THE TWO SISTERS
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THE LIONS


You can see them as you look towards the north and the west, where
the dream-hills swim into the sky amid their ever-drifting clouds
of pearl and grey. They catch the earliest hint of sunrise, they
hold the last color of sunset. Twin mountains they are, lifting
their twin peaks above the fairest city in all Canada, and known
throughout the British Empire as "The Lions of Vancouver."

Sometimes the smoke of forest fires blurs them until they gleam like
opals in a purple atmosphere, too beautiful for words to paint.
Sometimes the slanting rains festoon scarfs of mist about their
crests, and the peaks fade into shadowy outlines, melting, melting,
forever melting into the distances. But for most days in the year
the sun circles the twin glories with a sweep of gold. The moon
washes them with a torrent of silver. Oftentimes, when the city is
shrouded in rain, the sun yellows their snows to a deep orange; but
through sun and shadow they stand immovable, smiling westward above
the waters of the restless Pacific, eastward above the superb beauty
of the Capilano Canyon. But the Indian tribes do not know these
peaks as "The Lions." Even the chief, whose feet have so recently
wandered to the Happy Hunting Grounds, never heard the name given
them until I mentioned it to him one dreamy August day, as together
we followed the trail leading to the canyon. He seemed so surprised