might be made to irrigate considerable land there. We found only one ranch, however, north of Fort Garland--a Mr. Russell's, at the extreme north-eastern end of the Park. We camped there one night, and found the proprietor to be a good specimen of the average Coloradoan. Born in Illinois and bred a blacksmith, the gold-fever had taken him to California, where he worked partly in the mines and partly at his trade. When he failed in the mines, as he usually did, he again resorted to his trade; and had he stuck to his anvil, he verily believed, he would have been well-off long before. But as soon as he had hammered out a little money, his evil genius led him back to the "diggings;" and so he had wandered all up and down our mining regions--California, Nevada, Colorado, etc.,--until 1861, when he found himself in Denver, without a cent in his pockets. Mining happened to be dull there, a regiment of volunteers was then forming for service against the Indians, and so he turned soldier. Before his three years were up, he had saved a moderate "pile," and when he was finally mustered out and discharged, he came here and "squatted" on a quarter-section. The money saved while thus soldiering started him in farming, and he now thought his future secure. This was his first year there, but he had got along very well so far. The Indians had not disturbed him, though frequently there, and his Mexican peons had proved faithful laborers, though a little slow. He had raised fine crops of oats, barley, and potatoes, which he would sell to the garrison at Garland at good prices; but his wheat was a failure--he feared, for want of sufficient warmth. He had a good adobe house, which he meant to enlarge and improve, and a fine flock of sheep, besides considerable cattle. The worst feature of his ranch was, that he had to irrigate; but he said he had plenty of water for this, and the cost was small. His nearest neighbor was eighteen miles off, and that was too near; his post-office, sixty miles; and church, two hundred. It is strange, that men can be content to bury themselves thus, in the heart of a wilderness, when God and nature are so bountiful elsewhere. It is the everlasting itching, I suppose, that we Americans have for change, which comes to little good after all. No doubt plenty of Coloradoans would emigrate to the moon, or even to Le Verrier, if there were a practicable "trail" there.