THE VINTAGE OF THE LEAVES . 169 
tions the blue of the sky. Marvelous colors 
were spread upon the face of the meadows, and 
crept up the sides of the hills. The world was 
in gay attire, gayer even than the towns this 
day decked out in honor of the Genoese. 
Gazing out of the train window, I have seen 
the Sandwich range from afar over the melting 
greens of spring, the rich verdure of summer, 
and the cold, still snow of winter. To-day I 
saw it framed in russet and carmine, — the col¬ 
ors of the oak-clad hills of Wakefield. The 
peak of Chocorua was capped by a dark slate- 
colored cloud from which rain seemed to be fall¬ 
ing. Behind or above the other mountains of 
the range the same threatening vapors hung. 
As the train sped onward, past Ossipee Lake, 
over the Bearcamp, and up to the West Ossipee 
station, the clouds rolled away and a flood of 
clear sunlight poured its revealing rays into the 
hidden colors of the distant forests. From cold, 
dark masses in which black rocks were no darker 
than gloomy groves, the mountains’ sides sud¬ 
denly became aglow with warm tones. The 
far-reaching view suggested a painter’s palette, 
upon which he had been daubing his colors from 
the tubes. Here he laid on a mass of dark 
green, there crimson, and next to it pale yellow. 
Then buff and orange, scarlet and blood - red 
pleased him, and he rubbed them upon spare 
