A BIRD-LOVER IN THE WEST. 



CAMPING IN COLORADO. 



THIS chronicle of happy summer days with the 

 birds and the flowers, at the foot of the Rocky 

 Mountains, begins in the month of May, in the 

 year eighteen hundred and ninety-two. 



As my train rolled quietly out of Jersey City 

 late at night, I uttered a sigh of gratitude that 

 I was really off ; that at last I could rest. Up 

 to the final moment I had been hurried and 

 worried, but the instant I was alone, with my 

 " section " to myself, I " took myself in hand," 

 as is my custom. 



At the risk of seeming to stray very far from 

 my subject, I want at this point to say some- 

 thing about rest, the greatly desired state that 

 all busy workers are seeking, with such varying 

 success. 



A really re-creative recreation I sought for 

 years, and 



" I Ve found some wisdom in my quest 

 That 's richly worth retailing," 



