Morning is not the hour for contemplation; but when evening comes,
as the sun sinks towards the west, and lengthening shadows make it
seem as if all nature were stretching herself in repose, then do
we love to rest and contemplate the rich loveliness of the earth
and the infinite tenderness of the heavens. Every harsh line,
every glare of light, every crude tone has disappeared. We stroke
nature and she purrs. We sink at our ease in a bed of moss and
nature nestles at our side; we linger beside the silvery brook and
it sings to us; we listen attentively to the murmuring trees and
they whisper to us; we gaze upon the frowning hills and they smile
upon us. And by and by as the shadows deepen all outlines are
lost, and we see vaguely the great masses of tone and color;
nature becomes heroic; the petty is dissolved; the insignificant
is lost; hills and trees and streams are blended in one mighty
composition, in the presence of which all but the impalpable soul
of man is as nothing.

We left Schenectady at nine o'clock, taking the Troy road as far
as Latham's Corners, then to the right into Albany.

We reached the city at half-past ten. Albany is not a convenient
place for automobiles. There are no special stations for the
storing of machines, and the stables are most inaccessible on
account of the hills and steep approaches.




CHAPTER ELEVEN THE VALLEY OF LEBANON
THE SICK TURKEY