through the fallen timber. It was half-past seven o'clock when we descended the last slope and found the path to Glenora.

One overpowering regret - one only-abides in my heart as I think back upon that golden day with John Muir. He could, and did, go back to Glenora on the return trip of the Cassiar, ascend the mountain again, see the sunset from its top, make charming sketches, stay all night and see the sunrise, filling his cup of joy so full that he could pour out entrancing descriptions for days. But my lifelong lamentation over a treasure forever lost, is this: "I never saw the sunset from that peak."

Abridged.

WHERE SHALL WISDOM BE FOUND?

FROM THE BIBLE

SURELY there is a mine for silver,

And a place for gold which they refine.

Iron is taken out of the earth,

And brass is molten out of the stone.

But where shall wisdom be found?
And where is the place of understanding?

Man knoweth not the price thereof;
Neither is it found in the land of the living.

The deep saith, It is not in me:

And the sea saith, It is not with me.

It cannot be gotten for gold,

Neither shall silver be weighed for the price thereof.

It cannot be valued with the gold of Ophir,

With the precious onyx, or the sapphire.

Gold and glass cannot equal it:

Neither shall the exchange thereof be jewels or fine gold.

No mention shall be made of coral or of crystal:
Yea, the price of wisdom is above rubies.

The topaz of Ethiopia shall not equal it,
Neither shall it be valued with pure gold.

Whence then cometh wisdom?

And where is the place of understanding?

Seeing it is hid from the eyes of all living,
And kept close from the fowls of the air.

Destruction and Death say,

We have heard a rumor thereof with our ears.

God understandeth the way thereof,

And he knoweth the place thereof.

For he looketh to the ends of the earth,
And seeth under the whole heaven;

To make a weight for the wind;

Yea, he meteth out the waters by measure.

When he made a decree for the rain,

And a way for the lightning of the thunder:

Then did he see it, and declare it ;

He established it, yea, and searched it out.

And unto man he said,

Behold, the fear of the Lord, that is wisdom;
And to depart from evil is understanding.

THE VISION OF MIRZA

BY JOSEPH ADDISON

On the fifth day of the moon, which according to the custom of my forefathers I always keep holy, after having washed myself, and offered up my morning devotions, I ascended the high hills of Bagdat, in order to pass the rest of the day in meditation and prayer. As I was here airing myself on the tops of the mountains, I fell into a profound contemplation on the vanity of human life; and passing from one thought to another, "Surely,' said I, "man is but a shadow, and life a dream."

Whilst I was thus musing, I cast my eyes towards the summit of a rock that was not far from me, where I discovered one in the habit of a shepherd, with a little musical instrument in his hand. As I looked upon him, he applied it to his lips, and began to play upon it. The sound of it was exceeding sweet, and wrought into a variety of tunes that were inexpressibly melodious, and altogether different from anything I had ever heard.

I had been often told that the rock before me was the

haunt of a Genius, and that several had been entertained with music who had passed by it; but never heard that the musician had before made himself visible.

I drew near with that reverence which is due to a superior nature; and, as my heart was entirely subdued by the captivating strains I had heard, I fell down at his feet and wept.

The Genius smiled upon me with a look of compassion and affability that familiarized him to my imagination, and at once dispelled all the fears and apprehensions with which I approached him. He lifted me from the ground, and taking me by the hand, "Mirza," said he, "I have heard thee in thy soliloquies; follow me."

He then led me to the highest pinnacle of the rock, and placed me on the top of it. "Cast thy eyes eastward," said he, "and tell me what thou seest."

"I see," said I, "a huge valley, and a prodigious tide of water rolling through it."

"The valley that thou seest," said he, "is the vale of misery; and the tide of water that thou seest, is part of the great tide of eternity."

"What is the reason," said I, "that the tide I see, rises out of a thick mist at one end, and again loses itself in a thick mist at the other?"

"What thou seest," said he, "is that portion of eternity which is called Time, measured out by the sun, and reaching from the beginning of the world to its consummation. Examine now," said he, "this sea that is bounded with darkness at both ends, and tell me what thou discoverest in it."

"I see a bridge," said I, "standing in the midst of the tide.'

"The bridge thou seest," said he, "is human life; consider it attentively."

Upon a more leisurely survey of it, I found that it consisted of threescore and ten entire arches, with several broken arches, which, added to those that were entire, made up the number about an hundred. As I was counting the arches, the Genius told me that this bridge consisted at first of a thousand arches; but that a great flood swept away the rest and left the bridge in the ruinous condition I now beheld it.

"But tell me further," said he, "what thou discoverest on it."

"I see multitudes of people passing over it," said I, and a black cloud hanging on each end of it."

As I looked more attentively, I saw several of the passengers dropping through the bridge into the great tide that flowed underneath it; and upon further examination, perceived there were innumerable trap-doors that lay concealed in the bridge, which the passengers no sooner trod upon, than they fell through them into the tide, and immediately disappeared. These hidden pitfalls were set very thick at the entrance of the bridge, so that throngs of people no sooner broke through the cloud than many fell into them. They grew thinner towards the middle, but multiplied and lay closer together towards the end of the arches that were entire. There were indeed some persons, but their number was very small, that continued a kind of hobbling march on the broken