176 
NATURE FOR ITS OWN SAKE 
The moun- 
tain-lake. 
Seen from a 
height. 
ing. Again, the ocean is ever in motion. Its 
surface may be smooth, but there is always the 
heave of deep swells beneath the ebb or flow of 
tides, and day and night, year in and year out, 
it is continually beating out its surge on the 
shore. Notso the lake. It is ruffled only by 
passing storms and winds. When the winds 
die ont it les still in the sunlight, and not a 
ripple shakes its serenity. 
The small mountain-lake, shut in by shores of 
rock or timber, is undoubtedly the most beau- 
tiful type of the still waters. If we are on 
ground high enough above it to overlook the 
whole expanse, it will appear, when the mists 
are creeping over its surface in the early morn- 
ing, like a mirror with breath-marks upon it. 
At noon, if the surface is agitated, each wave 
will glitter like a harlequin’s spangles; and if 
smooth, it will reflect whatever sky is above it. 
At evening it may reflect the pink and gold 
clouds in the zenith, and when they have 
burned out, it may deepen into a dark purple 
floor upon which the stars are spattered in 
golden spots. Whenever looked at from a 
height, it seems like some precious elixir held 
in an emerald chalice—a gem set in a frame of 
hills and forests. When we are down close to 
