LAKE PARMACHINI. 



I SHALL never forget the latter portion of my last 

 visit to the above lake. The Indian summer had set 

 in with all its glories, and promised to be protracted. 

 One feature of this season in North America is well 

 described by the line in Gray s celebrated elegy : 



" And all the scene a solemn stillness holds." 



But this only mentions the extraordinary silence that 

 reigns around you, which is further made effective by 

 the hazy gossamer mist that shuts out the view of 

 the more distant landscape, making the unseen a 

 spirit land. But if your gaze is limited, you have 

 enough to look upon in your immediate vicinity to 

 rejoice the heart of the true lover of nature, and to 

 elevate your mind to feelings of admiration for the 

 handiwork of the Great Creator. What a wonderful 

 world we live in, what marvellous beauties are dis- 

 played in it, what attractions for the human eye are 

 on all sides visible, may well be exclaimed by the 

 observer. Yet I do not enumerate one-hundredth 

 part of the fascinations that are to be viewed. 



At this season, the Indian summer season, every 

 leaf, except those of the coniferous trees, has changed 

 its colour, and the different tones of green have 

 given place to the most dainty shades of yellow, the 

 most ephemeral tinges of pink, and the more resolute 

 and positive colours of umber, brown, and deep 

 scarlet. It might be thought that there is no 

 harmony in this variegated combination; quite the 



