with birch and willow. A river crosses it with 

 many a slow and splendid fold of silver. 



Not only is the park enchanting from the dis- 

 tance, but every one of its lakes and meadows, 

 forests and wild gardens, has a charm and a 

 grandeur of its own. There are lakes of many 

 kinds. One named for the painter, now dead, who 

 many times sketched and dreamed on its shores, 

 is a beautiful ellipse; and its entire edge carries a 

 purple shadow matting of the crowding forest. Its 

 placid surface reflects peak and snow, cloud and 

 sky, and mingling with these are the green and 

 gold of pond-lily glory. Another lake is stowed 

 away in an utterly wild place. It is in a rent be- 

 tween three granite peaks. Three thousand feet 

 of precipice bristle above it. Its shores are strewn 

 with wreckage from the cliffs and crags above, and 

 this is here and there cemented together with 

 winter's drifted snow. Miniature icebergs float 

 upon its surface. Around it are mossy spaces, 

 beds of sedge, and scattered alpine flowers, which 

 soften a little the fierce aspect of this impressive 

 scene. 



On the western margin of the park is a third 



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