When Mrs. Bain had seated herself on one side of that hand car I fixed myself on the other, gripping the edge of the car.  Off went the brake and we started.  In a few minutes I said to myself:  “Farewell vain world, I’m going home.”  As we ran along the wrinkle of the mountain, and swung out toward the point of a crag with seemingly no way to dodge the mighty abyss below, I was reminded of the preacher’s mistake, when in closing a meeting with the benediction he said:  “To Thy name be ascribed all the praises in the world with the end out.”  Around frost-filed mountain crags, over spider bridges, through sunless gorges, we went down that mountain like an eagle swooping from a storm.  When we reached Boulder, Mrs. Bain jumped from the car like a school-girl and while she was thanking our host, I was thanking kind Providence that we were back in Boulder.  On our way to the hotel I said:  “Were you not frightened when we started down that mountain?” “Why not at all,” Mrs. Bain replied; “I knew the superintendent would not invite us to take the ride unless it was safe.”

I said:  “Well, you had more confidence in him than you have in me.  When I call at the door with a new horse in the carriage or phaeton, you won’t get in until you know all about the horse.”

“Yes,” she said, “but I know you.”

I do not regret having had that thrilling experience, but I do feel by that hand car ride, as the Dutchman felt about his twin babies.  He said:  “I wouldn’t take ten thousand dollars for dot pair of twins, and I wouldn’t give ten cents for another pair.”

That evening I gave my last lecture at Boulder and in closing said:  “I suppose you who live mid these mines would like to know how I stand on the money question.”  They cheered, showing their desire to know my views on the then popular question, and I proceeded to dodge by saying:  “Last evening I stood on yonder veranda watching the sun as it went down over the mountain’s brow, leaving its golden slipper on Flag Staff Peak.  Colorado clouds, shell-tinted by the golden glory of the setting sun, were hanging as rich embroideries upon the blue tapestry of the sky, and soon the full moon began to pour its silver on the scene.  As I stood gazing at the picture painted by the gold of the sun, and silver of the moon, I felt whatever may have been my views on the money question, the sun’s gold-standard glory, and the moon’s free-silver coinage, as seen from these Colorado Chautauqua grounds make me henceforth a Boulder bi-metalist.”

On leaving the platform an old miner said:  “How do you stand on the money question?  You got your views so mixed up with the sun and moon I couldn’t understand you.”