“Yesterday we made up a party of six and started soon after breakfast for the Garden of the Gods, Glen Eyrie, and Monument Park. The day was one of the finest imaginable, the air cool and invigorating, and our driver a man experienced in the business of showing to tourists the wonders of this section of this wonderful state. We found him a very intelligent and much-traveled man, and learned that he was one of the magistrates of the town. Our road to the Garden of the Gods was ascending all the way. In reply to a query as to why the place was so named, the guide told us a story of how a southern gentleman came to the spot some years ago bringing with him two colored slaves, a man and a woman. He built here a cabin, and soon after took his gun and started out for a further journey, leaving the slaves behind and promising an early return. But days and weeks passed on and he returned not, and never was heard of more. The negroes remained in their new home, made improvements and planted a garden, which in this new land was a sight to gladden the eye. This, in connection with the grand works of nature surrounding it, grew to be the Garden of the Gods, the name which has made it famous throughout the world. So much for the story. The negroes, Jupiter and Juno, are no more; but the great works of nature remain in all their grandeur, and a visit to them well repays the traveler for the journey he takes to see them. “The rocks in this so-called garden have been shaped into every conceivable form by the action of wind, water and frost. Many of them, by a little stretch of the imagination, are made to bear a strong resemblance to men and animals. The prevailing formation is red sandstone, but there are also conglomerate, gypsum and other varieties. At the south entrance, is a huge rock standing upon the narrowest foundation, and seemingly ready at any moment to topple over on the people who are constantly passing. As the incline is a little away from the road, it is to be hoped no such catastrophe will ever happen, even should the rock in ages to come be so top-heavy as to break loose from its foundations. The Grand Gateway is a narrow passageway between immense piles of rocks over three hundred feet high, of irregular outline and surface, which rise sharply and perpendicularly like a mighty wall. These rocks are full of holes, rifts and crevices and chasms in which thousands of swallows have built their nests, and we could plainly hear the twittering of the young ones from the ledge of rocks a few feet distant, on which we climbed. Our guide led us to a cave under one of these walls. The opening was near the base, and so low that one had to bend the knees and crawl in. The guide assured us that once inside the cave was high and roomy. Half of our party ventured in, but they found it too dark to see far beyond. Those of us who