128 Walks in New England 



poses in her splendid wealth. There is now a 

 complete sense of comfort and joy in power, and 

 nourishment of beauty, and liberal welcome, such 

 as no other season equals. The meadows or the 

 hills whose daisied grasses or tall grains roll their 

 waves of light and shade before the hurrying 

 winds ; the deep, cool shaded woods where the 

 ferns spread their profuse fronds ; the prodigal 

 roses and the linden-bloom loved of bees, even 

 the mere city s shaded streets and shaven lawns, 

 utter the same thought of endless resource and 

 liberal bestowal. 



The advance of a perfect July day is like noth 

 ing else so nearly as a musical work by a fine ar 

 tist, a Mendelssohn concerto, or a Mozart 

 sonata, for instance. There begins to steal upon 

 the lesser stars a dimness, yet it is still the starry 

 night that fills the vault immense ; then a pearly 

 gray grows at the edge of the east, and the robins, 

 earliest of birds, begin to call in sharp, quick notes; 

 the gray grows whiter, and delicate sea-shell tints 

 in imperceptible gradations rise in the sky ; a faint 

 streak of cloud absorbs them, and then suddenly 

 lights into flame ; the birds are all awake now, and 

 full of twittering talk, with little music in the trees, 

 though the wood-birds have yet their songs to 

 sing ; the sun is near ; his ruddy disk cuts the 

 bright horizon line, and in an instant springs ra- 



