A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN. 



more Cooper sang so sweetly, and on which you 

 listen rather for the war-whoop of the Mohican 

 than the everlasting ' toot ' of the steam launch. 



You know, Lena, that I am a thorough rustic, 

 that I hold that the coaching meet is almost the 

 only really pretty sight in London, and that I 

 am condemned to dwell with a husband whose 

 tastes are purely barbaric, so you will take my 

 descriptions with the necessary grain of salt. To 

 do the ' lakes ' justice they are very, very beautiful, 

 very bright with colour ; the local guide-book 

 says ' the tree-tops blush with bunting ; shores 

 put on a flannelly hue, and shadowy points 

 blossom out in duck and dimity.' And the 

 guide-book is right ; but what I should like to 

 see just once is the lakes at rest, with only the 

 colour of their autumn woods to brighten them ; 

 only the blue smoke of a wigwam fire to suggest 

 man's presence, and only the cry of the fish- 

 hawk, or the splash of the rising trout, to break 

 the stillness. 



We were tired when we got to the hotel, and 

 glad to rest in its vast piazza, supported by a 

 grove of Corinthian columns, until it was time to 

 dine, and felt hope spring again within us as we 

 noticed the number of tennis costumes about the 

 grounds. But we were doomed to disappoint- 

 ment. The American youth wears ' blazers/ it 



