In the Lake Country 117 
links, the elms—some domes, some slender 
vases; everywhere the same hospitality in 
Nature, the pumpkins glistening in the au- 
tumn sunshine, the red apples under the 
trees, and here and there upon the shores, the 
grape—and it is the vine above all cultivated 
things that is instinct with poetic suggestion. 
The trellised vineyards on the slopes of 
Canandaigua, the blue water of the lake— 
what a picture is there in which to steep the 
fancy and to yield that intoxication of which 
the grape itself can offer only a counterfeit. 
For the tendril, the cluster, and the classic 
leaf, the flaming maples and the mellow 
golden elms, the tender blue stretching away 
to the purple hills, together do work enchant- 
ment and cast a spell over the mind of man; 
and not the wine when it is red can thus 
elate as does that nectar which the senses 
sip from the purple and amber clusters upon 
the hills. 
Alas for the pueblo man, who languishes 
day by day as the fields grow bare and silent, 
subsiding at last under the drifting leaves for 
his winter sleep, not to reappear until an- 
other year when the pear and the peach are 
in flower. It is not he who hears the parting 
warble of the bluebirds and that brief autumn 
