The Wilderness a7 
lence of the mountains; and yet how com- 
panionable, as you emerge from the sombre 
shades upon some sandy beach, the clear 
water gently undulating over the clean sand, 
the pickerel-weed growing near by, the un- 
ruffled surface of the pond reflecting the sky 
and suffused with sunlight. It is as win- 
some and responsive as the great wilderness 
itself is austere and wuncommunicative— 
laughter and light and perennial youth ap- 
pearing in the midst of primeval savagery. 
| Strangely enough the object of a walk is 
thus always to get out of the woods again, 
that is, upon a summit, or the shore of a pond. 
Whatever we were originally, and whatever 
our inheritance, we have become light-loving 
creatures and in the dusk of the wilderness 
will evermore find ourselves pushing towards 
the light. We have come up from darkness; 
we can no more go back than the partridge 
chick can re-enter its shell. 
