CHAPTER III.
A HOME LETTER.
BANFF, _July 26, 189--_.
Dear mother:
I know you will want to hear from your children as often as possible,so I write to-day, for both Adelaide and myself, to tell you of ourwanderings, and of the wonderful scenes in the midst of which we areresting this bright Sunday.
In my last letter mailed at Brandon, I told you about the railroad ridefrom Montreal, north of the Great Lakes, through the country where theJesuit missionaries labored so nobly two centuries ago, and across thegreen prairies and scorched alkali desert of Manitoba.
On the morning after that terribly hot day, we looked westward--andour journey seemed likely to come to an end then and there. A mightybarrier stretched across our path from north to south. Rising dimly,through the morning mists, their summits hidden among the clouds, theirtawny flanks scarred with ravines and whitened with snow, rose theRocky Mountains.
Soon the train stopped, and we were told of a cascade in the woodsnear by, bearing the Indian name of Kananaskis. Off we tramped acrossa bit of flowery upland, snatching handfuls of aster, painted cup andharebell as we went; then down through a thicket of blue-tipped firs,until we heard the voice of many waters calling softly to us.
Another moment and we stood on the brink of the foaming, dashing,sparkling cataract, pouring grandly down its rocky path, as it had donein the days of Paul and Barnabas of Joshua; yes, and of Ahasuerus theking. At the very moment when Queen Esther, the "Star," stood beforethe haughty monarch pleading for her people, the stars above shoneabove the white falls of Kananaskis as they do to-night; the rushingwaters lifted up their voice and hastened to their work in the lonelyforest; while the Father of all looked down on the silent firs, thesilver stream, and the proud walls of Shushan, patient and loving,waiting for his children to know him and his wonderful works, and tolove and serve him with gladness of heart.
Oh, the mountains! How we climbed and climbed, the train winding, androaring, and straining every iron nerve to bear us to the high places!At noon we were in the midst of them. They looked down upon us withkindly faces, yet their granite peaks were awful in their grandeur,uplifted thousands upon thousands of feet above us.
I wandered with a bright young girl in our party, Miss Bessie Percival,whom the boys call "Captain Bess," down a steep path to the river'sbrink. Beneath a sheltering fir which stretched its tiny crosses aboveour heads, we stopped, and with a tiny, crackling fire beside us,watched the snowy heights, and the hastening river. The harebells,frailest and gentlest of flowers, were there too, to remind us that thesame Hand which which--
"Set on high the firmament, Planets on their courses guided, Alps from Alps asunder rent,"
was his who said to the storm, "Peace, be still!"--who "considered thelilies," and who took little children in his arms and blessed them.
The waters of the large river which ran past us were turbid with soilfrom their far-off source; but a small stream entered the larger onenear our little fir-shaded hearthstone, and this new-comer was freshfrom the snowy hill-tops, "clear as crystal." As far down as we couldsee, the rivulet never lost its brightness, but swept onward with thelarger stream, sweetening and purifying it, yet "unspotted," like atrue and simple life in God's world.
There, I won't tire you any more to-night, dear mother. How it wouldadd to our pleasure if you were here! Adelaide gains strength everyday, the wholesome, hearty companionship of these young people doingher quite as much good, I think, as the novelty and grandeur of thescenes in which she finds herself. As for me, I ought to preach bettersermons all my life, for this trip. This afternoon while I was sittingon the rounded piazza of the hotel, looking out upon the valley andsnowy mountain-tops, a bit of blank verse came into my mind. I'm goingto write it out for you. A fellow can send his mother poetry (?) whichhe wouldn't show any one else, can't he?
Within thy holy temple have I strayed, E'en as a weary child, who from the heat And noonday glare hath timid refuge sought In some cathedral's vast and shadowy nave, And trembles, awestruck, crouching in his rags Where high up reared a mighty pillar stands. Mine eyes I lift unto the hills, from whence Cometh my help. The murmuring firs stretch forth Their myriad tiny crosses o'er my head; Deep rolls an organ peal of thunder down The echoing vale, while clouds of incense float Before the great white altar set on high. So lift my heart, O God! and purify Its thought, that when I walk once more Thy minister amid the hurrying throng, One ray of sunlight from these golden days, One jewel from the mountain's regal brow, One cup of water from these springs of life, As tokens of thy beauty, I may bear To little ones who toil and long for rest.
Affectionately, your son, ROSSITER.
P. S. I wish you knew that little "Captain Bess."
She is one of the freshest, sweetest, most unselfish girls I ever met.Hardly an hour passes when she is not doing something for another'scomfort--adjusting old ladies' shawls, reading aloud, holding a tiredchild, or something of the sort. In fact, she's the most like you,mother, of anybody I ever met!