46 The Mountaineer 
so many raised letters whereby blind children of the Most High were 
enabled to spell out something more of the divine message. Body, 
mind, and soul were possessed with a strange ecstacy which no amount 
of prosy humdrum ean ever utterly banish. 
Now and anon, Prof. Meany caught some charming bird of beauty 
in his golden net of song; brought it down to earth; held it fluttering 
in his hand for us to feel and admire; but for the main, what our eyes 
saw, was and is beyond the potency of word-painting. We must side 
with the youthful theologue who said in describing the glories of a 
sunrise: ‘Friends, it is no use; words is a vacuum.” But what we 
felt from time to time is safely at work within us, a silent, perpetual 
chemistry of good. 
I had fun, piles of it. I tasted the luxury of adventure. I wore 
the boots of inexperience over wicked spots of trail. I interviewed 
the half-extinet memories of my hunting ancestors. I studied horse- 
ology trying to make up “backwork.” Best of all and above all, 1] 
found new friends, who gave and give sparkle and zest to living. 
Richer than all the gifts of mountain, stream, and wood is the priceless 
benefaction of a trail-born comradeship. 
C. G. Morrison 
LOOKING EASTERLY ACROSS BEAUTIFUL LAKE MARGARET IN THE LOW DIVIDE BETWEEN THE ELWHA AND 
THE QUENIULT 
