and yellow with
pond-lilies.

[Illustration: ESTES PARK AND THE BIG THOMPSON RIVER FROM THE TOP
OF MT. OLYMPUS]

During years of rambling I have visited and enjoyed all the celebrated
parks of the Rockies, but one, which shall be nameless, is to me the
loveliest of them all. The first view of it never fails to arouse the
dullest traveler. From the entrance one looks down upon an irregular
depression, several miles in length, a small undulating and beautiful
mountain valley, framed in peaks with purple forested sides and
bristling snowy grandeur. This valley is delightfully open, and
has a picturesque sprinkling of pines over it, together with a few
well-placed cliffs and crags. Its swift, clear, and winding brooks are
fringed with birch and willow. A river crosses it with many a slow
and splendid fold of silver.

Not only is the park enchanting from the distance, but every one of
its lakes and meadows, forests and wild gardens, has a charm and a
grandeur of its own. There are lakes of many kinds. One named for the
painter, now dead, who many times sketched and dreamed on its shores,
is a beautiful ellipse; and its entire edge carries a purple shadow
matting of the crowding forest. Its placid surface reflects peak and
snow, cloud and sky, and mingling with these are the green and gold of
pond-lily glory. Another lake is stowed away in an utterly wild place.
It is in a rent between three granite peaks. Three thousand feet of
precipice bristle above it. Its shores are strewn with wreckage from
the cliffs and crags above, and this is here and there cemented
together with winter's drifted snow. Miniature icebergs float upon its
surface. Around it are mossy spaces, beds of sedge, and scattered
alpine flowers, which soften a little the fierce aspect of this
impressive scene.

On the western margin of the park is a third lake. This lake and its
surroundings are of the highest alpine order. Snow-line and tree-line
are just above it. Several broken and snowy peaks look down into it,
and splendid spruces spire about its shores. Down to it from the
heights and snows above come waters leaping in white glory. It is the
centre of a scene of wild grandeur that stirs in one strange depths of
elemental feeling and wonderment. Up between the domes of one of the
mountains is Gem Lake. It is only a little crystal pool set in ruddy
granite with a few evergreens adorning its rocky shore. So far as I
know, it is the smallest area of wate