ON THE LAKE. 27 



ing passage in which our boat lies concealed. At 

 first a hush, a solemn stillness, then a burst of sur- 

 prise from each as we glide forth upon the bosom 

 of the lake. A gentle breeze, and a fair one. 

 Hoisting our sail we move gracefully onward. 

 And now our faith is lost in sight, as the wide ex- 

 panse of water, fringed on all sides with the un- 

 broken green of undisturbed forests, meets our 

 gaze. 



" Oh ! how beautiful, how beautiful ! " bursts 

 from the lips of the gentler one as she throws up 

 her veil (no fear of flies here) . " How could Mr. 

 Murray write as he did about the scenery of 

 Maine?" 



" Probably because he never had seen it." 



" Fortunately for us he hadn't, or we might be 

 sailing up the lake to-day with a small fleet, instead 

 of being solitary voyagers as we appear to be. 

 But what are those tall peaks over there in the dis- 

 tance?" 



" Those are the White Mountains ; those small 

 buildings you see in the line of the hills down by 

 the shore are Middle Dam Camp. There's the 

 source of the Androscoggin : good fishing there, 

 but not near as pleasant as our destination." All 

 this from the intelligent guides Charles Cutting 

 and Frank Merrill. 



