Harper's New Monthly Magazine Volume 104 December 1901 to May 1902 . To-day the passage is Figure V.—Map of the Ottawa Route, drawn 1642 once more shown, and the arctic con-tinent has disappeared. Notwithstanding discoveries of recentyears, if we cast a backward glance andrealize that since 1860 the NorthwestPassage of 1800 has been revived, thatteachers to-day point with pride to mapswhich show the productions and occupa-tions of the world after the style ofOlaus Magnus, and that government en-gineers prophesy that Lake Erie will ere-long become Champlains quiet river,while the waters of the
Harper's New Monthly Magazine Volume 104 December 1901 to May 1902 . To-day the passage is Figure V.—Map of the Ottawa Route, drawn 1642 once more shown, and the arctic con-tinent has disappeared. Notwithstanding discoveries of recentyears, if we cast a backward glance andrealize that since 1860 the NorthwestPassage of 1800 has been revived, thatteachers to-day point with pride to mapswhich show the productions and occupa-tions of the world after the style ofOlaus Magnus, and that government en-gineers prophesy that Lake Erie will ere-long become Champlains quiet river,while the waters of the upper lakes flowover the Chicago divide into the Gulf,we may think that perhaps the most wecan expect will be that geographers andcartographers will endeavor to tell thetruth as they know it, regardless of per-sonal theory or prejudice. Love Wounded BY CURTIS HIDDEN PAGE 1TORE loves heart, in wantonness of power— ..And wept to see the ruthless pain love bore . .But love was glad—and, as a broken flowerBleeds fragrance, still poured love out more and [See page 757] THOU SHALT HAVE THEM ALL. ANGELE! The Roses of Monsieur Alphonse BY THOMAS I MONSIEUR then is prepared todeny everything, all entire?Monsieur was not preparedto deny everything, either all entire orsectionally. He was in narrow he temporized. For some sec-onds he stirred his coffee with a diligence—precisely as though Maries words, ac-tually spoken in a voice high-pitched andpenetrating, had been inaudible. Then helooked up at her—precisely as though shehad entered the room at that very mo-ment—and said suavely: Another glassof creme de menthe, if you please, Marie—and I beg that this time the morselsof ice may not be of the magnitude ofhills. Marie neither stirred nor answered. Let the ice, I say, Monsieur Al-phonse continued, still playing for time,and also for diversion, be not fragmentsof the dimensions of icebergs. Age issetting its harsh grasp upon thee, art becomi
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