of which resound far and near. Down, down,
down goes the berg, and woe to the boat in its way when it rises again
to the surface."

Charles Hallock in "Our New Alaska," pp. 172-733: "The glacier wall
overhung us with its mighty majesty, three times the height of the
steamer's mast or more, and we seemed none too far away to escape the
constantly cleaving masses which dropped from its face with deafening
detonations. The foam which gathered from the impetus of the plunges
surged upward fully two-thirds of the height of the cliff, and the
resulting swell tossed the large steamer like a toy, and rolled up in
breakers of surf upon the beach.... The glacier is by no means smooth,
but is seamed and riven in every part by clefts and fissures. It is
hollowed into caverns and grottos, hung with massive stalactites, and
fashioned into pinnacles and domes. Every section and configuration
has its heart of translucent blue or green, interlaced or bordered by
fretted frostwork of intensest white, so that the appearance is at all
times gnome-like and supernatural....

"I cannot conceive how any one can sit by and contemplate without
emotion the stupendous throes which give birth to the icebergs,
attended with detonations like explosions of artillery, and
reverberations of thunder across the sky, and the mighty wreckage
which follows each convulsion. Nevertheless, I have seen a lady loll
with complaisance in her steamer chair comfortably wrapped for the
chilly air, and observe the astounding scene with the same languid
contemplation that she would discuss her social fixtures and
appointments. Zounds! I believe that such a human negation would calmly
view the wrecks of worlds and hear the crack of doom at the final
rendering, if it did not affect her set. She could watch, at a suitable
distance, the agony of Christian martyrs, the carnage of great battles,
the sweep of cyclones, the diluvial submergence. Dynamite would not
appall her, but to me it would be the acme of satisfaction, ineffably
supreme, to startle such clods of inanition by a cry of mouse, and
electrify them into momentary emotion. No vinaigrette would ever
mitigate the shock."...

Mrs. E. R. Scidmore, in "Journeys in Alaska," says, "Avalanches of
crumbling snow and great pieces of the front were continually falling
with the roar and crash of artillery, revealing new caverns and rifts of
deeper blue light, while the spray dashed high and the great waves
rolled along th