

Sure enough, a third and smaller 

 rock, arose from between the two rocks 

 which until that moment had appeared 

 to be at a long distance from all others. 

 This was the prophesied "son." 



'That is not all yet," said the guide, 

 as we expressed our wonder. "As years 

 passed on the boy grew until, finally, he 

 did exceed his father's height by half-a- 

 head. The old man has been so over- 

 come by amazement that his jaw has 

 dropped ; and his wonder passing into 

 dismay his teeth have fallen from his 

 open mouth. Do you see the empty 

 gums protruding from beneath the shriv- 

 eled lips ?" 



It was, indeed, true. The strange 

 story was as complete as the optical illu- 

 sion was perfect. We had seen the third 

 person, "grow" to gigantic manhood out 

 of what, at first point of view, was 

 empty space, and had seen the strange 

 changes of expression on the stony face 

 of his father. This is surely the most 

 curious group in this garden of wonders. 



Soon after we passed this point the 

 "Queen of the Garden" was pointed out, 

 far to our right. It was the statue of a 

 woman in flowing white robes, and her 

 unbound auburn hair fell far below her 

 waist. At the distance from which we 

 viewed it, the resemblance w r as perfect. 

 The statue is a formation of the snow- 

 white gypsum rock, while the hair is the 

 red rock— in color like red clay — of 

 which almost all the rocks in the garden 

 are composed. Not far from the Queen 

 was a "heroic-sized statue of Washing- 

 ton standing in a triumphal chariot. 

 Straight before us appeared the massive 

 cliffs that form the eastern entrance to 

 the garden, which have been so frequent- 

 ly pictured. The top of the rock to the 

 left, as we approached it, has been worn 

 by the elements until the heads of "the 

 kissing camels" have been plainly 

 formed. The profile of an Indian chief 

 appears on the right-hand cliff. 



The "Cathedral Spires" were passed, 

 the echo of the garden tested, and then 

 we circled about to the spot which our 

 guide claimed used to be the dancing 

 ground of the Indians. It is a beautiful 

 spot, worthy of a better use than as a 

 place of festivity for the aborigines. A 

 hole, shaped like a door with a pointed 



arch, was pointed out to us as the en- 

 trance to a cave which runs back into 

 the rock some seventy-five feet, and 

 which was used by the Indians for a 

 stronghold. Half a dozen men en- 

 trenched there could hold a thousand at 

 bay. 



We next passed through the eastern 

 "entrance," and, turning about, looked 

 back at the massive portal, and through 

 it to the beautiful garden with its back- 

 ground of pine-clad hills and snow- 

 capped mountains. This portal is formed 

 of the red rock, while only a few rods 

 outside of it rises an immense cliff of 

 white gypsum. The two distinct forma- 

 tions make a striking contrast and show 

 w 7 hat a mighty upheaval the earth's 

 strata must have passed through in by- 

 gone ages. 



In the side of the gypsum cliff is the 

 entrance to another cave in which the 

 Indians are said to have kept their white 

 prisoners. Whether this be true or not, 

 the rocks are worn smooth, as if by 

 much creeping in and out. It would cer- 

 tainly form a secure dungeon, and escape 

 would be hopeless. 



The final wonder of the garden was 

 now pointed out to us as we sat "faced 

 about" outside of the eastern portal. Far 

 above us, on the top of the left-hand 

 cliff, was "the stage-coach" with its 

 prancing horses, its driver on the box, 

 and its two footmen on the rear. It was 

 so plainly formed that we were quickly 

 able to point it out ourselves. 



The return drive through the garden, 

 though more rapid, was quite as interest- 

 ing, as we looked about to recognize the 

 objects that had previously been pointed 

 out. 



The sun had gone down behind the 

 snowy head of Pike's Peak, and the blue 

 haze had settled down over the pine-clad 

 summit and sides of Cameron's Cone. 

 The cool, bracing air was odorous with 

 the breath of pines. The charm of na- 

 ture untouched by the hand of man en- 

 circled us. As we bade goodbye to the 

 Queen of the Garden, to Washington, to 

 Punch and Judy and their interesting 

 son, to Adam and Eve, we murmured: 

 "We will come again. We surely will 

 come again." 



Mary McCrae Culter. 



