Gliding along the swift-flowing river, the views change with
bewildering rapidity. Wonderful, too, are the changes dependent on
the seasons and the weather. In spring, when the snow is melting
fast, you enjoy the countless rejoicing waterfalls; the gentle
breathing of warm winds; the colors of the young leaves and flowers
when the bees are busy and wafts of fragrance are drifting hither and
thither from miles of wild roses, clover, and honeysuckle; the swaths
of birch and willow on the lower slopes following the melting of the
winter avalanche snow-banks; the bossy cumuli swelling in white and
purple piles above the highest peaks; gray rain-clouds wreathing
the outstanding brows and battlements of the walls; and the
breaking-forth of the sun after the rain; the shining of the leaves
and streams and crystal architecture of the glaciers; the rising of
fresh fragrance; the song of the happy birds; and the serene
color-grandeur of the morning and evening sky. In summer you find
the groves and gardens in full dress; glaciers melting rapidly under
sunshine and rain; waterfalls in all their glory; the river rejoicing
in its strength; young birds trying their wings; bears enjoying
salmon and berries; all the life of the canyon brimming full like the
streams. In autumn comes rest, as if the year's work were done. The
rich hazy sunshine streaming over the cliffs calls forth the last
of the gentians and goldenrods; the groves and thickets and meadows
bloom again as their leaves change to red and yellow petals; the
rocks also, and the glaciers, seem to bloom like the plants in the
mellow golden light. And so goes the song, change succeeding change
in sublime harmony through all the wonderful seasons and weather.

My first trip up the river was made in the spring with the missionary
party soon after our arrival at Wrangell. We left Wrangell in the