on the 16th of may, 1888, there was a mighty gathering of people at austin. they had come—men, women, and children—from every quarter of the great state: from the pan handle and from the coast; from the wide prairies of the west, and the wooded hills and valleys of the east. there was a throb of pride in every heart and a sparkle of joy in every eye; for texas was about to give a housewarming, as it were, and her children had met together to have a share in the home feast,—the new capitol was to be dedicated.
the beautiful city of hills was bathed in a flood of golden sunshine. the air was sweet with the breath of roses blooming in the gardens. a thousand flags and pennons and banners fluttered from housetops, floated from tall flag-poles, and waved from open windows. there was music everywhere, and everywhere the tread of moving feet and the gay noise and confusion of a happy crowd.
from the crest of its long sloping hill the new capitol, vast and majestic, looked down on all this life and color. its massive walls arose like the fa?ade of some proud temple; its pillars of rosy granite reflected the light; its great dome soared into the blue sky. no wonder the people burst into shouts of delight on beholding it!
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the dedication ceremonies took place at noon in the presence of an immense throng of citizens and soldiers. among the orators of the occasion was temple houston, a son of general sam houston. the day was one long to be remembered. at night the noble building was illuminated, and the lofty halls and corridors were filled for hours with the best, the bravest, and the fairest of the sons and daughters of texas.
new capitol at austin (1888).
in the old days when the world still believed in fairies and gnomes and elves and water-sprites, it was thought that each country had its guardian spirit, or genie, who watched over it and protected it from evil. if the poets of those far-away times were now alive, they might picture the genie of texas standing, invisible, on the huge dome of the capitol, looking out over her beloved state, and saying, “all is well with my people.” they might imagine her describing the scene under her eyes to the guardians of other states in words like these:
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“i see around me, widespread and beautiful, the free state of texas. below me, clad in flowers and bathed in mellow light, lies austin. crowning the hills, on which fifty years ago the red man dwelt in his wigwams and hunting-lodges, are stately government buildings, mansions, and churches. the enclosing gardens, rich in the herbs and blossoms of a semi-tropical region, are fair under the over-arching blue sky. in their midst, crowning its own hill-tops, stands the university planned by the republic in 1839. here the young men and the young women of the state, alike eager in effort and high in achievement, move about the hushed halls, or pass, book in hand, through the academic grove without.
“to southward, beyond prairies threaded by the crystal waters of the rivers san marcos and guadalupe, i see san antonio, that old town filled with memories of heroic deeds. the alamo, treasured by my people, still stands on the plaza once dyed by the blood of travis and his men. but how the gallant st. denis would stare if he could come riding up and look from the brow of his favorite hill into the valley he loved! the village has become a great city. the streets are alive with traffic, handsome houses line the river-banks almost to the old missions of concepcion and san josé. the united states army post is there as of old, with the stars and stripes proudly waving over its fine buildings.
“to east and southeastward are goliad and gonzales, sacred in the pages of texas history; and the river la vaca, up which la salle and his men sailed to build ill-fated fort st. louis; and the san jacinto, washing the reedy edge of the famous battle-ground. there are houston and columbia, whose streets in the early days were trod by the fathers of the republic. there is nacogdoches; and there is the old san antonio road, which is still a traveled highway; and many a town which played its part in the stirring scenes of past times.
“northward and westward lies the newer texas with thriving cities, such as dallas and fort worth, sherman and denison; and waco on the site where half a century ago stood the village of the music-loving wacoes.
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“a wonderful network of railroads binds all these towns and cities together—a network which has been woven as if by magic. in 1852 the sidney sherman, the first locomotive engine west of the mississippi river, ran out of harrisburg on a short stretch of railroad. now there are nine thousand miles of railroad in the state.
“every year vast fields of grain lie golden and ripe for the harvest, where a short time ago plover and partridge hid in the prairie grass. along the coast the rich plantations of sugar cane wave and rustle in the breeze, and the smoke of the sugarhouses at grinding-time is black against the sky.
ashbel smith.
“in stephen f. austin’s day there were little patches of cotton about the cabin doors of the settlers. to-day texas grows one-third of the cotton raised in the world. no fleece so white, no stalks so weighted with bursting bolls, no fiber so strong and yet so delicate, as that of the cotton of texas.
“i see,” the genie might continue, “i see orchards of fruit trees, and vegetable gardens, and rose bowers, making green and glad the face of the country.
“i see at galveston and sabine pass the largest ships now sailing with ease, where in 1863 the westfield and the clifton grounded in mud or on a sand-bar.
“a mighty bulwark, sprung up as if by magic, stretches its arms around the island city and guards it from any fury of the sea.
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“the mysterious and limitless pools and lakes which lie far below the surface of texas soil have been forced into service. i see artesian wells spouting their sturdy columns of clear healing water in hundreds of places; and reservoirs of oil, whose fountain-head no man knows, yield their priceless gifts to the hand.
“herds of cattle swarm about the great ranches of the west; while in the vast unfenced solitudes soft-eyed antelopes, and other wild creatures of the forest, still rove in primeval freedom.
“libraries spring up; new institutions for the afflicted arise; smiling homes invite to comfort and repose the thinning ranks of the veterans of the southern confederacy.
“last, and best of all, wherever there is a quiet hamlet or a growing town or a busy city, i see a schoolhouse. it may be but a rude cabin, where through the unchinked logs the children may watch the birds building their nests, or it may be a stately building which glorifies the memory of some generous giver, like the ball and rosenburg schools at galveston; it may be a crowded little place where the boys kick their heels against time-worn benches, or it may be the handsome university of texas. but big or little, stone building or log cabin, there is always the schoolhouse; and within it the school children, the future men and women of the state. upon them, even more than upon railroad or cotton crop, depend the prosperity and welfare of the state. i breathe a prayer for all who tread this free and unfettered soil to-day; but chiefly i call down blessings upon the school children of texas.
“all is well with my people.”
so might speak the genie of texas from the dome of the capitol.
the end
