A REVERIE IN THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS. 191 
in the early morning hung about the ravines, 
and partially veiled the peaks and angles of the 
vast piles of rocks, had vanished, revealing them 
in all their immensity. Below me was a lake, 
smooth as a mirror, but the dark-green cold 
look of the water hinted at unfathomable depth. 
Tiny rivulets, fed by the snow, wound their 
way, like threads of silver, between the rocks 
and through the grass, to reach the lake 
I was not so much impressed with the beauty 
of the landscape, as awed by its substantial mag- 
nificence. Few living things were to be seen 
save a group of ptarmigan, sunning themselves 
on a ledge of rocks, a couple of mountain-goats 
browsing by the lake, and a few grey-crowned 
linnets,—birds seldom seen but at great alti- 
tudes. There were also the recent traces of a 
grizzly, or black bear, that had been munching 
down the wild angelica. A solemn stillness 
intensified the slightest sound to a supernatural 
loudness—even a loosened stone rattling down 
the hillside made me start; there was no buzz 
and hum of busy insects, or chirp of birds, or 
- splash of torrents, to break the silence; the very 
wind seemed afraid to moan: it was deathlike 
silence to the very letter. 
As I smoked away, silent as all about me, sud- 
