186 



GLEA NINGS IM BEE CULTURE. 



Mar. 



There is one special point in Grand Can- 

 yon where the rocks rise higher, and the 

 Assure where the river and the railroad 

 run is still narrower, that 1 wish to men- 

 tion. It is what is called the Royal Gorge, 

 and the train stops here for a few moments 

 to allow the passengers to get out and look 

 around. The Denver & Rio Grande Rail- 

 road Co. have kindly loaned me a picture of 

 it (see preceding page). 



At this point we seemed to be so far in 

 the depths of the earth that one is tempted 

 to think we are soon to be at the end of the 

 road. In fact, as we look out in advance of 

 the train, and the short curves make it pos- 

 sible to see not only the locomotive for the 

 greater part of the way, but the train itself, 

 we are tempted to think we have run into a 

 place w r here there is no outlet. Very likely, 

 however, you have learned to have faith in 

 the locomotive, and to feel safe wherever it 

 plunges ahead. 



Oh, yes! here is an outlet; but it is so 

 narrow you begin to wonder how both the 

 river and the railroad can find room. Well, 

 this is exactly the problem that confronted 

 the engineers when they laid out the road. 

 There is not room fur both ; lor when the 

 river rises it fills the whole opening between 

 the cliffs. Necessity here proves to be the 

 mother of invention, and the track is placed 

 on a sort of bridge, one side of the bridge 

 b^ing let into the rocky cliff— the other side, 

 or, perhaps, more properly speaking, the 

 ends of the railroad ties, resting on a tim- 

 ber that is suspended under their ends, run- 

 ning parallel with the iron rails. The river 

 rushes along right under this timber — in 

 fact, it refuses to be contracted even one 

 inch. It must have all the space between 

 the rocky barriers on either side. How, 

 then, shall that timber that holds the ties 

 over the water be supported ? The picture 

 will show you how they did it. Braces of 

 great timbers, something like the letter A, 

 span the river. One end is set in the rocks 

 of the cliff at one side, and the other end in 

 the other ; and from where the timbers 

 meet, great iron rods reach down and hold 

 the track securely, with one edge over the 

 boiling and seething torrent. 1 got off the 

 train and stood on the track near those 

 timber braces. I tipped my head back and 

 looked up, up, up, up, until the rocks seem- 

 ed on a level with the great birds as they 

 swung lazily in the sky. I stared with open 

 mouth until my neck ached, and then look- 

 ed on the opposite side. There it was just 

 the same. Look at some object just three- 

 fourths of a mile distant from you, and 

 then picture to yourself a rocky precipice 

 straight up that distance. When tired 

 again, I glanced at my twelve fellow-pas- 

 sengers, and then 1 looked at the railway 

 train and the locomotive. The author of 

 " The Crest of the Continent" says, after 

 viewing the above he looked at his fellow- 

 men, at the locomotive, and then conclud- 

 ed : " Of all natural curiosities, man is the 

 most curious — yes, more marvelous than 

 even the Grand Canyon itself. 1 ' Before dis- 

 missing Grand Canyon I want to make an- 

 other quotation from the above writer. 



This is the Koyal Gorge! But how faintly I tell it 

 —how inexpressible are the wonders of plutonic 



force it commemorates! how magnificent the pose 

 and self-sustained majesty of its walls! how stupen- 

 dous the height as we look up, the depth if we were 

 to gaze timidly down! how splendid the massive 

 shadows at the base of the interlocking headlands 

 —the glint of sunlight on the upper rim and high 

 polish of the crowning points! One must catch it 

 all as an impression on the retina of his mind's eye, 

 —must memorize it instantly and ponder it after- 

 ward. It is ineffable, but the thought of it remains 

 through years and years a legacy of vivid recollec- 

 tion and delight, and you never cease to be proud 

 that you have seen it. 



At Pueblo, Colorado, I am again surprised 

 to find a summer temperature, and to be 

 told they have only five or six weeks of win- 

 ter. 



It is Saturday night, and the question 

 confronts me, " What about Sunday?" My 

 fellow-travelers have announced their de- 

 termination of traveling right along, so as 

 to get home. In my pocket is a letter from 

 my wife, telling me that they expected me 

 more than a week ago ; also that she could 

 not take Huber to church any more ; for 

 when he looks over to w r here papa usually 

 sits, at the right of the empty seat, he bursts 

 out sobbing, and has to be taken home. 

 Dear little Huber ! what would I give to 

 get hold of him to-night? I am afraid 1 am 

 a little homesick. The temptation is strong 

 to rush right on home. But, how shall 1 

 feel all the long day, encouraging, by my 

 presence, Sunday travel, or, rather, no Sun- 

 day at all? It is exactly like buying the 

 memorandum - book last Sunday. By my 

 act I should be saying to the great busy 

 world, " You are all right as you are." Four 

 Sundays have passed since I left home, and 

 they have been glorious ones. Shall I lose 

 courage on the fifth? God help me to do 

 right. To be ready to keep the Sabbath 

 " decently and in order," I should stop cer- 

 tainly by 6 o'clock, for I want to get ready 

 for Sunday, and make a short call on the 

 pastor of the church where I expect to at- 

 tend. I believe my deaf friend was about 

 right when he said he thought we ought to 

 even black our shoes Saturday night in order 

 to keep the Sabbath in the best sense of the 

 word. Once more I am about to go among 

 entire strangers. Satan says, " Nobody will 

 know you or care for you here surely," 

 but, with a prayer that the spirit of the 

 Master may go with me and before me, I 

 make my decision. I hardly need tell you 

 that my heart felt lighter as soon as I had 

 decided on this step. 



During the past week I have already fig- 

 ured up about where I should be when Sat- 

 urday night came, and I have selected a lit- 

 tle town at the base of Pike's Peak (much 

 talked of by the gold-hunters in 1859), called 

 Manitou Springs, as my resting-place dur- 

 ing the Sabbath. I selected this spot on 

 account of certain attractions in the way of 

 natural scenery beside the great mountain ; 

 and the conductor had already told me that 

 we should be there about six o'clock. It 

 was now about four o'clock, but no moun- 

 tains were in sight, except a clump of hills 

 off toward the northwest. The tallest of 

 these, I had decided in my own mind, was 

 probably Pike's Peak. This little group of 

 mountains was probably forty or fifty miles 

 away ; but at the rapid rate at which we are 

 going we should probably reach them in 



