s Buildings in New York, and all
the mammoth newspaper offices in the same city might be floated in front
of the Muir Glacier, and yet its emerald walls would overtop and engulf
them all. As a contrast to all that is pure and chaste in the scene
before us, there rushes out from the eastern end of the glacier a
subglacial stream of thick, dirty water, much resembling, as it boils up
from its cavernous outlet, the mud geyser of the Yellowstone. This is a
perpetually flowing river, charged with sediment and _debris_ from the
scouring process produced by the friction of the moving ice along its
bed of rock; it gives the water in the inlet a thick, gray color,
utterly destroying the charm of its otherwise transparent character.

If you are amiable enough to say that what I have written gives a
sufficiently correct idea of what you expect to see, I beg to differ
from you. No camera, no pencil, no vocabulary, can do more than produce
a desire to see for one's self. I can only say that it has been my
fortune to behold much that is grand in nature and in art at home and
abroad, but the hours spent at Muir Glacier made the great event of my
life. If God spares me, I hope to see it often. And fearing I might be
accused of exaggeration, which is far from my desire, for I am searching
in vain for superlatives which would do the subject justice, let me
quote from others who preceded me, and all of whom have established
their reputation as authorities.

Miss Kate Field says, "In Switzerland a glacier is a vast bed of dirty,
air-holed ice that has fastened itself, like a cold porous plaster, to
the side of an Alp. Distance alone lends enchantment to the view. In
Alaska a glacier is a wonderful torrent that seems to have been suddenly
frozen when about to plunge into the sea.... Think of Niagara Falls
frozen stiff, add thirty-six feet to its height, and you have a slight
idea of the terminus of Muir Glacier, in front of which your steamer
anchors; picture a background of mountains fifteen thousand feet high,
all snow-clad, and then imagine a gorgeous sun lighting up the
ice-crystals with rainbow coloring. The face of the glacier takes on
the hue of aquamarine, the hue of every bit of floating ice, big and
little, that surround the steamer and make navigation serious. These
dazzling serpents move at the rate of sixty-four feet a day, tumbling
headlong into the sea, and, as they fall, the ear is startled by
submarine thunder, the echoes