82 FOOTING IT IN FRANCONIA 



the reds I was quite unprepared. They 

 have never been written about, so far as I 

 know, doubtless because they have never been 

 seen. The scribbling tourist is never here 

 till long after they are gone. In fact, I 

 stayed late enough, on my present visit, to 

 see the end of them. I knew, of course, 

 that young maple leaves, like old ones, are 

 of a ruddy complexion ; l but somehow I 

 had never considered that the massing of 

 the trees on hillsides would work the same 

 gorgeous, spectacular effect in spring as in 

 autumn, broad patches of splendor hung 

 aloft, a natural tapestry, for the eye to feast 

 upon. Not that May is as gaudy as Sep- 

 tember. There are no brilliant yellows, and 

 the reds are many shades less fiery than au- 

 tumn furnishes ; but what is lacking in in- 

 tensity is more than made up in delicacy, as 

 the bloom of youth is fairer than any hectic 

 flush. The glory passed, as I have said. 

 Before the 1st of June it had deepened, and 

 then disappeared ; but the sight of it was of 

 itself enough to reward my journey. 



1 But the brightness of red-maple groves at this season 

 is mostly not in the leaves, but in the fruit. 



