It was back in 1889 that the writer, then a budding young poet (as he thought), visited Gering, on the Fourth of July. The party consisted of Miss Ida Eckerson, now Mrs. A. E. Scott of this city, Miss Minnie Shumway, now Mae Shumway Enderly of Los Angeles, William Wallace White of Gering, and the writer. We crossed the old bridge that had then but recently been built, and as we crossed the sun went down. Miss Eckerson, knowing of my poetical ambitions, said to me: "If I was a poet, I would now write something to The Sunset on Scottsbluff."

I looked, and as I looked I saw the glory of

the scene, and asked Mr. White to drive slowly. With an envelope and scrap paper in the moving vehicle, I labored with the following result :

SUNSET ON THE PLATTE

Upon the bridge, above the flowing river, There we admitted the fast declining day ;

Like those dark waters, moving on forever, Each heart was borne in ecstacy, away.

The sun sank low behind the horizon. It lighted upon the fleecy western sky ;

A symbol of the great, now dead and gone, Who leave a brilliant lustre when they die.

The sky back of the stream, reflecting, cast Resplendent lights of purple and of gold,

And all the rainbow colors, changing fast, From lurid red, 'till fading grey turns cold.

But here and there, the shimmering surface mars,

HISTORY OF WESTERN NEBRASKA

Its glossy face by interceding bars, And where the elements each other wars