I have alluded to a beneficent law of Nature, that causes her to waste
no displays of sublimity or beauty by making them either lasting or
common. Before the light of morn is sufficient to make any objects
distinctly visible, it displays a beauty of its own, beginning with a
faint violet, and melting through a succession of hues into the splendor
of meridian day. It remains through the day mere white transparent
light, disclosing the infinite forms and colors of the landscape, being
itself only the cause that renders everything visible. When at the
decline of day it fades, just in the same ratio as substantial objects
grow dim and undiscernible, this unsubstantial light once more becomes
beautiful, painting itself in soft, tender, and glowing tints upon the
clouds and the atmosphere. Similar phenomena attend both the opening and
the decline of the year. Morning is the spring, with its pale and
delicate tints that gradually change into the universal green that marks
the landscape in summer, when the characterless brilliancy of noonday is
represented on the face of the land. Autumn is emblemized by the
departing tints of sunset; and thus the day and the year equally display
the beneficence of Nature in the gradual approach and decline of the
beauty and the splendor that distinguish them.
The flowering of the forest is the conclusion of the beautiful phenomena
of spring, and summer cannot be said to begin until we witness the full
expansion of its foliage. In the early part of the season each tree
displays modifications of verdure peculiar, not only to the species, but
to the individual and the situation, and hardly two trees in the wood
are shaded alike. As the foliage ripens, the different shades of green
become more thoroughly blended into one universal hue; and this
uniformity, when perfected, distinguishes the true summer phase of
vegetation. As summer advances, this monotony increases until near its
close. The only trees that variegate the prospect are the evergreens, by
their darker and more imperfect verdure, and one or two rare species,
like the catalpa and ailantus, which display a lighter and more lively
green, resembling the verdure of early summer.
It may be said, however, in behalf of summer, that no other season
affords so good an opportunity to note the different effects of sun and
shade in the foliage of the woods and fields. The leaves of the trees
and grass are never so beautiful in their summer dress as they appear
during the hour preceding sunset, when we view them with the sun shining
obliquely toward us. All foliage is more or less transparent, and the
rays of the sun, made slightly golden by the refraction of the
atmosphere, communicate a brilliant yellow tinge to the leaves, as they
shine through them. The same effects are not produced by reflection; for
if we look away from the sun, the foliage and grass present a much less
attractive appearance. A few hours after noonday, before the sunlight is
yellowed by refraction, we may study these phenomena more minutely. When
we look in the direction of the light, as I have just remarked, we see
the least variety of light and shade; for as every leaf is an imperfect
mirror, the surface of the forest presents a glitter that throws a
glazed and whitish appearance over the green of the foliage. The whole
is a mere glare, so that the landscape is almost without expression when
viewed in this manner, and all the tiresome uniformity of summer verdure
is aggravated. The only relief for the eye comes from the shadows of
isolated trees and small forest groups as they are cast upon the ground.
Now let us turn our eyes in an opposite direction. To obtain the best
view, we should look obliquely toward the sun. Then do we behold a
magnificent blending of light and shade; for every mass of foliage has a
dark shadow beneath it, forming a more appreciable contrast on account
of the intense brilliancy, without glitter, caused by the illumination
of every leaf by the sunlight shining through it. Under these
circumstances we can once more distinguish species, to some extent, by
their colors. We shall soon discover that trees which have a thin
corrugated leaf, without gloss, make the most brilliant spectacle when
viewed in this manner. Nothing can surpass the foliage of the elm, the
lime, the maple, and the birch in this peculiar splendor. But trees like
the poplar, the tulip-tree, the oak, and the willow, having a leaf of a
firmer texture and less diaphanous, look comparatively dull under the
same circumstances.
I would repeat that the true summer phase of wood-scenery is that which
succeeds the flowering of the forest, when all the different greens have
faded into one dark shade of verdure. There is no longer that marked and
beautiful variety which is displayed before the maturity of the leaves.
Summer is not, therefore, the painter’s season. It is dull and tame
compared even with winter, when regarded as a subject for the brush or
the pencil, and especially when compared with spring and autumn. Summer
is the time for the observations of the botanist, not for those of the
picturesque rambler; for beneath this sylvan mass of monotonous verdure
the sods are covered with an endless variety of herbs and flowers,
surpassing in beauty those of any other season.
[Illustration: CATKIN OF OAK.]
[Illustration: OAK LEAVES.]