Lake Winnifiscogcc in October.
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��shore, and further up the hillside, overlooking the lake, is the Wiune- coette house, kept by Mr, Doolittle. In the grove on the hillside is the lo- cality chosen b}' the veterans of the last war in which to hold their annual campfires. The place is also the site of the annual camp-meetings of the Methodists of New England. Here is their auditorium, surrounded by the tabernacles of various village con- srewatious. There are winding walks cleared through the undergrowth, swings swung from lofty branches, and several croquet lawns.
At camp-meeting time the people gather to this spot by thousands. At morning, noon, and night there is a song of praise, in which ever}' voice joins, rising and swelling upon the air in a grand diapason, which makes the usual "church singing" appear, as it often is, the most effete of all the services of religion. Tent, cottage, boarding-house, grove, and beach are all vocal with Jehovah's praise. Sun- ny-faced childhood and furrowed cheeks, alike forgetting their youth or years, join in the songs with en- raptured gladness, while Heaven bends to listen to the strain. Then the sun- set gates of the skv roll back their bars of gold in such a way as almost to leave the impression that the "Gates Ajar" were something more than a poetic fancy, and that the ansrels had drawn back those golden bolts to listen to the song.
An evenino; at the Wiers at such a time, especially a moonlight evening, is something for a poet to rave about. There is a quiet, a stillness, that is almost solemn ; all discordant sounds are hushed. The moon shines with a soft, mellow light, the winds are in
��a whisper, the trees are either silent and motionless, or speak together in such low tones that they make onl}' a soft lullaby to the soul. The waters of the lake sleep in tranquil beauty in the holy light, on the peaceful shore the ripples musically murmur, and if we look upon the water we shall see the lengthened image of the moon be- come a straight upright column of gold hanging in the sapphire deep.
In the morning we will take our seats on the upper deck of the little steamer whose white garments, border- ed with a band of gilt, floated in the breeze from the prow of her name- sake ; the gangway plank is landed, and we are off across the rippling sur- face of the lake. The sky is clear ; there are just clouds enough to re- lieve the soft blue, and fleck the sen- tinel hills with shadows ; and over the wide panorama of distant mount- ains a soft dreamy violet haze settles, tinging them, as Emerson savs the south wind, in May days,
" Tints the human countenance With a colo)' of romance."
The vast flood of Winnipiseogee is shut in here by the jutting points of adjacent islands- which would seem to bar all progress in any direction. The scenery, an unending panorama of the Isles of the Great Spirit, floats by like a glorious painting, as we wind in and out of the mazy channels that form this mighty labyrinth of land and water. Some of these islands are high and bold, some low and flat. Some are densly wooded with pine, oak, birch, and maple ; some are almost bare. Some have a thicket of bushes, over Avhich towers a single lofty pine. Others have gravelly beaches, rarely sandy coves, and
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