Isabella Lucy Bird,
The Englishwoman in America
(1856)
“ A hundred varieties of trees and shrubs grow out of the grey lichen-covered rocks—it seems barbarous that the paddles of a steamer should disturb their delicate shadows. If I found this lake so beautiful on a day in the middle of October, when the bright autumn tints had changed into a russet brown, and when a chill north-east wind was blowing about the withered leaves, and the snow against the ship—and when, more than all, I was only just recovering from ague—what would it be on a bright summer-day, when the blue of heaven would be reflected in the clear waters of the St. Lawrence! ”
