exhaust.

The St. Mary picture is impossible to describe. Its colors vary with the
hours and the atmosphere's changing conditions. It is silver, golden,
mauve, blue, lemon, misty white, and red by turn. It is seen clearly in
the morning with the sun behind you. Afternoons and sunsets offer
theatrical effects, often baffling, always lovely and different. Pointed
Fusillade and peaked Reynolds Mountains often lose their tops in
lowering mists. So, often, does Going-to-the-Sun Mountain in the near-by
right foreground. So, not so often, does keel-shaped Citadel Mountain on
the near-by left; also, at times, majestic Little Chief, he of lofty
mien and snow-dashed crown, and stolid Red Eagle, whose gigantic
reflection reddens a mile of waters. It is these close-up monsters even
more than the colorful ghosts of the Western horizon which stamp St.
Mary's personality.

From the porches of the chalets and the deck of the steamer in its
evening tour of the lake-end the traveller will note the enormous size
of those upper valleys which once combined their glaciers as now they do
their streams. He will guess that the glacier which once swept through
the deep gorge in whose bottom now lies St. Mary Lake was several
thousand feet in thickness. He will long to examine those upper valleys
and reproduce in imagination the amazing spectacle of long ago. But they
are not for him. That vision is reserved for those who ride the trails.

THE SCENIC CLIMAX OF THE SWIFTCURRENT

Again passing north, the automobile-stage reaches road's end at
McDermott Lake, the fan-handle of the Swiftcurrent drainage-basin.
Overlooking a magnificent part of each of its contributing valleys, the
lake, itself supremely beautiful, may well deserve its reputation as
Glacier's scenic centre. I have much sympathy with the thousands who
claim supremacy for McDermott Lake. Lake McDonald has its wonderfully
wooded shores, its majestic length and august vista; Helen Lake its
unequalled wildness; Bowman Lake its incomparable view of
glacier-shrouded divide. But McDermott has something of everything; it
is a composite, a mosaic masterpiece with every stone a gem. There is no
background from which one looks forward to "the view." Its horizon
contains three hundred and sixty degrees of view. From the towering
south gable of that rock-temple to God the Creator, which the map calls
Mount Gould, around the circle, it offers an unbroken panorama in
superlative.

In no sens