realization of our nervous fears, but it was a ride I should not care to take twice. We drove up the pass some two or three miles, intending to visit a camp where several of Robert's friends were staying, but a sudden storm caused us to turn back and take shelter at a ranch until the rain was over. It was a log house of three rooms, and the owner and his wife received us with hospitable unconcern, as though the invasion of their home by ten strangers was an every-day occurrence. It was supper time, we were hungry, and the provisions were in the wagon in the corral-a trio of facts which might have caused an awkward social situation in the East. But a certain quality of good-breeding seems to flourish in this Western atmosphere, a result, I suppose, of the fact that it takes a pretty high type of man and woman to settle in a new country.

"Now, I haven't got enough for you all," said the hostess," but you can bring what you have right in here and you're welcome to make your coffee on my stove and use any milk you need." We accepted gratefully the offer of her stove, but not of her

get rooms, as the idea of spending the night in the wagon grew less and less alluring. Fortunately there were accommodations for us. It was my first experience in a log hotel. The parlor where we were shown was perhaps twenty feet square, with a floor full of ridgy surprises and covered with a flamboyant carpet. The walls were hidden by lengths of small - figured purple calico tacked smoothly over the logs, and there were rather more lace curtains than windows. The furnishments of the room consisted of an upright Fischer with a brass piano-lamp and a rack of music near it, a good selection of books, and some rather overpowering family portraits in gilt frames. The ceiling could not have been more

sitting-room, preferring to picnic in any Bohemian fashion rather than make ourselves burdensome. So the "feed-tub," as the boys called it, was brought to the kitchen porch and we made a trampish sort of a meal with the greatest relish. I know now how it feels to be fed at the back door with an iron spoon. After supper the owner of the ranch gave us a typical entertainment-stories of miners' camps, bears, Indians and various pioneer adventures. He had lived on the frontier all his life, but was a strikingly well-informed, intelligent man.

It was quite dark when the weather permitted us to leave this friendly shelter and start back toward the Haywood Hotel. We were told it was full, but thought best to make an attempt to

than seven feet six inches high, which brought the portraits so low that it gave one the curious feeling of looking over the heads of a lot of dwarfs. While I was taking in these peculiar elegancies the landlady came to show me to my room. It was up a pair of stairs like a ladder, difficult to navigate under the disadvantage of managing a stiff back and a heavy, sleepy child. Upstairs the ceilings were still lower. This architectural blemish was worse for the mahogany chamber "suit" than it was for the family portraits, inasmuch as the pinnacled tops of the bed and dressing - case had been sawed off to enable them to fit the room. Furthermore, the bureau was so encumbered with satin-lined cases of various sorts, a manicure set and a lace pin-cushion, that I was quite abashed, my own toilet accessories, it is needless to say, being quite unassuming. Such a sudden promotion from unplaned boards and a tin wash-basin to a marble-topped wash stand and china pitcher might have unhinged a stronger mind than mine. One fact struck me with dismay. The bed stood out from the wall and the legs

were placed in pans filled with coal oil. I had heard ominous stories of log houses before, and this could mean only one thing. Should we sleep in the wagon after all? But we were too worn out with our day's experience to make any new arrangements, so I went gingerly to bed and dreamed a composite dream of Mrs. Carlyle and her fourposter, and George Kennan in Siberia.

The next day our party divided for the trip home; two riders left us to make the ascent of Princeton, which, as it is a hundred odd feet higher than Pike's Peak, takes a full day to accomplish. Tired from my saddle ordeal the day before, I took the train back to Buena Vista, while the rest returned in the wagon, and I was, therefore, the first to arrive at camp. The fire was soon re-built, the table set, and supper cooking; a cheery, homey look that went straight to my heart made me glad to be back. Our little friends, the ground squirrels, seemed to welcome me home. They flashed in and out of the provision tent, or sat up on the rock back of the kitchen table and watched me work, with their little beady eyes following every movement. Our scavengers, the " camp robbers," were on hand, too, waiting their turn. They are. pretty gray-and-black-plumaged birds, the size of a pigeon, but with a dismal squawk which they keep up incessantly. They will carry off anything from a biscuit to an iron spoon, and are very useful if they confine their depredations to refuse and garbage.

Supper was soon ready, and although I missed Barbara, my step-taker, the baby did what he could to help by bringing sticks for the fire and kisses for myself. This is the bill-of-fare for that supper, and I challenge any camper who has ever climbed a mountain to say whether he would enjoy it :

Broiled chops, baked potatoes, new pease, a hot tea-cake, peach marmalade, Mocha coffee, and a gallon can of milk.

Our campers, at least, found no fault with it. Just as the last dish was ready I heard the "camp yell " from the road, then the rumbling wheels of the big wagon.

There was always a controversy among the men as to whose turn it was to go for water. Papa declares he brought the last six bucketfuls. Uncle Rob says every one knows he is the

invalid, and can't be expected to do heavy work. (N.B.-He had just climbed Princeton and ridden twenty miles in the saddle.) They both insist that it is Dick's turn, but Dick is looking at the scenery and does not hear. Then Robert speaks:

'Come, you lazy citizen, get a move on yourself. Go up to that spring and bring us some water."

Dick rises, takes the buckets with an air of gentle resignation, and says in a tone of sorrow and reproach, Robert, I wouldn't have your disposition for a thousand dollars."

Dick was always refusing imaginary thousand-dollar bribes to exchange his disposition for ours.

At last we are all seated around the festive oilcloth, Barbara stepping quickly to keep up with demands from both ends of the table.

"Is there anything in the tent for breakfast, Barbara?"

"No," I replied, firmly (and I had often to be very firm), " there is enough for one more meal, and it must be eaten up."

"Good-night," said Robert, airily. "I'll take mushroom patties and strawberries and cream for my breakfast. Please bring them to my tent about nine o'clock.'

"Very well, dear," I answered; "just keep on ringing the electric bell until they come."

There was one week at Camp Piñon that we should all be glad to forget. In the first place it rained, and in the second we had sickness among us. These are two disagreeable contingencies apt to occur at camp as well as at home. Our good luck in this respect lasted so long that we began to think ourselves exceptionally favored, but fate overtook us at last.

One of the party complained of headache and stomach trouble; then followed a bad night, a worse day, and before we knew it we had a case of sickness that might reasonably be called severe, though there was cause for anxiety. A doctor was called

no

from Buena Vista, and the camp drugstore held things likely to be needed for any ordinary illness. So we were by no means unprovided for. Yet oh! the tribulations of that week that followed! Sickness, in any form, is not a pleasant episode, when it occurs in a well-arranged home; but in a tent it is unspeakable misery to the patient and wearisome anxiety to the nurse. How many journeys were made by me or one of my "aids " from the sick-room to the kitchen tent on errands concerning poultices, broths and hot compresses; paddling through the wet sand at midnight with a lantern that went out when most needed! How many times during those journeys in the dark did I fall over the tent-pin, spilling the last cup of beef-tea made from the last scrap of meat within six miles! It can be imagined it was no easy thing to make beef-tea on the stove under the most favorable circumstances; but when it happened to be needed in the middle of the night, amidst a deluge of rain and an occasional crashing explosion of thunder that threatened to tear tents, stove and pine-trees up by the roots and send them whirling over the cliff-then it was most decidedly neither easy nor pleasant.

Of course my duties as head nurse left me no time for the preparation or superintendence of meals. For a day or so the domestic affairs were in a state of chaos, then to our surprise, Robert, who had from the first been a self-elected Critic of the Breakfast-Table, volunteered to take my place and show us what he could do as camp housekeeper. So he was installed as "chef," and if anything could raise my spirits, amidst the general worry and drippiness it was to see Robert, under that leaky awning, with my perforated apron tied up under his arms, glaring through his glasses at the pages of the Boston Cook Book, and repeating as an incantation, "a teaspoonful of soda to quart of flour." One morning I said, "Robert, these pancakes have been dropped in the sand and stepped on; I'm sure of it."

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"So help me George Washington, never"-but he looked warningly at Barbara, who retired into the provision tent to giggle, so whatever the dark secret was we never found it out.

So we had neighbors! This was interesting. We had not expected the Rocky Mountains to offer any social opportunities, but here were next-door neighbors, so to speak, for Cottonwood Lake was only six miles from us, farther back in the range and two thousand feet higher. Our Cottonwood Creek was the outlet for this mountain lake, and the road which led to it followed the wanderings of the stream up the cañon. As the oldest residents in this vicinity, we felt that we should open the civilities; so, one fresh, breezy morning, Robert, Professor Dick, the Head of the Family, and I, started on horseback for Camp Galatea. Four riders proving a strain on the resources of Mr. Ambrose's stables I was obliged to ride an old bay mare, whose colt ambled vaguely along with the party, getting under foot or falling behind and having to be waited for very much after the manner of our own babies when taken out for an airing. With this clog our progress was not very rapid, but we succeeded in getting a great deal of enjoyment out of the leisurely expedition. It was a delicious rest and change for me after having been shut up in the hospital tent for ten days.

As we approached Camp Galatea Mr. Andrews came out to meet us, bearing what the members of his company were in the habit of calling "his ten thousand dollar smile." The gate was thrown open leading us into an inclosure on the bank of the lake, in which, under a sheltering canopy of noble hemlocks, stood a well-built log house and three tents. The surroundings bore a tinge of Alpine grandeur. The lake, black with the reflection of its mountain walls, lay, nestled among the highest peaks in the range, ten thousand feet above the sea. The cliffs rose precipitately from the water's edge on all sides except the small plateau where the tents were pitched.

Princeton's crater towered above the

cottage and stood between their camp and ours; so we had made the circuit of the peak in our morning's ride. Under a striped awning at the back of the house stood a stove and a rickety table, both bearing a family resemblance to some of ours. Flitting about with pans and spoons were several female figures wearing aprons, which, I perceived with a mental smile, had small round holes burned in the middle breadth. This circumstance set me at my ease at once and the ice was broken.

"Yes," Mrs. Andrews laughingly explained, these are our 'property' aprons and we shall have to get new ones before we can go on with our engagements. Indeed most of our outfit is from the property trunks, we are so far from home and have only come for a few weeks."

Then followed introductions to the other members of the "company," and vague conjectures on my part as to the relationship involved. It was largely a family party, consisting of a whitehaired mother, her two married daughters and their husbands, a granddaughter of eight years, a cousin and a nephew, who with several friends made thirteen in all.

The six miles additional nearness to supplies gave Camp Piñon a decided gain in comforts over the lake camp. No Mr. Ambrose flourished in these upper regions, to contribute ranch supplies to the Galateans, so they were reduced to the dismal necessity of using condensed milk and canned vegetables. Still, the dinner they served was appetizing and enjoyable in more ways than one. After dinner the gentlemen betook themselves to a shady spot on the beach to play "High Five" or some such wicked game, and the ladies gathered on the piazza to discuss the great questions of the day. After awhile these topics resolved themselves into more personal matters and discussions. The sun began to set about four o'clock, as it has a habit of doing where the mountains are fourteen thousand feet high, so we mounted our horses and with the tired little colt tagging at our heels, we left Camp Galatea, their cordial good-byes echoing down the cañon in the evening air.

Some days later seven of the Galateans appeared at our camp, bringing with them their own plates, knives and

forks, according to the terms of the invitation. They made an imposing procession. First came a two-wheeled cart, drawn by a shaggy burro and occupied by two ladies, with the little girl standing up behind. Others of the party straggled along on foot or mounted on burros; the largest man riding the smallest animal. They were enthusiastic over our artistic furniture, bookshelves and china closet, and at dinner were particularly struck with the fact that we possessed nine stoneware cups, all alike. This opulence, we explained, was the result of preparing for a summer in the mountains instead of a twoweeks' sojourn.

After dinner we led the way down the steep path into the gulch, and pointed out our "modern improvements" of hot and cold water. A spring of steaming water, at a temperature of 112°, flowed from the ground only five or six paces from the rushing, icy water of the Cottonwood, fresh from the snow fields of Mt. Harvard.

The next Wednesday our visitors were to break camp and play a onenight's engagement in the Buena Vista Theatre. In preparation for the evening's entertainment we laid aside flannel blouses and unearthed from the bottom of our trunks, bonnets, stiff linen, gloves, all the abominations of civilized garb, and drove to Buena Vista. Never was an evening's entertainment so heartily enjoyed, apart from its excellent dramatic quality. All the camp jokes, allusions to Cottonwood Lake and Camp Piñon were dragged, nilly-willy, into the lines of that play.

The next day we had to bid farewell to Cousin Dick and his belongings. We missed his music, his jokes, and his capacity for griddle cakes. There was no one to abuse about going for water, and nothing to remind us of him but six tent pegs, some broken pipes and a discarded pair of trousers on the clothes-line. Our summer had indeed ended.

One frosty morning, in the middle of September, we were surrounded by the confusion of breaking camp,-collapsed tents, lariated bedclothes and stray tinware. We became again decently attired members of society and the children felt once more the crushing responsibility of clean clothes. We were glad to set our faces homeward and anticipate

I have been often asked if camping in Colorado "paid." For that question I have a provisional answer. If you are merely bent on rest and pleasure, if you have a family of children to consider, and especially if you live anywhere east of the Mississippi, then I should say decidedly, it is too great an undertaking. It is far from conveniences, and there are many risks, such as sickness and unexpected expense to be considered. Or, if you are a person who can enjoy a sunset from a hotel piazza but do not like to get your feet wet; if you cannot eat with a plated spoon and drink out of a tin cup; if you cannot make yourself luxuriously comfortable on a camp stool

with a broken leg, then my advice is, "don't go camping anywhere." But if you have a strong back and a good temper; if you can laugh at difficulties and put up with inconveniences;-above all, if you are on sufficiently good terms with nature to take pot luck with her in good weather or bad, then you have in you the stuff of which a good camper is made. Beyond all this, if you are a lover of outdoors in the intense sense of Wordsworth's stately metre, if the sounding cataract "haunts you like a passion," if the mountains are to you "an appetite, a feeling and a love,"-if you have felt

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HE man who claimed that there was more pleasure in bagging a brace of woodcock than in making a big bag of almost any other feathered game knew what he was talking about. I sympathize with him heartily, for there is, to me, a certain fascination in the pursuit of this bird which I will not attempt to explain nor describe. It may be their comparative scarcity in my immediate neighborhood, the difficulties to be overcome in penetrating their tangled retreats, and the

consequent application of all the acquired skill I possess to bring a few of them to bag, that makes success in their pursuit doubly dear. Some writer has stated that there is no game bird with which the average sportsman is less familiar than the woodcock, which is no doubt true. Although in some localities they are comparatively plentiful, their haunts easy of access, and the local shooter may become familiar with their appearance, he never acquires a thorough knowledge of their habits.

In other parts of the country they are few and far between; their habitat