IN GREEN ALASKA 



view, but does not get it. Their distant snow-capped 

 peaks rise up, or bow down, or ride slowly along the 

 horizon afar off. They seem to elude him; he can- 

 not get near them ; they flee away or cautiously 

 work around him. At one point we seemed for hours 

 approaching the Elk Mountains, which stood up 

 sharp and white against the horizon; but a spell 

 was upon us, or upon them, for we circled and 

 circled till we left them behind. A vast treeless 

 country is a strange spectacle to Eastern eyes. This 

 absence of trees seems in some way to add to the 

 youthfulness of the landscape; it is like the face 

 of a beardless boy. Trees and forests make the 

 earth look as if it had attained its majority; they 

 give a touch like that of the mane to the lion or 

 the beard to the man. 



In crossing the continent this youthfulness of the 

 land, or even its femininity, is at times a marked 

 feature. The face of the plains in Wyoming sug- 

 gests our Eastern meadows in early spring, — the 

 light gray of the stubble, with a tinge of green be- 

 neath. All the lines are gentle, all the tints are soft 

 The land looks as if it must have fattened innu- 

 merable herds. Probably the myriads of buffaloes 

 grazing here for centuries have left their mark upon 

 it. The hills are almost as plump and muttony in 

 places as the South Downs of England. 



I recall a fine spectacle on the Laramie plains : a 

 vast green area, miles and miles in extent, dotted 



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