Colorado geology, in which he compared the unfoldings of the several uplifts at our present point of vision to the opening leaves of the peony. 3. The description I have given of the first azure blossoming of the Rocky Mountains on the sky west of Beaver Creek, is no dreamier than must be a reader's idea of the mountains seen close at hand, after the most vivid description that can be written. In the East there is nothing to illustrate the Rocky Mountains by. With the Rocky Mountains, the Alleghanies and the Taconic have no common terms. 4. Here are none of those delicious, turfy glades, those enameled banks, which beautify the mountains of the Atlantic slope. The landscape is without a single patch of bright green. The mountains rise up in rugged, brawny masses, without the apology of color for a nakedness that is grand in itself. 5. They oppress you with such sublime size, they are the evident stone-mask of such a tremendous force spent in the old centuries, that you do not miss color in them, -do not think of it. Every cross-twist in them is the cast of a muscle strained by the gladiator, Fire. 6. The gentle curves, the valleys that lead out of sight into mountain recesses,-these are suggestions of a gentler world-time, which came after the struggle. They are the kisses of the Water Nymph, and the dalliance of bland but treacherous Oxygen. The Rocky Mountains are full of infinite suggestion. Their presence makes a thoughtful man wish to sit down and learn from them; there is such genius in it, it so over awes one. 7. You are surprised when you examine this feeling, and see how few of the qualities which you admire in other mountains, exist in these. What you see is a colossal mass of brown, and, in its highest lights, of amber, relieved against nothing, mediated by nothing, its wall your western horizon. It is so consistently great, it is a congress of such equal giants, that you cannot compare it with any of the ranges you have seen before. 8. When you rise to a higher plane of vision, this single leaf of grandeur becomes a book. You confess that you have not seen the Rocky Mountains until now. Mountain billows westward after mountain, their crests climbing as they go; and far on, where you might suppose the Plains began again, break on a spotless strand of everlasting snow. FITZ HUGH LUDLOW. 2. Take her up tenderly, Lift her with care; 3. Look at her garments 4. Touch her not scornfully; 5. Make no deep scrutiny Rash and undutiful: Past all dishonor, Death has left on her 6. Still, for all slips of hers, Wipe those poor lips of hers 7. Loop up her tresses Escaped from the comb Her fair auburn tresses; 8. Who was her father? Who was her mother? Håd she a sister? Had she a brother? Or was there a dearer one Still, and a nearer one 9. Alas for the rarity O, it was pitiful 10. Sisterly, brotherly, 11. Where the lamps quiver So far in the river, With many a light From window and casement, From garret to basement, 12. The bleak wind of March Made her tremble and shiver, But not the dark arch, Or the black-flowing river: Mad from life's history, 13. In she plunged boldly, Lave in it, drink of it, 14. Take her up tenderly, Decently, kindly, Smooth and compose them;' And her eyes, close them, Through muddy impurity, 15. Perishing gloomily, |