100 WINTER SUNSHINE 



way or a little that, just as the breeze happens to 

 freshen a little in one quarter or the other. The 

 fall of '74 was the most remarkahle in this respect 

 I remember ever to have seen. The equilibrium of 

 the season lasted from the middle of October till 

 near December, with scarcely a break. There were 

 six weeks of Indian summer, all gold by day, and, 

 when the moon came, all silver by night. The 

 river was so smooth at times as to be almost invisi 

 ble, and in its place was the indefinite continuation 

 of the opposite shore down toward the nether world. 

 One seemed to be in an enchanted land, and to 

 breathe all day the atmosphere of fable and romance. 

 Not a smoke, but a kind of shining nimbus filled all 

 the spaces. The vessels would drift by as if in mid 

 air with all their sails set. The gypsy blood in 

 one, as Lowell calls it, could hardly stay between 

 four walls and see such days go by. ' Living in 

 tents, in groves and on the hills, seemed the only 

 natural life. 



Late in December we had glimpses of the same 

 weather, the earth had not yet passed all the 

 golden isles. On the 27th of that month, I find I 

 made this entry in my note-book: "A soft, hazy 

 day, the year asleep and dreaming of the Indian 

 summer again. Not a breath of air and not a rip 

 ple on the river. The sunshine is hot as it falls 

 across my table." 



But what a terrible winter followed ! what a sav 

 age chief the fair Indian maiden gave birth to! 



This halcyon period of our autumn will always in 



