In the Lake Country 115 
of water, conduces to companionship. It is 
large enough, that is, to afford perspective and 
to differentiate the tones of purple and blue. 
Its eighteen miles are broken by a turn and by 
jutting points. Thus it has that greatest 
charm in a lake—variety. It is not seen ata 
glance nor exhausted by a sweep of the eye, 
for mystery ever lurks in the blue distance. 
Lake and hills are wedded in the impression 
they yield: for a lake is only at its best when 
surrounded by hills, and the hills in turn are 
vastly more imposing when they surround a 
lake. So entirely complementary are they, 
that it would seem mythology should afford 
some antecedent in a primordial affinity and 
union. 
As the fields have encroached, the flowers 
have made their last stand in the glens about 
the lake, and these fortunately have been left 
undisturbed,—little winding ravines in the 
midst of the corn and the vineyards. The 
fields come to the very edge of the shaly 
banks, which fall away almost perpendicu- 
larly in places, while the level floor in the 
larger glens may be several hundred feet 
below. In May, I repair to these glens, 
leaving the pastoral landscape behind and 
dropping out of the fields into the depths 
