232 THROUGH GLADE AND MEAD. 
Under no two skies or winds is it the same. It is gray, 
it is blue, it is olive, it is azure, it is purple, at the will 
of the breezes, the clouds, the hours. Sail over it on 
some afternoon when the sky is leaden with northeast 
mists, and you can see the simple beauty of form in 
which its shores and guards are sculptured.” 
We must see it when clouds are flying over the 
sun, when the sky is cloudless, when a thunder-storm is 
sweeping over it, when the breezes ripple its surface, 
when it lies smooth as ice, when the morning sun is 
breaking over it, when the setting sun tinges the hills 
all about it with rich purple light, when spring is cloth- 
ing its margin with the first faint touches of green, and 
when autumn clothes it with the gorgeous hues which 
make our forests glad, and even later when the leaves 
have flown from all but the stately pines and the waters 
are quiet beneath their robe of ice and snow. 
Those who love it best will see most of its beauties, 
and those who visit it oftenest will love it best. We 
bring away from it a folio of sunny memories. The city 
streets seem all the better and purer for the few hours 
spent 
“About the windings of the marge to hear 
The soft wind blowing over meadowy holms 
And alders, garden isles ; where now we ran 
By ripply shallows of the lisping lake, 
Delighted with the freshness and the sense 
Of restfulness.” 
