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AMN FINE scenery, ain't it?" a brakey was overheard to exclaim as we were speeding through the Bitter Root Mountains, bound for Lake Coeur d'Alene in Northern Idaho.

The above ejaculation on the part of this important member of the train crew came as a conclusion to a series of exclamations of awe and wonder which had well-nigh exhausted the choicest vocabularies of a group of experienced tourists. who were standing on the observation platform. And truly, it was a trip through a new wonderland.

When it came time for me to take my vacation, a longing for something entirely new had prompted me to seek a spot little known to the world at large. For scenery, the West has nothing grander to offer. The lofty, snow-capped peaks surrounded by green and fertile valleys laved by leaping mountain torrents, the quaint, almost grotesque contour of many of the hills, make another veritable Garden of the Gods. This almost unknown scenery is not to be surpassed in. America.

About the middle of a warm August afternoon I arrived in the beautiful little city of Coeur d'Alene, which is built around the head of the lake. Not a hundred yards from the lake front, I noticed a picturesque structure resembling an old. Spanish mission. It looked very restful and inviting, with its graceful archways swung with hanging baskets and adorned

with palms. I found this to be the Hotel Idaho, so I took a room for the night. Having disposed of my baggage I sought the roof-garden veranda in order to get a better view of the lake. A Corot landscape could not surpass this one in sheer charm and beauty. Never has a more dreamful scene greeted my vision. The quiet blue lake stretches before one as far as eye can see, while on either side rise pine-clad hills with sharp promontories and sheltered bays, while over all hangs a mystic haze like a brooding spirit. A strange peace enters the soul the moment ore gazes on this scene, and one feels that he has suddenly left far behind the cares of the world. "I could dream away a lifetime right in this spot," thought I, as I stocd enraptured over the scene. I now understood the meaning of the legend I had read on a placard at the desk where I had registered, "In all the West no spot like this," and I knew that a modest truth had been stated; it might well have read, "In all the world no spot like this."

I found two other girls intently gazing on this scene of enchantment. I noticed that they were wearing the badge of my sorority. I had never seen or heard of them before, but that made no difference; after having given each other the "grip." we were calling one another by our first names, and asking numerous questions. It turned out that they, too, had just arrived at the Hotel Idaho, where they intended to spend their vacations and enjoy

place in the lobby. Drawing the big rockers very close, we continued making plans for our vacation. We decided to rent a houseboat, which we learned could be had for three dollars and a half by the month.

Next morning, early, we three girls boarded the steamer Idaho, bound for a sixty mile trip down the lake and river. Seated aft, we watched the beautiful lake

learned that the pilot had merely spied a deer from the boat, and that the whistle was the customary signal for this event.

Wandering about the boat on a tour of investigation, we derived much interesting information from the steward, Mr. Lansdale, who was a grandson of Mr. Deford, the man who assisted Marcus Whitman in saving Oregon for the United