FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Sept. 26, 1908. 
4<,o 
a wild, mysterious requiem to the dying day. 
The sun dips to sleep, the heavens darken and 
a cool night wind breathes soft and low across 
the slumbering sea. Phantom-like the lights of 
night swing out one by one, and ere long the 
vast, ethereal dome is spangled with starry 
worlds which twinkle down upon their own 
flashing reflections in the bosom of the mighty 
deep. And in the stern of the yacht an atom 
of dust called “man” reflects that, “He, watch¬ 
ing over Israel, slumbers not nor sleeps.” And 
that mysterious something within him, called 
a soul, bows in deep and humble reverence be¬ 
fore the omnipotent Creator of nature. 
That beautiful admonition, “Let he among you 
that is without sin first cast a stone,” would 
need never have been written had the mob who 
stoned the fallen woman listened to the sermons 
of nature. For the preacher’s voice is heard in 
the songs of birds, the rustle of leaves, the 
sighings of pines, the stirring of grasses, the 
whispering of zephyrs, the crash of thunder, 
the purling of brooks, the gliding of rivers, the 
rush of torrents, the booming of surf upon the 
sands, the drowsy drone of insects, and in the 
praise of everything that gladdens the earth 
with song. 
Think you, my friends, of the congregations 
of the churches of brick and mortar, that the 
Master’s signs scattered abroad on every hand 
in the temples of the wondrously-beautiful and 
free outdoors, can furnish no sermons for those 
whose eyes are open to see, and whose ears are 
attuned to hear! There is a sermon in the fra¬ 
grance gratuitously thrown on the air by every 
flower that lifts its beautiful face to heaven. 
There is a lesson in the somberness and delicate 
penciling of the clouds. The tinted fields, deep 
solemnity of the woods and slumber of placid 
lakes talk to the soul in a way not to be con¬ 
veyed by human voice. The pulsating bosom 
of the mighty deep and the uplifting mountain 
frowning in ragged crags lipon verdured plains 
are living evidence of the mighty power of their 
Creator. Lived there ever an orator so eloquent ' 
that he could convey in flowery words an' argu¬ 
ment as convincing as the lurid glare of light¬ 
ning rending the murky heavens asunder with 
blinding flash? Did ever poet sing so success¬ 
fully as to impress his picture upon the mind 
as would the sight of a blushing morning lifting 
the curtains of night? Could ever human words 
convey to human mind so lasting and wondrous 
impressions as are conveyed by the brightness 
of noon, the peaceful calm of evening or the 
shadow of night, bringing slumber and rest? 
The love and fidelity of motherhood in all animal 
life, in itself alone, yields to an observer a ser¬ 
mon far beyond the human power to convey. 
On everything that is in • all the earth, in the 
sun, moon and planets; in the immeasurable, 
undefinable bounds of space, with its uncount¬ 
able millions of flashing worlds; in the infinite 
limits of the universe, the thought of whose 
stupendous immensity stupefies the feeble com¬ 
prehension of man and causes his intellect to 
reel unsated—from all these mysterious wond¬ 
ers, from everything that was, is or ever shall 
be, he who loves the great, glorious and free 
outdoors contemplates the Master’s work and 
absorbs grand and wonderful sermons. And 
through the whisperings of the preacher his soul 
recognizes the voice, wisdom and sign of the 
Omnipotent Creator of all things. 
Muskrat Falls in Labrador. 
St. John’s, N. F., Sept. 5 .—Editor Forest and 
Stream: The following account of the cele¬ 
brated Muskrat Falls in Labrador will be read 
with interest by the large number of American 
sportsmen, who, of late, have been casting eyes 
on that territory. 
This is the first succinct and authentic report, 
to my knowledge, that we have of this wonder¬ 
ful falls. According to reports Muskrat Falls 
rival Niagara in splendor, while Labrador boasts 
of another grand cataract that eclipses the fam¬ 
ous showplace of the continent. The roar of 
the great falls can be heard for twenty-five 
miles, and owing to a superstition of the In¬ 
dians to the effect that he who gazes on its 
waters will die within the year, very few white 
men have ever seen it. 
“Sir Wm. McGregor, who is at present in 
Labrador, is accompanied by Henry Reeve, C. 
M. G.; John Rowland, U. S. A., and E. C. Robin¬ 
son, London. Below is an extract from a letter 
received by us from Edward C. Robinson: 
“Darkness had overtaken us and when we 
landed we knew we were not far from the falls 
because of the roar of the rushing waters which 
sounded like continuous distant thunder. But 
it was too dark to see anything so we went to 
sleep under the trees. When daylight broke we 
saw we had another two miles to travel before 
the falls were reached. After an early break¬ 
fast we took to the boat and commenced pull¬ 
ing up against the stream. But about one mile 
below the falls we were again compelled to 
land, as the current was much too strong to pull 
against. The average width of the river along 
which we had already traveled was over a mile, 
but here in front of the falls it widened out to 
nearly two miles. The full width of the waters 
as they tumbled over the rocks, including the 
waterfall, which was about 500 feet, could not 
have been less than 900 feet. The waters plunge 
into the south side of the wide basin and rush 
with such mighty force over the precipice that 
they rose in a great wave of surging foam al¬ 
most as high as the falls, then in four more 
great surging waves, each less mighty than the 
one previous, the water spreads itself out into 
a whirling cauldron. Trunks of great trees that 
had been torn and uprooted by the torrent and 
hurled down the stream were floating around in 
this great whirlpool of waters. Immediately 
above this fall here is a chute or rapid about 850 
feet across for a distance of about three-eighths 
of a mile, and with a drop in the course of 
fifteen or twenty feet. Above these rapids is 
another fall where the waters, being somewhat 
more contracted, rush with even greater force 
than at the lower falls. The two falls with the 
chute or rapids in between make a total drop 
of sixty feet. 
“Oh! the grandeur of the mighty rushing 
river, where nothing can be heard but the 
thunder of its waters; where the spray of the 
lashing torrents rises in a mist and is crowned 
by a silent rainbow. One looks and wonders 
at its majestic beauty and listens entranced to 
the thundering melody of music. No other 
sound can reach the ear. The wild bird flying 
overhead may be calling to his mate, but no note 
of his call will reach you. The forest trees may 
be bending and breaking before the fiercest 
storm, but the crash of the broken branches or 
the fall of the stately timbers is silent before 
the deafening roar of the rushing torrent.” 
W. J. Carroll. 
Autumn in New England. 
More and more our American people are be¬ 
ginning to appreciate the virtues of a September 
outing in the mountains and the lake country. 
In many respects it is the ideal period of the 
entire year for outdoor life and recreation. Not 
only is it marked by more comfortable tempera¬ 
ture than July and August, but there is a clarity 
of atmosphere and tonic of air that add fifty 
per cent, to the comfort and pleasure of out-of- 
door existence. September’s crowning accessory 
in the mountains, however,' is the autumnal fol¬ 
iage, which, at the first touch of frost, trans¬ 
forms the landscape into “a grand harlequinade 
of nature” and furnishes vast color pictures 
that delight the eye. In every notch, valley and 
ravine and upon the slopes of every mountain, 
the brush of the Great Painter leaves a riot of 
crimson, orange and gold. 
Only in the mountains may the full glory and 
beauty of the September foliage be seen and 
understood, for it is only by standing upon the 
summit or higher slopes of some eminence and 
looking down into the brightly-carpeted valleys 
that any comprehensive idea of the extent and 
magnificence of nature’s autumnal handiwork 
can be gained. A brief sojourn amid them has 
helped to carry many a wearied business man 
or woman through the trying periods of winter 
activity. 
The tourist looking down from Mt. Washing¬ 
ton, for instance, would view with the poet, 
“Great circles of rich foliage, rainbow-crowned 
By autumn’s liberal largess;” 
but'in the wonderful Crawford Notch, or in 
the narrow Franconia Notch, he would enjoy a 
more intimate view of the leafy pageantry. 
Writing of a September visit thither, some years 
ago, the late Samuel Adams Drake—one of the 
best of the White Mountains, biographers—said 
of the approach to the Notch through the Saco 
Valley : 
“Myriad flambeaux illuminated the deep 
gloom, doubling the intensity of the sun, emit¬ 
ting rays, glowing, resplendent. This splendid 
light, which the heavy masses of orange seemed 
to absorb, gave a velvety softness to the lower 
ridges and spurs, covering their hard, angular 
lines with a magnificent drapery. The lower 
forests, the valley, were one vast sea of color. 1 
Here the bewildering melange of green and gold, 
orange and purple, crimson and russet, produced 
the effect of an immense Tui'kish rug—the color 
being soft and rich, rather than vivid or brilliant. 
This quality, the blending of a thousand tints, 
the dreamy grace, the sumptuous profusion, the 
inexpressible tenderness, intoxicated the senses. 
Earth seemed no longer earth. We had entered 
a garden of the gods.” 
Mountain climbing, too, is at its best in Sep¬ 
tember and October. Many have this season 
gone over the new trail from Bretton Woods, 
built last spring by Prof. J. Rahner Edmonds, 
and which branches off the old trail, taking in a 
shoulder of Mt. Pleasant and continuing over 
the ridge of Franklin to Monroe and to the 
summit of Mt. Washington. 
