QfRoun^ain Bafte0 



Into these lakes swift waters run, and here 

 the snowy cataract leaps in glory. From the 

 overshadowing cliffs, flattened and lacy streams 

 flutter down. During the summer there is the 

 ever-flowing harmony, the endless animation, 

 of falling water; and in winter there is the 

 silent and architectural symphony of the frozen 

 waterfall. Many lakes during summer are 

 partly edged with inthrusting snow and ice 

 piles; from time to time fragments of these 

 piles break away and become miniature ice- 

 bergs in these small arctic seas. 



Although filled with the purest, and clearest 

 water, from a distant height they often appear 

 to contain a brilliant heavy liquid. Under dif- 

 ferent lights and from different points of view 

 they are emerald, opal, inky black, violet, in- 

 digo-blue, and sea-green. I have approached 

 one from a high distant point, and as I de- 

 scended and waveringly advanced, the lake 

 took on a number of deep colors, each melting 

 like a passing shadow from one into the other. 

 Occasionally, too, it almost vanished in dull gray 

 or flashed up in molten silver. The colors shown 



