LETTER II. 19 



York, just as the Thames' banks in summer are 

 the dwelling-place of the nomadic Londoner. 



I said that there are a thousand islands, but 

 on each of them is a camp. On most of them it 

 is a permanent camp. At the head of the lake 

 it is an Indian wigwam which has grown into 

 the Fort William Henry Hotel, a palatial bar- 

 racks over a hundred yards in length. Over all 

 the lake the same phenomenon is taking place in 

 different stages of completion. Here the en- 

 campment is only a little white tent, which 

 gleams prettily amongst the island greenery. On 

 the next island the tent has given place to a 

 temporary shanty of wood, more comfortable, 

 perhaps, but less picturesque ; and so the forms 

 of men's shells grow and vary from tent to castle, 

 from chalet to pagoda, but everywhere the 

 pagoda, with red roof and coloured walls, pre- 

 dominates ; white boats, red-rimmed, dart out 

 from, or lie idle in, the bays of every islet ; every 

 island creek is bridged by white Chinese bridges. 

 At one landing-stage a chorus of picnicking 

 damsels in white tam-o'-shanters come down and 

 spell the name of their camp as a part song for 

 the edification of our passengers ; at the next 

 point a gay party lounges in front of a new hotel, 

 whose trim lawns and red gravelled walks look 

 out of harmony with the silver lake which Feni- 



22 



