FROZEN CATARACTS.
"Perennial snow, perennial stream,
Perennial motion, all things seem;
Nor time, nor space will ever show
The world that was an hour ago."
When we examine any portion of a glacier's surface, we find abundant evidence of its motion. It has been forced into a million strange, distorted shapes, many of which are larger than the grandest cathedrals man has ever framed. Between them are vast chasms of unknown depth. As it descends thus, inch by inch, obedient to the pressure from above, it flings its frigid waves to the right and left, close to the orchards and the homes of man. It is the ghastly synonym of death in life; for here a man may swing the scythe or gather flowers, while a hundred yards away his brother may be perishing in a crevasse!
CROSSING A GLACIER.