Glacier Bay 



it seems that ice formed from pressed snow on the 

 far-off mountains two or three hundred years ago 

 should still be pure and lovely in color after all its 

 travel and toil in the rough mountain quarries, grind- 

 ing and fashioning the features of predestined land- 

 scapes. 



When sunshine is sifting through the midst of the 

 multitude of icebergs that fill the fiord and through 

 She jets of radiant spray ever rising from the tremen- 

 dous dashing and splashing of the falling and upspring- 

 ing bergs, the effect is indescribably glorious. Glori- 

 ous, too, are the shows they make in the night when the 

 moon and stars are shining. The berg-thunder seems 

 far louder than by day, and the projecting buttresses 

 seem higher as they stand forward in the pale light, 

 relieved by gloomy hollows, while the new-born bergs 

 are dimly seen, crowned with faint lunar rainbows in 

 the up-dashing spray. But it is in the darkest nights 

 when storms are blowing and the waves are phos- 

 phorescent that the most impressive displays are 

 made. Then the long range of ice-bluffs is plainly 

 seen stretching through the gloom in weird, unearthly 

 splendor, luminous wave foam dashing against every 

 bluff and drifting berg; and ever and anon amid all 

 this wild auroral splendor some huge new-born berg 

 dashes the living water into yet brighter foam, and 

 the streaming torrents pouring from its sides are 

 worn as robes of light, while they roar in awful ac- 

 cord with the winds and waves, deep calling unto 

 deep, glacier to glacier, from fiord to fiord over all 

 the wonderful bay. 



[ 269] 



