Forest and Stream 
$3 a Year, 10 Cts. a Copy, 
Six Months, $1.50. 
NEW YORK, SATURDAY, MARCH 22, 1913. 
VOL. LXXX.—No. 13. 
127 Franklin St., New York. 
The Kingdom of Eternal Hills 
A NUMBER of celejirities have visited that 
treasure land of the Northwest, Glacier 
National Park, and have returned to the 
haunts of men with glowing recounts of their 
experiences, often telling it in spoken words, but 
mostly painting those wonders of nature’s handi¬ 
craft upon the printed pages for the hundreds 
of thousands to gain knowledge from. One of 
these noted men was the staunch and stalwart 
John Muir, the well-known naturalist and writer, 
who said of this great territory before it was 
yet a park; “I would want to spend a month 
at least in this precious preserve. The time will 
not be taken from the sum of your life. Instead 
of shortening, it will indefinitely lengthen it and 
make you truly immortal.” 
Glacier National Park. It is a term to con¬ 
jure with. . Indeed, it is the one spot in this 
great United States where one is able to get 
a true glimpse and idea of what an ideal moun¬ 
tain country is like. So many who have never 
seen the Rockies have an idea that the whole 
chain, from the rugged, forsaken country of 
Canada, to the final end and dwindling to hills 
in Mexico, is one veritable land of wonders. 
Now, this is a notion I hasten to correct. There 
are only certain sections of the Rockies that are 
truly what one might say is wonderful. When 
I say wonderful, I want the definition to be com- 
By ROBERT PAGE LINCOLN 
plete. I include in that definition the fullness 
of beauty and vastness, the utmost of nature’s 
perfection, the unstinted immensity we know as 
perfection, not one lonely mount, but hundreds 
of them, all the very personification of a lavish 
and gigantic display. And I know of no place 
in the whole chain of the Rockies as complete 
and enhancing, as immense and staggering in 
beauty as the Glacier National Park. Here one 
is able to rest at the very feet of God, and mute 
and voiceless look out upon the eternal hills, 
finding no word to picture the thoughts that 
come to his hungering mind. This is the para¬ 
dise of the true nature lover. Here he will find 
the end of his journey. He will need to seek 
no further, for this is the ultimate goal, and he 
will be surrounded by silent and invincible peaks 
that jeer at the petty achievements of man who 
thinks he can harness the very wands of light¬ 
ning that cleave the sky and tread the paths of 
impossibility with sure feet. Around him those 
mountains rise sheer and clear into the azure 
of the heavens, seeming to pierce the delicate 
folds of the empyrean. Hung by bridal veils of 
the softest milk-white hue, dreaming forever, 
silent, unchangable, in set form, but enacting 
hour for hour the drama of the world of light 
and dark. Colors untold, mingling and melting 
and blending, and wavering over all with a 
terrible beauty that knows no human name. 
Here rise the magnificent trees, further on 
one glimpses through the inimitable vistas the 
spuming torrent, bearing down from austere and 
defiant heights the burden sublime; flashes here 
the million-voiced cascade, and trickles here the 
little, soft-trebled spring. Below looks up an 
eye of the earth in the form of a lake so very 
crystal clear that one is able to search the very 
bottom, as though it were but a few feet deep. 
One glimpse will bring to your mind the sense 
of completeness, of soul satisfaction you have 
been so long craving for, and which you have 
thought a thing never to be realized, a burden 
of human imagination. Behold, then, the nucleus 
of your dream. It is here waiting for your feet 
at wandering list, waiting for your eyes to look 
forth upon in a newer world, waiting for your 
heart to expand with the bigness and purpose 
of it all, to know that there is vastly more in 
this life to aim for than the miserly money 
grubbing that holds nine out of every ten of 
humanity in the thin grasping claws of com¬ 
mercialism. Tied down to the hard and dry 
ruts of life and the sickly artificial; seeing but 
the glare and the tawdry, the rough and the 
degrading, the soul stifling and the driveling 
illusions we so lavishly feed upon and call en¬ 
joyments; hearing but commands or curses, 
A FOREST RANGER’S CABIN. 
Photograph copyright by Kiser Photo Co. for Great Northern Railway. 
