when that desire or wish was gratified and that day dream
became a reality to feel an overwhelming sadness--a heart failure? If
so, you can realize how on August 19, 1895, at 6:30 p. m., I left
Chicago with a heavy heart for a voyage around the world in company with
my brother, his wife and son, the latter just relieved from college
life.

We arrived in St. Paul in time for breakfast, the train already made
up that was to convey us on the Canadian Pacific Railroad to Vancouver,
B. C.

Our attention was at once directed to the immense wheat fields of
Minnesota and villages few and far between. Through the endless prairies
of the Dakotas, with no signs of vegetation along the railway, and but
little animal life. A few Indians visit the station on the arrival of
trains; some to barter, others--blind or crippled--to beg. The third day
out, at 1:30 p. m., we reached the Glaciers, where we remained
twenty-four hours. Through Assinniboin, north of western Dakota, we had
noticed deep furrowed trails of the buffalo crossing the road from north
to south. Now and then, their bones were seen in white patches on the
prairies, and at the stations tons were ready for shipment east to make
tooth-brush handles and bone dust for soda fountains, etc. We had been
advised to stop at the Glaciers instead of Banff, perhaps by some
traveler who felt the inconvenience of getting up at three o'clock in
the morning to take the train. We regretted it, however, when we were
told that the hotel is nestled among the mountains rising over 5,000
feet above it, all of them snow capped and far down the sides of the
deep gorges was still seen the same white vestment. The Glacier House,
where we spent the night, is like a Swiss chalet in architecture. To sit
upon its piazza and gaze on the lofty mountain peaks is a sublime sight.
To watch the sun climbing its sides, rose-tinting the snows which lie
like a mantle over their height, is not soon forgotten; and to listen to
the mighty roar of the foaming cataract, which tumbles over the
precipitous foothills, one can but exclaim: Almighty One, how great are
thy works! The path leading through the forest to the glacier is most
picturesque, but not easily trodden. The constant fear of encountering a
wolf or bear, together with the sight of the great mountain of ice, soon
cools one's ardor, and we were content to retrace our steps and to
gather after dinner around an old-fashioned stove in the exchange of the
I