an the
climbing of Dutton Cliff, or, for experienced climbers, of many of the
striking lava spires? The only drawback to these days of happy wandering
along this sculptured and painted rim is the necessity of carrying
drinking-water from the Lodge.

Then there are days of pleasure on the water. Wizard Island may be
thoroughly explored, with luncheon under its trees by the lakeside. The
Phantom Ship's gnarled lavas may be examined and climbed. Everywhere the
steep rocky shore invites more intimate acquaintance; its caves may be
entered, some afoot, at least one afloat. The lake is well stocked with
rainbow trout, some of them descendants of the youngsters which Will G.
Steel laboriously carried across country from Gordon's Ranch, forty-nine
miles away, in 1888. They are caught with the fly from shore and boat. A
pound trout in Crater Lake is a small trout. Occasionally a monster of
eight or ten pounds is carried up the trail to the Lodge.

During all these days and weeks of pleasure and study, the vision of
ancient Mount Mazama and its terrible end grows more and more in the
enlightened imagination. There is much in the conformation of the base
to justify a rather definite picture of this lost brother of Hood,
Shasta, St. Helens, and Rainier. At the climax of his career, Mazama
probably rose sixteen thousand feet above the sea, which means ten
thousand feet above the level of the present lake. We are justified too
in imagining his end a cataclysm. Volcanic upbuildings are often
spasmodic and slow, a series of impulses separated by centuries of
quiescence, but their climaxes often are sudden and excessively violent.
It seems more probable that Mazama collapsed during violent eruption.
Perhaps like a stroke of lightning at the moment of triumph, death came
at the supreme climax of his career.

Certainly no mausoleum was ever conceived for human hero which may be
compared for a moment with this glorified grave of dead Mazama!

The human history of Crater Lake has its interest. The Indians feared
it. John W. Hillman was the first white man to see it. Early in 1853 a
party of Californian miners ascended the Rogue River to rediscover a
lost gold-mine of fabulous richness. The expedition was secret, but
several Oregonians who suspected its object and meant to be in at the
finding, quickly organized and followed. Hillman was of this party. The
Californians soon learned of the pursuit.

"Then," wrote Hillman half a century l