Jottings from the Rocky Mountains, mostly pencill'd during a day's trip
over the South Park RR., returning from Leadville, and especially the
hour we were detain'd, (much to my satisfaction,) at Kenosha summit. As
afternoon advances, novelties, far-reaching splendors, accumulate under
the bright sun in this pure air. But I had better commence with the day.
The confronting of Platte cañon just at dawn, after a ten miles' ride in
early darkness on the rail from Denver--the seasonable stoppage at
the entrance of the cañon, and good breakfast of eggs, trout, and nice
griddle-cakes--then as we travel on, and get well in the gorge, all the
wonders, beauty, savage power of the scene--the wild stream of water,
from sources of snows, brawling continually in sight one side--the
dazzling sun, and the morning lights on the rocks--such turns and
grades in the track, squirming around corners, or up and down hills--far
glimpses of a hundred peaks, titanic necklaces, stretching north and
south--the huge rightly-named Dome-rock--and as we dash along, others
similar, simple, monolithic, elephantine.