THE MID-AUGUST FLOWERS. 231 
our kingfisher from his high perch could take in a clear 
view of the waters. 
After a time we push out from our cosy nook 
toward a dam which separates us from the broader 
bosom of the lake. But as we go, we cannot enough 
admire those reaches of water over which we have 
come, nor the wonderful play of light in the distant 
coves, nor the deepening shadows under the trees, nor 
the- quiet brooding on the Shrewsbury hills yonder 
where the solitary elms rear their vase-like forms 
against the sky. Before us the level sun makes a broad 
track of light, like that along which Sir Bedivere saw 
the royal barge pass with the wounded King Arthur. 
And ever as we pass some new point, a new vista opens 
behind us as well as before. Soon we are again among 
the islands, and are skirting the shore already traveled 
over, the same shore and yet different, as it lies now 
enveloped in shadow. And the water is smooth, and 
the moon is up, and the silence of a summer night is 
settling over the lake. Soon the stars will be flashing 
out overhead, from below other stars will answer to 
them. We have seen something of the charms of our 
favorite lake, yet we know we have not seen them all. 
What Starr King says of Lake Winnipesaukee, we 
may say of Lake Quinsigamond: ‘Seen the lake! 
Which lake? There are a thousand. It is a chameleon. 
It is not a steady sapphire set in green, but an opal. 
