96 THE ADIRONDACK. 



throat, for the air you live on was never made for the 

 lungs. 



You are pale and exhausted, while now and then 

 comes over you, a sweet vision of rushing streams 

 and waving tree tops, and cool floods of air. I see 

 you in imagination, flung at full length upon the sofa, 

 and hear that expression of impatience which escapes 

 your lips. But here it is delicious — my lungs heave 

 freely and strongly, and every moment refreshes in- 

 stead of enervates me. Before me spreads away this 

 beautiful lake, shaped like a tea leaf, while all along 

 the green shores and up the greener mountain side, 

 there is a barely perceptible motion among the leaves, 

 as if they were so many living things stirring about 

 upon a carpet of velvet. Farther on, the Adirondack 

 Pass lifts its startling cliff into the air, and farther 

 still the solemn mountains stand bathed in the splen- 

 dor of the departing sun. The placid surface before 

 me is now and then broken by the leap of a trout as 

 some poor fly ventures too near where he swims — but 

 all else is still and calm. Oh, that I could catch the 

 shadows of thoughts and feelings that flit over me. 

 There is an atmosphere of beauty around my spirit, 

 that fills me with a thousand sweet but vague visions 



