If these men had millions, could they get any more enjoyment out of life?  To have fine clothes, drink champagne, and pose in a fashionable bar-room in the height of the season—­is not this the apotheosis of the “heeler” and the ward “worker”?  The scene had a fascination for the artist, who declared that he never tired watching the evolutions of the foreign element into the full bloom of American citizenship.

XII

LAKE GEORGE, AND SARATOGA AGAIN

The intimacy between Mrs. Bartlett Glow and Irene increased as the days went by.  The woman of society was always devising plans for Irene’s entertainment, and winning her confidence by a thousand evidences of interest and affection.  Pleased as King was with this at first, he began to be annoyed at a devotion to which he could have no objection except that it often came between him and the enjoyment of the girl’s society alone; and latterly he had noticed that her manner was more grave when they were together, and that a little something of reserve mingled with her tenderness.

They made an excursion one day to Lake George—­a poetical pilgrimage that recalled to some of the party (which included some New Orleans friends) the romance of early days.  To the Bensons and the artist it was all new, and to King it was seen for the first time in the transforming atmosphere of love.  To men of sentiment its beauties will never be exhausted; but to the elderly and perhaps rheumatic tourist the draughty steamboats do not always bring back the remembered delight of youth.  There is no pleasanter place in the North for a summer residence, but there is a certain element of monotony and weariness inseparable from an excursion:  travelers have been known to yawn even on the Rhine.  It was a gray day, the country began to show the approach of autumn, and the view from the landing at Caldwell’s, the head of the lake, was never more pleasing.  In the marshes the cat-tails and the faint flush of color on the alders and soft maples gave a character to the low shore, and the gentle rise of the hills from the water’s edge combined to make a sweet and peaceful landscape.

The tourists find the steamer waiting for them at the end of the rail, and if they are indifferent to the war romances of the place, as most of them are, they hurry on without a glance at the sites of the famous old forts St. George and William Henry.  Yet the head of the lake might well detain them a few hours though they do not care for the scalping Indians and their sometime allies the French or the English.  On the east side the lake is wooded to the shore, and the jutting points and charming bays make a pleasant outline to the eye.  Crosbyside is the ideal of a summer retreat, nestled in foliage on a pretty point, with its great trees on a sloping lawn, boathouses and innumerable row and sail boats, and a lovely view, over the blue waters, of a fine