142 PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 



a dreamy softness, a fulness and finish, if I may so 

 express it, that is very near perfection. This is the 

 pause before the equinoctial gales come to rend the 

 trees and strew the earth with a rich covering of leaves, 

 ere the Frost King has with his nipping fingers touched 

 the oak, the maple, the elm and the beech, changing 

 their green leaves to every shade of crimson, scarlet, 

 orange, yellow, and russet brown. These colors, as the 

 days steal by, light up the landscape with a passing 

 glory — a glory that has with it a sense of sadness, too, 

 for it is the beauty that heralds in decay— Nature's 

 fever glow on the cheek of the dying year. 



An English artist, accustomed to study the more sober 

 hues of the foliage in the woods and hedgerows of his 

 own country, gazed with almost despairing eyes upon 

 one of our glowing autumnal landscapes. Striking his 

 hands together, he exclaimed : " Those contrasts of color 

 are too brilliant ! Those cloudless skies, that deep blue 

 water, those gorgeous scarlets, orange and reds — how 

 can such a scene as this be rendered faithfully as a 

 truthful picture of Canadian scenery ? ' What exagger- 

 ation ! ' would be the verdict. How can I tone it all 

 down to be believed in ? Yet how surpassingly beauti- 

 ful it is !" 



But the lovely pageantry soon disappears. A day of 

 pouring rain, a sweeping wind or night of frost, and 

 the glory has departed, and we may write upon it, 

 " Ichabod," while the breeze sounds its requiem in wails 



