Except For The
Church-Going There Were Few Perceptible Signs Of Sunday In
Denver, Which Was Full Of Rowdies From The Mountain Mining Camps.
You can hardly imagine the delight of joining in those grand old
prayers after so long a deprivation.
The "Te Deum" sounded
heavenly in its magnificence; but the heat was so tremendous that
it was hard to "warstle" through the day. They say that they
have similar outbreaks of solar fury all through the winter.
GOLDEN CITY, November 13.
Pleasant as Denver was, with the Dewys and so many kind friends
there, it was too much of the "wearying world" either for my
health or taste, and I left for my sixteen miles' ride to this
place at four on Monday afternoon with the sun still hot.
Passing by a bare, desolate-looking cemetery, I asked a
sad-looking woman who was leaning on the gate if she could direct
me to Golden City. I repeated the question twice before I got an
answer, and then, though easily to be accounted for, it was wide
of the mark. In most doleful tones she said, "Oh, go to the
minister; I might tell you, may be, but it's too great a
responsibility; go to the ministers, they can tell you!" And she
returned to her tears for some one whose spirit she was doubtless
thinking of as in the Golden City of our hopes. That sixteen
miles seemed like one mile, after sunset, in the rapturous
freshness of the Colorado air, and Birdie, after her two days'
rest and with a lightened load, galloped across the prairie as if
she enjoyed it.
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