AMONG THE WIND-SWEPT LAKES. 
The first thing which I saw as I opened my 
eyes Monday morning was the tip of Passacon- 
away’s pyramid, rosy with the sun’s earliest 
rays, and hanging like a great pink moon be¬ 
tween the soft gray of a hazy sky and the cold 
gray of the misty forests. It was a soft morn¬ 
ing with a southerly wind and a cloudy sky, 
yet with a chill in the air which hinted of snow. 
As the damp wind swept across the snow-cov¬ 
ered peak of Chocorua, its moisture was con¬ 
densed, and from the rock, trailing away north¬ 
eastward like a huge white banner, a cloud 
streamer waved for an hour in the hurrying 
wind. Then the peak was overcome by the 
cloud and hidden for the rest of the day in a 
slowly thickening and descending pall. 
In all the years which I had spent in wan¬ 
dering over these fair hills, I never had explored 
Whitton Pond. Looking down upon it from 
the snow-covered mountain yesterday, it had 
seemed so pleasant to the eye that I determined 
to view it from all sides, and to see the mighty 
form of Chocorua reflected in its clear waters. 
