The author, in a varied experience of many parts of the world, recalls but two other occasions which affected him so powerfully as this first visit to Glacier Bay in Alaska, namely: witnessing the sun rise over the vast Himalayan range, the roof-tree of the globe, at Darjeeling, in northern India, and the view of the midnight sun from the North Cape in Norway, as it hung over the Polar Sea. Our power of appreciation is limitless, though that of description is circumscribed. Here both are challenged to their utmost capacity. Words are insufficient; pen and pencil inadequate to convey the grandeur and fascination of the scene. Lieutenant Frederick Schwatka tells us that a veteran traveler said to him as they stood together on the ship’s deck regarding the scenery in this remarkable bay: “You can take just what you see here and put it down on Switzerland, and it will hide all there is of mountain scenery in Europe. I have been all over the world, but you are now looking at a scene that has not its parallel elsewhere on the globe.” The estimate has been made by experienced persons that five thousand living glaciers, of greater or less dimensions, are now steadily traveling down towards the sea in this vast Territory of Alaska. Glacier Bay is always full of vagrant icebergs which are of blinding whiteness when under the glare of the midday sun. The variety of colors emitted by the bergs is charming to the eye, the prevailing hues being crystal-white mingled with azure blue, a faint touch of pink appearing here and there, together with dainty gleams of orange-yellow. Where a large smooth surface is presented, the prismatic shimmering is like that of starlight upon the water. The variety in the shape of the bergs is infinite. Some of them exhibit singularly correct architectural lines, some resemble ruins of ancient castles on the Rhine, others, with a little help of the imagination, represent wild animals in various attitudes, or hideous Chinese idols with open mouths and lolling tongues. Sea birds hover over and light in large numbers upon the opalescent masses. Ranging alongside of a tall berg, a fall and tackle was rigged out from the yard-arm of our steamer, while men were sent to cut large blocks of ice from the hill of frozen water. Two weighing nearly a ton each were hoisted on board to keep our larder cool and fill the ship’s ice-chest. The ice was pure as crystal, and fresh as a mountain stream. “Why don’t you go nearer to the glacier?” asked one of the passengers of the captain. “Because I think we are quite near enough,” was the quiet reply. “Those avalanches don’t reach more than thirty or forty feet from the face of the ice cliff,” continued the passenger. “True,” was the reply, “but they do not constitute the only discharges from the glacier.” “Why, where else can they occur but from the face,” asked the inquirer. “Shall I tell you a certain experience which I had near this very spot?” asked the captain.