to discover that we had been approaching a bench beyond which rose another cliff of mingled quartz and slate. I shall only say that about three o'clock on the afternoon of the second day after turning back from the forks we did at last gain the real summit. And in every direction, north, south, east, west, there unfolded a magnificent panorama of mountains, nameless ranges, hundreds of nameless peaks, any of them taller than the highest in the entire Appalachian system. We had reached a point of vantage whence we could overlook the whole of the unexplored region of the Rockies. from Laurier Pass on the south to the Liard region on the north. No great secret could be concealed from us. What did we see? aroused our enthusiasm, and yet we gave comparatively scant heed to it. For down the south slope of it, filling a great valley miles and miles wide, there flowed a perfectly immense, glistening glacier. "That is what makes the Quadacha white," Joe conceded. There could be no doubt about it. For a long time I had realized that it would require a good-sized rock-mill to grind up enough silt to color such a big stream as the Quadacha, but here was a mill big enough for the job. We were at least forty miles from it, for we were now fully twenty miles west of the forks, and from the forks to the glacier must be at least twenty more. We were eighty as one must travel in that region. Yet there that great white mass loomed up far and away the most notable phenomenon in that whole magnificent panBut there were several magnificent orama. It is the biggest thing in the A glance showed us that there was no heaven-kissing peak "taller than Mount Robson." whole Finlay country. I venture to predict that when the glacier has been more closely examined it will be found to be one of the biggest, if not the very biggest, in the whole Rocky Mountain system. From our post on Observation Peak the great glacier lay ten degrees east of north by compass, or approximately fortythree degrees east of the true north. It is, I repeat for emphasis, a great river of ice, flowing down not only from the big mountain but, it seemed, from the mountain across the valley and from far up the valley. We were too far distant to make out much in detail, but through our glasses the wall of ice appeared of great height. About all we could be absolutely sure of was that the glacier is an immense affair covering many square miles of territory. On the north fork, or Warneford River, we saw another glacier, evidently the one set down on McConnell's map. Later we saw it again from Prairie Mountain. Even this glacier would be noteworthy in the Rockies of the United States, but it seemed a pygmy compared with the big one. About thirty degrees south of the true east, seemingly at the extreme eastern edge of the system, there projected a fine snow peak which I venture to guess is the "Great Snow Mountain" seen by Mr. Frederick K. Vreeland from the Laurier Pass country in 1912. The mountains on the eastern side of the system bore a great deal more snow than those on the western side, though they are, with a few exceptions, seemingly no taller. The rea son, of course, is that they are not so much affected by warm winds from the Pacific. These winds prolong the summer season in the Finlay country beyond that at the same elevation in western Alberta even as far south as the headwaters of the Saskatchewan. We were also able from Observation Peak to obtain a splendid view of the peculiar range of white limestone that forces its way upward in the region of Quadacha forks. Both northwest and southeast it runs as far as we were able to see, being easily recognizable in both directions by its pronounced color and by the unusually jagged character of its peaks. I was extremely anxious to obtain pictures of the panorama and particularly of the great glacier. But the hour was somewhat late, and the sky partly overcast, and in my anxiety to allow for these factors I foolishly ran to the other extreme and overexposed. When the films were developed on my return home even the mountains showed rather indistinctly, while the glacier was hardly discernible on the prints at all. Any one who has experienced the difficulty of securing good photographs of snow peaks will readily understand the reason of my failure. If any one is inclined to feel sceptical about the glacier on this account, I merely paraphrase the words of a well-known personage concerning a certain "River of Doubt" and say that "the glacier is still there." I hope that some specialist in glaciers will be sufficiently interested by what we saw to undertake an expedition to examine the phenomenon more closely and in a scientific manner. I believe that he would be amply repaid. Even Joe, who had betrayed not the slightest interest hitherto in hunting glaciers and thought the whole trip up the Quadacha mere foolishness, waxed so enthusiastic over what he saw that he declared: "I would give a month's wages to reach it!" Such an expedition should be considerably larger than our own little outfit. It should contain three or, better still, four men, of whom at least two should be expert canoemen, while all should be active and able to carry a reasonable load. There should be two canoes, so that one of them could be risked in an attempt to ascend the Quadacha. If this attempt should fail, or be deemed not feasible, then a cache should be established at the forks, and fresh loads brought thither. From there a dash could be made to the glacier. It would be better also to make the trip earlier than we did, so as to avoid cold weather and its discomforts. As for me, if the trip were not so expensive I would certainly again make the long river journey just for a chance to reach that magnificent river of ice and ascertain its dimensions, for the desire to do so has grown upon me since my return. But I fear it can never be. Some other man will stand first beneath that mighty wall of ice; some other man's feet will first cross that mighty snow-field. One right I claim-the right to name the mountain that rises beside the glacier. In doing so I wish to honor the ablest Briton of his times, one of the ablest of all times, the William Pitt of the mighty world conflict, a man equally able to solve momentous problems in times of peace and in times of war. I wish it to be called Mount Lloyd George. (To be concluded.) HYMN OF MAN, 1917 By John Hall Wheelock O now to Thee who art our God The years and ages roll, Still steadfast stands the soul; Not anything shall conquer. Give us the victory, O Lord, Not beggarlike we cower- The sad and sacred doom The God within us Godward. No less than what we will we can, Though prophecy be dumb, 'Twixt man and man shall bring it. Lo, Thou art everywhere, THE POPE OF THE BIG SANDY A HAPPY VALLEY STORY BY JOHN FOX, JR. ILLUSTRATION BY F. C. YOHN E entered a log cabin in the Kentucky hills. An old woman with a pair of scissors cut the tie that bound him to his mother and put him in swaddling-clothes of homespun. Now, in silk pajamas, with three doctors and two nurses to make his going easy, he was on his way out of a suite of rooms ten stories above the splendor of Fifth Avenue. It was early morning. A taxi swung into the paved circle in front of the hotel below and a little man in slouch hat and black frock coat, and with his trousers in his boots, stepped gingerly out. He took off the hat with one hand, dropped his saddle-pockets from the other, and mopped his forehead with a bandanna handkerchief.. "My God, brother," he said to the grinning driver, "I tol' ye to hurry, but I didn't 'low you'd fly! How much d' I owe ye an' how do I git in hyeh?" A giant in a gold-braided uniform had picked up the saddle-pockets when the little man turned. "Well, now, that's clever of ye," he said, thrusting out his hand, "I reckon you air the proprietor-how's the Pope?" "Sure, I dunno, sor-this way, sor." The astonished giant pointed to the swinging door and turned for light to the taxi man who, doubled with laughter over his wheel, tapped his forehead. At the desk the little man pushed his hat back and put both elbows down. "Whar's the Pope?" "The Pope!" From behind, the giant was making frantic signs, but the clerk's brow cleared. "Oh, yes-front!" The little man gasped and swayed as the elevator shot upward, but a moment later the little judge of Happy Valley and the Pope of the Big Sandy were hand in hand. "How're yo' folks, judge?" "Stirrin'-how're you, Jim?" "Ain't stirrin' at all." "Shucks, you'll be up an' aroun' in no time.” "I ain't goin' to git up again." "Don't you git stubborn now, Jim." A nurse brought in some medicine and the Pope took it with a wry face. The judge reached for his saddle-pockets and pulled out a bottle of white liquor with a stopper of corn-shucks. "This'll take the bad taste out o' yo' mouth." "The docs won't let me-but lemme smell it." The judge had whipped out a twist of long green and again the Pope shook his head: "Can't drink-can't chaw!" "Oh, Lord!" The judge bit off a mouthful and a moment later walked to the window and, with his first and second fingers forked over his lips, ejected an amber stream. "Good Lord, judge-don't do that. You'll splatter a million people." He called for a spittoon and the judge grunted disgustedly. "I'd hate to live in a place whar a feller can't spit out o' his own window." "Don't you like it?" "Hit looks like circus day-I got the headache already." A telegram was brought in. "Been seein' a lot about you in the papers," said the judge, and the Pope waved wearily to a pile of dailies. There were columns about him in those papers-about his meteoric rise: how he started a poor boy in the mountains, studied by candle-light, taught school in the hills: how a vision of their future came to him even that early and how he clung to that vision all his life, turning, twisting for option money on coal lands, making a little sale now and then, but always options and more options and sales and more sales, until now the poor mountain boy was a king among the coal barons of the land. open anything else that comes while I'm The judge himself had not slept well on "Judge," said the Pope, "the votin's yarn-stockinged feet in one chair and started down home." "How's it goin'?" "Easy." "Been spendin' any money?" "Not a cent." "Ole Bill Maddox is." "Why, judge, I'm the daddy an' grandaddy o' that town. I built streets and sidewalks for it out o' my own pocket. I put up two churches for 'em. I built the water-works, the bank, an' God knows what all. Ole Bill Maddox can't turn a wheel against me." The little judge was marvelling: here was a man who had refused all his life to run for office, who could have been congressman, senator, governor; and who had succumbed at last. Jim, what in blue hell do you want that office fer?" "To make folks realize their duties as citizens," said the Pope patiently; "to maintain streets and sidewalks and waterworks and sewers an' become an independent community, instead o' layin' back on other folks!" "How about all them churches you been buildin' all over them mountains— air they self-sustainin'?" "Well, they do need a little help now and then." The judge grunted. Through the morning many cards were brought the Pope, but the doctors allowed no business. To amuse himself the Pope sent the judge into the sitting-room to listen to the million-dollar project of one sleek young man, and the judge reported: "Nothin' doin'-he's got a bad eye." "Right," said the Pope. At twelve o'clock the judge looked at his watch: "Dinner-time." And the Pope ordered his old mountain friend cabbage, bacon, and greens. "Judge, I got to sleep now. I've got a car down below. After dinner you can take a ride or you can take a walk.” "You can't git me into a automobile an' I'm afeard to walk. I'd git run over. I'll jus' hang aroun'." Another telegram was brought in. "Runnin' easy an' winnin' in a walk," said the Pope. "It's a cinch. You can sitting up in another took a nap. An hour later the Pope called for him. The last telegram reported that he was so far ahead that none others would be sent until the committee started to count ballots. "I've made you an executor in my will, judge," he said, "an' I want you to see that some things are done yourself." The judge nodded. "I want you to have a new church built in Happy Valley. I want you to give St. Hilda and that settlement school five thousand a year. An""-he paused— "you know ole Bill Maddox cut me out an' married Sallie Ann Spurlock-how many children they got now, judge?" "Ten-oldest, sixteen." "Well, I want you to see that every gol-durned one of 'em gits the chance to go to school." Now, old Bill Maddox was running against the Pope, and was fighting him hard, and the judge hated old Bill Maddox; so he said nothing. The Pope too was silent a long while. "Judge, I got all my money out o' the mountain folks. I robbed 'em right and left." "You ain't never robbed nobody in Happy Valley," said the judge a little grimly, and the Pope chuckled. "No, you wouldn't let me. I got all my money from 'em an' do you know what I'm goin' to do?" "Git some more, I reckon." The Pope chuckled again: "I'm a-goin' to give it back to 'em. Churches, schools, libraries, hospitals, good roads - any durned thing in the world that will do 'em any good. It's all in my will. An', judge," he added with a little embarrassment, "I've sort o' fixed it so that when you want to help out a widder or a orphan in Happy Valley you can do it without always diggin' down into yo' own jeans." "Shucks, don't you worry about me or the folks in Happy Valley-you done enough fer them lettin' 'em alone; an' that durned ole Bill Maddox, he's a fight |