THE FOREST.

It is a wicked world, this that we live in, and life itself is often a weariness and bitterness, when the heart sickens of the follies that cling to mortality!

Who of the hasty crowd that walks the streets of our great city, ever thinks how many vaults filled with the dead of bygone years, his footstep echoes in?

Did you ever pause and gaze into the faces of the passers by, and seek one look, one eyebeam that spoke a soul not all intent on earth and sensuality? And did you not seek in vain? Do you ever turn sad and sick at heart away, and with Knowles," laugh aloud at the idea that there is anything human in you?"

Well, come to my forest home, my dear M, and see a land of happiness. Where no noisy crowd will jostle you in the chase of wealth; no overgrown babies of fashion dash against you, heedless of all else save the bubbles they are grasping at. Here the wood-wind is always pure, and the glad birds never cease to praise their Maker. Nature reigns, and solitude is master of all the region.

Yonder is a mountain side, up which the whirlwind has marked a narrow path, as if a God had crushed down the forest under his chariot wheels. Down that gorge, the sunbeams hardly dare to venture, or if they do, it is only to be flashed back from some deep pool or murmuring brook, seeming to break gladly to life and light again. And as you gaze down you may see, far below, piled along its steep sides, and on its bottom, fallen trees that were monarchs centuries There they lie where the storm placed them before you, or I, or our fathers, were! Fallen giants! Who can look on them unmoved? Perchance under the shade of that monster, the red man struggled; perchance slept. Time has left them little changed, and they are as majestic in their decay as they were when they ruled the forest.

ago.

Here is a frowning precipice. There a green stream-side whose soft grass invites you to rest. Here the river winds under rugged rocks that you shudder to look at; there it ripples along a green shore, to which the doe leads her young in the early autumn to drink and bathe. Now the waters gather in a narrow pass and leap like frightened steeds over the rocks, and again spread themselves out in a broad basin, girt round with the everlasting hills, and are sung to sleep by the

melodies of a hundred birds and their own rippling. Here the torrent thunders forth the majesty of God; there the laughing brook whispers of His goodness. The scream of the eagle is uninterrupted by the voice of humanity, and the hawk sweeps fearlessly.

There is no place in all the world so fitted to elevate the mind, and lead it to high and holy contemplations as this wild region, where, as yet, the evidence of the Creator exists uninpaired by the innovations of the creature. No spirit can fail to go forth unto its God in such a land as this. A Sabbath in this country is different from any you have ever passed. If you choose to walk to "the bridge," a distance of ten miles, (more or less as the place of your stay may be,) you may hear a sermon there in a little church in the valley, built by the settlers, in which the services of God's house are maintained by occasional missionaries from the Presbyterian and Methodist churches. Or if not inclined for the walk, you may take your Bible, and will not have much difficulty in finding a place free from intrusion, unless such sounds as the songs of birds or the dash of water prove annoying.

And temple more glorious man knows not of! Your gilded spires point to the God of the city, and the organ rolls His praises through the arches of your gorgeous temple, but in our forest home, the finger of the scattered and blighted hemlock points as truly to the same God, and the myriad sound of birds, and winds, and waters, join în as glad a song as when the new creation burst forth in an anthem of joy.

And preacher more eloquent you never heard! Nature speaks! The forest is vocal with the religion of truth. The waters respond. The sky, and light, and all things, around, above, murmur unceasingly the name of the Most High. I remember with what force the words of Dana came to my mind once as I stood on the bank of the river watc* ing the reflection of the bright star Aldebaran in the wate

"Oh! listen, man!

A voice within us speaks that startling word,
'Man, thou shalt never die!' Celestial voices
Hymn it unto our souls; according harps,
By angel fingers touched, when the mild stars
Of morning sang together, sound forth still
The song of our great immortality.

Thick clustering orbs, and this our fair domain,
The tall, dark mountains, and the deep-toned seas,
Join in this solemn, universal song.

Oh listen, ye our spirits; drink it in

From all the air! Tis in the gentle moonlight;

Tis floating midst day's setting glories; Night,
Wrapped in her sable robe, with silent step,
Comes to our bed and breathes it in our ears.
Night, and the dawn, bright day and thoughtful eve,
All time, all bounds. The limitless expanse,
As one vast mystic instrument, are touched
By an unseen, living Hand, and conscious chords
Quiver with joy in this great jubilee.

The dying hear it; and as sounds of earth
Grow dull and distant, wake their passing souls
To mingle in this heavenly harmony.

go

And the people here are well worth knowing. I would ten times as far for the welcome I always meet in the cabin of every settler. They are untutored, and to some of them "the world" is an unknown thing. May it long remain so. I shall not soon forget one long day's hunt, when, after a ten mile tramp through the forest, guided by the bank of the river, I came, weary and exhausted, to a solitary house, and found open hearts and glad, though strange faces. Nor shall I forget the happy days that followed, while I made my home there, and hunted in the surrounding country. It would repay for a long journey, could you sit in such a spot and see the deer leaping down the steep hill side, hurried on at every bound by the bay or sharp yelp of the dogs behind him; now taking to the water, or if headed, gallantly charging the hounds and away again, until the short crack of a rifle is echoed in ne bend of the river, and then in another, and rolls down the valley, growing deeper and deeper in every reach, until it is lost quite, and the deer lies almost at your feet. But I was "peaking of the people. I tired long ago of the game of life, in the world, where the stakes are hearts; and up here I have found simple nature. Beauty is not wanting. One of the brightest gleams of beauty that ever crossed my vision, was in a settler's home, by the light of a maple fire in the broad chimney. Do you wish a heroine? What think What think you of a fair young girl riding alone on horseback, rousing a buck and following him at full speed till shot, and when the hunter had but just drawn his knife across the noble creature's throat, dashing up and claiming the hunter's share, which by the laws of the hunt is sacred to whoever starts the game?

They lack the preaching of the gospel here. I have met many families who have not attended a religious meeting in years. But God is here, as he is everywhere, and, had I time, I could tell you how he has come down with his Holy Spirit, and that mighty forest became a vast temple, and here and there in its solitude, beside a fallen tree, or half cut