A YEAR IN THE FIELDS 



influences that emanate upon us from the 

 dumb forms of nature. All the senses re- 

 port a difference. The sun seems to have 

 burned out. One recalls the notion of 

 Herodotus that he is grown feeble, and re- 

 treats to the south because he can no longer 

 face the cold and the storms from the north. 

 There is a growing potency about his beams 

 in spring, a waning splendor about them in 

 fall. One is the kindling fire, the other the 

 subsiding flame. 



It is rarely that an artist succeeds in 

 painting unmistakably the difference be- 

 tween sunrise and sunset ; and it is equally 

 a trial of his skill to put upon canvas the 

 difference between early spring and late 

 fall, say between April and November. It 

 was long ago observed that the shadows 

 are more opaque in the morning than in the 

 evening ; the struggle between the light 

 and the darkness more marked, the gloom 

 more solid, the contrasts more sharp, etc. 

 The rays of the morning sun chisel out and 

 cut down the shadows in a way those of the 

 setting sun do not. Then the sunlight is 

 whiter and newer in the morning, — not so 

 yellow and diffused. A difference akin to 

 this is true of the two seasons I am speak 



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