ul. Two
Englishmen of refinement and culture camped out here prospecting a few
weeks ago, and then, contrary to advice, crossed the mountains into
North Park, where gold is said to abound, and it is believed that they
have fallen victims to the bloodthirsty Indians of the region. Of
course, we never get letters or newspapers unless some one rides to
Longmount for them. Two or three novels and a copy of Our New West are
our literature. Our latest newspaper is seventeen days old. Somehow
the park seems to become the natural limit of our interests so far as
they appear in conversation at table. The last grand aurora, the
prospect of a snow-storm, track and sign of elk and grizzly, rumors of
a bighorn herd near the lake, the canyons in which the Texan cattle
were last seen, the merits of different rifles, the progress of two
obvious love affairs, the probability of some one coming up from the
Plains with letters, "Mountain Jim's" latest mood or escapade, and the
merits of his dog "Ring" as compared with those of Evans's dog "Plunk,"
are among the topics which are never abandoned as exhausted.

On Sunday work is nominally laid aside, but most of the men go out
hunting or fishing till the evening, when we have the harmonium and
much sacred music and singing in parts. To be alone in the park from
the afternoon till the last glory of the afterglow has faded, with no
books but a Bible and Prayer-book, is truly delightful. No worthier
temple for a "Te Deum" or "Gloria in Excelsis" could be found than this
"temple not made with hands," in which one may worship without being
distracted by the sight of bonnets of endless form, and curiously
intricate "back hair," and countless oddities of changing fashion.

I shall not soon forget my first night here.

Somewhat dazed by the rarefied air, entranced by the glorious beauty,
slightly puzzled by the motley company, whose faces loomed not always
quite distinctly through the cloud of smoke produced by eleven pipes, I
went to my solitary cabin at nine, attended by Evans. It was very
dark, and it seemed a long way off. Something howled--Evans said it
was a wolf--and owls apparently innumerable hooted incessantly. The
pole-star, exactly opposite my cabin door, burned like a lamp. The
frost was sharp. Evans opened the door, lighted a candle, and left me,
and I was soon in my hay bed. I was frightened--that is, afraid of
being frightened, it was so eerie--but sleep soon got the