It is not enough to view it at such a distance, and as height adds to grandeur more than depth, we want to get right down to the water's edge and look up at the strangely formed walls that hem them in. So we cross the bridge to the west and down the steep bank, clinging to bushes and branches to help us on our way, until we stop to drink from the springs. The water is cool and very pleasant to the taste. Then stop on a foot bridge across the pool to dip our hands in the running water, and gather a memento from its pebbly bed. On the opposite shore we view the remains of a deserted dugout and wondered who would leave so romantic a spot. Then along a well worn path that followed the stream's winding way, climbing along the bluff's edges, now pulling ourselves up by a cedar bush, and now swinging down by a grape-vine, we followed on until Mrs. G. remarked: "This is an old Indian path," which sent a cold wave over me, and looking about, half expecting to see a wandering Sioux, and not caring to meet so formidable a traveler on such a narrow pathway, I proposed that we would go no farther. So back to the bridge and beyond we went, following down the stream. Some places the bluffs rise gradually to the table-land and are so grown with trees and bushes one can scarce tell them from Pennsylvania hills; but as a rule, they are steep, often perpendicular, from twenty-five to seventy-five feet high, forming a wall of powdered sand and clay that is so hard and compact that we could carve our initials, and many an F. F. I left to crumble away with the bluffs. Laden with pebbles gathered from the highest points, cones from the pine trees, and flowers from the valley and sand hills, I went back from my Sabbath day's ramble with a mind full of wonder and a clear conscience. For had I not stood before preachers more powerful and no less eloquent than many who go out well versed in theology, and, too, preachers that have declaimed God's wonderful works and power ever since He spake them into existence and will ever be found at their post until the end. But how tired we all were by the time we reached Mrs. G.'s home, where a good dinner was awaiting our whetted appetites! That over, Mr. H. stole out to Sunday School, and Mr. R. sat down to the organ. But soon a familiar chord struck home to my heart, and immediately every mile of the distance that lay between me and home came before me. "Homesick?" Yes; so homesick I almost fainted with the first thought, but I slipped away, and offered up a prayer: my only help, but one that is all powerful in every hour and need. Mr. Glover told us of a Mrs. Danks, living near Long Pine, who had come from Pennsylvania, and was very anxious to see some one from her native state, and Mr. Ross and I went to call on her, and found her in a large double log house on the banks of the Pine--a very pretty spot they claimed three years ago. Though ill, she was overjoyed to see us, and said: