AUTUMN 49 



upper Franconia meadows. This is the 

 noblest prospect of the afternoon, and late 

 as the hour is growing I must lean against 

 the fence rail — for there is a house at this 

 point also — and gaze upon it. The green 

 meadow is spread at my feet, flaming maple 

 woods range themselves beyond it, and be- 

 hind them, close at hand, loom the sombre 

 mountains. I had forgotten that this part 

 of the road was so "viewly," to borrow a 

 local word, and am thankful to have reached 

 it at so favorable a moment. Now the 

 shadow of the low hills at my back over- 

 spreads the valley, while the upper world 

 beyond is aglow with light and color. 



It is five o'clock, and I must be getting 

 homeward. Down at the valley level the 

 evening chill strikes me, after the excep- 

 tional warmth of the day, and by the time 

 Tucker Brook is crossed the bare summit of 

 Lafayette is of a deep rosy purple, — the 

 rest of the world sunless. The day is over, 

 and the remaining miles are taken somewhat 

 hurriedly, although I stop below the Profile 

 House farm to look for a fresh bunch of 

 dumb foxglove, — not easy to find in the 



