cream. That was the squarest meal on the road except at Weber.
Mr. Thomas is a Baltimore "slosher," he informed me. I don't know
what that is, but he is a good fellow, and gave us a breakfast fir
for a lord, emperor, czar, count, &c. A better couldn't be found
at Delmonicp's or Parker's. He pressed me to linger with him for a
few days and shoot bears. It was with several pangs that I
declined the generous Baltimorean's invitation.

To Virginia Dale. Weather clear and bright. Virginia Dale is a
pretty spot, as it ought to be with such a pretty name; but I
treated with no little scorn the advice of a hunter I met there,
who told me to give up "literatoor," form a matrimonial alliance
with some squaws, and "settle down thar."

Bannock on the brain! That is what is the matter now. Wagon-load
after wagon-load of emigrants, bound to the new Idaho gold regions,
meet us every hour. Canvas-covered and drawn for the most part by
fine large mules, they make a pleasant panorama, as they stretch
slowly over the plains and uplands. We strike the South Platte
Sunday, 21st, and breakfast at Latham, a station of one-horse
proportions. We are now in Colorado ("Pike's Peak"), and we
diverge from the main route here and visit the flourishing and
beautiful city of Denver. Messrs, Langrish & Dougherty, who have
so long and so admirably catered to the amusement lovers of the Far
West, kindly withdrew their dramatic corps for a night, and allow
me to use their pretty little theatre.

We go to the mountains from Denver, visiting the celebrated
gold-mining towns of Black Hawk and Central City. I leave this
queen of all the territories, quite firmly believing that its