196 NARRATIVES. 



route, tlie stage-route to the lumber-road, the lumber-road to 

 the blazed foot-path of the trapper and pioneer. The school- 

 house is far beyond the horizon. The newspaper, that indis- 

 pensability of the interior and superior regions of the body, 

 reaches here only by accident and rarely. The sun here 

 rises over the forest-crowned hills of the east, looks all day 

 lonff on vast tracts of woodland, on clear-blue lakes wood- 

 encircled, on solitary shanties, where solitary men, or perhaps 

 a man and a woman and some children, try to solve their 

 problems of life ; looks through forest-branches perhaps on the 

 dingy form of some solitary trapper, who wanders by shaded 

 streams and sleeps by his log-fire ; and then it sets beyond the 

 forest-crowned hills of the west. Here is where the hands 

 and feet of humanity are found as it comes to take possession 

 of the earth. Those extremities are worth coming to see, — 

 worth getting acquainted with, — worth appreciating. ' The 

 eye cannot say unto the hand, " I have no need of thee ; " nor 

 again the head to the feet, " I have no need of you." ' ' We 

 are all members one of another,' and should 'remember those 

 in bonds,' or in the wilderness and extremities of society, ' as 

 bound with them.' 



" BEYOND COCK-CROWING AND THE COW- BELLS. 



" An 04ieida correspondent raises the query whether we 

 have, after all, got beyond hearing the 'crowing of the rooster 

 or the tinkle of the cow-bells.' Our friends need give them- 

 selves no anxiety on this point. The rocks and hills of this re- 

 gion (Salmon Lake) are as free from the sound of the church- 

 going and cow- going bells as the valleys and rocks of Robin- 

 son Crusoe's island ; and the cry of no fowl more domestic in 

 its habits than the loon ever echoed from these shores. Soli- 

 tary human beings have sojourned here in former years. The 

 old shanty which we temporarily occupy was once occupied 

 by a trapper noted in these regions. This shanty is eight feet 

 by ten, with an average height of five feet. There is an un- 

 finished shanty of more ambitious proportions a few feet in the 

 rear. On the opposite shore is an unoccupied log-hut. At 

 the other end of the lake there is a new lumber shanty, which 



