THE LAND OF ENCHANTMENT

PICTURESQUE BRIGHT ANGEL TRAIL, GRAND CAÑON, ARIZONA

THE LAND OF
ENCHANTMENT
From Pike's Peak to the Pacific

By LILIAN WHITING

Author of "The World Beautiful," "The Florence of
Landor," "Boston Days," etc.

"The Fairest enchants me;

The Mighty commands me."

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS FROM PHOTOGRAPHS

BOSTON
LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY
1909

Copyright, 1906,
By Little, Brown, and Company.
All rights reserved.
Printers
S. J. Parkhill & Co., Boston, U. S. A.

TO
The Unfading Memory
OF
MAJOR JOHN WESLEY POWELL
THE GREAT EXPLORER

Whose name is inseparably linked for all time with the "Titan of Chasms," the entire length of which he penetrated, revealing its weird and mysterious grandeur; whose fidelity to scientific survey has signally advanced the progress of our country; whose wise foresight in advocating water supplies for arid lands, whose heroism amid hardships and whose persistence of energy and noble purpose forever endear his name to every American and to all who revere the loftiest achievements of science,

These pages are inscribed by

LILIAN WHITING.

"The sun set, but not his hope;

Stars rose; his faith was earlier up."

"What's life to me?

Where'er I look is fire, where'er I listen

Music; and where I tend bliss evermore."

Browning.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

It is a special pleasure to the author to gratefully present her acknowledgments to Mr. W. H. Simpson, of the Santa Fé; Mr. S. K. Hooper, of the Denver and Rio Grande; Mr. David Cameron Mac Watters, of the Short Line, and Mr. Croycroft, the artist of Santa Fé, New Mexico, for their kind courtesies in facilitating the choice of subjects for illustration and for their sympathetic encouragement in the effort to interpret something of the sublimity and the loveliness of this land of enchantment between Pike's Peak and the Pacific.

The Brunswick

Boston, October, 1906

CONTENTS

ILLUSTRATIONS

THE LAND OF ENCHANTMENT

THE LAND OF ENCHANTMENT

CHAPTER I

WITH WESTERN STARS AND SUNSETS

"The sun, the moon, the stars, the seas, the hills, and the plains—

Are not these, O Soul, the Vision of Him who reigns?"

Tennyson

"It may be that the gulfs will wash us down."

Tennyson

My father's kingdom is so large that people perish with cold at one extremity whilst they are suffocated with heat at the other."

Cyrus to Xenophon

The good American of the Twentieth century by no means defers going to Paris until he dies, but anticipates the joys of Paradise by making a familiarity with the French capital one of the consolations that tend to the alleviation of his enforced terrestrial sojourn. All Europe, indeed, has become the pleasure-ground of American tourists, a large proportion of whom fail to realize that in our own country there are enchanted regions in which the traveller feels that he has been caught up in the starry immensities and heard the words not lawful for man to utter. Within the limits of Colorado, New Mexico, Arizona, and Southern California there are four centres of sublime and unparalleled scenic sublimity which stand alone and unrivalled in the world. Neither the Alps nor the Himalayas can offer any parallel to the phenomena of the mountain and desert systems of the Southwest as wrought by the march of ages, presenting unique and incomparable problems of scientific interest that defy solution, and which are inviting the constant study and increasing research of many among the most eminent specialists of the day in geology and metallurgy. The Pike's Peak region offers to the traveller not only the ascent of the stupendous Peak, but also the "Short Line" trip between Colorado Springs and Cripple Creek, which affords forty-five miles of marvellous mountain and cañon effects. The engineering problem of the ascent of St. Peter's Dome,—a huge mass of granite towering eleven thousand feet into the air, around which the steel track winds in terraces, glory after glory of view repeating itself from the ascending vistas as the train climbs the dizzy height,—the engineering problem that is here at once presented and solved, has attracted scientific attention all over the world as the most extraordinary achievement in mountain transportation. The Grand Cañon of the Colorado in Arizona, two days' journey from the Pike's Peak region, the Petrified Forests that lie also in Arizona, seventy-five miles beyond the border of New Mexico, and that Buried Star near Cañon Diablo, make up a group that travellers and scientists are beginning ardently to appreciate. Colorado, New Mexico, Arizona, and Southern California offer, all in all, a landscape panorama that for grandeur, charm of climate, and rich and varied resources is unrivalled. Imagination falters before the resources of this region and the inducements it offers as a locality in which to live surrounded by perpetual beauty. The air is all exhilaration; the deep blue skies are a miracle of color by day, and a miracle of shining firmament by night; the land offers its richly varied returns in agriculture, fruit, mining, or grazing, according to the specific locality; the inhabitants represent the best quality of American life; the opportunities and advantages already offered and constantly increasing are greater than would at first be considered possible. This entire Southwest can only be accurately defined as the Land of Enchantment.

"Yet all experience is an arch wherethro'

Gleams that untravell'd world,"

exclaims Tennyson's Ulysses, and the wanderer under Western stars that hang, like blazing clusters of radiant light, midway in the air, cannot but feel that all these new experiences open to him vistas of untold significance and undreamed-of inspiration.

"It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,"

is the haunting refrain of his thoughts when, through the luminous air, he gazes into the golden glory of sunsets whose splendor is forever impressed on his memory. Every hour of the journey through the Southwest is an hour of enchantment in the intense interest of the scenes. One must not miss the outlook when descending the steep grade down Raton Mountain; nor must he fail to be on the alert in passing through the strange old pueblos of Isleta and Acoma; he must not miss Cañon Diablo when crossing that wonderful chasm on the wonderful bridge, nor the gleam of the Lowell Observatory at Flagstaff on its pine-clad hill-slope, nor fail to gaze on the purple Franciscan peaks on which the lingering sunset rays recall to him the poet's line,—

"Day in splendid purple dying."

Like a modern Telemachus he sees "the baths of all the western stars."

Between La Junta in Colorado and Los Angeles in California there lies a journey which, in connection with its side trips, is unequalled, because there is only one Grand Cañon, one Pike's Peak with its adjacent wonderland, and because, as a rule, elsewhere in the United States—or in the world, for that matter,—forests do not turn into stone nor stars hurl themselves into the earth with a force that buries them too deep for resurrection. Through the East and the Middle West the mountains do not, on general principles, attempt any competition with the clouds, but content themselves with the gentle altitude of a mile or so; the stars stay decorously in the firmament and are not shooting madly about, trying fantastic Jules Verne experiments to determine whether or not they can shine better from the centre of the earth than from their natural place in the upper air; the stars of the Eastern skies "stand pat," so to speak, and are not flying in the face of the universe; so that, altogether, in these regions it would seem quite evident that

"The world is built in order,

And the atoms march in tune."

These exceptional variations to the established order, however,—these wonderful peaks and cañons and forests and gardens of gods,—all these enchanted things lie, naturally, within the Land of Enchantment, within this vast territorial expanse replete with many other attractions. From La Junta let the traveller journey into Colorado with its splendor of resources, and in gazing upon the stately, solemn impressiveness of the Snowy Range he cannot but feel that Nature has predestined Colorado for the theatre of noble life and realize the influence as all-pervading. Infinite possibilities open before one as an alluring vista, and he hears the refrain,—

"My spirit beats her mortal bars

As down dark tides the glory slides

And star-like mingles with the stars."

With the excursions offered,—grand panoramas of mountain views where the tourist from his lofty perch in the observation-car looks down on clouds and on peaks and pinnacles far below the heights to which his train climbs,—with the cogwheel road ascending Pike's Peak, the fascinating drives through Cheyenne Cañon, the Garden of the Gods, Ute Pass, and around Glen Eyrie, and with the luxurious ease of life at "The Antlers," the traveller finds fairly a new world, rich in suggestion and wide outlook. This attractive region is, however, only one of the central points of interest in Colorado. Denver, the brilliant and fascinating capital; Pueblo, the metropolis of Southern Colorado; Glenwood Springs, the romantic and fashionable watering place and summer resort high up in the mountains on the beautiful "scenic route" of the Denver and Rio Grande; Boulder, the picturesque mountain town, with its State University so ably conducted; Greeley, the town of the "Union Colony," whose romantic and tragic story is a part of the great history of the Centennial State, and where an admirable normal school draws students from all over the country, even including New England,—these and a wealth of other features offer interest that is coming to engage the attention of the civilized world.

New Mexico has been more or less considered as one of the impossible and uncivilized localities, or has failed to establish any claim to being considered at all; yet here is a territory whose climate is simply delightful by virtue of its altitude,—cool in summer and mild and sunny in winter,—whose mines of amethysts and other precious stones suggest developments yet undreamed-of; whose ethnological interest, in the marvellous remains of Cliff-dwellers and of a people far antedating any authentic records, enchains the scientist; a territory whose future promises almost infinitely varied riches in many directions of its development.

Arizona is simply a treasure land. If it offered only that enthralling feature, the Grand Cañon, it would be a central point of pilgrimage for the entire civilized world; but even aside from this,—the sublimest vision ever offered to human eye,—even aside from the Grand Cañon, which dominates the world as the most sublime spectacle,—Arizona offers the fascinations of the Painted Desert, the Tonto Basin, the uncanny buttes that loom up in grotesque shapes on the horizon, the dreamy lines of mountain ranges, the strange pueblos, the productive localities where grains and where fruits and flowers grow with tropical luxuriance, the Petrified Forests, and the exquisite coloring of sky and atmosphere.

Southern California, with its brilliantly fascinating metropolis, Los Angeles; the neighboring city of Pasadena, the "Crown of the Valley"; with an extensive electric trolley-car connection with towns within a radius of fifty miles, and other distinctive and delightful features, almost each one of which might well furnish a separate chapter of description; with mountain trips made easy and enjoyable by the swift electric lines,—all this region fascinates the imagination and indicates new and wonderful vistas of life in the immediate future. The vast and varied resources of the great Southwest will also, as they are developed, increasingly affect the economic aspects of the country.

To the traveller one fact stands out in especial prominence, and that is that the traditional primitive conditions in this region hardly continue to exist. The picturesque aspects of nature form the stage setting to very-much-up-to-date life. The opportunities and advantages already offered and constantly increasing are greater than would at first be considered possible. In isolated homes on the desert the children of the family will be found studying the higher mathematics, taking music lessons, or receiving lessons in languages (classic, or the romance languages) from some one in the neighborhood who is able to give such instruction. If any traveller expects to encounter the traditional "cow-boy" aspects of life, he will be very much disappointed. There is no refinement of life in the East that is not mirrored and duplicated in the West. There are no aspirations, no ideals, no fine culture in the East that have not their corresponding aspects in the great West. In fact, in many ways the West begins where the East leaves off. For instance, the new towns of the West that have sprung up within the past twenty years have never known what it was to have gas or horse-cars. They begin with electric lights and electric transit. Their schoolhouses are built with up-to-date methods, and the houses, however modest, are constructed with a taste and a beauty unknown in the rural regions of the East. The square white house with green blinds and a straight stone-paved pathway to the front gate, so common in New England, is not seen in the West. Instead, the most modest little structure has its piazza, its projecting bay window thrown out, its balcony—something, at all events, tasteful and beautiful to the eye.

The journey from La Junta (in Colorado) to Los Angeles offers a series of enthralling pictorial effects that are invested with all the refinements of civilized life delightfully devoid of its commonplaceness. These long transcontinental trains with two engines, one at the front and one at the rear, with their different grades of the Pullman, the tourist, and the emigrant car service, are as distinctive a feature of the twentieth century as the "prairie schooners" were of the early half of the nineteenth century. The real journey begins, of course, at Chicago, and as these trains leave in the evening the traveller fares forth in the seclusion of his berth in the Pullman. The nights on a sleeping-car may be a very trance of ecstasy to one who loves to watch the panorama of the skies. Raise the curtain, pile up the pillows to the angle that one can gaze without lifting the head, and what ethereal visions one is wafted through! One has a sense of flying in the air among the starry spaces, especially if he chances to have the happy fortune of a couch on the side where the moon is shining down,—a midsummer moon, with stars, and filmy, flitting clouds,—when the panorama of the air becomes the enchantment of a dream.

It is, literally, "such stuff as dreams are made of," and when one drops off into slumber, he utilizes it for his fancies of the night. Miss Harriet Hosmer, the famous sculptor, once related a story of a night journey she took with a party of congenial spirits on horseback between Rome and Florence. By way of "a lark" they rested by day and rode by night, and the beauty of the effects of light and shade sank into her mind so that she drew on them thirty years or more later for the wonderful designs in her great "Gates," which even rival those of Ghiberti. "The night hath counsel" and suggestion of artistic beauty as well, and the effects that one may get from a flying train are impossible to obtain under any other condition. After all, is it not a part of the fine art of living to take the enjoyment of the moment as it comes, in whatever guise, without lamenting that it is not something else?

These splendidly equipped trains of the Santa Fé service admit very little dust; the swift motion keeps up a constant breeze, and some necromancy of perpetual vigilance surrounds the traveller with exceptional cleanliness and personal comfort. One experiences a certain sense of detachment from ordinary day and daylight duties that is exhilarating.

Kansas City, the gateway to the great Southwest, might well claim attention as an important manufacturing and distributing centre; Kansas itself, once the bed of an inland sea, is not without scientific interest for the deposits of gypsum and salt that have left the soil so fertile, as well as for strange fossils revealing gigantic animals, both land and aquatic, that have lived there,—the mastodon, rhinoceros, elephant, the crocodile and shark,—many of whose skeletons are preserved in the National Museum in Washington. The prosperous inland cities with their schools and colleges, their beautiful homes and constant traffic,—all these features of Kansas, the state of heroic history, are deeply impressive. But it is Colorado, New Mexico, Arizona, with which these pages are chiefly concerned, and the especially picturesque aspects of the journey begin with La Junta.

ACOMA. TWO MILES DISTANT

Entering Colorado, the plateau is four thousand feet above sea level, and constantly rising. This altitude renders the climate of New Mexico particularly invigorating and delightful.

The most romantic and poetically enchanting regions of the United States are entered into on this journey, in which easy detours allow one to visit that mysterious "City in the Sky," the pueblo of Acoma, near Albuquerque in New Mexico; to make excursions to Montezuma's Well; to the mysterious ruin of Casa Grande; to the Twin Lakes (which lie on a mountain crest); and to study other marvels of nature in Arizona. The splendors of Colorado, with the myriad mountain peaks and silver lakes, the mysterious cañons and deep gorges, the rose-flushed valleys lying fair under a sapphire sky in the luminous golden atmosphere, and the profound interest inspired in the general social tone of life in its educational, economic, and religious aspects, invest a summer-day tour through the Land of Enchantment with all the glory and the freshness of a dream.

CHAPTER II

DENVER THE BEAUTIFUL

"I will make me a city of gliding and wide-wayed silence,

With a highway of glass and of gold;

With life of a colored peace, and a lucid leisure,

Of smooth electrical ease,

Of sweet excursion of noiseless and brilliant travel,

With room in your streets for the soul."

Stephen Phillips

Denver the Beautiful is the dynamo of Western civilization, and the keynote to the entire scale of life in Colorado. The atmosphere seems charged with high destiny. "I worship with wonder the great Fortune," said Emerson, using the term in the universal sense, "and find it none too large for use. My receptivity matches its greatness." The receptivity of the dwellers in this splendid environment seems to match its greatness, and expand with the increase of its vast resources. As Paris is France, so Denver is Colorado. Hardly any other commonwealth and its capital are in such close relation, unless it be that of Massachusetts and Boston. Colorado is a second Italy, rather than Switzerland, as it has been called. Over it bends the Italian sky; its luminous atmosphere is that of Dante's country; at night the stars hang low as they hang over the heights of San Miniato in fair Florence; the mountain coloring, when one has distance enough, has the soft melting purple and amethyst lights of the Apennines, and the courtesy of the people is not less marked than in the land of the olive and the myrtle. Then, too, the light—the resplendent and luminous effect of the atmosphere—is like that of no other state. The East is dark by comparison with this transparency of golden light.

As the metropolis of the great West between Chicago and the Pacific Coast, Denver has a continual procession of visitors from all countries, who pause in the overland journey to study the outlook of the most wonderful state in the Union,—that of the richest and most varied resources. To find within the limits of one state resources that include gold, silver, copper, lead, zinc, coal, and tin mines; agriculture, horticulture, stock raising, manufactures, and oil wells, sounds like a fiction; yet this is literally true. Add to these some of the most beautiful and sublime scenery in the world, the best modern appliances, and the most intelligent and finely aspiring class of people, and one has an outline of the possibilities of the Centennial State.

Denver is, geographically, the central city of the country, equally accessible from both the Atlantic and the Pacific coasts, from the North and the South. It has the finest climate of the continent; its winters are all sunshine and exhilaration, with few cloudy or stormy days; its summers are those in which oppressive heat is hardly known, and the nights are invariably cool. It is a great railroad centre; it has infinite space in which to extend itself in any direction; it has unsurpassed beauty of location. No city west of Chicago concentrates so many desirable features, for all this wealth of resource and loveliness of scenic setting is the theatre of noble energy and high achievement. Denver is only twenty-six hours from Chicago; it is but forty-five hours from New York. Although apparently a city of the plains, it is a mile above sea level, and is surrounded with more than two hundred miles of mountain ranges, whose changeful color, in royal purple, deep rose, amber, pale blue, gleams through the transparent air against the horizon. The business and hotel part of Denver lies on a lower level, while the Capitol, a superb building of Colorado marble, and all the best residential region, is on a higher plateau. The Capitol has the novel decoration of an electric flag, so arranged that through colored glass of red, white, and blue the intense light shines.

The Denver residential region is something unusual within general municipal possibilities, as it has unbounded territory over which to expand, thus permitting each home to have its own grounds, nearly all of which are spacious; and these, with the broad streets lined with trees, give to this part of the city the appearance of an enormous park. For miles these avenues and streets extend, all traversed by swift electric cars that so annihilate time and space that a man may live five, ten, or a dozen miles from his place of business and call it all joy. He insures himself pure air, beautiful views, and an abundance of ground. If the family desires to go into the city for evening lectures, concerts, or the theatre, the transit is swift and enjoyable. They control every convenience. These individual villas are all fire-proof. The municipal law requires the buildings to be of brick or stone, thus making Denver a practically fireproof city. Both the business blocks and the homes share the benefit of the improved modern taste in architecture. The city of Denver covers an area of eighty-nine square miles, and these limits are soon to be extended.

The Capitol has an enchanting mountain view; it also contains a fine museum of historic relics found in Colorado from cliff-dwellings and other points. A million dollars has been offered—and refused—for this state collection. The City Park, covering nearly four hundred acres, with its two lakes, its beds of flowers and groups of shrubbery; its casino, where an orchestra plays every afternoon in the summer, while dozens of carriages and motor cars with their tastefully dressed occupants draw up and listen to the music, is a centre of attraction to both residents and visitors. This park is to Denver as is the Pincian Hill to Rome, or as Hyde Park to London,—the fashionable drive and rendezvous. Great beds of scarlet geraniums contrast with the emerald green of the grass, while here and there a fountain throws its spray into the air. Far away on the horizon are the encircling mountains in view for over two hundred miles, the ranges taking on all the colors of fairyland, while a deep turquoise sky, soft and beautiful, bends over the entire panorama. From this plateau four great peaks are in view: Pike's Peak, seventy-five miles to the south; Long's, Gray's, and James's peaks, all distinctly silhouetted against the sky, rising from the serrated range which connects them. During these open-air concerts in the park there is a midsummer holiday air over the scene as if all the city were en fête.

The architectural scheme of Denver's residential region harmonizes with the landscape. The houses are not the palaces of upper Fifth Avenue and Riverside drive, or of Massachusetts or Connecticut avenues in Washington; but there is hardly an individual residence that has not legitimate claim to beauty. The tower, the oriel window, and the broad balcony are much in evidence; and the piazza, with its swinging seat, its easy chairs, and table disposed on a bright rug, suggest a charm of vie intime that appeals to the passer-by. Books, papers, and magazines are scattered over the table: the home has the unmistakable air of being lived in and enjoyed; of being the centre of a happy, intelligent life, buoyant with enterprise and energy, and identified with the social progress of the day. On the greenest of lawn a jet of water or, in many cases, a fountain plays, the advantage of an irrigated country being that the householder creates and controls his own climatic conditions. The rain,—it raineth every day when irrigation determines the shower; roses grow in riotous profusion on the lawn, and the crimson "rambler" climbs the portico; lilies nod in the luminous gold of the sunshine, and all kinds of foliage plants lend their rich color to these beautiful grounds that surround every home. To the children growing up in Denver the spectacle of dreary streets would be as much of a novelty as the ruins of Karnak. The line that divides the past from the present is not only very definite, but also very recent, as is indicated by the question of a five-year-old lad who wonderingly asked: "Mamma, did they ever have horses draw the trolley cars?" The mastodon is not more remote in antiquity to the man or woman of to-day than was the idea of horses drawing a car to this child. Between the nineteenth and the twentieth centuries the gulf of demarcation is almost as wide as between the fifteenth and the nineteenth.

The streets of Denver are very broad, usually planted with trees, and the smooth roads offer an earthly paradise to the motor-car transit that abounds in Denver. One of the happy excursions is that of motoring to Colorado Springs, seventy-five miles distant, a constant entertainment. With the splendid electric-transit system, annihilating distance; with the broad streets paved after the best modern methods; with the wide and smooth sidewalks of Colorado stone and the almost celestial charm of the view, city life is transformed. Telephonic service is practically universal; electric lighting and an admirable water system are among the easy conveniences of this section, which is not yet suburban because of its complete identification with all other parts of the city.

The universality of telephonic intercourse in Colorado would go far to support the theory of Dr. Edward Everett Hale that the time will come when writing will be a lost art, and will be considered, at best, as a clumsy and laborious means of communication in much the same manner that the late centuries regard the production of the manuscript book before the invention of the art of printing. In few cities is the telephone service carried out to such constant colloquial use as in Denver. The traveller finds in his room a telephone as a matter of course, and there are very few quarters of an hour when the bell does not summon him to chat with a friend, from one on the same floor of the hotel to one who is miles away in the city, or even fifty or a hundred miles distant, as at Greeley, Colorado Springs, or Pueblo.

"How are you to-day?" questions the friendly voice. "Did you see so-and-so in the morning papers? And what do you think about it? and can you be ready at eleven to go to hear Mrs. —— lecture? and at one will you lunch with Mrs. ——? the entire conversation to be in Italian? and could you go at about four this afternoon to a tea to meet an Oriental Princess who will discuss the laws of reincarnation? and will you also dine with us at seven, and go later to the Woman's Municipal Club that holds a conference to-night?" All those lovely things fall upon one with apparently no thought of its being an unusual day—this is Denver! This is twentieth-century life. This is an illustration of what can be done when the non-essential is eliminated from the days and that which is essential is felicitously pursued.

When the Denver woman remarked to the Eastern woman sojourner within the gates that she was unable to be away that autumn on any extended absence, as the campaign was to be more than usually important, the wanderer from the Atlantic shore irreverently laughed. Her hostess endeavored (unsuccessfully) not to seem shocked by this levity regarding serious subjects. She remembered that there were extenuating circumstances, and that the Eastern women had really never had a fair chance in life. Their part, she reflected, consisted in obeying laws and abiding by whatever was decreed, with no voice allowed to express their own preferences or convictions. She remembered that a proportion of the feminine New England intellect consecrates its powers and its time to extended researches in the Boston Public Library and in the venerable records of the Massachusetts Historical Society, in a perpetual quest of information regarding its ancestors, who are worshipped with the zeal and fervor of the Japanese. The Boston woman, indeed, may have only the most vague ideas regarding the rate bill, the problem of the Philippines, the Panama Canal, or the next Governor of Massachusetts; but she is thoroughly conversant with all the details of the Mayflower and her own ancestral dignities. Recognizing the New England passion for its ancestry, a leading Boston journal offers a page, weekly, to open correspondence on the momentous question as to whether Winthrop Bellingham married Priscilla Patience Mather in 1699 or in 1700, and a multitude of similar questions concerning the vanished centuries. The Denver woman realized all this and was discreetly charitable in her judgment of her friend's failure to recognize the significant side of the political enfranchisement of women in Colorado. For despite some actual disadvantages and defects of woman suffrage in the centennial state, and a vast amount of exaggerated criticism on these defects, it is yet a benefit to the four states that enjoy it,—Colorado, Utah, Idaho, and Wyoming.

In a majority of the states of the entire nation there is a conviction (and one not without its claims) that women are adequately represented and protected in all their rights, as things are, and that it is superfluous to increase the vote.

The anti-suffrage argument suggests many reflections whose truth must be admitted, and this side of the controversy is espoused and led by some proportion of men and women whose names inspire profound respect, if not conviction, with their belief. Still, the fact remains that when woman suffrage is subjected to the practical test of experience, the advantages are so obvious, its efficacy for good so momentous, that their realization fairly compels acceptance. In the entire nation there has never been a man or a woman whose clearness and profundity of intellect, moral greatness, and sympathetic insight into the very springs of national and individual life exceeded those of Lucy Stone, the remarkable pioneer in the political emancipation of women, whose logical eloquence and winning, beautiful personality was the early focus of this movement. Mrs. Stone surrounded herself with a noble group,—Mary A. Livermore, Julia Ward Howe, Thomas Wentworth Higginson, and others whose names readily suggest themselves, and with whom, in the complete companionship and sympathy of her husband, Dr. Henry B. Blackwell, she successfully worked, even though the final success has not yet been achieved. Other great and noble women—Susan B. Anthony, Elizabeth Cady Stanton—consecrated their entire lives and remarkable powers to the early championship of woman suffrage. The present ranks of women workers—the younger women—are so numerous, and they include so large a proportion of the most notable women of both the East and the West, that volumes would not afford sufficient room for adequate allusion. In Denver the leading people are fully convinced of the responsibility of women in politics. Although the ballot has not been generally granted to women, the very movement toward it has resulted in their higher education and their larger freedom in all ways. The situation reminds one of the "subtle ways" of Emerson's Brahma:

"If the red slayer think he slays,

Or if the slain think he is slain,

They know not well the subtle ways

I keep, and pass, and turn again.

"Far or forgot to me is near;

Shadow and sunlight are the same;

The vanished gods to me appear;

And one to me are shame and fame.

"They reckon ill who leave me out;

When me they fly, I am the wings;

I am the doubter and the doubt,

And I the hymn the Brahmin sings."

Apparently, the principle of woman suffrage has "subtle ways" in which "to pass and turn again." It has recently turned in a manner to compel a new and more profound revision of all opinion and argument.

Colorado presents a most interesting field for the study of woman suffrage, and from any fair and adequate review of its workings and results there could hardly fail to be but one conclusion,—that of its signal value and importance as a factor in human progress. One of its special claims is of a nature not down on the bills,—the fact of the great intellectual enlargement and stimulus,—aside from its results, which the very exercise of political power gives to the women of the state. It is seen in the higher quality of conversational tone and the tendency to eliminate the inconsequential and the inane because great matters of universal interest were thus brought home to women in connection with their power to decide on these matters. This result is perhaps equally seen among the women who rejoice and the women who regret the fact of their political enfranchisement. For in Colorado, as well as in other states, there is a proportion of women who do not believe in the desirability of the ballot for themselves. They sincerely regret that it has been "forced," as they say, upon them. This proportion in Colorado is not a large one, but it includes some of the most intelligent and cultured women, just as an enthusiastic acceptance of the ballot includes a much larger proportion of this higher order of women. However, welcome or unwelcome, desired or not desired, the ballot is there, and so the women who regret this fact yet realize its responsibility and feel it a moral duty to use it wisely as well. And so they, too, study great questions, and discuss them, and fit themselves to use the power that is conferred upon them. All this reacts on the general tone of society, and the quality of conversation at ladies' lunches, at teas, and at clubs, is of a far higher order than is often found in other states among the more purely feminine gatherings.

Among the women who have successfully administered public office in Colorado was the late Mrs. Helen Grenfell, whose record as State Superintendent of Public Instruction was so remarkable that both political parties supported her. A Denver journal said of her:

"Mrs. Grenfell's term has lasted six years, the last two years having been under a Republican administration, although Mrs. Grenfell is a Democrat. Her most notable achievement has been in her conduct of the school lands of the state, making them valuable sources of revenue. Her policy from the first was against the sale of the school lands, which comprise some three million acres. The income from such sales had been limited, as the investments were prescribed, and the interest rate rather low, as Western interest goes. The leasing system was inaugurated under Mrs. Grenfell's direction, and the result was an increase of school revenues of nearly two hundred thousand dollars a year, with no decrease in the capital. The Land Department of the state shares the credit with the state superintendent of public instruction, as they have administered her policy wisely, but the policy was hers alone."

Judge Lindsay of Denver, giving an official opinion as to the desirability of woman suffrage for Colorado, said:

"Woman suffrage in Colorado for over ten years has more than demonstrated its justice. No one would dare to propose its repeal; and, if left to the men of the state, any proposition to revoke the right bestowed upon women would be overwhelmingly defeated.

"Many good laws have been obtained in Colorado which would not have been secured but for the power and influence of women.

"At some of the elections in Denver frauds have been committed. Ninety-nine per cent of these frauds were committed by men, without any connivance or assistance, direct or indirect, from women; but because one per cent were committed by women, there are ignorant or careless-minded people in other states who actually argue that this is a reason for denying women the right to vote. If it were a just reason for denying suffrage to women, it would be a ten times greater reason for denying it to men.

"In Colorado it has never made women any the less womanly or any the less motherly, or interfered with their duties in the home, that they have been given the right to participate in the affairs of state.

"Many a time I have heard the 'boss' in the political caucus object to the nomination of some candidate because of his bad moral character, with the mere explanation that if the women found him out it might hurt the whole ticket. While many bad men have been nominated and elected to office in spite of woman suffrage, they have not been nominated and elected because of woman suffrage. If the women alone had a right to vote, it would result in a class of men in public office whose character for morality, honesty, and courage would be of a much higher order....

"People have no right to judge woman suffrage in Colorado by the election frauds in a few precincts. The election frauds in Philadelphia, where women do not vote, were never used as a reason why suffrage should be denied to men....

"With women, as with men, it requires more or less public sentiment to arouse them to their civic duties; but when aroused, as they frequently are, their power for good cannot be overestimated. Again, the very fact that the women have such a power is a wonderful reserve force in the cause of righteousness in Colorado, and has been a powerful deterrent in anticipating and opposing the forces of evil.

"It does not take any mother from her home duties or cares to spend ten minutes in going to the polling place and casting her vote and returning to the bosom of her home; but in that ten minutes she wields a power that is doing more to protect that home now, and will do more to protect it in the future, and to protect all other homes, than any power or influence in Colorado.

"I know that the great majority of people in Colorado favor woman suffrage, after more than a decade of practical experience,—first, because it is fair, just, and decent; and secondly, because its influence has been good rather than evil in our political affairs."

Judge Lindsay's words represent the general attitude of the representative people of the state.

The Hon. Henry M. Teller, senior senator of Colorado, is one of the most interesting men in the Centennial State, and the traveller who may meet and talk with him is impressed with his quiet sincerity, with the sense of reserved power with which he seems endowed, and the refinement and directness of his methods. He is by birth an Eastern man, and a graduate of Harvard; but his mature life has been passed in Colorado. As a lawyer his law office claims much of his time and thought, even with all the great tide of national interests with which he is identified. He is a thorough and, indeed, an astute politician; not in the "machine" sense, but with a very clear and comprehensive grasp of the situation and a large infusion of practical sagacity. Senator Teller is in no sense an enthusiast. He is responsive to high aims and high ideals; he knows what they are, so to speak; he recognizes them on sight; he never falls into the error of under-valuing them; but he is not a man to be carried away by an ecstatic vision, and he would have no use for wings at all where he had feet. He would regard the solid earth as a better foundation, on the whole, than the air, and one more suited to existing conditions.

Senator Teller has had more than a quarter of a century's experience in political life and in statesmanship. For two years he was a member of the Cabinet. For twenty-seven years he has been in the Senate, where, with Senator Hoar of Massachusetts, he shared the highest honor, and the most absolute confidence, in both his flawless integrity and conspicuous ability, that the Senate, and the nation as well, can give to him.

Senator Patterson, the junior senator from Colorado, is a man whom, if he encounters an obstacle does not grant it the dignity of recognition. He instantly discovers the end,—the desired result,—and declares, per saltum, "It is right; it should be done,—it shall be done." Senator Patterson is a man of very keen perceptions and one with whom it is easy to come into touch instantly; he is responsive, sympathetic, full of faith that the thing that ought to be accomplished can be accomplished, and therefore that it shall be. Senator Patterson has the typical American experience of successful men lying behind him. He was on familiar terms with the intricacies of a newspaper office in his youth; he studied in an Indiana college without an annual expenditure of that twenty thousand dollars which some of the latter-day Harvard undergraduates find indispensable to the process of securing their "B. A.," and tradition records, indeed, that the junior Colorado senator, in the prehistoric days of his youth, set out for the fountain of learning with a capital of forty dollars; that he frugally walked from Crawfordsville to Indianapolis that he might not deplete his financial estate which was destined to buy a scholarship, and that in this unrecorded tour in the too, too truly rural region of his early life, he cleaned two clocks on the way in payment for lodging, and that he cleaned them uncommonly well. Of all this traditionary history who shall say? Senator Patterson is a man who would always keep faith with his aims and convictions. He is sunny and full of wit, and full of faith in the ultimate triumph of good things in general, and is, all in all, one of the most genial and delightful of men—and senators.

It is related that Senator Patterson first dawned upon Denver in its primeval period of 1872, when its municipal affairs were conducted by two prominent—if not eminent—gentlemen, one of whom was the champion gambler, and the other the champion brewer of the metropolis. There were eleven thousand nine hundred and ninety-eight other citizens in this municipality besides the brewer and the gambler (and the population was said to have been twelve thousand in all), and the eleven thousand nine hundred and ninety-eight, like "The Ten" of early Florentine history, decided that would "reform the town." Their united effort was to elect Mr. Patterson as Mayor. And a good one he proved; and he has gone on and on, in the minds as well as in the hearts of his fellow-citizens, until now he is the colleague of Senator Teller, and he offers another typical illustration of true American integrity and honorable ambition and success. Personally, Senator Patterson is one of the most winning men in the world, and one delights in his success and the high estimation in which he is held.

The development of Colorado and other parts of the great Southwest during the past half-century has created a new order of employment in that of the government expert,—the specialist in upland or hydraulic irrigation, in engineering and mining problems. The government surveying work has also increased largely, both in extent and in the greater number of specialties now required. The Geological Survey and the Agricultural Department, both included under the Department of the Interior, are rapidly multiplying branches of work that require both the skilled training and ability for original research and accomplishment. These positions, which command government salaries at from some eighteen to twenty-five hundred dollars a year, afford such opportunity for the expert to reveal his value that private corporations and business houses continually draw on the ranks of the government employees. Of late years the demand for the expert irrigation engineer has been so great in Colorado as to seriously embarrass the government forces by drawing some of the best men for private service. Denver is an especial centre for these enterprises, as being the natural metropolis for the vast inter-mountain region and the plains country of the Missouri River. This vast territory will support many millions more of population. In fact, the dwellers within this described territory at this day are but pioneers on the frontier to what the future will develop, although they already enjoy all the benefits of the older states, with countless advantages beside which they cannot enjoy.

The smelteries in Denver, of which the Grant is the largest, treat millions of pounds of copper and lead, and great quantities of silver and gold, while there are also extensive ones in Pueblo, Leadville, Durango, and other places. There is also a good proportion of Colorado ore which is not treated at all at smelteries, but is of a free-milling order. The revenue from mining has exceeded fifty millions of dollars annually of late years, but the revenue from agriculture exceeds that of the mines, and to these must be added some twenty millions a year from live stock during the past two or three years. In the aggregate, Colorado has an internal revenue of hardly less than one hundred millions a year, and this largely passes through Denver as the distributing point, constituting the Capital one of the most prosperous of young cities. Denver stands alone in a rich region. One thousand miles from Chicago, six hundred miles from Kansas City, and four hundred miles from Salt Lake City, Denver holds its place without any rival.

The ideal conditions of living have never been entirely combined in any one locality on this sublunary planet, so far as human history reveals; and with all the scenic charm, the rich and varied resources, and the phenomenal development of Colorado, no one could truthfully describe it as Utopia. There is no royal road to high achievement in any line. Difficulties and obstacles are "a part of the play," and he alone is wise who, by his own determination, faith, and persistence of energy, transforms his very obstacles into stepping-stones and thus gains the strength of that which he overcomes.

Northern Colorado has great resources even beyond the coal fields that will make it the power centre; with its prestige of Denver, and such surrounding towns as Greeley, Boulder, Fort Collins, Golden, and others, all of which fall within a group of social and commercial centres that will soon be interconnected by a network of electric trolley lines. For the electric road between Greeley and Denver Mr. J. D. Houseman has secured a right of way one hundred and fifty feet wide, the rails being midway between the Union Pacific and the Burlington lines. Mr. Houseman is one of the noted financiers of the East who came to Denver to incorporate and build this road, and his is only one of three companies that are now in consultation with the power company negotiating for the supplies which will enable them to build the proposed new roads.

The Seeman Tunnel, which is to be constructed near Idaho Springs, at a distance of fifty miles from Denver, and which is to be twelve miles in length, although at an elevation of eighty-five hundred feet, is yet to extend under Fall River and the Yankee, Alice, and the Lombard mining districts. It will be one of the marvels of the state, and will penetrate a thousand mining veins. The Continental Mines, Power and Reduction Company, recently incorporated with a capital of three millions, of which Captain Seeman is the president, owns many of the mining veins which will be touched by this tunnel. Many of the veins to which this tunnel will afford approach have not been accessible heretofore for more than four or five months in the year. For the remaining six or seven months travel is practically impossible in these mountains; the "claims" cannot be reached, as they lie in the region of perpetual snow. When the Seeman Tunnel is completed the owner of any claim that is tapped by it can, by paying a certain royalty per ton for each ton of ore mined, obtain the right to work it in the tunnel, thus being able to proceed through the entire year and at a far less cost in production than at present. Regarding this gigantic enterprise, Captain Seeman said, in June of 1906, that the work would be pushed as rapidly as men, money, and machinery could advance it, and, he added: "I consider it one of the greatest tunnels ever attempted, and one that will hold the record for mining tunnels. I am confident that we will strike enough ore within the first two or three miles to keep us busy for years." The Leviathan is one of the first veins that the tunnel is expected to tap,—a vein three hundred feet wide on the surface,—and while already traced for more than three miles, it holds every promise for as yet uncalculated extension. The Lombard is another vein of leading importance which promises to be a bonanza. Gold is the principal mineral that appears in these veins, although silver, lead, and copper are found. Another ore, tungsten, used for hardening in armor plates, large guns, and the best mechanical implements,—an ore valued at six hundred dollars per ton,—has been discovered in these veins. The Seeman Tunnel is located directly under James's Peak.

Another of the remarkable engineering marvels that mark the progress of Colorado is the Moffat road, the new railroad between Denver and Salt Lake City, now open as far as Kremling, which initiated its passenger service in the late June of 1906 with daily excursions, in solid vestibuled trains, making the round trip between Denver and Tolland, Corona (the region of perpetual snow) and Arrow, on the Pacific slope of the Continental Divide, in one day. This vast enterprise is due to the genius and the prophetic vision of President David H. Moffat of the First National Bank in Denver, one of the leaders in all that makes for the best interests and the advancement of the Centennial State, and of the future of Denver the Beautiful. Mr. Moffat says:

"Denver's population is growing steadily and naturally. Some time ago I made the prediction that Denver would have three hundred thousand inhabitants within five years. I see no reason for changing my estimate. Rather, I might increase it, but I will be conservative.

"The things that build up a city's wealth and population are 'round about Denver in prodigal quantities. If Denver had only the state of Colorado from which to draw, her future would be absolutely assured. But consider the vast territory that is tributary to this city. It stretches away to the east, west, north, and south, an area quite one-third of the whole country, and quite the richest in all natural resources. Denver is the geographical hub of this territory."

The Moffat road will climb the ramparts formed by the main range of the Rocky Mountains west of Denver and run directly westward, passing through one of the most fertile sections of the state. The road ascends to an altitude of eleven thousand six hundred feet, running through a region rich in minerals, and especially in coal. The sublime scenery along the route has already made it most popular for excursions, which draw a vast tourist travel continually. President Moffat's road has brought Routt County into such prominence that investors from the East are being attracted to this region, a notable one among these being the Eastern capitalist, C. B. Knox, who proposes to invest in copper, coal, and iron in Routt County, which he regards as the richest section in Colorado. Mr. Knox engaged the services of several experts to examine and report to him upon this region. To a press correspondent who inquired of Mr. Knox his views regarding Colorado, he said:

"I believe that there is wealth unmeasured in Routt County, and I am out here to put some money in there. I am sure that this section of the state is one of the richest territories in the country. How I became interested is a long story,—too long to tell. But it is sufficient to say that I have heard of Routt County for so long, and from so many different people in whose judgment I have the utmost faith, that I have come out here to invest some money. I believe thoroughly that money put into Routt County will within a few years bring handsome returns. If I did not believe that I should not be here looking for a place in which to invest money.

"I have been to Steamboat Springs myself, and I am thoroughly of the opinion that it is going to be one of the big towns of your state. The fact is, I have never seen a better looking proposition in my life than investing money in Routt County. Already I have purchased some land, and I am going to get more. It is this iron proposition that I am having investigated the most completely. The iron to be found in Routt County looks awfully good to me, and there is no question in my mind that Routt County is the place to put capital.

"I cannot, of course, at this time say just what properties I have in view,—that would not be good business; but I have under investigation locations of mineral property near Steamboat and north and south of there. I have decided on nothing definite; that is, as to just what ores I will endeavor to exploit, for the whole proposition looks so good to me that I am going to purchase probably several different kinds of propositions. As I say, though, I am most interested in the iron ore, as that seems to present the greatest opportunities."

These views are significant not only as those of an experienced financier who has unbounded faith in the future of Colorado, but also as typical of the wide range of vision which is open to the trained eye of the capitalist and the organizer of great enterprises. The spellbinder may work his will in Colorado. It is the land of infinite opportunity. It offers resources totally unsurpassed in the entire world for unlimited development, and these resources await the recognition of those whose vision is sufficiently true to discern the psychological moment.

The first railroad reached Denver thirty-six years ago, and the city has now sixteen railroad lines. It has a population of over two hundred and twenty-five thousand. It is a geographical centre, which assures its permanent importance as a distributing point. With two hundred and twenty-five miles of street railway, with seventy-five miles of paved streets, and a taxable property estimated at one hundred and two and a third millions, Denver holds unquestionable commercial importance.

When, on the evening of July Fourth, 1906, the splendid electric flag, with the national colors intensified a thousand fold in brilliancy by the electrical lights, floated in the air from the dome of the Capitol on its commanding eminence, and the new city Arch, a veritable Arc de Triomphe, flashed its "Welcome" in electrical light to eager throngs, the moment was one which might well have been fixed on the sensitive plate of the camera of the future as typical of the entire horoscope of Denver the Beautiful. On that day had been unveiled this triumphal arch, placed at the Seventeenth Street entrance to the city from the Union Depot, which, in its sixteen hundred electric lights, flashes its legend upon the vision of every one entering Denver. This arch, weighing seventy tons, eighty feet in length, and with a central height of fifty-nine feet, is constructed from a combination of metals so united as to give the best results in strength, durability, and beauty, and thus to stand as a symbol of the composite life of the nation. Over the entire surface has been placed a plating of bronze finished with verde antique, to thus give it the aspect of ancient bronze. It is built at a cost of twenty-two thousand dollars, and the originator of the idea, Mr. William Maher of Denver, received the entire subscriptions for it within one day. The design is that of a Denver girl, Miss Marie Woodson, whose name must always be immortalized in connection with this beautiful achievement which typifies the spirit of the city. Constructed by one of the city manufactories, the design and the execution are thus exclusively of Denver. In his address at the unveiling of the arch, Chancellor Buchtel said:

"To all men who stand for honesty, for industry, for justice, for reverence for law, for reverence for life, for education, for self-reliance, for individual initiative, for independence, and for sound character, the city of Denver speaks only one word, and the state of Colorado speaks only one word, and that word we have emblazoned on this glorious Arch,—the word 'Welcome.'"

Dean Hart, offering the Invocation, referred to the scriptural fact that God had instructed his leaders to build monuments that they might bear witness to some act or covenant, and it was right that the people of Denver should raise this similar monument to their ideals of peace and happiness and truth and justice. Mayor Speer, accepting the gift on behalf of the city, emphasized the fact that the arch was to stand in its place for ages as the expression of the attitude of the citizens to the strangers who enter their gates. "It is intended to reflect our hospitality," said Mayor Speer, "on a traveller's arrival and on his departure. It is more than a thing of beauty; it is the type of the new spirit in Denver, an awakening of civic pride that is sure to be followed by much that is artistic and beautiful in our beloved city."

The spirit of Denver the Beautiful is finely interpreted in these words by representative citizens. It is the spirit of generous and cordial hospitality to all who are prepared to enter into and to contribute to its high standards of life. It is the spirit of continually forging ahead to accomplish things; of that irresistible energy, combined with the eternal vigilance, which is not only the price of liberty, but the price of almost everything worth having. With this zeal for the great achievements,—carrying railroads through the mountains, opening the inexhaustible treasures of mines, bringing the snow of mountain peaks to irrigate the arid plains, establishing electric transit for fifty miles about, and telephonic connection that brings an area of hundreds of miles into instant speaking range with Denver,—with all the zeal for these executive accomplishments, the spirit of Denver is focussed on that social progress which is aided and fostered by all modern mechanical facilities. Education, culture, and religion are nowhere more held as the essentials of social progress than in Denver. Something of the nature of the problems of civilization that confronted the early pathfinders in Colorado may be inferred from the words of Major Long,—whose name is now perpetuated by the mountain peak that bears it,—when, in 1862, he stated, in an official report to the government:

"This region, according to the best intelligence that can be had, is thoroughly uninhabitable by a people depending on agriculture for their subsistence, but, viewed as a frontier, may prove of infinite importance to the United States, inasmuch as it is calculated to serve as a barrier to prevent too great an extension of our population westward and secure us against the machinations or incursions of an enemy that might otherwise be disposed to annoy us in that quarter."

Less than sixty-five years have passed since the region of which Denver is the great centre was thus pronounced useless except as a frontier to serve as protection from an enemy, and this judgment reminds one of a keen insight into the evolutionary progress of life expressed by Mrs. Julia Ward Howe when she remarked that "Every generation makes a fool of the one that went before it." Colorado, pronounced "thoroughly uninhabitable" in 1842, was organized as a territory in 1861 and in 1876 admitted as a state.

Darwin, who regarded "climate and the affections" as the only absolute necessities of terrestrial existence, should have lived in Denver, for of all the beautiful climates is that in which revels the capital of Colorado. The air is all liquid gold from sunrise till sunset; the mountains swim in a sea of azure blue; the ground is bare and dry in winter, affording the best of walking, and there are few cities where the general municipal management exceeds or is, perhaps, even as good as that of Denver. The electric street-car service is on schedule time, and the two hundred and twenty-five miles of its extent already, with increase in the near future, is certainly an achievement for a young city. Nature is a potent factor in this excellent service, as there is no blocking by heavy snowstorms and blizzards, as in the Middle West and the East.

The gazer in the magic mirror of the future requires little aid from the imagination to see, in the growth and development of Denver, an impressive illustration of the significance of the name of the state of which it is the capital and the keynote. With what felicitous destiny is the name invested in the old Castilian phrase, "A Dios con le Colorado" (Go thou merrily with God),—a parting salutation and benediction. Denver is, indeed, more than a state capital; it is the epitome of the great onward march of civilization, and it must always be considered in its wide relations to all the great Southwest as well as in respect to its own municipal individuality.

No citizen of Denver has contributed more to the moral and intellectual quality of the city as one of the conductors of great enterprises held amenable to the higher ideals of citizenship, than has Mr. S. K. Hooper of the Denver and Rio Grande, which is one of the marvels of the West in scenic glory. From May till October pleasure tourists throng this marvellous route through the Royal Gorge, through mysterious cañons and across the Divide. For it must always be remembered that Denver is a great city for tourists and season visitors, and the floating population exceeds a hundred thousand annually. Beautiful as it is in the winter, Denver is also essentially a summer city. There is not a night in the summer when the wind, cool, refreshing, exhilarating, does not blow from the great rampart of the snow-clad, encircling mountains. There is not a morning when the wind does not come again, sending the blood leaping through the veins, while the sun rides across the heavens in a glory of brilliancy, and the great range rears its white head to the cloudless blue sky.

The Denver Art League is a flourishing association that has under its auspices classes in drawing, water colors, and sculpture. Already many artists of Colorado are winning a name. A new Public Library is now in process of erection, and the Chamber of Commerce also maintains a free library of some twenty-five thousand volumes, the reading-room open every day in the year. The city appropriates six thousand dollars a year for the expenses of this institution.

The educational standards of Denver are high. Drawing, music, and German are included among the studies of the grammar schools, and physical culture is introduced in each grade. The high school building cost a quarter of a million dollars, and stands second in the entire country in point of architectural beauty and admirable arrangements. Besides the splendid public-school system there is the University of Denver, a few miles from the city; St. Mary's (Catholic) Academy, and two large (Episcopal) schools for girls and boys, respectively,—"Wolfe Hall" and St. John's College. The Woman's College and Westminster University complete this large group of educational institutions which centre in Denver. There is also the University of Colorado at Boulder, which has established a record for success under the able administration of Dr. James H. Baker, who, in January of 1892, was called to the presidency after having served as principal of the Denver High School for seventeen years. President Baker is well known in educational circles in the United States as a scholarly man and a capable college president. He has been offered the presidency of other State universities from time to time, but has preferred to remain in Boulder and to concentrate his efforts toward making this institution one of the largest and best of the state universities. He has always been active in the State Teachers' Association and the National Council of Education.

For three years past the University of Colorado has held a summer school with a large attendance of teachers and college students. In this past season of 1906, Professor Paul Hanus of Harvard University gave a valuable course of lectures on education, and Professor Hart, also of Harvard, conducted a course in history.

Over a hundred and fifteen thousand pupils are enrolled in the public schools of Denver, including all grades, from the primary to the high school. The latter offers the full equivalent of a college education freely to all.

The churches of Denver are numerous, and include many fine edifices besides the large granite Methodist Church that cost over a quarter of a million dollars. It is not, however, only the church structures that are noble and impressive, but the preaching in them is of an unusually high order of both intellectual power and spiritual aspiration. The keen, critical life of Colorado's capital demands the best thought of the day. The wonderful exhilaration of the atmosphere seems to exert its influence on all life as a universal inspiration.

The new building for the Denver Public Library is under process of construction, an appropriation of a quarter of a million dollars having been made for the edifice, which will stand in a small triangular park, insuring air and light, and giving to its approach a stately and beautiful dignity.

The Colorado capital is tending to fulfil the poet's ideal of affording

"room in the streets for the soul."

The life is most delightful. Without any undue and commonplace formalities, yet always within that fine etiquette which is the unconscious result of good breeding, the meeting and mingling has a cordial and sincere basis that lends significance to social life. The numerous clubs, and the associations for art and music, for Italian, French, and German readings, are all vital and prominent in the city, and the political equality of woman imparts to conversation a tone of wider thought and higher importance than is elsewhere invariably found.

Denver, which should be the capital city of the United States, is pre-eminently the convention city. Even with all the beauty of Washington and the vast sums that have been expended within the past fifteen years in the incomparable structure for the Library of Congress, and in other fine public buildings, and the splendor of the private residence region,—even with all this, and the fact that the Capitol itself is one of the notable architectural creations of the world, the nation is great enough and rich enough to found a new capital which should far surpass the present one, however fine that present one may be. However great are the treasures of art and architecture in Washington, the change could be, even now, made with the greatest advantage for the future. Within a quarter of a century all that invests Washington with such charm in architectural beauty and in art could be more than duplicated in Denver. The nation has wealth enough, and the most modern ideas and inspirations in these lines surpass those of any previous age or decade. The present is "the heir of all the ages."

No one need marvel that Denver ranks as the western metropolis of the Union, with its delightful climate, its infinite interests, its centre as a point for charming excursions, and its sixteen railroad lines.

In this atmosphere of opportunity and privilege there is, indeed, "room for the soul" and all that the poet's phrase suggests. There is room for all noble and generous development; for the expansion of the spirit to express itself in all loveliness of life, all splendid energy of achievement; and in all that makes for the supreme aim of a nation,—that of a Christian civilization,—no city can offer greater scope than does Denver the Beautiful.

CHAPTER III

THE PICTURESQUE REGION OF PIKE'S PEAK

"And ever the spell of beauty came

And turned the drowsy world to flame."

Emerson

In the picturesque region of Pike's Peak there is grouped such an array of scenic wonders as are unrivalled, within the limits of any corresponding area, in the entire world. To this region Colorado Springs is the gateway, and the poetic little city is already famous as one of the world resorts whose charm is not exclusively restricted to the summer. The winter is also alluring, for Colorado is the land of perpetual sunshine. One turns off the steam heat and sits with open windows in December. The air is electric, exhilarating. The cogwheel road up Pike's Peak is stopped; but almost any of the other excursions one can take as enjoyably as in summer. The East is, apparently, under the delusion that the land is covered with snow up to the very summit of Pike's Peak. On the contrary, the ground is bare and dry; the birds are singing, the sun shines for all, and the everlasting hills silhouette themselves against the blue sky in all their grandeur. One easily slips into all the charm and fascination of Colorado days through these resplendent winters, when there are two hours more of light and sunshine in Colorado, on account of its altitude, than in any state to the eastward. The climate of Colorado Springs has a perfection that is remarked even in the Centennial State, where, in every part, the climate is unsurpassed in sunshine and exhilaration. Especially, however, is Colorado Springs a summer resort, as is Saratoga or Newport or Bar Harbor. Its season is increasingly brilliant and crowded. People come to stay a day and prolong it to a week, or come for a week and prolong their stay to a month. The driving is fine, the motor cars are abundant, the excursions are delightful, and the air is as curative and exhilarating as is possible to conceive. The inner glories of the Rocky Mountains, with their vast cañons and giant peaks; their waterfalls dashing over precipices hundreds of feet in height; the fascinating glens and mesas for camping excursions, or for scientific research and study, are all reached by this gateway of Colorado Springs.

Pike's Peak, this stupendous continental monument, dominates the entire region. The atmospheric effects around its summit offer a perpetual panorama of kaleidoscopic changes of color and cloud-forms. Looking out on the Peak from Colorado Springs, three miles from its base, there are hours when it seems to be actually approaching with such swift though stately measure that one involuntarily shrinks back from the window in irrational alarm lest the grim monster shall bear down upon it, with a force inevitable as Fate; disastrous as a colossal iceberg wandering from Polar seas and sweeping down with irresistible force against the side of a transatlantic liner. In a lightning flash of instantaneous, unreasoning vision, one beholds in imagination the impending destruction of a city. It becomes a thing endowed with volition; a weird, uncanny monster, the abode of the gods who have reared their monuments and established their pleasure-grounds in their strange, fantastic garden at its foot.

Again, the Peak enfolds itself in clouds and, secure in this drapery, retires altogether from sight, as if weary of being the object of public view. It is as if the inmates of a house, feeling an invasion of public interest, should turn off the lights, draw the curtains, and close the shutters as a forcible intimation of their preference for privacy and their decision to exclude the madding crowd. Sometimes the Peak will flaunt itself in glorious apparel and gird itself in strength. With light it will deck itself as with a garment. It surprises a sunrise with the reflection of glory transfigured into unspeakable resplendence. It is the royal monarch to which every inhabitant of the Pike's Peak region, every sojourner in the land, must pay his tribute. The day is fair or foul according as Pike's Peak shall smile or frown. All the cycles of the eternal ages have left on its summit their records,—the silent and hidden romance of the air. The scientist alone may translate this aërial hieroglyphic.

"Omens and signs that fill the air

To him authentic witness bear."

This monumental peak of the continent shrouds in oblivion its mystic past, and still the handwriting on the wall may be read by him who holds the key to all this necromancy. The record of the ages is written on parchment that will never crumble. The mysteries of the very creation itself,—of all this vast and marvellous West,—of infinite expanse of sea and of volcanic fires that swallowed up the waters and crystallized them into granite and porphyry,—this very record of Titanic processes is written, in mystic characters, in that far upper air where the lofty Peak reigns in unapproachable majesty. For while there are other peaks in the Rocky Mountains as high,—and Long's Peak even exceeds it in altitude,—there is no other which rises so distinctly alone and which so supremely dominates an infinite plateau that extends, like the ocean, beyond the limit of vision.

There is one glory of the moon and another glory of the stars, as well as the glory of the sun, in this mountain region of Colorado Springs. The sunsets over the mountains are marked by the most gorgeous phenomena of color before whose intensity all the hues of a painter's palette pale. The gates of the New Jerusalem seem to open. Great masses of billowy clouds in deepest, burning gold hang in the air; the rainbow hues of all the summers that have shone upon earth since the first rainbow was set in the heavens, reflect themselves in a thousand shimmering cloud-shapes. It is one of the definite things of the tourist's day to watch from the western terrace of "The Antlers" these unrivalled sunset effects; and when, later (still in compliance with the unwritten laws that prevail in the Empire of Transcendent Beauty), dinner is served at small tables on the terrace,—where the flowers that form the centrepiece of each table, the gleam of exquisite cut glass and silver, and the music from an orchestra hidden behind the palms and tall roses that fling a thousand fragrances on the enchanted air all blend as elements of the faëry scene whose background is a panoramic picture of mountains and sky,—the visitor realizes an atmosphere of enchantment that one might well cross a continent to gain.

SUMMIT OF PIKE'S PEAK, COLORADO

Again, there is the glory of the night. A young moon glances shyly over the mountain summit and swiftly retires to her mysterious realms on the other side. Each ensuing night she ventures still further afield, gazing still longer at the world she is visiting before she again wings her flight down the western sky, pausing, for a tremulous moment, on the very crest of the mountains ere she is lost to sight in the vague distance beyond. The stars come and go in impressive troops and processions. They float up from behind the mountains till one questions as to whether the other side is not a vast realm of star-dust in process of crystallizing into planets and stars. Has one, then, at last arrived at the Land that is the forge of the gods who create it? May one here surprise the very secrets of the Universe? Perhaps some dim, mysterious under-world lies over that colossal range in which celestial mechanism is at work sending forth and withdrawing the shining planetary visitants, so continuous is the procession of stars through all the hours of the night. Each star, as it rises over the mountains or sets behind them, pauses for an instant on the crest for a preliminary survey, or a parting glance, of the world it is entering or leaving.

It is still in the realms of doubt as to whether there may be discovered a royal road to learning; but a royal road to the summit of Pike's Peak, more than fourteen thousand feet above sea level, has been, since 1890, an accomplished fact in the Manitou and Pike's Peak cogwheel road, starting from Engleman's Glen, one of the famous resorts of Manitou. This lovely town, that dreams away its summer at the base of Pike's Peak guarded by precipitous mountain walls, is connected with Colorado Springs by electric trolley, and the little journey of four miles is one of the pleasure excursions of the region. The route lies past the "Garden of the Gods," where the curious shapes of red sandstone loom up like spectral forms in some Inferno.

Like Naples, Colorado Springs is the paradise of the tourist, offering a new excursion for every day in the season; and there are few of these whose route does not include lovely Manitou, which is also the objective point from which to fare forth on this journey above the clouds, into those mysterious realms where he who listens aright may hear spoken the words which it is not lawful for man to utter. The journey into aërial spaces opens in a defile of one of the deep cañons, the train on the one hand clinging to the wall, while on the other one looks down a vast precipice, at the foot of which dashes a river over gigantic boulders. The route is diversified by the little stations on the way,—Minnehaha, whose waterfall indeed laughs in the air, and is given back in a thousand ghostly echoes; the Half-Way House, nestling under the pinnacled rocks of Hell Gate—must one always pass through the portals of Hades on his way to Paradise? Strange and grotesque scenery companions the way. On the mountain-side one finds—of all things—a newspaper office, where a souvenir daily paper is issued with all the news of that new world above the clouds, Pike's Peak. The ascent is very steep in places. The verdure of the foothills vanishes, the trees cease to invade this upper air, and only the dwarfed aspen shivers in the breeze as it clings to some barren rock. New vistas open. The world of day and daylight duties is left behind. Gaunt, spectral rocks in uncanny shapes haunt the way. The air grows chill; car windows are closed, and warm wraps are at a premium. But the scene below! The sensation of looking down on the clouds, the view of Lake Moraine, an inland sea high in the mountains; the new sensations of the rarefied air,—all these seem to initiate one into a new world. From the summit, reached in a journey of ninety minutes, the view can only be described as that of unspeakable awe and sublimity. An expanse of sixty thousand miles is open to the gaze. To the west rise a thousand towering peaks, snow clad, in a majesty of effect beyond power of portrayal. To the east the vast plateaus stretch into infinite space. Below, the sun shines on floating clouds in all gleams of color. In the steel tower of the new Summit Hotel is a powerful telescope that brings Denver, eighty miles distant, into near and distinct view. In Colorado Springs, fourteen miles "as the crow flies," the telescopic view even reveals the signs on the streets so they may be plainly read. In close range of vision appear Pueblo, Cripple Creek, Victor, Goldfield, Independence, and Manitou.

The surface of the top of Pike's Peak comprises several acres of level land thickly strewn with large blocks of rough granite of varying size,—blocks that are almost wholly in a regular rectangular shape, as if prepared for some Titanic scheme of architecture. The highest telegraph office in the world is located here, and the usual souvenir shop of every summer resort offers its tempting remembrances, all of which are closely associated with the genus loci, and are all a very part of the Colorado productions. A powerful searchlight was placed on Pike's Peak during the summer of 1906, adding the most picturesque feature of night to all the surrounding country. Denver, Colorado Springs, Pueblo, the Cripple Creek district, the deep cañons of the Cheyenne range, the silvery expanse of Broadmoor, whose attractive casino is a centre of evening gatherings,—all these points in the great landscape are swept with the illumination from the highest searchlight in the world to-day.

A century has passed since Major Zebulon Montgomery Pike first discovered the shadowy crest of the mountain peak that immortalizes his name. It was on November 13, 1806, that the attention of Major Pike and his party was arrested by what at first looked to them as a light blue cloud in the sky, toward which they marched for ten days before arriving at the base of the mountain. The story of this journey is one of the dramatic records in the national archives. Major Pike and his men left St. Louis on July 15, 1806, on his trip to the Rocky Mountains, or Mexican Mountains as he called them at the time. He pronounced the country through which he travelled to be so devoid of sustenance for human beings that it would serve as a barrier, for all time, in the expansion of the United States. In vivid contrast are the conditions to-day. Major Pike could now make his journey from St. Louis to Pike's Peak over either of several grand trunk railways equipped with all the modern luxuries of travel. Where he passed great herds of buffalo, he would now see cattle grazing in equal numbers on the prairies. The vast plains that paralyzed his imagination by their desolate aspects are now dotted with prosperous farms or ranches. The mountains that appealed to him only for their scenic grandeur have been found to be the treasure vaults of nature that were only waiting to be conquered by the hardy frontiersmen who followed him nearly half a century later. The great white mountain that he declared could not be ascended by a human being is now the objective point of a hundred thousand tourists annually, who gayly climb the height in a swift trip made in a luxurious Pullman observation car. The first attempt of the Pike party to ascend the peak was a failure, and Major Pike expressed his opinion that "no human being could ascend to its pinnacle." In 1819 Hon. John C. Calhoun, then Secretary of War, sent Major Long and a party on an expedition to the Rocky Mountains, then almost as unknown as the Himalayas. This exploring party camped on the present site of Colorado Springs, and on July 13 (1819) started to ascend the peak. On the first day they made only two miles, as the ground was covered with loose, crumbling granite. On the second day, however, they succeeded; the first ascent of Pike's Peak thus having been made on July 14, 1819. A chronicle of this ascent describes the point above which the timber line disappears as one "of astonishing beauty and of great interest as to its productions." The first woman to stand on the summit of Pike's Peak was Mrs. James H. Holmes, in August of 1858.

General Zebulon Montgomery Pike achieved distinction both as an explorer and a brave soldier. He was but twenty-seven years of age when he was chosen to lead the most important military expedition of the day, and eight years later, as Brigadier-General, he commanded the troops that captured the British stronghold at York (now Toronto), Canada, and here he met his death, which has been compared to that of Nelson. The captured flag of the enemy was placed under the head of the dying general to ease his pain. The cheers of his soldiers aroused the young commander, and on being told that the fort was captured, he closed his eyes with the words, "I die content."

In his notebook were found the maxims that had guided him through life, dedicated to his son, among which were "Preserve your honor free from blemish," and "Be always ready to die for your country."

General Pike was buried with full military honors in the government plot at Madison Barracks, New York. A modest shaft marks the resting place of the heroic soldier-explorer, and on Cascade Avenue in Colorado Springs, directly in front of "The Antlers," there is placed a statue of the heroic discoverer of the mighty Peak which forever perpetuates his name.

No adequate life of Pike has ever been written; but with the monumental majesty of the mid-continental mountain peak that proclaims his name to all future centuries, what room can there be for biographical record or sculptured memorial? The archives of the Department of War, in Washington, contain his diary, kept from day to day in this march from St. Louis to Colorado. After his discovery of the Peak, Major Pike returned to the place where now the city of Pueblo stands, continuing his journey into the mountains, thence to New Mexico, where he was captured by the Spaniards. Hardships of every description were suffered by the party before being placed in captivity at Santa Fé; but even the capture of his papers by the Spaniards at Santa Fé did not serve to destroy the records of the astute young soldier, who had carefully concealed duplicates of his papers in the barrel of his big flintlock rifle, and he was afterward able to restore them to original form. Major Pike was as tender and humane as he was brave. In the capture of the party by the Spanish two of the men had to be abandoned and left to their fate in the hills. They were given a small supply of provisions, with the assurance that they would be rescued if the rest of the party found a haven of safety and rest. Major Pike kept this promise and, more nearly dead than alive, these men were brought into Santa Fé by the Spanish soldiers.

Well might it have been of Zebulon Montgomery Pike, in his first eager march toward this "blue cloud" that beckoned him on and proved to be a vast mountain peak,—well might it have been this hero that Emerson thus pictured in the lines:

"The free winds told him what they knew,

Discoursed of fortune as they blew;

Omens and signs that filled the air

To him authentic witness bear;

The birds brought auguries on their wings,

And carolled undeceiving things

Him to beckon, him to warn;

Well might then the poet scorn

To learn of scribe or courier

Things writ in vaster character;

And on his mind at dawn of day

Soft shadows of the evening lay."

In his diary, kept during the march from St. Louis, Major Pike thus pictured his first impressions of Colorado:

"The scene was one of the most sublime and beautiful inland prospects ever presented to man; the great lofty mountains, covered with eternal snow, seemed to surround the luxuriant vale, crowned with perennial flowers, like a terrestrial paradise."

The memory of this hero cannot but invest Colorado Springs with a certain consecration of heroism that becomes, indeed, part of the "omens and signs" that fill the air.

In the early autumn of 1906 Colorado Springs and Manitou celebrated the centenary of the discovery of Pike's Peak with appropriate ceremonies. One of the interesting features was the rendering of an "Ode" by a chorus of one thousand voices, of which the words were written by Charles J. Pike of New York, the well-known sculptor, a great-nephew of General Pike, and for which the music was composed by Rubin Goldmark.

WILLIAMS CAÑON, NEAR MANITOU, COLORADO

One of the noted excursions of the Pike's Peak region is the "Temple Drive,"—a carriage road beginning in Manitou, traversing Williams Cañon, and, climbing its west wall. The drive offers near views of the Temple of Isis, the Cathedral of St. Peter, the Narrows, and of St. Peter's Gate in the Cathedral Dome. It is fairly a drive in elfland, and is as distinctive a feature of Colorado Springs life as is the famous drive from Naples to Amalfi and Sorrento a feature of the enchantment of Southern Italy. Manitou Park is easily reached by motor or carriage drive from Colorado Springs through the picturesque Ute Pass, and aside from its beauty it has an added interest in having been presented to Colorado College by General William J. Palmer and Dr. William A. Bell, to be used as the field laboratory of the new Colorado School of Forestry. Manitou Park contains cottages and recreation halls, so that all sorts of hospitalities and entertainments can be there enjoyed.

Of the "Garden of the Gods" who can analyze the curious, mystic spell of the place? A large tract of rolling mesas is covered with these uncanny monsters of rocks in all weird and grotesque forms. The deep red sandstone of their formation gives it the aspect, under a midday sun or the slanting rays of a brilliant sunset, of being all on fire—a kind of inferno, foreign to earth, and revealed, momentarily, from some underworld of mystery.

Cheyenne Cañon is one of the most poetically touched places in all the Pike's Peak region. Of Cheyenne mountain Helen Hunt Jackson wrote:

"By easy slope to west, as if it had

No thought, when first its soaring was begun,

Except to look devoutly to the sun,

It rises and has risen, until glad,

With light as with a garment it is clad,

Each dawn before the tardy plains have won

One ray, and after day has long been done

For us the light doth cling reluctant, sad to leave its brow."

Poets and artists have embodied it in song and essayed to transfer it to canvas; but the grandeur of South Cheyenne Cañon eludes every artist while it impresses the imagination of every visitor. It is fitly approached through the "Pillars of Hercules,"—sheer perpendicular walls of rock looking up over one thousand feet high, with a passage-way of only forty feet. Once within the cañon and one might as well have been translated to Mars so far as utter isolation can be realized. In the dim green twilight from the lofty wooded cliffs toward the Seven Falls one enters on "the twilight of the gods," not dark, but a soft light, the sun shut out, the air vibrating with faint hints of color, the colossal granite walls rising into the sky, the faint dash of waterfalls heard splashing over hidden rocks and stones; a rill here and there trickling down the mountain side; the far call of some lonely bird heard far away in the upper air; and the soft, mysterious light, the dim coolness and fragrance, the glimpse of blue sky just seen in the narrow opening above—was anything ever so enchantingly poetic? It is here one might well materialize his castle d'Espagne. Winding up the cañon, one comes to "Seven Falls,"—a torrent of water rushing down mighty cliffs on one side of a colossal amphitheatre, and the precipitous cliffs show seven distinct terraces down which the foaming torrent plunges.

SEVEN FALLS, CHEYENNE CAÑON, NEAR COLORADO SPRINGS, COLORADO

In North Cheyenne and in Bear Creek Cañons the grandeur is repeated, and in those the people find a vast free recreation ground. This privilege is again one of the innumerable ones that are due to the gifts and grace of General Palmer, who has had this sublime locality made into a practicable resort, with pavilions where tea, coffee, lemonade, ices, and sandwiches are served; a rustic hostelry, "Bruin Inn," is also provided as a place of refuge and entertainment, providing against any disasters in the sudden storms that are so frequent in these cañon regions; and the bridle paths, the terraced drives on the mountain walls, and the glades where games may be played, all make South Cheyenne the most unique pleasure resort of that of any city in the United States.

In all these cañons the massive, precipitous granite walls, which seem to rise almost to the sky, are also rendered more arresting to the eye by their richly variegated coloring. These ragged cliffs rise, too, in pinnacles and towers and domes that proclaim their warfare with the elements for ages innumerable. Visitors familiar with all the Alpine gorges and with the Yosemite agree that in no one of these are there such majesty of effects as in the Cheyenne cañons.

Manitou, the Indian name for the Great Spirit, is an alluring place in a nook of the mountains at the foot of Pike's Peak, reminding one of the Swiss-Alpine villages. Ute Pass; Williams Cañon, in which is the noted "Cave of the Winds"; the famous "Temple Drive"; Cascade, Green Mountain Falls and Glen Eyrie are all grouped near Manitou, and it is here that the cogwheel road ascending Pike's Peak begins. The Mineral Springs are approached in a pavilion with two or three large rooms; the auditorium, where an orchestra plays every afternoon, seats some two hundred people, who can listen to the music, sip their glasses of mineral water, and chat with friends, all at one and the same time. There is a foreign air about Manitou. The little town consists of one street extending along the cañon, following its curves, with a few cottages perched on terraces above, and the hotels, boarding-houses, and the little shops, with the hawkers of curios at their street stands, make up a picturesque spectacle. The shop windows glisten with jewelry made from the native Colorado stones, the amethyst, opal, topaz, emerald, tourmaline, and moonstone being found more or less extensively in this state. The native ores are exposed; Indian wares, from the bright Navajo rugs and blankets to the pottery, baskets, and beaded work; photographs and picture cards of all kinds, and trinkets galore, of almost every conceivable description, give a gala-day aspect to the little mountain town. The surrounding peaks rise to the height of six and eight thousand feet above the street, which looks like a toy set in a region designed for the habitation of the gods. American life, however, keeps the pace, and in this mountain defile at the foot of Pike's Peak were the signs out announcing a "Psychic Palmist," a "Scientific Palmist," and a "Thought Healer," by which it will be inferred that an up-to-date civilization has by no means failed to penetrate to Manitou. Each year the accommodations for travellers multiply themselves. Each summer the demand increases. There is a fascination about Manitou that throws its spell over every visitor and sojourner.

The Grand Caverns are on the side of one of the picturesque mountains, reached by a drive through the Ute Pass. Beyond Rainbow Falls, and entering the vestibule of these caverns, the visitor finds himself under a lofty dome from which stalactites hang, and in which is a pile of stones being raised to the memory of General Grant, each visitor adding one. No form of memorial to the great military commander, whose character was at once so impressive and so simple, could be more fitting than is this tribute. From the vestibule one wanders to Alabaster Hall, where there are groups of snow-white columns of pure alabaster. In a vast space sixty feet high, with a dome of Nature's chiselling and two galleries that are curiously wrought by natural forces, there is a natural grand organ, formed of stalactites, with wonderful reverberations and with a rich, deep tremulous tone. To reveal its marvels to visitors a skilled musician is employed, who renders on it popular selections, to the amazement of all who are present. Another feature of the Grand Caverns is the "jewel casket," where gems encased in limestone reflect the glow of a lamp. There is also the "card room," with its columns and its pictorial effects; the "Lovers' Lane" and the "Bridal Chamber," filled with translucent formations in all curious shapes and hints of color.

The marvellous achievements of the engineer in encircling the mountains with steel tracks on which cars climb to the summit are seen, in perhaps their most remarkable degree of development in conquering the problems of mountain engineering in Colorado. Of all these achievements, one of the most conspicuous triumphs is that known as the "Short Line" between Colorado Springs and Cripple Creek, a distance of only forty-five miles, and the time some two and a half hours; but within these limits is comprised the most unspeakably sublime panorama of mountain scenery. As the train begins to wind up the mountains one looks down on the flaming, rose-red splendor of the Garden of the Gods,—with its uncanny shapes, its domes and curious formations. Climbing up, the vast plain below—a plain, even though it is six thousand feet above sea level—looks like a sea of silver. The railroad crosses Bear Creek Cañon on a narrow iron bridge and threads its way again on the terraced trunk of the opposite mountain up to Point Sublime,—a gigantic rock towering on a mountain crest. A landscape unfolds that rivals Church's wonderful "Heart of the Andes" in its fascination. Entering South Cheyenne, the beauty and grandeur of the eastern end of the cañon are seen by following the narrow course between its rugged granite sides hundreds of feet in height, reaching a magnificent and most impressive climax at the wonderful Seven Falls. No visit to the Pike's Peak region can be considered complete without this trip through South Cheyenne Cañon.

The usual feature of the situation as trains circle around the rim of these cañons is that their beauty is seen from above. A short stroll and one finds himself between walls towering a thousand feet above his head. The beauty is all around and above. The tops of the mountains seem very far away, and lost in clouds. But in the train the situation is reversed; for, seated in a luxurious observation car of the "Short Line," the tourist is carried above the peaks and cañon walls, which from below seem inaccessible in their height, and from this startling elevation one looks down on an underworld of strange and mysterious forms. St. Peter's Dome, as it is called, looks down from its towering height with the national colors flying from its summit,—a huge mass of granite that seems to stand alone and to guard the secrets of the depths below.

ST. PETER'S DOME, ON THE CRIPPLE CREEK SHORT LINE

APPROACHING DUFFIELD

The ascent of St. Peter's Dome is a triumph of engineering skill. As the train glides along, and glory succeeds to glory, vista to vista, and cañon to cañon, in ever changing but constant charm, the dizzy height is climbed apparently with so much ease that the traveller, absorbed in the entrancing surroundings, reaches the top before he is aware of it. It seems impossible that the track seen on the opposite side of the cañon hundreds of feet above should be the path the train is to follow; but a few turns, almost imperceptible, so smooth is the roadbed, and one looks down on the place just passed with equal wonder, and asks if that can be the track by which he has come. As the train climbs the side or rounds the point of each mountain peak, the matchless view of the plains is unfolded before the enraptured gaze. All description is baffled; any attempt to reproduce in words the glory of that scene is impossible. Every tourist in the Pike's Peak region regards the "Short Line" trip as the very crown of the summer's excursions, or, in the local phrase, one whose sublimity of beauty "bankrupts the English language." These forty-five miles not only condense within their limits the grandeur one might reasonably anticipate during a transcontinental journey of three thousand miles, but as an achievement of mountain engineering, railway experts in both Europe and America have pronounced it the most substantially built and the finest equipped mountain railroad in the world. It was opened in 1901, and, quite irrespective of any interest felt in visiting the gold camps of Cripple Creek, the "Short Line" has become the great excursion which all visitors to Colorado desire to make for the sublime effects of the scenery. A prominent civil engineer in Colorado said, in answer to some question regarding the problem of taking trains over mountain ranges and peaks that, given the point to start from and the point to reach, and sufficient capital, there was no difficulty in carrying a railroad anywhere. The rest is, he said, only a question of time and skill. The construction of the "Short Line" reveals the achievement of carrying a railroad around the rims of cañons and over the tops of mountains rather than that of following a trail through the bottom of the cañons. As a scenic success this feat is unparalleled. The bewildering magnificence, the incomparable sublimity, as the train winds up St. Peter's Dome, are beyond the power of painter or poet to picture. Leaving Colorado Springs, the tourist sees the strange towering pinnacles of the Garden of the Gods, in their deep red contrasting with the green background of trees; Manitou gleams from its deep cañon; the towers and spires of Colorado Springs appear in miniature from the far height, and the great expanse of the plateau looks like the sea. It is difficult to realize that one is still gazing upon land. The ascent is more like the experience in an aero-car than in a railroad train, so swift is the upward journey. The first little station on this route is Point Sublime, where the clouds and the mountain peaks meet and mingle. North Cheyenne Cañon is seen far below, and in the distance is fair Broadmoor with its Crescent Lake gleaming like silver. The Silver Cascade Falls sparkle in the air hundreds of feet up the crags. At Fair View the North and South Cheyenne Cañons meet,—those two scenic gorges whose fame is world-wide,—and from one point the traveller gazes down into each, the bottom depths so remote as to be invisible. These precipices are wooded, so that the aspect is that of sheer walls of green. St. Peter's Dome almost pierces the sky, and as the train finally gains the summit a vista of incomparable magnificence opens,—of cañons and peaks and towering rocks,—and through one cañon is seen Pueblo, over fifty miles distant, but swept up in nearer vision with a mirage-like effect in the air. It is a view that might well enchain one. The Spanish Peaks cut the sky far away on the horizon, and the beautiful range of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains offers a view of wonderful beauty. The road passes Duffields, Summit, Rosemont, and Cathedral Park, at each of which stations a house or two, or a few tents, may be seen,—the homes of workmen or of summer dwellers who find the most romantic and picturesque corners of the universe none too good in which to set up their household gods for the midsummer days. Nothing is more feasible than to live high up in the mountains along the "Short Line." The two trains a day bring the mails; all marketing and merchandise are easily procured; and the air, the views, the marvellous spectacle of sunrise and sunset, the perpetually changing panorama, simply make life a high festival. The little station of Rosemont is a natural park, surrounded by three towering peaks,—Mount Rosa, Big Chief, and San Luis. Clyde is a point much frequented by picnickers. The "Cathedral Park" is an impressive example of what the forces of nature can accomplish. Colossal rocks, chiselled by erosion, twisted by tempests, worn by the storms of innumerable ages, loom up in all conceivable shapes. They are of the same order as some of the wonderful groups of rocks seen in the Grand Cañon. Towers and arches and temples and shafts have been created by Nature's irresistable forces, and to the strange fantastic form is added color,—the same rich and varied hues that render the Grand Cañon so wonderful in its color effects. This "Cathedral Park" is a great pleasure resort for celebrations and picnics, both from Colorado Springs, Colorado City, Broadmoor, and other places from below, and also from Cripple Creek, Victor, and other towns in Cripple Creek District.

PORTLAND AND INDEPENDENCE MINES, VICTOR, COLORADO

The district of Cripple Creek includes a number of towns,—Victor, Anaconda, Eclipse, Santa Rita, Goldfield, Independence, and others, each centred about famous and productive mines. The first discovery of gold here was made in 1891 by a ranchman, Mr. Womack, who took the specimens of gold ore that he found to some scientific men in Colorado Springs, who pronounced it the genuine thing, and capitalists became interested to develop the mines. In 1891, the first year, the total value of the gold produced was $200,000; 1905, the fourteenth year, the value of the production was $47,630,107. The total value of the gold produced in the fourteen years of the camp's existence, to December 31, 1905, was $141,395,087.

There are about three hundred properties in the camp which produce with more or less regularity. Of this number the greatest proportion are spasmodic shippers, making their production from the efforts of leasers. There are thirty large mines in the district, each producing $100,000 or more annually. Dividends paid by the mining companies in 1905 amounted to $1,707,000. Total dividends paid to December 31, 1905, $32,742,000. There are employed on an average some six thousand three hundred men in the mines, and the monthly pay-roll runs to about $652,189, exclusive of large salaries paid mine superintendents and managers and clerks in offices. The lowest wage paid in the camp is three dollars per day of eight hours, while many of the miners receive more than that. The average wage per day paid for labor amounts to $3.44. There are twelve towns in the district, with a population of fifty thousand people. During the period of excitement the population was about seventy thousand. The social life of the people is much the same as in other towns.

There is a free school system, with an enrolment of nearly four thousand pupils, with a hundred and eighteen teachers under a superintendent with an assistant. There are thirty-four churches, representing almost every variety of faith.

VIEW FROM BULL HILL, RICHEST GULCH IN THE WORLD

Cripple Creek, the largest of these, lies in a hollow of the mountains, whose surrounding ranges are a thousand feet above the town. It consists mostly of one long street, with minor cross-streets, and there are little shops with chiffons, "smart" ribbons and laces, and all sorts of articles of dress making gay the show windows, and one sees women and children in all their pretty and stylish summer attire. There are two daily papers and an "opera house." Cripple Creek is a rather favorite point with dramatic companies, as the entire town, the entire district, turns out, and the audiences do not lack in either enthusiasm or numbers.

Mr. William Caruthers, the district superintendent, estimates that this region has become one of the greatest gold-producing regions in the world; and in rapid development, and in the richness of its ores, nothing like it has ever been known before. In fifteen years the cattle ranges have been transformed into a populous district with fifty thousand people, and with all the modern conveniences of Eastern cities.

The electric trolley system connects all the towns in Cripple Creek district and passes near all the large mines. This trolley line is owned and controlled by the "Short Line," and is greatly sought for pleasure excursions both by visitors and residents.

Electric cars convey the miners up and down the hills to their respective mines. The class of laborers is said to be greatly improved of late years, and Mr. Caruthers informs the questioner that no problematic characters are longer tolerated in Cripple Creek. It has ceased to be the paradise of those who, for various unspecified personal reasons, were unable to keep their residence in other cities, or had left their own particular country for their country's good. When such characters appear, Mr. Caruthers and his staff guide them with unerring certainty to the railroad track, with the assurance that these intruders are wanted in Colorado Springs, and that, although there may be no parlor-car train, with all luxuries warranted, leaving at that moment for their migrating convenience, yet the steel track is before them, and it leads directly to Pike's Peak Avenue (the leading business street of Colorado Springs), and they are advised at once to fare forth on this mountain thoroughfare. The persuasion given by Mr. Caruthers and his assistants is of such an order that it is usually accepted without remonstrance, and the objectionable specimens of humanity realize that their climb of several thousand feet up to the famous gold camps was by way of being a superfluous expenditure of energy on their part.

The special entertainment in Cripple Creek is to make the electric circle tour, on electric trolley cars, between Cripple Creek and Victor, going on the "low line" one way, and the "high line" the other. The high line is almost even with the summit of Pike's Peak, that looms up within neighborly distance, and the splendor of the Sangre de Cristo range adds a bewildering beauty to the matchless panorama. On this round trip—a trolley ride probably not equalled in the entire world—one gets quite near many of the famous mines, whose machinery offers a curious feature in the landscape.

Taking the trip in the late brilliant afternoon sunshine along this mountain crest, offers the spectacle of an entire landscape all in a deep rose-pink, gleaming, in contrast with the dark green of the cedar forests, like a transformation scene on a stage.

The tourist who regards this life as a probationary period, to be employed, as largely as possible, in festas and entertaining experiences, may add a unique one to his repertoire, should he be so favored by the gods; and sojourning in neighborly proximity to the "Garden of the Gods," why should they not bestir themselves in his favor? At all events, if he has contrived to invoke their interest, and finds himself invited by Mr. MacWatters (the courteous and vigilant General Passenger Agent of the "Short Line") to make the return journey from Cripple Creek, down below the clouds to Colorado Springs in a hand car, he will enjoy an experience to be treasured forever. For the hand car runs down of its own accord, by the law of gravitation, and is provided with an air-brake to regulate its momentum. To complete the enchantment of conditions,—and it need not be said that in a Land of Enchantment conditions conform to the prevailing spirit and of course are enchanting,—to complete these, let it be a partie carrée, with Mrs. MacWatters, and with Ellis Meredith, the well-known Colorado author, to make up the number; for the keenest political writer in Colorado is a woman, and this woman is Ellis Meredith. It is a name partly real, partly a literary nom-de-plume, and which is the one and the other need not be chronicled here. The name of Ellis Meredith has flown widely on the wings of fame as the author of a most interesting story, "The Master-Knot of Human Fate," which made an unusual impression on critical readers. "The Master-Knot" is an imaginative romance, whose scene is laid on one of the peaks of the Rocky Mountains. It presupposes an extraordinary if not an impossible situation, and on this builds up a story, brilliant, thoughtful, tantalizing in its undercurrent of suggestive interest, and altogether unique.

THE DEVIL'S SLIDE, CRIPPLE CREEK SHORT LINE

In her connection with a leading Denver journal Miss Meredith wields a trenchant pen, and one reading these strong and able articles could hardly realize that the same writer is the author of poems,—delicate, exquisite, tender,—and of prose romance which is increasingly sought by all lovers of the art of fiction. With such a party of friends as these, what words can interpret the necromancy of this sunset journey winding down the heights of majestic mountains, amid a forest of towering peaks, and colossal rocks looming up like giant spectres through the early twilight that gathers when the sun sinks behind some lofty pinnacle! The rose of afterglow burned in the east, reflecting its color over the Cheyenne cañons, and even changing the granite precipice of the "Devil's Slide"—a thousand feet of precipitous rock, through which the steel track is cut—with a reflection of its rose and amber. Cathedral Park took on a new majesty in the deepening haze. At the foot of one of its tall spires is an ice cavern, which holds its perpetual supply all summer. The solid roadbed, uniformly ballasted with disintegrated granite, built on solid rock for its entire extent, and totally devoid of dust, gives to the hand car the ease and smoothness of a motor on level ground. No one can wonder that this road, built originally to convey coal and other supplies to Cripple Creek, and to bring the ore from the mines to the mills and smelters (a transportation it serves daily), has also, by its phenomenal fascinations, achieved a great passenger traffic made up of the tourists and visitors to Colorado. Even travellers going through to the Pacific Coast make the detour from La Junta to Colorado Springs to enjoy the "Short Line," just as they go from Williams to Bright Angel Trail for the Grand Cañon. With this aërial journey through a sunset fairyland, where the mysterious cañons and gorges lay in shadow and the Colorado sunshine painted pinnacles and towers in liquid gold, what wonder that our poet, discovering her lyre, offered the following "Ode" to the "Short Line":

"There's the splendor that was Grecian;

There's the glory that was Rome;

But we know a brighter splendor,

And we find it here at home.

Not the Alps or Himalayas,

Not old Neptune's foaming brine,

Can surpass the wealth of beauty

Of this state of yours and mine.

"All the fairy-tales and legends

Of the time that's passed away;

All the scientific wonders

That amaze the world to-day;

All the artist can imagine,

All the engineer design,

Are excelled in magic beauty

On the Cripple Creek Short Line.

"Oh, those mountains pierce the heavens

Till its radiance glistens through,

And the clouds in golden glory

Float across its field of blue;

And the soul that may be weary

Feels the harmony divine

Of this wonder-tour of Nature

On the Cripple Creek Short Line.

"There are minarets and towers;

There are stately domes and fair;

There are lordly, snow-capped mountains,

There are lovely valleys there;

And no ancient moated castle,

Frowning down upon the Rhine,

Looks on scenes of greater beauty

Than the Cripple Creek Short Line.

"There's a vision and a grandeur

When the plains come into view,

And one seems to see the ocean

In the misty rim of blue;

And the eyes of landlocked sailors

With unbidden teardrops shine,

As they see the far-off billows

From the Cripple Creek Short Line.

"There's a strength and there's a refuge

In the everlasting hills;

There's a gleam of joy and gladness

In the leaping sparkling rills;

There's a benediction sweeter

Than the murmur of the pine,

And it falls on all who travel