The Mountaineer 13 



ON COLUMBIA'S CREST. 



Major E. S. Ingraham. 



FTER long hours of incessant climbing 

 I stood upon Columbia's Crest ! A cold 

 wind pierced my tired body to the 

 marrow, but my soul forgot the dis- 

 comforts of its habitation and surged 

 and expanded in reverence and admiration of the 

 scene around me. At my feet slumber the snows 

 of a century, yielding not to winter's blast nor 

 summer's heat. One law alone they obey — that 

 causes the apple to fall and the planets to keep in 

 their appointed places. Inch by inch they are 

 dragged down the mountain's rock-ribbed sides 

 until changed into the slow-moving glacier. The 

 stunted trees upon the glacier's bank have grown 

 old beckoning it onward. The flowers of a hun- 

 dred summers have smiled upon it and bid it wel- 

 come. Yet it pauses not nor yet hastens. When 

 the snows upon which I now stand will have 

 reached the silver stream far below, our children's 

 children may listen to its murmurings. 



