By
F.
Marion Crawford
Illustrations hy C.
THE Harbor
lirst
impression made by Bar at the heioht of its season
upon the mind of one fresh from a more staid and crystalUzed civilization is that it is passing through a period of transition, in which there is some of the awkwardness which we associate with rapid growth, and something also of the youthful freshness which gives The that very awkwardness a charm. perMount suggests, Desert name of haps, a grim and forbidding cliff, frowning upon the pale waves of a melancholy ocean. Instead, the traveller who crosses the bay in the level light of an August afternoon looks upon the soft, rolling outline of wooded hills, on the
S.
Reinhart
highest of which a little hotel breaks the sky-line, upon a shore along which villas and cottages stretch on either side of a toy wooden village, which looks as though it were to be put away in a box at night, and upon the surrounding sea, an almost land-locked inlet, in which other islands, like satellites of Mount Desert, are scattered here and As the little steamer draws up there. to her moorings the groups of i)e()2)le -waiting on the j^ier stand out distinctly, and the usual types detach themselves one by one. The clusters of hotel-runners and express-men are lounging listlessly until they shall be roused to clamorous activity by the lauding of
