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>—->_______

 

52 MANITOU SPRINGS.

—_———_——_ eee

the summit of the divide we rushed at a rattling pace
by grassy slopes, between huge mountains, past castel-
lated rocks of white sandstone, half hidden by the
groves of pines, and reminding one of the ruins of
castles so often seen in the Old World, past monu-
ments of red and white sandstone, with ferruginous
caps, and through occasional snow-sheds, until about
four hours ride from Denver I reached the station at
“Colorado Springs.” Here a Concord coach drawn by
four horses was in waiting, and climbing on to the roof,
I lit a cigar, handed one to the driver as a peace-ofter-
ing preparatory to any questions I might have to ask,
and as we dashed along over the fine hard road, on our
way to Manitou, five miles distant, took as much solid
comfort as a man in enjoyment of good health, a good
Havana, clear bracing ‘air, the most magnificent scenery
in the world, and behind four thorough-going nags, is
capable of. Coming down over a hill into a sort of hol-
low in the mountains, I saw Manitou before me, and
was somewhat astonished when we swept round a
curve over a pretty rustic bridge, under which roared
the mountain stream of Fountaine qui Bouille, and drew
rein in front of a comfortable-looking hotel, on the
broad verandas of which were grouped’ fashionably
dressed women, a few invalids, children and their nur-
ses, poodles, and other concomitants of a tip-top wat-
ering place. The dizzy heights and wild crags in front
and at the back of the hotel were studded with pictur-
esque cottages, and on one stands a really handsome cha-
teau, built by a young Englishman. “Grace Green-

 

 

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