I went to Winston Prairie to attend
The funeral of Cato Braden. He
Had died at fifty-one and I had known him
Since he was twenty-four, but for fifteen
Years or more I had not seen him, nor
Exchanged with him more than a telegraphic
Note about some trivial thing. Indeed
I had not been in Winston Prairie during
These fifteen years.

But on the train I thought
Of Cato Braden, brought back all the days
Through which I knew him, from the very first
When he returned to Winston Prairie from
De Pauw, or was it Valparaiso? Yet
’Twas called a university I remember.
And when I knew him first he kept at hand
De Senectute, also Anthon’s Homer,
And lexicons in Latin and in Greek,
Both unabridged. Sometimes he let me read
The orations he had won the prizes with.
And sometimes he would tell me what it meant
To study at a university.
And what they did and what the boys were like.
This Cato Braden was a happy soul
At twenty-four, of a full noble brow,
A gentle smiling mouth, an honest eye,
A tall and handsome figure, altogether
A man conspicuous for form, a bearing
Of grace and courtliness, engaging ways;
He might be called most lovable, he had
The gift of friendship, was not envious,
Could scarcely be enraged, was not offended
By little things and often not by great.
He had in short a nature fit to work
With great capacity; had he combined
An intellect but half his nature’s worth
He might have won the race. But many thought
He promised much, his father most of all
Because he had these virtues, and in truth
Before his leaves unfolded with the spring
His mind seemed apt, perhaps seemed measured full
Of quality, the prizes he had won
At Valparaiso pointed to the fruit
He would produce at last.

So on the train
I thought of Cato Braden. Then I thought
Of when he came from school with his degree,
And for that summer when he walked the square,
Was whispered of as “Cato Braden, look.”
The first thing Winston Prairie knew it saw
His name conjoined with that of Jerry Ott’s—
It was Ott and Braden, editors and owners,
The Winston Prairie Eagle. Jerry Ott
Was sixty-nine and wheezy from the fight
For Jefferson Democracy, free trade.
Besides the capital that Cato Braden
Brought through his father to the enterprise
Meant bitter war on enemies of truth.
And Cato Braden’s father had some wealth
Made from the making of a vermifuge
And a preposterous compound which he called
Pesodorne; and I have always thought
That Cato Braden’s father garrisoned
His factory for making patent nostrums
By buying for his son this interest,
And place of power in journalism; for
The father’s strong devotion to the church
Did not protect him ’gainst the casual sneers
Of Winston Prairie’s paper called the Lance,
Which used to print such things as this, to instance:
“There’s Braden’s Vermifuge, well, Doctor Braden,
Try your own vermifuge, let’s see it work.”

Well, anyway I know that Cato Braden
Intended to pursue a legal course,
And practice the profession in a city.
I know his father bought for him this place
With Jerry Ott as editor of the Eagle.
I know he went to work. I know he changed
The paper’s motto from “Hew to the line,”
To Principia non homines. I know
He used to sing “Over the Garden Wall,”
While writing editorials and smoked
A number of cheroots. I know he had
A locked drawer where he kept a secret bottle
From which he’d take a drink at noon or night.
I know he was on terms of friendship with
The milliner and dressmaker in a month
After he came from Valparaiso. Yes,
I know he advocated a gymnasium,
And dancing hall for Winston Prairie, and
He opened up a fight to get a park
Where concerts might be given. Cato Braden
Had these ideas at least. About this park
A word remains to say.

Fernando Winston,
Who founded Winston Prairie and surveyed
The original town, laid out a square along
The river for a pleasure ground; in time,
Some fifty years or more, it was forgotten.
And when this Cato Braden came to town
And started as a journalist ’twas used
In part by Winston Prairie’s creamery;
In part ’twas used for gardening by the pastor
Of Winston Prairie’s strongest church. But Cato
Had searched the records, found them straight, began
To agitate the park. And it was this,
Together with Principia non homines,
Free trade, the dressmaker and milliner,
Perhaps the bottle in the drawer, whose secret
Leaked out at once, that clove the people of
The town into two groups of friends and foes.
He had but just begun his editorship
When I left Winston Prairie; after that
Knew little of it, saw him but at times,
Long separated, saw him not at all
For fifteen years before his death, and now
Because I was his friend was on the train
His funeral to attend.

I drove to Oakland
With Dr. Green and William Smoot the grocer.
’Twas hot without a breeze, the town was still.
The church bell tolled until we reached the grave,