FOREST AND STREAM 
497 
A well known writer pays the following im¬ 
mortal compliment to the St. Mary’s Lake: 
“St. Mary, the beautiful, where lake, and moun¬ 
tain, and sky, are blended in a picture that only 
the Master of the Universe could paint, using 
the solids, and liquids, of Chaos, for material, 
and the roof of the world for canvas.” 
Of the lake.in the neighborhood of Going-to- 
the-Sun mountain he has added: “The lake 'be¬ 
comes an immense mirror, in which the moun¬ 
tains are outlined with such startling distinct¬ 
ness that it is difficult to believe the reflection 
is no reality. Wide rifts in the ridges disclose 
other peaks that seem to stretch in endless arrav 
to the end of the world. On the lower moun¬ 
tain sides summer greens are turning to red and 
gold. There is a dreamy haze in the air. T 
sky is bowed in benediction over the pageantry 
of the hills. There is purple, and silver, and 
gold, green and buff, and brown, red and pink 
and yellow—until the eyes are drunk with color. 
St. Mary’s Lake has been designated upon dis¬ 
cerning authority as being the most beautiful 
sheet of mountain water in the United States. 
One has but to glimpse at the photo, on this page 
to realize that this assertion does not go wide 
of the actual truth, despite any apparent senti¬ 
mental inclinations at description. The neigh¬ 
boring surroundings are typical of the immense 
beauties here so lavishly furnished, in grassy 
valleys, flowers in abundance, and vegetation rich 
and profuse. It is noted that principally in the 
St. Mary’s Lake, are found the Bull (or Macki¬ 
naw) trout, some specimens having been taken 
from this beautiful sheet of water running as 
high in weight as sixty pounds. Such a fish, 
allowed a home in such waters, of sparkling 
clearness, and coldness, cannot 'but give one an 
exhiliarating fight behind a sure, stiff-backed, 
steel rod, and trolling spoon.” 
Here are bits of brilliant description from 
the pen of Thomas Dillon, a graphic writer of 
well-known standing: 
“Lake McDonald has a fame of its own. Many 
men, and more women, have tried their 
pens in describing its beauties, but the written 
word has failed; color artists have essayed to 
transfer its charms to canvas, but with indiffer¬ 
ent success. The superlative, after all, is only 
the superlative, and it tells little or nothing of 
the twelve mile sweep of Prussian blue, indigo, 
lavender, verditer, and cobalt, of the pine-shroud¬ 
ed slopes, and the vista of towering mountains 
as the scene spreads out before the eye. Some 
break into an incoherent rhapsody that falls flat, 
and silence soon becomes the sign of his appre¬ 
ciation.” Later, describing this lake, again, he 
says: “The rising sun has gilded the western 
peaks across Lake McDonald, while it still lies 
darkly blue. There are reds and greens, and 
browns, in the effulgence of the rocks; there are 
shades of orange, violet and madder, sienna and 
cardinal, such as are only found in the color dic¬ 
tionaries.” Here is another bit of remarkably 
description from his pen, regarding this region: 
“That night it rained—a furious mountain rain 
—that came, and went, with equal suddenness. 
While all were wearily sprawled out, black clouds 
crept softly up the valley, from the Flathead, 
and opened their batteries, without a rumble of 
warning. The rain beat a vicious tattoo on the 
roofs that was only a staccato quick-step that 
marched us all double-quick to slumberland. The 
rattle on the roof grew weaker, after a time, 
and the moon peeped out on the camp from a 
ragged bank of cloud, throwing a soft, silvery 
radiance over the scene. Through the screens 
the waterfalls could be seen frisking down, 
ghostly white, while the pale-tipped pines mur¬ 
mured softly to each other. The bell mare’s 
steady tinkle, as she grazed back and forth, 
ebbed and flowed, in volume, waning from a 
harsh, brassy jangle to golden melody in the 
orchestral ensemble of the water, the woods, 
and the wind, that merged into the dream va¬ 
garies that pass lightly just before sleep mounts 
guard.” 
Of the flowers found in the park a member 
of the Chicago Geographic Society says: 
“We were all having a feast, whether we knew 
any botany, or not. There was a brave array 
around us, of pyrolas, and pipsissewa, Mariposa 
lilies, monkey-flowers, violets, bunc’h berries, twin 
flowers, penstemons, and adder’s 'tongue. There 
were whole thickets of Hercules club, and where 
the trail crossed a brook, there were clumps of 
St. Mary’s Lake. 
