LEAVES FROM A CANADIAN PARADISJ 



M 



sisted on settling for his meals. I am sure a 

 peddler in this country would jump the 

 barking dog and the fence before paying 

 for what was freely offered him. 



The Indians on Sparrow Lake are a pic- 

 turesque tribe. They make and sell pretty 

 baskets to tourists and act as guides for 

 those who wish to go down the Severn 

 River. As one passes by an island in the 

 lake where their tents are pitched he notices 

 the smallness of the white tents, the outside 

 fire for cooking purposes, and the dark red 

 bodies of the Indian children as they dive 

 off the rocks into the sparkling water, like 

 so many children of nature, that are as dear 

 to her as the treasures hidden within her 

 earth. 



Across the lake from Miller's is Massey 

 Camp, the summer home of Canadian 

 Methodist ministers and their families. On 

 the Sabbath they conduct services. It was 

 our privilege to attend an impressive even- 

 ing service there. Held out of doors, with 

 the congregation facing the peaceful wa- 

 ters, overhead the blue heavens, inland the 

 vesper song of a thrush, the service had a 

 beauty and solemnity that inspired the 

 feeling that the Father of all waters hallow- 

 ed that scene. A few Christian Indians 

 stalked slowly and reverentially to their 

 places; with uplifted heads they sang with 

 a wonderful pathos, in their native Chip- 

 pewa tongue, the verses of our childhood's 

 hymn, "Happy Day," and then they and 

 the audience joined in singing the English 

 words of the chorus. In considering a 

 certain grandeur of such a scene, I am led 

 to think of lines of Kipling's " Recessional " : 



God of our fathers, known of old, 

 Lord of our far-flung battle line, 



Beneath whose awful hand we hold, 

 Dominion over palm and pine, 



Lord God of Hosts be with us yet, 

 Lest we forget, lest we forget. 



But to return once more to the enjoy- 

 ments of Sparrow Lake. The climate is so 

 delightful, so bracingly cool at all times, and 

 the opportunities so varied, that one can 

 find out of doors what he or she desires. 

 People spending their vacations there can 

 bask in the glorious sunshine, or lie in ham- 

 mocks, with book in hand, in shady groves, 

 or bathe on many little sandy beaches, or 

 go canoeing up and down the river; or go 

 a-fishing with the certainty of good sport; 

 or a-berrying in the "bush" with the surety 

 of bringing home delicious blueberries, 

 raspberries, blackberries and gooseberries, 

 all wild but large and plentiful ; or they can 

 take trips on the two steamers, Captain 

 Stanton's and Captain Wood's, down to the 

 first "shoots," so called, and then make the 

 portage in small boats and canoes and get 

 an excellent day's fishing for black bass — 

 returning by the large boats at night; or 

 they can wander off into the interior on 

 good roads searching for the flora and 

 fauna of Canada; or with camera in hand 

 they can take many scenic views of wild 

 country and changing waters. 



The twilight deepens, and the lights go 

 out, and the train speeds away, but behind 

 is the beautiful lake nestling among rock- 

 ribbed shores, lulled to sleep by the softest 

 airs, while ceaselessly, invitingly, the whip- 

 poor-will calls the traveler to return. 



