The scenery was wonderfully beautiful. We had never dreamed of the like. No description can do it justice. The mountains on both sides of the lake were in many places, topped with snow; their sides covered with forests and spruce and pine and fir. There was still wild game, we were told, among the hills-the deer and mountain goat, while bears often went prowling near the hunter's path. Here and there a cascade flashed down the mountain side- a thread of silver on the green mantle; and again the shore shot up into a sheer precipice of gray rocks. and the waters of the lake-how transparent! The scene above was perfectly reflected below. Cloud and crown of snow, hill and rock and tree repeated themselves as in a mirror. We thought of Wordsworth's lines:
"The swan on still St. Mary's lake,
And when, now and again, a faint breeze rippled the smooth surface, one was quite willing to have the picture broken for a few moments, because the breeze brought the odors of Araby the blest form the 'buck brush' on the hillsides.
That summer's day, floating down the Arrow lakes, was one of the most perfect in the lives of those who lived it. It was a day of pure joy, of serene contentment, of perfect peace such as Longfellow has described: