RAMBLES ABOUT GEORGETOWN 



AT nine o'clock on the morning of June 22, the 

 two ramblers boarded a Colorado and Southern 

 train, and bowled up Clear Creek Canon to 

 Georgetown. Having been studying winged creatures 

 on the plains and among the foothills, mesas, and lower 

 mountains, we now proposed to go up among the 

 mountains that were mountains in good earnest, and 

 see what we could find. 



The village of Georgetown nestles in a deep pocket 

 of the mountains. The valley is quite narrow, and on 

 three sides, save where the two branches of Clear Creek 

 have hewn out their canons, the ridges rise at a sharp 

 angle to a towering height, while here and there a 

 white-cap peeps out through the depressions. Those 

 parts of the narrow vale that are irrigated by the creek 

 and its numerous tiny tributaries are beautiful in their 

 garb of green, while the areas that are not thus refreshed 

 are as gray as the arid portions of the plains them- 

 selves. And that is the case everywhere among the 



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