The Press., 1890-11-20
(For The Press.) FOREST ECHOES.
BY REV. EDGAR F. CLARK.

FOREST ECHOES.
 BY REV. EDGAR F. CLARK.
 La grippe had finished the struggle. From Maine to Oregon the dead and wounded were counted by hundreds. Still, as the ermine of winter vanished, grim business knocked at the door, routing the weary convalescent from needful rest and quiet, and prodding him to the anvil and the altar. Life's carriage halts not this side the grave-pillow, and so last spring the heavy foot was lifted from snow to daffodil, only to realize how faithfully disease had sapped the bastions of physical endurance. The health of hundreds de. manded recuperation, hundreds who could i'll affofd to be absent from business. but who must be absent, or suffer thankless penalty.
 Two residents of Stafford, led by de- sire to test the value of Maine forestry for left Boston April 15, 1890. The country. in the old bay state, was free
 
 ent of spring and early blossomage. But the steam king soon introduced tRe snow. king of Maine, and revealed madam earth in the chilling embrace of winter. Snow was the night-cap of the mountain and the mantle of the plain. Ice throttled the naiads of the mountain stream and lake, and chained many an unwilling forester. At Phillips. Me-, the needless travellers pass restful night at the 'Barden House, the retreat of foresters for many years. Mir. Palmer, the proprietor, rests amid the laurels of many years, and his familiar face must, ere long, live only in sunny recollection of happy days and merry even- ings passed among the lovers of the reel and rihe
 On the following day the journey is re- sumed for Rangeley. The first part is at tempted on wheels, but as as we move northward wheels are less and less in vogue. At Madrid the stage is exchanged for the sleigh. Even then the snow is six feet deep in some of the drifts. In vain the faithful horses rear and plunge amid the melting piles. Albert and Edgar get off and relieve the struggling charges. It is we'll your wives do not witness the passage over the Maine Alps. One of the party had made the remark that he s'was going if the snow were four feet deep" Little did he dream that the hyperbole would change to dread reality. Shall we ever reach Range. ley? Not till patience Is nearly exhausted, aud the bright sun has hidden his face be- hind Kennebago mountain. At last we alight to receive a hearty welcome at the hotel kept by MT. Edward Grant, our old "guide," Edward. Time has tried in vain to change the old hunter and trapper. There is the same calm and skillful car riage of brain and hand, the same quiet wit, and the same love of the forests and the lakes. No wonder that the faithful hostess must soon take the reins of the ho- tel enterprise, for the host must either die or sleep in his forest home.
 Next morning two-horse sled stands at the door, and each trunk is bound upon it with gordian-knot. Boys, catch hold the stakes, and see whether it is easier to walk or ride over rocks and stumps, thro' water and corduroy. Now the sled strikes a tall rock and bounds into the air. Anon, the cracking ice sinks beneath mud and frost. Deeper and deeper grows the melt. ing snow, for our road lies amid the forests that begirt Kennebaeo. It is now three feet on the level, and many drift is soft, until the horses, with all their experlence, can advance no further. Unhitch them miles from the cabins sought, and consider how you will finish the journey. Pick up that bundle of guns and rods. Leave the trunks. The first step finds you imb-deep in the deceitful snow. Don't say anything about it, but the miles are Maine miles, with several hundred rods thrown in. AL bert, you cannot stand it, i. G., you could not, but the balsam air has already filled the lungs and lent additional vigor for the weary tramp. Halloo there the smoke curls over massive piles of snow and man. ly hearts that beat friendly march for tired feet into the log cabin of "mine hosts." Phineas, Cornelius and John, we shall forget the dog,-we were twenty one, but we shall not forget the unostenta- tious kindness received at your hands, robbing winter of it's disagreeableness, and on the tablet of memory happy recollections of departed joys.
 Let us survey for few moments the The dining room is that small log cabin half way up the hill. Be- low it stand cabins for provisions and the boats employed in the summer. In the latter, delft fingers repair and re-paint the water craft of last season. Above are
 
 the west of the dining cabin stands the Kennebaeo Lake House, with it's 31 beds. Beyond and at right angle stand row of log cabins, the joy of the forester. In one of these our lodgings are prepared. Speed fly the balsam lines the walls at the head of the beds a pile of blankets deep enough to smother in midsummer, awaits the pleasure of the guests John has trans ferred small wood-pi inside the cabin, and in five minutes rousing fire is burn ing. Good bye trouble, bronchitis, and public care. Our feet once more stand on the shore of silver Kennebago, under whose decaying mantle move thousands of the ''spotted beauties" Like angels, the benign balsam, all through the night. has been picking away trouble from throat and lungs, and substituting appetite, vigor, and ight-heartedness.
 The morning breaks over field of snow and ice, snow, three feet deep; ice, ditto. With an appetite keen as razor we jump like grey squirrel out of the balsam, and run race for the breakfast table. Every thing tastes we'll, especially the "fatted calf," that has fallen victim to our ar rival You need not say it was deer, for we shall persist ill saying it was not. Af- ter the breakfast is over, please pass around the bread and milk to Albert, and don't forget to add a pound or two of cheese. By this means Edgar will have company in the faithful performance of his protracted duties.
 Soon the line of march is begun for a lake in search of the coveted trout. Rods, ax and oe-chisel are hurried to "Flat Iron" pond. Two things retard.