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NATURE FOB ITS OWN SAKE 



dola-posts in the ever-agitated Grand Canal is 

 matter of common observation. 



In its reflections, shadows, lights, colors, 

 forms, there is nothing in nature superior to 

 the clear mountain-lake. It has no sentiment, 

 no feeling whatever, though we often speak of 

 it as though it had ; but there is no limit to the 

 emotion it can arouse in the breast of humanity. 

 I am not privileged to speak of this at any 

 length, for I have set myself the task of writing 

 about nature as it is, rather than about the 

 romance it can create ; yet, no one can be in- 

 sensible to that romance. The splendor of early 

 morning on the lake, the fresh breeze, the waves 

 dashed back by the bow of the canoe, the glit- 

 ter of myriad points of sunlight, the blue sky, 

 the voyaging clouds, the sentinel mountains 

 that stand like giants around the little basin, 

 are all productive of impulsive feeling. Nor can 

 anyone be quite indifferent to the silence of those 

 mountains at night, the slow rock of the lake 

 waters, the shimmer of the stars, and the moon- 

 light weaving a pathway of splendor from shore 

 to shore. Beautiful in themselves, and for 

 themselves, these features are not the less po- 

 tent in awakening thoughts of beauty in the 

 mind of man. 



