travels in Alaska 



set, a few clouds appear, and a torrent rushing down a 

 gully and under the edge of the glacier is making a 

 solemn roaring. No tinkling, whistling rills this night. 

 Ever and anon I hear a falling boulder. I have had 

 a glorious and instructive day, but am excessively 

 weary and to bed I go. 



July 18. I felt tired this morning and meant to rest 

 to-day. But after breakfast at 8 A.M. I felt I must be 

 up and doing, climbing, sketching new views up the 

 great tributaries from the top of Quarry Mountain. 

 Weariness vanished and I could have climbed, I think, 

 five thousand feet. Anything seems easy after sled- 

 dragging over hummocks and crevasses, and the con- 

 stant nerve-strain in jumping crevasses so as not to 

 slip in making the spring. Quarry Mountain is the 

 barest I have seen, a raw quarry with infinite abun- 

 dance of loose decaying granite all on the go. Its 

 slopes are excessively steep. A few patches of epilo- 

 bium make gay purple spots of color. Its seeds fly 

 everywhere seeking homes. Quarry Mountain is cut 

 across into a series of parallel ridges by oversweeping 

 ice. It is still overswept in three places by glacial 

 flows a half to three quarters of a mile wide, finely 

 arched at the top of the divides. I have been sketch- 

 ing, though my eyes are much inflamed and I can 

 scarce see. All the lines I make appear double. I fear 

 I shall not be able to make the few more sketches I 

 want to-morrow, but must try. The day has been 

 gloriously sunful, the glacier pale yellow toward five 

 o'clock. The hazy air, white with a yellow tinge, 



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