More and more we were impressed with the grandeur and grace of
the restful, flowing outlines of these mountains. With the light
gray of their granite walls and the vivid green of their
forests, they make beautiful harmony.
We paused along a beautiful sheet of water, Echo lake. A bugler
whom some tourists paid for his crude attempts was doing his
best (which was none too good) to awake the echoes. How harsh
and grating were the tones he made, seeming like the bleat of a
choking calf; yet, with what marvelous sweetness were those
rasping tones transformed by the nymphs of the mountains. After
a few moments' pause they were repeated among the nearer ridges,
but softer and with a rare sweetness as pure and clear as a
thrush's vesper bell. Again a short pause and we heard them
higher, fainter, sweeter, until they died away among the hills;
too fine for our mortal ears to catch. It seemed as if some
sylvan deity, some Mendelssohn or Chopin of this vast forest
solitude heard those harsh notes and putting a golden cornet to
his lips, sent back the melodies the bugler meant to make. As
the last reverberations died away among the hills we thought of
those lines in Emerson's "May Day":
Echo waits with Art and Care
And will the faults of song repair.
How crude the attempts of man at producing the melodies of life!
How beautiful the discordant notes become when the Master
Musician breathes into them the melodies of infinite love!
"O love, they die in yon rich sky,
They faint on field, or hill or river
Our echoes roll from soul to soul,
And grow forever and forever."
The water of the lake was so clear we could see the white
pebbles at the bottom, or the pike that swam slowly to the edge.
How pure the mountains looked! How fresh and new the grass and
flowers! The sky above was blue; the water of Profile lake was
dark blue; the mountains wore a delicate veil of misty blue;
blue were the myriads of delicate campanula that peeped from
their rocky ledges; silvery blue was the smoke that curled from
the forest's green from a dozen camp fires; and out of that
mysterious all-pervading blue lifted the benign countenance of
the Great Stone Face.
When Nature made this grand masterpiece, she set it on the
topmost edge of Cannon Range so that all could see it. It may be
seen from the edge of Profile lake, and stands in the midst of a
magnificent forest preserve of six thousand acres, rising nearly
two thousand feet above sea level. On either side are Profile
and Echo lakes, vieing with each other in their crystal
clearness; behind it are towering cliffs and wooded heights, and
in every direction lead woodland paths and rocky trails offering
ever-changing glimpses of wonderful White mountain scenery.
