142 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Auo. 21. 1897. 
VESPERS IN THE WOODS. 
Far, far away, toward the dawn of day. 
Is a land where pine trees grow ; 
The summer winds through their branches play, 
And their yoicea Wend as tJiey genily sway, 
In music swept and low 
8 wet and low, soft and low, 
Like the ghost of a song heard long ago. 
In that far land is a silver strand, 
Bv a wild lake's lonely tide; 
And beyond the belt of shining saxid, 
Where the mountains rise on either hand, 
The grim old pines abide. 
Lo ^ and sweet, soft and sweet, 
They sing to the wayes that kiss their feet. 
At eyentide, when the mountain side 
Grows black in the twilight gray, 
When night steals over the forest wide, 
And moon and stars Id the heayens ride, 
The pine trees croon and sway. 
Croon and sway, sough and sway. 
As I rest in camp a: the close of day. 
The moon's pale wake, on theiippliog lake. 
Is gilding the waves afar; 
A loon's wild calls the silence break, 
And a buck comes down his thirsc to slake, 
Where the floating lilies are. 
Low and soft, sweet and soft. 
The wind in the pine trees sighs aloft. 
The wavelets woo for my light canoe. 
And out on their pulsing breast, 
With noiseless paddle I guide it through 
The jeweled night, on a pathway true. 
To enchanted realms of rest. 
Sweet and low, soft and low, 
The pine trees sing, and the night winds blow. 
I listen long to the weird, sweet song. 
The hymn of the mountain pine, 
And know, the eternal hills among, 
I am close to the Master, far from wrong. 
And nearer the One diyine. 
God is love, God is love. 
The pine trees murmur and chant above. 
if * * 
Far, far away, are my thoughts astray 
In that land where pine trees grow; 
Fond memory brings to my ears to day 
Their vesper song, as they sough and sway, 
And bend to the waves below. 
Soft and low, sweet and low, 
My heart is there where the pine trees grow. 
Wm a. Brooks, 
Wellesle* Hills, Mass. 
MUSKOKA WANDERINGS.— II. 
What the Wanderers Saw and Did In Lake 
Muskoka. 
In solitude sweet in this forest taU, 
Thus I spend in the lonely wood, 
■ From leafy June to leafless fall, 
Till verdant woods bear winter's pall- 
Summer days in the lonely wood. 
For here I find a safe retreat 
In my home in the lonely wood, 
Away from the world, with its sham and cheat; 
A place where God and the heart may meet. 
Is my home in the lonely wood. J. W. 
LrPE to US BOW took on a more conventional aspect, not 
that the level of ordinary life had been reached, but that a 
compromise had been effected between the Robinson Crusoe 
life of camp and the social code governing more fashionable 
resorts. 
For the first time we came within the reach of churches, 
of which no less than three were near at hand to choose 
from. 
Shall I ever forget the warm Sunday afternoon we sat 
within the walls of the little doll's houst— Church of the 
Holy Cross, at Fairmount — li-teniog to the while surpliced 
expounder of the apostolic claims of his church or witching 
the droning wasps in the windows I Tht quaintness of the 
tiny building pleased the eye, with its unplastertd lath and 
unpainted woodwork, its point-device equipment of organ 
and pulpit, litany de>k and credence table, altar and reredos 
and all the paraphernalia of ritual; and yet nolhing but 
husfes— no word in season to offer to the drowsy tourist or 
apathetic settler; 
Not far aw,ay=. on Keewaydin's breezy point, stood a small 
marquee, and here on Sunday evening gathered a small 
congregation to listen to the words of a local preacher or 
some traveling divine, while the lambs of the flock sat outside 
and watched the funset glow fade into twilight and the even- 
ing star shine out in the darkening sky. 
I have listened to the softened harmony of a hymn as I 
paddled slowly with noiseless blade through the quiet chan- 
nels of the Seven Sisters, watching the rtfleclions of their 
rocks and trees de-:p within ihe bosom of the dreaming 
waters, and the utter rest and the ptace of nature sunk into 
my heart like a divine benediction. 
'Set a prophet of the wrath to come upon a rock over- 
looking the watery mirror, with the gloiy of dying day shin- 
ing on hi fare an*d the last soft breathings of Shawonciasee* 
still faintly stirring in the foliage, and the awful words of 
everlasting damnation would choke between his lips. No 
place this to talk of a wrathful God and atoning sacrifices; 
Love alone is here enthroned. 
Muskoka is not always a land of sunshine, and 'imescome 
when the rainy Hyades are in the af-C':ndaDl, and cold, bleak 
winds la-'h the lakes into choppy, Joaai fldcked waves. Tht-n, 
with book in hand, we sat under sheltered verandah or in the 
opening of our tent and watcbtd the swaying pine tops and 
the shifting tints running through the birch and maple as 
the strong wind turned thtir leaves, or else lort 'ourselves in 
tie printed page, listening dreamily the while to the rain 
* The south wind. 
pattering on the roof like the footsteps of departing sum- 
mer. 
On such a day, clad in waterproofs, we faced the rain and 
wind in our canoe, and called on friends we knew would 
scarcely care lo brave the weather and leave a fast closed 
door and deserted verandah to face a w ather-s corning vis- 
itor. Oqcb beneath their roof, a cordial hospitality would 
not hear of our leaving till the hour was late; indeed, it 
needed -pmall persua-ion to ctuse us to linger later, and yet 
later in the hope of an abatement of the storm. 
At last the rain ceased, and a merry party escorted us to 
the water's i dge, where lay our craft. Then regretful adieus, 
a waving of lanterns, and the darkness swallowed us up — a 
darkness that blot'ed out the earth as though it were not. 
The shadow of night lay on ub like a pall, and a spirit of 
LOOKING FROM MY BEDROOM WINDOW. 
brooding mjstery seemed hid in its muffling folds. Instinct 
alone seemed our guide, rather than sense, as we stole from 
point to point, the dim outlines of One vanishing long ere 
another disclosed itself to our straining eyes. How like we 
seemed to yearning souls striving to penetrate the mystery of 
life, seeing but one tiny arc of the vast circle of knowledge 
and yet seeking, with intensest effort and with agony of 
spirit, to construct the whole of the vast unknown from the 
fragments their senses have explored. 
Truly, the darkness of ignorance was upon us, but past 
experience and the quickened perception it begets won us 
through in safety. . ■ 
In life-giving hreezes, Muskoka has few rivals; fresh, 
strong and impetuous, they sw<'ep over the land from the 
west, bearing color for the cheeks and health to the tired 
frame. 
In the morning, looking from my window toward the half- 
hidden opening of Milford Bay, 1 was generally sure to see 
light ripples running across the water from the southeast or 
south. Toward the middle of the day a dead calm fell 
upon the land, and trees and shrubs quivered through the 
heated air rising from the rocks. 
Then came faint sti rings of breeze from the southwest or 
northwest, and before long a steady pouring of wind till, 
the noon-tide hour well past, strong squalls were chasing 
changing shades across the water and singing with insistent 
note ihrough the waving trees. What sailing days these 
were, and how the sun and wind seemed to penetrate your 
very tissues till a glow of life rah through the pulsing 
arteries. 
On such a day we visited Bala Fulls, pushing through the 
constantly turning stretches of the lake with a boil of white 
under the bow and an eddying swirl astern that v eU be- 
tokened the power of the pouring wind upon the straining 
canvas. 
To me that sail was a shifting panorama of rocky points, 
changing isles_of green, fleeti g cloud shadows ever throw- 
ing magic transformations ove. the landscape, and a blazer- 
clad crew distributed al .ng the gunwale brimming over with 
a very exuberance of life as they watched the bubbling 
water flashing along an inch- below the lee gunwale. 
Bala Falls are mtrely pretty rather than grand and pic<ur- 
esque, yet 1 love to watch the tumbling water of the main 
MOSKOKA LIFE. 
fall with its spurting j^'ts of spray, and fierce quick rush 
through the water-darkened rocks at its base, and to take 
the dash of its cooling spray in my face. This was our first 
glimpse at the more rugged and stirring scenery to be found 
on Muskoka rivers, ana which contrasts so well with the 
quieter beauties of the lakes themselves 
When we said good bye to Bala it was with genuine re- 
gret, for the ceaseless, sparkling life of rushing water has a 
charm that never palls. Quietly enough we slid down the 
bay to the narrows^ the wind seeming lo have exhausted its 
strength, but after we had drifted tnrough -^he little strait 
the mighty west wird, Mnojekeeiois, awoke to find a fragile 
skiff oraving his power, with butterfly wings, and in his 
very home. Then, with the war club wi>h which he slew 
the mighty Mishe Mokwa, the great bear of the mtiuntains, 
he smote us as we lay scarce moving. Like a high strung 
horse stung by the spur of its rider, our good boat shivered 
to the blow, and then keeling over tiU the water trickled 
over the straining, rail, sprang nonhward with a rush. 
Fierce and fast then fell the blows of Mudjekenois and fast 
and taster flew the boat, dashing the chop of water into 
spray with her nose to be hurled in showers over boat and 
crew A spirit of merry marmess seemtd upon u«, and 
without thought of fear the gir s sat up to windward with 
glowing, waterwet faces, and laughing eyes Irarced with 
blowine, tangled, spray soaked hair. Oa we dashed, past 
Sandy Point, with its white tents and huge dinner bell look- 
ing so like the bell of the Inf^hcape Eock that one might 
well expect the stout craft of R'-ilph the Rover to b^ near at 
hand. On, still on! past Shaw's and Bassett's, and into the 
steamer channel, where the waves boil angrily around the 
Kettles, half submerged in menace to the unwary. The 
wind was then astern as we swune into the channel and far 
too strong for our narrow skiff to run dead before it without 
fear of dangprous rolling or unexpected j'be. 
"Take a zigzag course, then run down toward the Kettles 
on the south, then shoot across to the Isle of S^ye on the 
north, then, with an easy quarter ruri, the channel can be 
cleared." "Donel" and toward the Kettles we go. 
"Is it safe to run so near? Are there no hidden rocks?' 
A clatter and bang down beneath us and the centerboard 
gives answer. 
"Down with the helm! In with the mainsheet! Quick 1 
No place this for slow coaches. Shove the boom to wind- 
ward! L' t drawl" and we are off again with the wind on 
the other quarter On the lale of Skyeside the pi rformance 
is repeated and we run clear well into the channel, running 
north to the Indian River before going about and heading 
homeward. 
There is no abatement in the wind, and Mortimer's Point, 
Cooper's Point, Gibraltar, Hiawatha, Crown Island, Rasp- 
berry, Idlewild and the Seven Sistt rs, are passed at such a 
pace as our boat had never done before. 
And so we reach the finish— wet and wind-dishevelled, 
but happy — the girls on the gunwale like the rest and lean- 
ing far out to windward, proud to show thtir sailorly skill 
to watching friends ashore. 
No one who sailed with me that day from Bala will ever 
forget that experience of rushing, bre< zy, gladsome life. 
"Parting is such sweet sorrow," said Juliet to her linger- 
ing lover, and truly when leaving valued friends and well- 
loved scenes there is much truth in the words, if we can but 
say "Auf wiedersehn," for memory will recall their charm 
"SO LIItB ONTAIUO'S GRAND OLD MAN." 
and anticipation seiz'i the future to ease the pain of parting. 
I said Good-bye to Donald at K^ewaydin, and the 'Nut- 
brown Maiden" stood beside him on the wharf and waved 
me a long farewell and God -speed ! 
Donald was hearing other voices than those of nature, for 
love was whispering in his ear, and very pleasant was the 
sound. 
It se med as though the steamer knew my longing to take 
a parting glance at the familiar places where I had been 
sowing the seeds of reminisr-ence, lor after leaving B.-.au- 
maris she circled past Gibraltar, past aspiring Ctown Island, 
and brought again into view the distant Point of K> ewaydin 
with Winona beyond, and then turned south to Mortimer's 
Puint to meet th« Bala steamer. 
Then whispered memory in my ears — Was it not behind 
yonder rock on Raspberry Island, that looks so lik« Ontario's 
grand oid man, that you came upon Donald and the ma'den 
hand in band? How they blushed, and how the sly joke 
and merry huehttr passed around. 
There it was that you caught that huge pickerel, the one 
that g t away How she watched with parted hp and flush- 
ing cheek your struggle with the darting fisn, and when, 
with a flash of his golden belly and a sweep of his tail, he 
broke irom you, when victory seemed a certainly, was not 
her vexation as keen as yours. It pleases you to think ol u, 
thoueh other eyes have attracted you as much. 
You were just about here when the black squall struck 
you the day you went to Bala How well the girls ju-r ped 
to the eunwale, and then watched your fhce to gather from 
your set mouth and watchful eye the ( xtent of the danger, 
while }0U, with sheet in band and fiuger on tiller, leaned 
far over the water as the bnat careened to the blast. 
It was there your tent was pitched the night you watched 
the spiiit dance m the northern tky, the aurora that lit the 
heavens with trembling green and rosy light, and the whip- 
poorwill uttered its mournfully plaintive cry in the dark 
woods behind you. 
Do you not remember how you stood on Crown Island's 
summit and looked around on Muskoka's breezy panorama 
of lake and island stretching far and wide at your feet, and 
how you strove to set in definite thought the leelings that 
welled up within you; how you longed to find words to 
express Muskoka's charm and could not; how you longed to 
set on paper the words that burn and could not? 
Some day when reading a great poet's work, you will 
come across lines that seem to you so beautiful and true 
that you will straightway commit them to memory. The 
poet has put iito the words Ihe feelings that struggled 
within you lor utterance, and found none. Then you will 
know how true the saying is that the poet is the word 
maker, the man who finds language for that whicn other 
men have only dumbly telt 
All this and much more had memory to say to me, but as 
she spoke the steamer was churning the miles astern, and 
