tion and guiding spirit of the
whole enterprise, and some incidents in his life may be of interest to the
public.

Twenty years ago Professor Frank H. Snow, a recent graduate of Williams
College, came to Kansas, to become a member of the faculty of the State
University. His election to the chair of natural science was unexpected, as
he first taught mathematics in the university, and expected in due time to
become professor of Greek. As professor of the mellifluous and most plastic
of all the ancient tongues, he would undoubtedly have been proficient, as
his college classics still remain fresh in his warm and retentive memory,
and his literary taste is so severe and chaste as to make some of his
scientific papers read like a psalm. But nature designed him for another,
and some think a better, field, and endowed him with powers as a naturalist
that have won for him recognition among the highest living authorities of
his profession.

Upon being elected to the chair of natural history, Prof. Snow entered upon
his life work with an enthusiasm that charmed his associates and inspired
his pupils. The true naturalist must possess large and accurate powers of
observation and a love for his chosen profession that carries him over all
obstacles and renders him oblivious to everything else except the specimen
upon which he has set his heart. Years ago the writer was walking in the
hall of the new university building in company with General Fraser and
Professor Snow, when the latter suddenly darted forward up the stairs and
captured an insect in its flight, that had evidently just dug its way out
of the pine of the new building. In a few moments he returned with such a
glow on his countenance and such a satisfied air at having captured a rare
but familiar specimen, whose name was on his lips, that we both felt
"Surely here is a genuine naturalist."

Some years ago an incident occurred in connection with his scientific
excursions in Colorado that is quite characteristic, showing his
obliviousness to self and everything else save the object of his scientific
pursuit, and a fertility in overcoming danger when it meets him face to
face. He was descending alone from one of the highest peaks of the Rockies,
when he thought he could leave the path and reach the foot of the mountain
by passing directly down its side over an immense glacier of snow and ice,
and thus save time and a journey of several miles. After a while his way
down the g