Leave Denver at 8 A.M. by the Rio Grande RR. going south. Mountains
constantly in sight in the apparently near distance, veil'd slightly,
but still clear and very grand--their cones, colors, sides, distinct
against the sky--hundreds, it seem'd thousands, interminable necklaces
of them, their tops and slopes hazed more or less slightly in that
blue-gray, under the autumn sun, for over a hundred miles--the most
spiritual show of objective Nature I ever beheld, or ever thought
possible. Occasionally the light strengthens, making a contrast of
yellow-tinged silver on one side, with dark and shaded gray on the
other. I took a long look at Pike's peak, and was a little disappointed.
(I suppose I had expected something stunning.) Our view over plains
to the left stretches amply, with corrals here and there, the frequent
cactus and wild sage, and herds of cattle feeding. Thus about 120
miles to Pueblo. At that town we board the comfortable and well-equipt
Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe RR., now striking east.