1 88 IValks in New England 



thickets, now and then giving the charm of their 

 fruitage to some forest tree which they have caught 

 upon and climbed, and compensate for their too 

 close embrace by that unwonted beauty. 



Now, as the hues deepen on the mountains and 

 in the valleys, the concentrated warmth and sweet 

 ness that sunshine and rain have stored in the 

 leaves of the trees and the fronds of the ferns, the 

 grapes, the nuts and the autumn flowers, crowds 

 the air with delicious scents, and adds to the au 

 tumn the grace of evanescent perfume which befits 

 the closing hours of the pageant of Nature. It is 

 so wholly different in character and effect from the 

 seasons of multitudinous bloom, when the fra 

 grance of honeyed flowers intoxicates the most 

 luxurious of the senses. 



In the autumn forest aisles or among its lanes 

 and generous fields, there is a sober tenderness of 

 feeling which largely proceeds from these subtle 

 dying odours of the leaves which have fulfilled their 

 office and now are sinking to earth to rebegin their 

 service of use and beauty through transformation. 

 Not dead do the leaves of the trees and shrubs 

 fall to earth, but alive. Gather the red and yel 

 low, the olive and gold, the bronze and buff, the 

 salmon and gamboge of the trees from the ground 

 where they have fallen ; compare them with the 

 rich green leaf that remains upon the tree, and 



