OG FROM BLOMIDON TO SMOKY. 



hurry to the river, and through which the mov- 

 ing life of the forest takes its way. The ancient 

 hemlock bends towards it, the falling boidder 

 plunges downwards to it, and the wind coming 

 through the embrasures and over the ramparts of 

 the mountains, blows to it, ruffling the treetops 

 in passing. The altar is the focus of man's senses 

 and thoughts, but it is only an emblem even to 

 him. This scene of beauty is a focus of Nature's 

 deepest and purest life ; and though in it man 

 has no place, it does not on that account lack mean- 

 inof or significance. Man is a masterful fio^ure 

 in the drama of creation, but he is not all, nor 

 even half, what the world has long been taught 

 to consider him. Perhaps he has been studied 

 too much; certainly Nature, unspoiled by his 

 greed, has not been studied enough or loved 

 enough. Standing alone in that fair solitude, as 

 much alone as on some atoll in a distant sea, I 

 felt as though I might know man better, see him 

 in stronger contrasts and clearer lights, if I could 

 live apart from him longer in such still, calm, 

 holy places as Indian Brook canon. 



As I walked swiftly back to Angus McDon- 

 ald's, the sunlight grew strong in the woods, and 

 shone kindly on the amber waters of the river. 

 A hot day was beginning, and I sighed to think 

 of the twenty-five mile drive to Baddeck, — sighed 

 not only on my own account, but on account of 



