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The Covelman's ranch headquarters and some of the livestock.

Eldred Rock fog-horn. Here is the only true "Hush," and "The Peace of the World Piled on Top" that Robert Service tells about in his "Spell of the Yukon." That tremendous icy thing, so near our door, that spectacle of bigness and grandeur and frozenness, makes one recall the following lines:

"Were you ever out in the Great Alone

When the moon was awful clear, And the icy mountains hemmed you in With a silence you most could hear?"

The Third Day-On the Glacier

On the third day we started for the glacier, Jeswinne, an Indian trapper and myself. We took cameras, tripod, creepers, and about one hundred feet of stout rope. We went south along the beach, about one and a half miles to the Davidson river, now frozen. Although there were about two feet of snow, on top of the ice, and we had no snow shoes, still going was fairly good for us, as we

proceeded up the river. It took us due west for about a mile, then a sharp turn took us north, and we were right under the ice-mass. It was so overpowering in its majesty and immensity that we just stood still and looked. We had been told that what we intended doing, getting on that thing in winter, with the crevasses covered with snow, was next to impossible. When we informed the ranchers of our proposed undertaking they called it a "Death Flirt," and refused to accompany us. The trap

per was the only one brave enough to come with us. In spite of all discouragements, we got on the ice and proceeded due north, decidedly uphill. We had only gone about five or six hundred feet when the snow let Jeswinne through into a crevasse about six feet deep. He went so suddenly that he was out of sight before we could tighten the rope. This was only a small hole, compared to some bottomless ones twenty feet wide, to the edge of which I climbed. Taking this disappearance of my companion as a warning, we went back and ap

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Mr. Ward's ranch.

Mrs. Ward is the only white woman for miles around in that region.

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Our leaking dory, in which we sailed ten miles from Chilkat to Glacier Point

trail took us back to camp, in about six and one-half hours. I was greatly tempted to cross the main body and go along the beach from the other side (which is a matter of about three and a half or four miles) but decided to wait until the snow is gone. Then it will be an easy proposition.

Through a Glacier Forest.

February 4th and 5th kept us inside, wind, snow and rain having a race with each other. Saturday, the 6th, was clear, with a fair breeze from the north, and there was six inches of snow on top of that we already had. Not being able on our first trip to the glacier to take a picture of the main body of the ice, where it comes out, and down, between the two mountains, we again set out-this time we went through the woods, due west from our cabin door, penetrating the timber line, which is nearly one-half a mile. of fir trees, some as high as one hundred feet. Through the firs and the "Devil Stickers" the going was good, but we had one-half mile of saplings

and willows ahead of us. The snow was three to five feet deep in places, and we had to beat it down with our hands, and then climb on top-only to fall down again in a different place. The nearest we reached the foot of the glacier was about a quarter of a mile. There was, however, a rise that took us above most of the trees, and after cutting down a few of the tallest, we were on a level with the glacier, and had, at last, a clean sweep of vision. Here was a mammoth chunk of ice, three miles wide at the base, stretching away about thirty miles to its union with the main or Muir Glacier. After looking as far as eye could reach, and obtaining some photographs, I felt my curiosity and desire were satisfied. There is pleasure in doing what others tell you you cannot do. I have seen, and been on Davidson Glacier in winter, in spite of warnings and hardships. I shall go back to the fort, with my records and pictures, hoping to return in the summer season, to behold the same wonderful object, under a warmer sun, without the winter's snow-covering.

By Helen Fitzgerald Sanders

O! you're off, my Knight of the Open, Up, up on the swell of the trail,

You will ascend to those summits, Where God and His forces prevail.

The white clouds above you will beckon, The wind-bugle lure you ahead,

And you will grow great with that greatness

Of which the world's heroes are bred.

Your soul will expand with new vision, Your heart throb in perfect accord

With the Spaces, the Stars, the vast Open And the elements wrought by the Lord.

The game that you play is of danger— Yet danger but tempers the soul

And who would sink down in stagnation With a challenge, a chance and a goal!

You'll struggle and grapple and conquer Each obstacle barring your way;

The fanged peak that looms up before you,

The wild thing that crouches at bay.

And I shall be caged in the city,

Oppressed by the hurrying crowds,

While my thoughts are with you in the mountains,

And my spirit's with yours in the clouds.

You're part of the Bigness Unbounded,

A part of the Freedom that flows

In the sweep of the tolling prairies

And the heights that are shrined in the snows.

And you'll win that deep peace that we've yearned for

The peace that the mountains alone

Grant those of the tried and trusted

That the Solitudes mark for their own.

The passionate sunset will woo you;

The pale moon will yield you her beams,

And the thrall of the Wild will possess you—

But leave me, beloved, your Dreams!

When the trail is dim with the twilight

And the Ev'ning Star shines in the West,

And the earth is all hushed with that silence

That quickens the throb of the breast;

When the shadows steal up from the canyons,

And the forests seem awesome, strange,

And looming up on the horizon

Is the great painted sweep of the Range;-
Then know that a presence is with you,
A Prayer-thought that thrills from afar,
Bridges the Silence, the Distance,
From a Watcher who hails the same Star!

O

Lois Weber Smalley

By Ernestine Black

NE of the most interesting figures in the moving picture world to-day is Lois Weber,

who in private life is Mrs. Smalley. Mrs. Smalley is the most distinguished and highest salaried woman director in the world to-day, and perhaps the only one who has made good, measured up to the severest standards applied to men.

Mrs. Smalley is at present with the Universal Film Company in Los Angeles, and she has not only directed, but has written some of the recordbreaking photo plays that have the unique distinction of a propaganda slant. But because they never lean backwards with propaganda they have been a box office success. She has set forth in a dignified and dramatic manner some of the complex questions which are challenging intelligent thinkers the world over, who are identifying themselves with one group or another interested in social readjustment. .

Mrs. Smalley lives in a charming house in Hollywood, and there she gave a precious hour to an interviewer, an hour amputated somehow from a day so long that it stretches beyond the imagination of those who punch a time clock. For Mrs. Smalley not only writes and produces the big, serious things put out by the Universal people, but occasionally she acts in them just to fit another bit of work into the mosaic of the days and weeks and months!

She is a pioneer in the moving picture business-which means that she has been in it about ten years. She and her husband were ambitious young people in the legitimate drama with a bride-and-groom determination not

to take separate engagements. But the managers did not look kindly upon their marital resolve not to let the stage separate them, and after a year or two of unsatisfactory engagements they wandered by chance into the moving picture field, then a newly plowed field with few surface showing of the rich soil which has yielded some art and enormous profits.

That Mrs. Smalley has been a large shareholder in holding up the standards of the moving picture industry goes without dispute in the screen world. She has been a director for a number of the big companies, and is one of the big personalities in the photo-play world.

If one is looking for an adventure in generalities, one must not by any chance interview Mrs. Smalley.

She has a specific creed, an erect and full grown idea about the place and power of the moving picture, and the marvel of it is that she has been able to keep her creed and commercial success moving in the same set!

Mrs. Smalley agrees with educators and propagandists that the screen has more exalted ends than have yet been glimpsed by most producers. She is one of the forward looking directors who has helped make the fight to give intellectual athleticism a place on the screen instead of reserving it entirely for comedy gymnastics and sob slush.

The person most irrelevantly concerned with the moving picture world must realize how difficult it is to accomplish anything without the sustaining confidence of the herd. Every time Mrs. Smalley has put over a big idea she has had to first convince the management that the public would stand

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