living glacier and icebergs,
across the Stickeen flats, and so joyfully home again, Muir to take the
November steamboat back to his sunland.

I have made many voyages in that great Alexandrian Archipelago since,
traveling by canoe over fifteen thousand miles--not one of them a dull
one--through its intricate passages; but none compared, in the number
and intensity of its thrills, in the variety and excitement of its
incidents and in its lasting impressions of beauty and grandeur, with
this first voyage when we groped our way northward with only Vancouver's
old chart as our guide.

THE LOST GLACIER

NIGHT IN A CANOE

A dreary world! The constant rain
Beats back to earth blithe fancy's wings;
And life--a sodden garment--clings
About a body numb with pain.

Imagination ceased with light;
Of Nature's psalm no echo lingers.
The death-cold mist, with ghostly fingers,
Shrouds world and soul in rayless night.

An inky sea, a sullen crew,
A frail canoe's uncertain motion;
A whispered talk of wind and ocean,
As plotting secret crimes to do!

The vampire-night sucks all my blood;
Warm home and love seem lost for aye;
From cloud to cloud I steal away,
Like guilty soul o'er Stygian flood.

Peace, morbid heart! From paddle blade
See the black water flash in light;
And bars of moonbeams streaming white,
Have pearls of ebon raindrops made.

From darkest sea of deep despair
Gleams Hope, awaked by Action's blow;
And Faith's clear ray, though clouds hang low,
Slants up to heights serene and fair.

V

THE LOST GLACIER

John Muir was married in the spring of 1880 to Miss Strentzel, the
daughter of a Polish physician who had come out in the great stampede of
1849 to California, but had found his gold in oranges, lemons and
apricots on a great fruit ranch at Martinez, California. A brief letter
from Muir told of his marriage, with just one note in it, the depth of
joy and peace of which I could fathom, knowing him so well. Then no word
of him until the monthly mailboat came in September. As I stood on the
wharf with the rest of the Wrangell population, as was the custom of our
isolation, watching the boat come in, I was overjoyed to see John Muir
on deck, in that same old, long, gray ulster and Scotch cap. He waved
and shouted at me before the boat touched the wharf.

Springing ashore he said, "When can you be ready?"

"A