catching, as descending rocks were caught and hurled aside in order to prevent a rock-slide.
Rounding a ticklish corner of rock-wall and crossing a noisy little stream, rejoicing in its escape from the ice caverns, the snow line was reached and a snow-balling match was indulged in to celebrate the summer day event. And while it was under way, what would have been a shower in the valley became a sleet storm up aloft, at the elevation of 8000 feet above the sea, the wind driving the frozen sand-like flakes with stinging effect against our faces. But the sunshine soon returned with its grateful warmth, and with it a revival of spirits and a quickened pace up the ice-steps cut for us by our leader. At last, the main icefield was reached, with its miniature mountains of ice known as séracs, its deep chasms and moulins, and its under-surface streams making their way to lower levels. On either side gaping crevasses reached to unknown depths, the wonderful coloring of their green-blue walls fascinating the eye while they terrified the mind at the thought of what a misstep might result in. An occasional halt enabled the alpen-stock travellers once more to revel in a sweeping vision of our giant hills, where
"Hills peep o'er hills, and Alps on Alps arise."
Then there was the two-day trip up the floor of the Yoho valley and back by its upper trail. That experience was worth the whole journey to the scene, no matter from what far-away distance. One stood entranced amid the scenic grandeur: the wonderful coloring, the titanic peaks guarding the vale, and the distant views of other alpine giants. The beholder rejoiced in such a revelation of Nature, he rejoiced in the freedom of the open, in the chance to breathe the pure air of the hills, in the rare opportunity of living among the Kings of the Cordilleran range. We had sped across God's plains to reach the Rockies, now we
