who may cast his eye on the first chapter of this work.
Indeed, the chapter, "Early Days in Indiana," may properly be termed an introduction, though quite intimately connected with the narrative that follows, yet not necessary to make a completed story of the trip to Oregon in the early fifties.
The enlarged scope of this work, narrating incidents not connected with the Oregon Trail or the Ox Team expedition, may call for this explanation, that the author's thought has been to portray frontier life in the Old Oregon Country, as well as pioneer life on the plains; to live his experiences of eighty-five years over again, and tell them in plain, homely language, to the end the later generation may know how the "fathers" lived, what they did, and what they thought in the long ago.
An attempt has been made to teach the young lessons of industry, frugality, upright and altruistic living as exemplified in the lives of the pioneers.
While acknowledging the imperfections of the work, yet to parents I can sincerely say they may safely place this volume in the home without fear that the adventures recited will arouse a morbid craving in the minds of their children. The adventures are of real life, and incident to a serious purpose in life, and not stories of fancy to make exciting reading, although some of them may seem as such.
"Truth is stranger than fiction," and the pioneers have no need to borrow from their imagination.
Seattle, Washington.
PUBLISHED BY THE AUTHOR
Cloth $1.50 Postpaid
Address: Ezra Meeker, 1120 38th Ave. N.
Seattle, Wash.
GREETINGS
Upon this, my 85th birthday with good health remaining with me and strength to prompt the will to do, small wonder that I should arise with thankfulness in my heart for the many, many blessings vouchsafed to me.
To my friends (and enemies, if I have any) I dedicate this volume, to be known as "Eighty-five Years of a Busy Life," in the hope of cementing closer companionship and mutual good will to the end, that by looking back into earlier life, we may be guided to better ways in the vista of years to come, to a more forgiving spirit, to a less stern condemnation of the foibles of others and a more joyful contemplation of life's duties.
Having lived the simple life for so many years I could not now change to the more modern ways of "High Living" and would not if I could; nevertheless, the wonderful advance of art and science, the great opportunity afforded for betterment of life in so many ways to challenge our admiration, I would not record myself as against innovation, as saying that all old ways were the best ways, but I will say some of them were. The patient reader will notice this thought developed in the pages to follow and while they may not be in full accord of the teachings, yet, it is the hope of the author the lessons may not fall upon deaf ears.
Being profoundly grateful for so many expressions of good will that have reached me from so many friends, I will reciprocate by wishing that each and every one of you may live to be over a hundred years old, coupled with the admonition to accomplish this you must be possessed with patience, and that "you must keep working to keep young."
Now, please read that grand inspired poem on next page, "Work", before you read the book, to see if you have not there found the true elixir of life and with it the author's hope to reach the goal beyond the century mark.
Greetings to all.
The Outlook, December 2, 1914
WORK
A SONG OF TRIUMPH."
By Angela Morgan.
Work!
Thank God for the might of it,
The ardor, the urge, the delight of it—
Work that springs from the heart's desire,
Setting the soul and the brain on fire.
Oh, what is so good as the heat of it,
And what is so glad as the beat of it,
And what is so kind as the stern command
Challenging brain and heart and hand?
Work!
Thank God for the pride of it,
For the beautiful, conquering tide of it,
Sweeping the life in its furious flood,
Thrilling the arteries, cleansing the blood,
Mastering stupor and dull despair,
Moving the dreamer to do and dare.
Oh; what is so good as the urge of it,
And what is so glad as the surge of it,
And what is so strong as the summons deep
Rousing the torpid soul from sleep?
Work!
Thank God for the pace of it,
For the terrible, keen, swift race of it;
Fiery steeds in full control,
Nostrils aquiver to greet the goal.
Work, the power that drives behind,
Guiding the purposes, taming the mind,
Holding the runaway wishes back,
Reining the will to one steady track,
Speeding the energies faster, faster,
Triumphing over disaster.
Oh! what is so good as the pain of it,
And what is so great as the gain of it,
And what is so kind as the cruel goad,
Forcing us on through the rugged road?
Work!
Thank God for the swing of it,
For the clamoring, hammering ring of it,
Passion of labor daily hurled
On the mighty anvils of the world
Oh, what is so fierce as the flame of it,
And what is so huge as the aim