MOOSE-CALLING. Ill 



and the bushes which skirted a little lake in front of us, 

 over which hung a stationary line of mist, were painted 

 with every hue, warmed and gilded at their summits by 

 the slanting sun-rays. There was the delicate rose-colour 

 varying to blood-red and deep scarlet, of the smaller 

 maples, which are always brightest in swampy low situa- 

 tions, and the bright golden of the birches, poplars, and 

 beeches. Sometimes a maple was wholly painted with 

 the darkest claret, whilst in another a branch or two 

 were vermilion, and the rest of the foliage of vernal 

 greenness. 



The rank patches of rhodora were tinged with a light 

 pinkish tint, a pretty contrast to the rich shining green 

 leaves of the myrica growing with the former shrub in 

 damp spots. The flora of the fall, comprising asters, 

 golden rods and wild-everlastings were all out, encircling 

 the pearly grey rocks which strewed the barren, and 

 every bush was wreathed with lines and webs of little 

 spiders, marked by the myriads of minute dew-drops 

 with which they were strung. Gradually warmed by 

 the rays of the sun when, overcoming the surrounding 

 barrier of the forest, they poured over the whole face of 

 the scene, the little barren sparkled like fairy-land, the 

 morning resolving itself into one of those glorious days 

 for which the fall of the year is noted ; days when the 

 light seems to bring out colours on objects which you 

 would never see at other times; when all nature seems 

 brightened up by the peculiar state of the atmosphere ; 

 when the trees seem more beautiful, rocks more shapely, 

 and water more pellucid; when the sky has a greater 

 softness and depth than commonly, and one's own 

 feelings are in unison with all around. 



