s of peaceful life,
one glance at this array."

The snow that falls in the lowland woods is usually soft, and makes a
fine show coming through the trees in large, feathery tufts, loading
the branches of the firs and spruces and cedars and weighing them down
against the trunks until they look slender and sharp as arrows, while
a strange, muffled silence prevails, giving a peculiar solemnity to
everything. But these lowland snowstorms and their effects quickly
vanish; every crystal melts in a day or two, the bent branches rise
again, and the rain resumes its sway.

While these gracious rains are searching the roots of the lowlands,
corresponding snows are busy along the heights of the Cascade Mountains.
Month after month, day and night the heavens shed their icy bloom in
stormy, measureless abundance, filling the grand upper fountains of
the rivers to last through the summer. Awful then is the silence that
presses down over the mountain forests. All the smaller streams vanish
from sight, hushed and obliterated. Young groves of spruce and pine are
bowed down as by a gentle hand and put to rest, not again to see the
light or move leaf or limb until the grand awakening of the springtime,
while the larger animals and most of the birds seek food and shelter in
the foothills on the borders of the valleys and plains.

The lofty volcanic peaks are yet more heavily snow-laden. To their upper
zones no summer comes. They are white always. From the steep slopes of
the summit the new-fallen snow, while yet dry and loose, descends in
magnificent avalanches to feed the glaciers, making meanwhile the most
glorious manifestations of power. Happy is the man who may get near
them to see and hear. In some sheltered camp nest on the edge of the
timberline one may lie snug and warm, but after the long shuffle on
snowshoes we may have to wait more than a month ere the heavens open
and the grand show is unveiled. In the mean time, bread may be scarce,
unless with careful forecast a sufficient supply has been provided
and securely placed during the summer. Nevertheless, to be thus deeply
snowbound high in the sky is not without generous compensation for all
the cost. And when we at length go down the long white slopes to the
levels of civilization, the pains vanish like snow in sunshine, while
the noble and exalting pleasures we have gained remain with us to enrich
our lives forever.

The fate of the high-flying mountain snow-flowers is