Next in prominence came a Colorado herdmaster, and his sister, whom he was taking from her home in Pennsylvania to keep house for him on the plains, at a place called the Garden of the Gods. Everyone contributed what he could to make the day pass agreeably, and this gentleman’s contributions consisted in scraps of poetry and little high flown speeches suggested by the sights and occurrences of the moment. There was also a lady who had made seventeen voyages across the Atlantic and Pacific (I suppose with her husband), and was now returning from a visit to her relations in the State of New York. Her husband was the owner of a mine in the mountains. Whenever called upon she was ready with a song. The seat next to her was occupied by a well-informed and gentlemanly man. He was a Philadelphian, and had graduated at some American university. I collected that he was going to the mountains to look after some mines in which he was interested. Two Denver storekeepers (but as town is here construed into city, so is storekeeper into merchant) completed our party. Their forte was that style of humour which is known as American. For instance, apropos to a conversation on the long-sightedness some people are said to acquire on the plains, Mr. A. asks Mr. B., ‘Whether he can see that fly on the top of that chimney?’ Mr. B. replies, ‘I am not quite sure I can see it, but I can hear it scratching its head.’ Mr. A. having been silent for some time is supposed to have been asleep: Mr. B. therefore requests him ‘to repeat the remark he had just been making.’ To this sally he replies, ‘If there is anything I have said which I shall hereafter have reason to regret, I am glad of it.’ One of these two storekeepers had a literary turn, and was in the habit of giving lectures in Denver and the mining towns in the mountains, where I saw several of his posters on the walls. He informed me that he had then in the press a humorous poem entitled ‘Life in Colorado.’