An Evening on Lake Waterford. 



point across the bay ; the voices of the frogs and little peepers 

 come up from the lake shore ; the trembling notes of the tree 

 toad and the katydid, and mournful hoot of the owl, fall sooth- 

 ingly on the ear; for however apparently discordant these 

 sounds may be to others, they are a sweet lullaby song to the 

 tired camper. 



But here come Will, Airs. H., Mrs. S., and Charley for 

 our evening row on the lake. We go down to the landing, get 

 into the boat, throw over the trolling lines, and pull out for 

 an hour on the lake. It is too calm, and the lake too smooth, 

 to expect any success with the hook and line, but the evening 

 hour on lovely Waterford is one never to be forgotten. 



Just as our boat glides out from under the heavy shadows 

 of the short line 



Night rises yawning from her couch 



And dons a robe of black; 

 From jewel case then takes a star, 



And pins the curtain back. 

 Her blushing queen, just peeping through, 



Turns back to silvered gray; 

 While fainter grows the crimson west, 



Where sleeps the king of day. 



A short row across the bay and here we are on the south 

 side of the island ; let us rest on our oars for a few moments 

 and enjoy the lovely moonlit scenery around us. Close on our 

 left is the wooded shores of the island ; off to the east can be 

 seen the round top of "Washington Mound," and, glimmering 

 through the trees, the lights of the pretty village of Water- 

 ford ; above us, the bright harvest moon and blue sky, jeweled 

 with its millions of stars. 



Now, look down into the calm depths of the lake ; there 

 you will see the same sky, moon, and stars ; and so real is the 

 reflection that it seems as though our boat is suspended by an 

 invisible cord, between two starry heavens. 



We pull on around the island toward camp. The water 

 is so smooth and we glide through it so quietly, that every 



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