We remarked that we were unfortunate, in never having seen a copy of “Jim Jam Jems.” “You surprise me; it is on sale at six hundred news-stands in New York City.” Feeling like mere worms, we expressed the hope of seeing it in San Francisco. On our arrival, we asked for it at the news-stand in one of the largest hotels. “We get it only about once in two months,” we were told. Later we found the September issue, which we read with interest. In the “Monthly Preamble” he says, “Fact is, this good old U. S. A. seems to have slipped its trolley, politically, industrially, and socially, and generally things be out of joint.” That seemed to be the tone of the whole publication. I do not know the particular significance of the name of his magazine; but if he ever decided to make a change I wonder if he would consider “The Knocker Club in Session.” Mr. Clark is a reformer in embryo, and his talents are unquestioned. Perhaps, in the broad-minded, open West, he will in time find something _con_structive to write about. Let us watch and see. After a very jolly visit, all too short, we started for Livingston and Gardiner, the northern entrance to the park. The sky was dense with smoke, due to the forest fires in the north. In Oregon a town had been wiped out the day before. Our eyes smarted from the smoke; the mountains, now the foothills of the Rockies, were entirely obliterated, and, if this kept up, we could see nothing in the park. Cars were turning back, and the prospect was not encouraging. The road grew more steep and narrow, and we could hardly see a quarter of a mile ahead of us. It was like a real London fog--pea soup. The altitude was very high, and we began to feel dizzy. We were on roads that were just shelves cut in the sides of the mountains, with hardly room for two cars to pass and a good long tumble on the lower side. It was not pleasant! On a clear day perhaps, but not in a dense fog. Passing through Livingston, you turn due south for fifty-five miles. At four o’clock we arrived at Gardiner, where we had a belated lunch at a restaurant, and found a collection of five weeks’ mail at the post-office. Joy!--and then more joy! We all wired home to anxious relatives of our arrival. The huge stone arch forms the gateway to the park. The officials, old army veterans, in uniform, stopped us and we paid $7.50 entrance fee for the car. There is no tax for people. We were questioned about firearms. None are allowed, and we had none. XI A WONDERLAND As Joaquin Miller said of the Grand Canyon in Arizona, “Is any fifty miles of Mother Earth as fearful, or any part as fearful, as full of glory, as full of God?” That is the Yellowstone National Park!