And o'er the landscape spreads a purple haze,
And waves her magic scepter o'er the land.




[Illustration]

Around the Camp Fire


Did you ever camp in the woods on a moonlight night and listen to
nature's voices? Have you seen the light flicker through the trees,
and glisten on the little brook, its ripples breaking into molten
silver as it glides away between banks o'erhung with fern and trailing
grasses?

Did you ever sit by the camp fire after a day's climb over rocks and
treacherous trails, or after whipping the stream up and down for the
speckled beauties, and watch the flames climb higher and higher, the
sparks flying upward as you throw on the dry pine branches, and listen
to the trees overhead, swayed by the gentle breeze, croon their drowsy
lullaby? Thus were Hal and I camped one night in June, at Ben Lomond,
in the Santa Cruz mountains, and I shall never forget the glory of
that moonlight night.

There is a delightful, comforting feeling about it, and somehow it
always reminds me of a theater, one of God's own handiwork, whose dome
is the blue vault of heaven, studded with its millions of stars. The
silver moon just peeping over the mountain, throwing into grand relief