the woods that skirt the dimpled meadows, in the thickets and copses of the fields, in the bushes which fringe the brook, in the trees which line the streets and road-sides, in those of the lawns and gardens—brilliant and vivid in the nearest groves, gradually lessening in tone upon the farther woods and successive knolls, until, in the distant back-ground, the hills are colored by a mingled confusion of tints, which defy the eye to seize them.
Among this brilliant display, there are usually some few trees which fade, and wither, and dry into a homely brown, without appearing to feel the general influence; the sycamores, the locusts, for instance, and often the elms also, have little beauty to attract the eye, seldom aiming at more than a tolerable yellow, though at times they may be brighter.
Imported trees, transplanted originally from the Old World, preserve, as a rule, the more sober habits of their ancestral woods; the Lombardy poplar and the weeping willow are only pale yellow; the apple and pear trees, and some of the garden shrubs, lilacs, and syringas, and snow-balls, generally wither, without brilliancy, though once in a while they have a fancy for something rather gayer than pale yellow or russet, and are just touched with red or purple.
Other trees, again, from some accident of position or other cause, will remain a clear green, weeks after their companions of the same species are in full color.
But amid the general gayety, the few exceptions are scarcely observed, unless they are pointed out, and the beautiful effect of the great picture remains unbroken.
One observes also, that the spirit of the scene is carried out in many lesser details, for which we are scarcely prepared. Walking
