the splendid hostelry of the Canadian
Pacific Railway; warm sulphur springs that bubble up out of the earth,
and a cave of waters which is an extinct geyser, but might be the
matrix of the hills themselves.

Geologists say that the eastern ranges of the Rocky Mountains are of
the Eocene Age, and that the western ridges are Pliocene, and eons
younger. But these revelations of science are almost as overwhelming
as our ignorance. They tell of the immensity of time but do not sound
it. It is not possible to level them to our mental capacity.

A wealthy Sheik who once lived in the Land of Uz told us how God
challenged him to answer certain questions about the mountains.

"Where wast thou when I laid the foundations of the earth?"

"Who hath stretched the line upon it?"

"Who hath divided a watercourse for the overflowing of the waters?"

But Job could not answer so much as one question, and he said, "Behold
I am vile; what shall I answer Thee? I will lay my hand upon my mouth."

This Job, it would appear, was no ordinary sort of man, and one who was
very wise.

And ever since, mankind has puzzled itself with these riddles, even as
you and I are puzzled. Sometimes we do not so much as believe in the
great Lord, who is thought to have made this world, and we say, "Aha!"
and other scornful words that are wicked exceedingly. But, up in the
hills, we comprehend God without so much as an effort. He is natural
here. These scenes of sublimity break in on our life's dead level and
show us depth within ourselves unsounded before. Impulses which have
been informulate, and aspirations which the years have strangled are
brought to life and sentience. "Blessed be the hills," say I, and you
must reply, "Amen and Amen."

This road twists upward easily, but, in one place, they have made it
into stone stairways, with each tread many feet wide so that the horses
can find firm footing. This stairway looks to be a hundred feet in
height. All the horses must go one way round the mountain, and not
turn backwards, for there is no room to pass on the trail. Every
little while, you stop to look at the savage rock forms which surround
you, or at their colours. It was no stinting brush that laid them on.
Opal and wine-red, purple and ochre, splash the rocks with living hues
of wonderful beauty. It is a pity we have not more lavish words for
these transfiguration scenes of Nature. It is foolish to try and
explain them with our