inery adjusted itself to the altitude), with
glorious sunshine every morning, with unequaled nights of coolness, and
a new flower or two for every day of the month.

If to "see Colorado" one must ascend every peak, toil through every
canyon, cast the eyes on every waterfall, shudder over each precipice,
wonder at each eccentric rock, drink from every spring, then I have not
seen America's Wonderland. But if to steep my spirit in the beauty of
its mountains so that they shall henceforth be a part of me; to inhale
its enchanting air till my body itself seemed to have wings; if to paint
in my memory its gorgeous procession of flowers, its broad mesa crowned
with the royal blossoms of the yucca, its cosy cottonwood groves, its
brooks rushing between banks of tangled greenery; if this is to "see
Colorado," then no one has ever seen it more thoroughly.

The "symphony in yellow and red," which "H. H." calls this wonderland,
grows upon the sojourner in some mysterious way, till by the time he has
seen the waxing and waning of one moon he is an enthusiast. It is
charming alike to the sight-seer whose jaded faculties pine for new and
thrilling emotions, to the weary in brain and body who longs only for
peace and rest, and to the invalid whose every breath is a pain at home.
To the lover of flowers it is an exhaustless panorama of beauty and
fragrance, well worth crossing the continent to enjoy; to the mountain
lover it offers endless attractions.

Nothing is more fascinating to the stranger in Colorado than the
formation of its canyons, not only the grand ones running up into the
heart of the mountains, but the lesser ones cutting into the high
table-land, or mesa, at the foot of the hills. The above mentioned
cottonwood grove, for example, with its dozen of dwellings and a
natural park of a good many acres above it, with tall pines that bear
the marks of age, is so curiously hidden that one may come almost upon
it without seeing it. It is reached from Colorado Springs by an electric
road which runs along the mesa south of the town. As the car nears the
end of the line, one begins to look around for the grove. Not a tree is
in sight; right and left as far as can be seen stretches the treeless
plain to the foot of the eternal hills; not even the top of a tall pine
thrusts itself above the dead level. Before you is Cheyenne--grim,
glorious, but impenetrable. The conductor stops. "This is your place,"
he says. You see no place; yo