Status: Complete

of the Rockies up which young men of
Boulder often take their Desdemonas
on a Sunday afternoon. I always went
along myself and that is why I beat
time. My running jump of 45 feet
has given one lonely crag its name
of Tamblyn's Tumble. My name was
cut on rock and pine-trees. So was
my head. But I wasn't well in mind
or body. Teaching school was no better
I tried base-ball and foot-ball, but
nothing did one any good, not even
tennis. So I was a rolling stone
gathering speed but no moss in my
journeys from Constantinople to
Columbia, to Colorado. In those days
my only poet was Byron, I was a
wanderer. Of course you have often
heard me talk or even lecture on

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