THE MUSEUM. 



169 



the distance appears like a cloud. 

 Oar horizon has a radius of 100 miles. 

 The sun slips from behind the bank, 

 the tops of peaks below become illu- 

 minated; as the sun ascends the rays 

 descend, the shadows in the city at 

 the base disappear, the earth as far as 

 the eye can see is visible, and it is 

 day. The sight pays for all the hun- 

 ger and fatigue of the climb, and for 

 the misery of the night. 



On such an occasion we for the first 

 time saw the beauty and sublimity of 

 mountain peaks and ranges. I would 

 rather give up all my insects, birds 

 and plants collected in the mountains, 

 than to have blotted out this one glor- 

 ious view, which cannot be told in 

 words. 



Far and near, peak after peak is 

 seen, some pointed and abrupt, some 

 glittering in the sun's morning rays, 

 and others yet hidden in the shadow 

 of some larger mountain. Denver is 

 seen 90 miles to the north, Pueblo 

 fifty to the south. The first peak 

 southward and one of a few above 

 timber line, is Old Baldy, where we 

 camped for a week. Between this 

 and the plain are Monte Rosa and 

 Cheyenne mountain. Eastward, 



down at the very base of the Peak, 

 is the Garden of the gods, its red 

 sandstone glittering in the sunlight 

 hike molten metal. Yonder is a little 

 lake. It seems but a few minutes' 

 walk away. Alas! it is twenty miles 

 distant, and it would take an hour to 

 row around it. Little valleys and 

 little plains appear everywhere, but 

 they are miles in extent. And, in- 

 deed, the cliffs, crags and rough places 

 of the day before have disappeared. 

 They are blended in the general view. 



We have conquered the mountain and 

 put it under our feet. 



Does it pay to walk up and down 

 Pike's Peak, endure the fatigue, the 

 cold, the heat, the delay, when one 

 can ride on the cars or in a carriage.^ 

 As many times as I go to the summit 

 I will climb. The hunger, fatigue, 

 cold and heat are nothing as compared 

 to the glories of the visions by the 

 wayside, the peeps from precipices, 

 the bouquets from a cliff, the sight of 

 that rare animal, the pica, the catch 

 of an alpine butterfly, the pure water 

 from a trickling stream, or the call of 

 an Ousel from the roar and tumble of 

 a mountain torrent. The true nat- 

 uralist will surely take nature as she 

 is. The roar and screech of the lo- 

 comotive has too much of an every 

 day sound for mountain thoughts. 

 The smoke hides the clear blue above. 

 The very numbers of people break the 

 charm. But the inspiring atmosphere, 

 the clear heavens above and the rocky 

 floor beneath, the solitude and silence 

 of a high mountain, the chirp of the 

 mountain bird, or call of the squirrel, 

 can be appreciated to the fullest ex- 

 tent only by the foot passenger, who 

 can climb to an eminence and reflect, 

 lie npon his back and breathe, or 

 stand with bared head and throbbing 

 heart in the presence of Him who is 

 the source of all these beauties and 

 glories. 



Above timber line there is in sum- 

 mer a profuse growth of alpine 

 flowers. On sheltered or sunny 



slopes there is a varied vegetation, 

 the flowers making a beautiful sight. 

 One of these visions was the most 

 gorgeous I have ever seen or ever 

 hoped to see. Being caught in a 

 shower of rain, hail and sleet, I hast- 



