Upon being elected to the chair of natural history, Prof.  Snow entered upon his life work with an enthusiasm that charmed his associates and inspired his pupils.  The true naturalist must possess large and accurate powers of observation and a love for his chosen profession that carries him over all obstacles and renders him oblivious to everything else except the specimen upon which he has set his heart.  Years ago the writer was walking in the hall of the new university building in company with General Fraser and Professor Snow, when the latter suddenly darted forward up the stairs and captured an insect in its flight, that had evidently just dug its way out of the pine of the new building.  In a few moments he returned with such a glow on his countenance and such a satisfied air at having captured a rare but familiar specimen, whose name was on his lips, that we both felt “Surely here is a genuine naturalist.”

Some years ago an incident occurred in connection with his scientific excursions in Colorado that is quite characteristic, showing his obliviousness to self and everything else save the object of his scientific pursuit, and a fertility in overcoming danger when it meets him face to face.  He was descending alone from one of the highest peaks of the Rockies, when he thought he could leave the path and reach the foot of the mountain by passing directly down its side over an immense glacier of snow and ice, and thus save time and a journey of several miles.  After a while his way down the glacier grew steeper and more difficult, until he reached a point where he could not advance any further, and found, to his consternation, that he could not return by the way he had come.  There he clung to the side of the immense glacier, ready, should he miss his hold, to be plunged hundreds of feet into a deep chasm.  The situation flashed over him, and he knew now it was, indeed, a struggle for dear life.  With a precarious foothold, he clung to the glacier with one hand, while with his pocket knife he cut a safer foothold with the other.  Resting a little, he cut another foothold lower down in the hard snow, and so worked his way after a severe struggle of several hours amid constant danger to the foot of the mountain in safety.  “But,” continued the professor, speaking of this incident to some of his friends, “I was richly repaid for all my trouble and peril, for when I reached the foot of the mountain I captured a new and very rare species of butterfly.”  Multitudes of practical men cannot appreciate such devotion to pure science, but it is this absorbing passion and pure grit that enable the devotees of science to enlarge its boundaries year by year.