they have
still somewhat of the varied splendor which distinguished them a week
ago. It is wonderful what a difference the sunshine makes; it is like
varnish, bringing out the hidden veins in a piece of rich wood. In the
cold, gray atmosphere, such as that of most of our afternoons now, the
landscape lies dark,--brown, and in a much deeper shadow than if it were
clothed in green. But, perchance, a gleam of sun falls on a certain spot
of distant shrubbery or woodland, and we see it brighten with many hues,
standing forth prominently from the dimness around it. The sunlight
gradually spreads, and the whole sombre scene is changed to a motley
picture,--the sun bringing out many shades of color, and converting its
gloom to an almost laughing cheerfulness. At such times I almost doubt
whether the foliage has lost any of its brilliancy. But the clouds
intercept the sun again, and lo! old Autumn appears, clad in his cloak
of russet-brown.

Beautiful now, while the general landscape lies in shadow, looks the
summit of a distant hill (say a mile off), with the sunshine brightening
the trees that cover it. It is noticeable that the outlines of hills,
and the whole bulk of them at the distance of several miles, become
stronger, denser, and more substantial in this autumn atmosphere and in
these autumnal tints than in summer. Then they looked blue, misty, and
dim. Now they show their great humpbacks more plainly, as if they had
drawn nearer to us.

A waste of shrubbery and small trees, such as overruns the borders of
the meadows for miles together, looks much more rugged, wild, and savage
in its present brown color than when clad in green.

I passed through a very pleasant wood-path yesterday, quite shut in and
sheltered by trees that had not thrown off their yellow robes. The sun
shone strongly in among them, and quite kindled them; so that the path
was brighter for their shade than if it had been quite exposed to the
sun.

In the village graveyard, which lies contiguous to the street, I saw a
man digging a grave, and one inhabitant after another turned aside from
his way to look into the grave and talk with the digger. I heard him
laugh, with the hereditary mirthfulness of men of that occupation.

In the hollow of the woods, yesterday afternoon, I lay a long while
watching a squirrel, who was capering about among the trees over my head
(oaks and white-pines, so close together that their branches
intermingled). The squirrel