EVENING ON PROFILE LAKE. l8l 



morning, and I have seen the day grow into full light 

 there a hundred times. On Profile Lake during the aft- 

 ernoon all the boats are out, and noisy groups of happy 

 people are scattered here and there until toward seven 

 o'clock. Then you will generally see only three boats, 

 my friend Dupont's, that of Mr. C , and my own. 



Nor will either of us disturb the silence in which you 

 will best enjoy the wonderful solemnity of beauty which 

 surrounds you. As in the morning the mountain-top first 

 met the fair face of the young day, so in the evening the 

 mountain-tops are last to sink into darkness, but they do 

 not seem to be the same mountains. They were joyous 

 then, for day came pure and white and stainless. They 

 are sombre and gloomy and profoundly sad in the even- 

 ing when they see day going down in the West, her face 

 red with passion or flushed with wine. For oh man ! 

 never went day to rest unstained — never was Morning 

 born so pure that she retained herself in purity till the 

 setting of the sun — never yet came Daughter of the East 

 with chariot wheels of silver, a fair and noble maiden, 

 worth love and winning love, that she did not go away 

 in clouds, with torn garments or in blushing shame. 



I said we would not disturb you. You must have quick 



ears to hear any sound when either C or Dupont 



throw fifty feet of line on the lake, for they use light rods, 

 and there is an absolute perfection of beauty in the 

 curves described by their lines. Now and then the sharp 

 rise and swirl of a trout may attract your attention for an 

 instant as one or another strikes him, but go on thinking 

 while we go on fishing. If, indeed, you be an angler, join 

 us and welcome, for then it is known to you that no man 

 is in perfect condition to enjoy scenery unless he have a 

 fly-rod in his hand and a fly-book in his pocket. 



