RICHARD MACKINTOSH.

 

            THE tears dim my eyes as I look back and remember Richard Mackintosh, as he was wont to come out of his house in the morning and with a voice cheery as a lark, as cordial as the robin, hail the day.

            He lived many years in Salt Lake City. Those who knew him well loved him exceedingly. He was born in Dublin, Ireland. His father was a distinguished officer in the British army, a captain in the famous Ninety-third Highlanders. He was one of the Mackintosh clan, who, on that clay of days at Waterloo, followed the pibrochs through all the long hours until Blucher came and the exhausted English army fell on the ground to sleep.

            After the war, every year, so long as Wellington lived, on leave of absence that father left his command and went up to a banquet given by his grace, the Iron Duke, and the titles he won, the decorations he wore, are a glory to the Mackintosh family in any land where they dwell.

            After Waterloo the father of our Mackintosh was stationed in Dublin with his regiment. There he fell in love with a bonny Irish girl and married her, and there Richard Mackintosh was born, only a few steps from Phoenix Park. And so in his nature he had much of the canny Scot of his father, much of the splendor and joyousness of his Irish mother. And as such we knew him.

            He was originally intended to succeed his father in the army, but for a slight physical defect he was not accepted, and we do not believe it is any harm to state what that defect was. One side of Mr. Mackintosh was a little smaller than the other. His arm was smaller, his foot was a little smaller, and the laws of England in their crude way assumed that this was a defect, when in truth one side was just as strong as the other, and he was fashioned like the one-horse shay- "every part as strong as the rest."

            What I write about Mr. Mackintosh is simply from my

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own memory, and if other people who knew him do not agree with all I say, I will hold the belief to my soul that they did not know him as well as I did. I knew him only as a frank, splendid, high-souled, thorough man, and thorough American, and a friend that was more sacred than all the jewels of Arabia, all the professions of professed friends in all the world. He was a good friend, and whenever I wanted a joyous word, a note of defiance at fate, a lark's song to awaken me from the cares that were upon me, I always turned instinctively to Dick Mackintosh.

            So he plodded his way. When he lost money he made no plaint ; when he made money his voice was all the higher, his cheer all the greater, his disposition to do somebody a favor all the more increased.

            In the queen's diamond jubilee year he went to England and attended the fete. When he returned he was telling about what he saw in his joyous, boisterous way, and especially about the fleet that was anchored off Spithead, when miles and miles of guns roared out their welcome to the queen. I asked him how the Brooklyn looked in that outfit, because our government had sent the Brooklyn over there in honor of the queen to represent the American navy. With almost a shout he said: "She was splendid. She lifted her crest up among those blasted English ships with the flag above her as much as to say, 'Look here, Mr. Englishman, we are here in state. We like your old queen, but we would fight just as quickly as any one of your black devils down the line.'

            To the end of his days he was a true Britisher, but after he had been a little while in America he would have fought any Englishman on earth if he had made a face at the American Flag.

            He was one of the Comstock boys. He got to the Comstock when he was but little more than a boy. He made the long trip around the Horn and he had several fights on board ship. The last one was in behalf of a little girl that he declared was the prettiest girl in the world, at the time, adding, 'That was before I was married."

            He got to the Comstock when it was a great school for

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all Britishers. He learned how to deal in stocks and that became a habit with him. He clung to it all his life. He removed to Salt Lake. He was prominent in mining for many and many a year. He made good, but he was more prominent as a citizen, as a neighbor and a friend through all those years, and he wound his heart-strings around the heart-strings of others until when it came time that they should be torn apart, it made a new wound which never has been healed in those who remain.

            He was called before his time -- just in the pride of his splendid manhood. His own home had been desolated by the death of his wife, and after that he drooped and drooped and what of the old jollity came back at intervals was but a forced attempt not to make his sorrows a sorrow to others. He failed for a year and then died, and when he passed away it was a solemn joy to say about him that he was the truest friend, the kindest-hearted, strongest man, the bravest champion of what he thought was right, the best neighbor, that any- one ever knew and that thought still remains. All that was really fine in manhood was his and if he lacked aught in the manifestation of his real nature, that was a misfortune, because the nearer one got to Richard Mackintosh the more they esteemed and loved him. He was a brave man, of that stock of men who held it \vas nothing to die for one's country or for one's honor; that germ was always working in his own mind; and if he made any mistakes it was because for the moment he was deceived, for deep in his mind he was one of the finest examples of absolute loyalty and high courage of all the men who in the old days helped to make of Utah a glorified American state.