THE VINTAGE OF THE LEAVES . 175 
one to notice them or care for them. Were 
they to blame for the feeling of sadness which 
crept over me as the sun went down and the 
first chill of night came into the air? Or was 
it the absence of those who might, had they 
been by the lake, have enjoyed the placid twi¬ 
light with me? No lights gleamed behind the 
closed blinds of my home, no fire crackled upon 
the hearth. Those whom I loved were far away 
in the city. Leaves were falling in the city, 
birds had fled from it as well as from the moun¬ 
tains. Chilly night had fallen there too, and 
with it came, not the sweetness of clear streams 
and pine groves, but the foul breath of the 
Charles and of Alewife Brook, open sewers of 
filthy towns. No, it was not the sadness of the 
season or the influence of drifting leaves which 
cast a little shadow over my enjoyment of the 
exquisite scene before me. It was regret at 
being alone in its presence and of having to 
leave it so soon in favor of desk and drudgery. 
At ten minutes past five, planets sparkled in 
the silvery sky, yet a mile away the colors of 
oaks and poplars still burned their way to me 
through the clear air. As I walked back to the 
hotel, I noticed more clearly the number of 
trees which had lost their leaves. By daylight 
they were inconspicuous, flanked and backed as ^ 
they had been by evergreens and trees full of 
