Monday, October 18th.--There has been a succession of days which were
cold and bright in the forenoon, and gray, sullen, and chill towards
night. The woods have now taken a soberer tint than they wore at my last
date. Many of the shrubs which looked brightest a little while ago are
now wholly bare of leaves. The oaks have generally a russet-brown shade,
although some of them are still green, as are likewise other scattered
trees in the forests. The bright yellow and the rich scarlet are no more
to be seen. Scarcely any of them will now bear a close examination; for
this shows them to be rugged, wilted, and of faded, frost-bitten hue; but
at a distance, and in the mass, and enlivened by the sun, they have still
somewhat of the varied splendor which distinguished them a week ago. It
is wonderful what a difference the sunshine makes; it is like varnish,
bringing out the hidden veins in a piece of rich wood. In the cold, gray
atmosphere, such as that of most of our afternoons now, the landscape
lies dark,--brown, and in a much deeper shadow than if it were clothed in
green. But, perchance, a gleam of sun falls on a certain spot of distant
shrubbery or woodland, and we see it brighten with many lines, standing
forth prominently from the dimness around it. The sunlight gradually
spreads, and the whole sombre scene is changed to a motley picture,--the
sun bringing out many shades of color, and converting its gloom to an
almost laughing cheerfulness. At such times I almost doubt whether the
foliage has lost any of its brilliancy. But the clouds intercept the sun
again, and lo! old Autumn appears, clad in his cloak of russet-brown.

Beautiful now, while the general landscape lies in shadow, looks the
summit of a distant hill (say a mile off), with the sunshine brightening
the trees that cover it. It is noticeable that the outlines of hills,
and the whole bulk of them at the distance of several miles, become
stronger, denser, and more substantial in this autumn atmosphere and in