has come, and gradually takes possession at once of forest, lake, and shore.
But there is Wolfeborough, crowning two beautiful slopes of laud rising from a bay of the lake. Lights are gleaming from the Pavilion and the Glendon House, shining far out upon the grounds, and inviting the wayfarer to a hospitable reception. The steamer lands at a little wharf, and we walk up to the Glendon House, a large and handsome establishment, fitted up with all the modern improvements, and capable of accommodating two hundred guests. It is surrounded by extensive and neatly kept grounds, and is so placed as to give a water prospect from every side. A double veranda surrounds the house, affording delightful shade and fine promenades at all times. But one of its chief attractions is the peculiar construction of its roof, which being flat gives an unsurpassed opportunity to examine the surrounding country, and is a place of great resort at the sunrise and the sunset of a summer day.
One of the great charms of Wolfeborough is the moonlight, which is nowhere so beautiful as here. Let not the reader declare that it is "all moonshine," when we assure him that there is a vast difference in moonlight. At Wolfeborough it is not thin, bluish, and chilly, nor is it deathly white, as if haunted by spectres, nor has it a weird hue and influence, suggesting fairies and frolicsome fays; rather is its color a delicate luminous cream, and its beams do not rain in silver streams, but gush, as it were, from all the veins of the air. There is an Oriental richness about it, an Italian sorcery, that I have felt nowhere else. What a rare joy a sail on the lake is then! It is full of exhilaration. Everybody goes into raptures over it. From seven to ten o'clock, and often later, the bay is literally alive with craft. From all sides of the water, starting out from all conceivable docks and landings, all kinds of vessels, from the tiniest shell to a fair sized wherry — all sorts of crews, from a single boy or girl to a crowd of ladies and gentlemen, all laughing and chattering, voices ringing out in the soft air and harmonizing sweetly with the mellifluous moonlight, the long line of lights on either side of the shore flashing on each merry party as they pass, while over all there is an influence, a covering and beauty, like the ancient pillars of cloud and flame, — all these combine with the boating to make a moonlight sail on the lake at Wolfeborough an experience to remember until one's latest year.
I am not writing an intentional eulogy of the lake; — still one cannot well, visit Winnipiseogee without becoming influenced in a certain way that would render him oblivious of the charms of other places. For the time he is fascinated; the Cleopatra sorceries of the lake enchain him in a willing bondage. And this fascination does not cease with departure. Every year's experience and widening knowledge of this resort only increases its charms in the eyes of old dwellers, and adds to the throng of new comers. Boarding and hotel accommodations have to be extended year by year. All classes of people seek its shores, and the worshipper of nature, the seeker for pleasure, the soul needing rest, and the disciple of "Old Izaak," will
