LETTER II. 21 



is true, and there are tennis-courts, but we never 

 saw anyone playing upon them, or indeed doing 

 anything else more energetic than the smoking 

 of cigarettes and drinking of cocktails. 



The Americans work so hard, I suppose, that 

 they have no energy left to play. Rock, rock, 

 rock ! went the scores of chairs all day, slowly 

 and sleepily h'ke the roll of the Pacific, said one 

 of the men ; but the boats lay idle. No one rode 

 the saddle-horses, and those who went for a drive 

 only went to be driven. 



At one of the last lake-stations we astonished 

 our American friends by announcing our inten- 

 tion of landing and walking the rest of the way 

 round the shore to the great hotel. It was a 

 nine-mile walk, and a walk well worth taking, 

 though the road was six inches deep in sand, 

 making every mile worth two for training pur- 

 poses, so my husband said. Golden rods and 

 single sunflowers, with a host of other blossoms, 

 of which I do not know the names, mingled with 

 the great ferns by the roadside. Houses, with 

 well-kept lawns and ornamental flower-gardens, 

 alternated with bits of forest or apple-orchards, 

 whose rosy fruit hung temptingly by the way- 

 side. On the lake side of the road every patch 

 of land was either built on or showed some sign 

 of being reclaimed, if it was but a land-agent's 



