t even here, so far
from shipyards and the sea, a steamboat was awaiting us. Imagine the
labor of conveying such a vessel sixty-five miles, from the
railroad to this lake, up an ascent of more than three thousand feet.
Of course, it was brought in several sections; but even then, in one
or two mountain gorges, the cliffs had to be blasted away to make
room for it to pass. It is needless to add that this steamer has no
rivals. It was with the greatest interest that I sailed at such a
height on this adventurous craft; and the next time that I stand upon
the summit of Mount Washington, and see the fleecy clouds float in
the empyrean, one-third of a mile above me, I shall remember that the
steamer on Lake Yellowstone sails at precisely the same altitude as
that enjoyed by those sun-tinted galleons of the sky.

[Illustration: RUSTIC FALLS, YELLOWSTONE PARK.]

[Illustration: THE SOLITARY STEAMBOAT.]

[Illustration: ON LAKE YELLOWSTONE.]

To appreciate the beauty of Lake Yellowstone, one should behold it
when its waves are radiant with the sunset glow. It is, however, not
only beautiful; it is mysterious. Around it, in the distance, rise
silver crested peaks whose melting snow descends to it in ice-cold
streams. Still nearer, we behold a girdle of gigantic forests,
rarely, if ever, trodden by the foot of man. Oh, the loneliness of
this great lake! For eight long months scarcely a human eye beholds
it. The wintry storms that sweep its surface find no boats on which
to vent their fury. Lake Yellowstone has never mirrored in itself
even the frail canoes of painted savages. The only keels that ever
furrow it are those of its solitary steamer and some little
fishing-boats engaged by tourists. Even these lead a very brief
existence. Like summer insects, they float here a few weeks, and
disappear, leaving the winds and waves to do their will.

[Illustration: THE SLEEPING GIANT.]

In sailing on this lake, I observed a distant mountain whose summit
bore a strange resemblance to an upturned human face, sculptured in
bold relief against the sky. It is appropriately called the Sleeping
Giant; for it has slept on, undisturbed, while countless centuries
have dropped into the gulf of Time, like leaves in the adjoining
forest. How many nights have cast their shadows like a veil upon that
giant's silhouette! How many dawns have flooded it with light, and
found those changeless features still confronting them! We call it
human in appear