FINE WEATHER.— THE LAKE. 
19 
hills, in which the pines look nobly ; the older trees especially, 
half revealed, half shrouded, seem giant phantoms, standing about 
the hill-sides. The simple note of the robin is heard through the 
gloom — a cheering sound in these dull hours ; perched on the top' 
most boughs of the trees, they are taking an observation, looking 
out for a convenient building notch. 
Wednesday, 2Qth . — Lovely day ; soft clear svmshine, and de- 
lightful air from the west playing in the leafless branches, and 
among the green threads of the pine foliage. It is not surprising 
that the pines, when they 
“ Wake up into song, 
Shaking their choral locks,” 
should make more melody than other trees ; the long slender 
leaves are quivering in the breeze this afternoon like the strings 
of an instrument, but they are so minute that at a little distance 
we only remark the general movement of the tufted branches. 
The whole country is brown again, save here and there a nar- 
row line of snow under some fence on the hills, or a patch mark- 
ing a drift which all the storms of winter have helped to pile up. 
Nothing can look more dismal than the lake just now ; its sur- 
face is neither snow, ice, nor water, but a dull crust which gives 
it a sullen expression quite out of character with the landscape 
generally, such a day as this ; the sun is wanning the brown hills, 
the old pines, and hemlocks with a spring glow after their long 
chill, but not a smile can be drawn from the lake which grows 
more dark and gloomy every hour. As if to show us what we 
lose, there is just one comer open near the outlet, and it is beau- 
tiful in blended shades of coloring, rose and blue, clear and soft, 
as tbe eye of Spring. 
