FAR AND NEAR 



aiiklo-deep, and under every tree was a couch of the 

 most luxurious kind. 



The 4th of July found us, as it usually finds 

 Americans, wherever they are, overflowing with 

 patriotism, bunting, and gunpowder hilarity. Our 

 huge graphophone played very well the part of a 

 brass band; Professor Brewer, upon the hurricane 

 deck, discharged admirably the duties of the orator 

 of the day; he was followed by Mr. Kceler, who 

 shaded the picture the speaker had drawn by a stir- 

 ring poem, touching upon some of the nation's short- 

 comings ; songs and music, followed by a boat race 

 and general merriment, finished the programme. 



Kadiak, T think, won a place in the hearts of all of 

 us. Our spirits probably touched the highest point 

 here. If we had other days that were epic, these days 

 were lyric. To me they were certainly more exqui- 

 site and thrilling than any before or after. I feel as 

 if I wanted to go back to Kadiak, almost as if I 

 could return there to live, — so secluded, so remote, 

 so peaceful; such a mingling of the domestic, the 

 pastoral, the sylvan, w^ith the wild and the rugged; 

 such emerald heights, such flowery vales, such blue 

 arms and recesses of the sea, and such a vast green 

 solitude stretching away to the west and to the 

 north and to the south. Bewitching Kadiak! the 

 spell of thy summer freshness and placidity is still 

 upon me. 



On the 5th, still under clear, warm skies, we left this 



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