world like pilasters, extending above the terrace and terminating in sharp quadrangular pyramids, some three hun-dred and fifty feet high. South of this singular mountain is Bear Gulch, a correct engraving of which can be seen in "Views from Nature." Beyond Bear Gulch rises another high mountain, round-topped and dome-shaped, ending in a narrow peak like a sow's teat. This closes the mountain. view south from this point.

Turn now your face towards the east. To your right, southeastward, you see a bench about four miles distant; there is Marshall's coal mine, and near this bench on the plain are seen the sparkling waters of South Boulder creek. That building beside it is Marshall's iron works. Then, on the intervening plain, are seen farm-houses and

green fields up to the main Boulder creek, a dashing mountain torrent, hastening down the plain to embrace her sister stream. At your feet, between the elevation on which you stand and the creek, is Boulder City, which you entirely overlook, extending northward on the plain between you and the University plateau, which lies immediately east. Down on the plain eastward in the distance, is seen Mr. Day's and other ranches, on the South Boulder. Then there is the fine lake between the two Boulders, formed since the plain has become irrigated, now well stocked with fine fish-mostly perch and redhorse. Nearer still, the house in that dense coppice is the residence of Judge George Berkley, the oldest and most enthusiastic tree-planter in the Territory; and nearer still come the fair grounds, with its inclosed buildings. But over all, and beyond, is seen that singular butte or basaltic dyke, Valmont, raising its isolated cone on the plain; and to the left of it, that white object like an immense snow bank, is White Rock.

In the northeast, at a distance of about ten miles, is seen Haystack Mountain, another of those isolated basaltic cones, that at long intervals are found protruding from the level plain. Those buildings near its base are the villages of Burlington and Longmont-the latter a new colony from Chicago-organized somewhat on the principles of that at Greeley. Around these, and extending up to the mountains, are seen ranches and green fields, and the uncultivated plain covered with cattle. This gives a somewhat faint idea of the scenery from this point, to which must be added, to complete the picture, the light green color of the plain as compared with the sombre evergreens which deck the porphyritic sides of the mountains.

As we were strolling leisurely towards the mountain, plucking flowers and examining the pebbles for moss agates, our attention was suddenly drawn to the thrilling notes of the skylark (Eremophila cornuta); notes which for compass and silvery sweetness of tone are inimitable

and unapproachable by any other songster. There he sat on the fence half way down the slope, and again and again he would pour out his silvery, ringing notes on the morning air, that almost awoke the sleeping echoes of the mountains. As we walked on, he would fly ahead and take his position on the fence, and pour out his matin song as if in triumph. When we returned he followed us, and

repeated more and more rapidly his charming song. seemingly striving to excel his first efforts. At last his. notes seemed mingled with the sadness of despair, becom ing louder, sweeter and tenderer, but touched, as it were, with the anguish of a heartrending sorrow. At this mo-ment I spied his mate dodging through the grass; and

now I understood his strange conduct, and the cause of his alarm and distress.

Our host now appeared in sight calling us to breakfast, so we hurried on, greatly to the relief of our feathered friend. May he live a thousand years and raise a brood of songsters every month!

After breakfast, returning to the hotel, we found carriages, buggies, spring wagons, etc., collecting to convey us, and baskets and trays filled with luxuries to add to our enjoyment, and minister to our comfort during the excursion up the canyon. When all was ready the train of some twenty wagons and coaches moved off toward the mountain defile, up which lay our route, into the heart of the Cordilleras. The mouth of the canyon, where it opens on the plain, is about one hundred feet wide, and the ascent of the canyon walls on either side exceeds but little fifty-five degrees. The acclivities are sparsely covered with stunted pine and cedar trees, growing on huge rocky angular terraces, that jut out all over the sides of the walls. On the top of the wall, amongst evergreens, occasionally stands a tall pine or spruce tree blasted by the lightning. The scenery is rugged and wild in every imaginable sense. The creek, a stream discharging fully three times the quantity of water our Meramec river does;* flows rapidly through not over its rocky bed, for the sharp rocks project in every direction from one to four feet above the water. The water purls and frets, and foams as if in a rage at the obstruction imposed by the rocky barriers, but otherwise it is dark, being prevented by its rapid flow and agitation from reflecting either the canyon walls or the narrow strip of blue sky above. The road and the stream mostly occupy the full width of the canyon, but occasionally a large rock crowds the stream into narrow limits and against the opposite wall; then there is a little headland used for turnouts, where ascend

*Meramec river in Missouri.

ing and descending teams pass cach other. When not so used, these headlands form a nestling place for numerous mountain flowers. Amongst entirely new flora, I here found a splendid red lily, as large as a cup, (Lillium Philadelphicum,) and the most showy of all the mountain flowers, the Epilobium angustifolium, forming plots of brilliant rosy purple flowers.

As the course of the canyon is zig-zag, it often narrows so as scarcely to afford room for the waters to pass; the roadway is then blasted out of the perpendicular sido rock of the canyon wall. If this side rock (as is generally the case) is a projecting promontory of a mountain peak rent in twain, then there is left a fissured rock from one to two thousand feet high hanging overhead, that any moment may tumble down, or from its sides send down an avalanche of rock into the abyss below. You instinctively hold your breath until it is past. Now you come to a bridge, (for there are thirty-one of them in twelve miles), leading to the narrow beach, eight or ten feet wide, on the opposite side, while the river dashes its foaming waters against the perpendicular cliff three thousand feet high, on the side you are leaving. All you see of sky is now reduced to a narrow band overhead. You look up the sides of the canyon, and in crevices in the flank of the walls, or on protruding rocks, grow shrubs of pine and spruce, while their summits are crowned with sturdy evergreens, who for centuries have battled with the storms and defied the artillery of heaven, not with impunity, however, as many a lightning scarred or dead one attests. High over all is seen, wheeling in his airy flight, the golden eagle, who finds his congenial home here

"On the mountains that proclaim

The everlasting creed of liberty."'

Miles are thus passed, the scenery becoming grander and more imposing at overy step, and the flowing of the