176 



NATURE FOR ITS OWN SAKE 



ing. Again, the ocean is ever in motion. Its 

 surface may be smooth, but there is always the 

 heave of deep swells beneath the ebb or flow of 

 tides, and day and night, year in and year out, 

 it is continually beating out its surge on the 

 shore. Not so the lake. It is ruffled only by 

 passing storms and winds. When the winds 

 die out it lies still in the sunlight, and not a 

 ripple shakes its serenity. 



The small mountain-lake, shut in by shores of 

 rock or timber, is undoubtedly the most beau- 

 tiful type of the still waters. If we are on 

 ground high enough above it to overlook the 

 whole expanse, it will appear, when the mists 

 are creeping over its surface in the early morn- 

 ing, like a mirror with breath-marks upon it. 

 At noon, if the surface is agitated, each wave 

 will glitter like a harlequin's spangles ; and if 

 smooth, it will reflect whatever sky is above it. 

 At evening it may reflect the pink and gold 

 clouds in the zenith, and when they have 

 burned out, it may deepen into a dark purple 

 floor upon which the stars are spattered in 

 golden spots. Whenever looked at from a 

 height, it seems like some precious elixir held 

 in an emerald chalice a gem set in a frame of 

 hills and forests. When we are down close to 



