At the Laramie Plains, where we stopped a while, we were so blinded by the glittering crystals of quartz and specks of mica, we could well understand why the name of the Glittering Mountains was first given to the Rocky-mountain Range.
We saw at Cheyenne a most curious cactus. Outside, it was only a green, prickly ball; inside, was a deep nest, filled with a cluster of pink blossoms.
We looked into the beautiful Blue Cañon—blue with mist. Hundreds of feet below us was the gliding silver line of a stream.
At one of our stopping-places was a team of buffalo and oxen working together. To see this chief Manitou of the Indians so degraded, was like seeing a captive Jugurtha.
We found great changes had taken place within a year between Columbia River and Puget Sound. Where we used to cross alone, in the deepest solitude of the forest, there were cars running, gangs of Chinamen everywhere at work, great burnt tracts, and piles of firewood. Once in a while a stray deer bounded by, and turned back to look at us, with pretty, innocent curiosity. And there were still some of the old trees left standing, gnarled and twisted, and so thickly coated with moss, that great ferns grew out of it, and hung down from the branches. What a pity to destroy the work of centuries, the like of which we shall never see again!
We saw to-day some of the pretty spotted sea-doves, that have just arrived to spend the winter with us. Puget Sound, with its mild climate, is their Florida or Bermuda. In early spring they return to the rocky lagoons of the North, to pair and breed.
December 15, 1872.
With our wider range from the hill-top to which we have removed, we notice more how the appearance of the mountains changes with the changes of the sky. This morning they were all rose-color; and are now so ghostly, the snow like shrouds about them. Before, we had only single chains and solitary peaks; here, we look into the bosom of a mountainous country, and every change in the light reveals something new. Where we have many times looked without seeing any thing, at length some beautiful new outline appears in faint silver on the distant horizon. Heaven ought to be more real to us for living in sight of what is so inaccessible, and so full of beauty and mystery.
March 9, 1873.