When the golden-rods in field and border have perceptibly faded, and we
are growing weary of the monotony of summer landscape, autumn, the great
limner of the forest, spreads over the earth new and enchanting
pictures. Dim lights spring up daily among the shadows of the trees, and
grove, copse, and thicket suffer a gradual metamorphosis. The woods are
illuminated by such an array of colors that their late dark recesses
appear to have the brightness of sunshine. Where a few days since there
was but a shady obscurity of faded green, there gleams a luminous beauty
from myriads of tinted leaves. As the twilight of the year comes on, the
trees appear one after another in their new garniture, like the clouds
of evening, as sunset deepens into darkness.
There is no scene in nature more purely delightful than the autumn woods
when they have attained the fulness of their splendor. The sentiment of
melancholy which is associated with the fall of the leaf increases our
susceptibility to be affected by these parting glories of the year. So
sweetly blended are the lights and colors in this gorgeous array, that
no sense is wearied. The very imperfection of the hues gives a healthful
zest to the spectacle, causing it never to weary like the more brilliant
colors of a flower-bed. The hues of sunrise are more ethereal and
exhilarating; but there is a sober mellowness in the tints of autumn
that inspires the most healthful temper of mind. Far and near, from the
wooded hills that display a variegated spectacle of gold, scarlet, and
purple; from turrets of rocks embroidered with ferns and sumach; from
old winding roads and lanes, hedged with a countless variety of gleaming
shrubs, and rustic cottages half covered with scarlet creeper, down to
the crimson patches of whortleberry-bushes, on the plains and in the
valleys,—all is serenity and beauty.
I have often observed that the autumn woods never present that picture
of gloom which is so manifest in them on a cloudy day in summer. In one
respect the foliage itself is luminous, presenting warm colors that
reflect light, so that the interior of a wood is actually brightened by
the tinting of the leaves. I find but little pleasure in an evergreen
wood at this time, unless it is illuminated by an occasional group of
deciduous trees. Autumn is a sad time of the year,—the season of parting
with all that was delightful in summer. The darkness of the atmosphere
is even greater than in winter, when the earth is whitened by snow. We
hail these warm tints of the woods, therefore, as a beneficent offering
of nature for the refreshment of our spirits. All these things are
beautiful even in cloudy weather, but the sun greatly enlivens the
colors of the foliage, particularly when it goes down in a clear
atmosphere, and every object is garnished with its beams, and mingles
with golden reflections from hundreds of cottage windows. We watch their
evanescent lights as they fade in the valleys and linger on the
hill-tops, until twilight veils the scene in colorless shadow.
Though every one admires the beauty of autumn woods, not many are aware
how imperfect are the colors that make up this gorgeous pageant. We
speak of the scarlet and crimson of the maple, the oak, and the tupelo,
and of many shrubs that equal them in brilliancy. But there is very
little pure scarlet, crimson, or purple among these tints. If it were
otherwise they would afford us less pleasure. In that case our senses
would be intoxicated; now they are healthfully as well as agreeably
stimulated. Pure colors spread over so wide an extent of surface would
be too intense for perfect enjoyment. All the dyes of autumn foliage are
sobered by the admixture of some earthy hue, something that prevents
their rivalling the tints of heaven.
Green and yellow are often seen in their purity in the leaves of trees;
crimson and scarlet are seldom pure, except in some parts of the
brightest leaves. Even their green is not perfect, save in that stage of
their development that precedes their full expansion. After this period,
as the landscape-painter well knows, all verdure is tarnished and rusty.
Indeed, the colors of leaves will not bear comparison with those of
flowers, either in purity or variety; yet when viewed from a distance,
and illuminated by sunshine, they seem nearly pure. Red leaves of
different shades in sunshine produce at a distance the effect of crimson
or scarlet, chocolate hues that of purple, and browns that of orange.
The hues of autumn are not very conspicuous before the middle of
September, and it is worthy of notice that the brightest and purest
colors are seen at the time when three fourths of the trees still remain
unchanged. As one after another assumes its ruddy, golden and purple
hues, the earlier and more brilliant drop their leaves; and some are
entirely denuded, while others are fully covered with foliage and
verdure. Even different individuals of the same species, of maples
especially, manifest a great difference of habit in this respect, caused
in some cases by the peculiarities of their situation. Trees in swamps
and low grounds lose their leaves earlier than the occupants of a deep
soil in the uplands.
Some species are perfectly uniform in their colors. The poplar and
birch, for example, are invariably yellow; the sumach and whortleberry
are chiefly red; while the maples display as many colors as if they were
of different species. But each individual tree shows nearly the same
every year, as apple-trees bear fruit of the same tints from year to
year. Two red maples growing side by side are seldom alike, and in a
group of them you will see almost as many shades of color as trees. Some
are entirely yellow, others scarlet, some crimson, purple, or orange,
others variegated with several of these colors. There is more uniformity
in the tints of the sugar maple. I have seen long rows of this species
that were only yellow and orange, though its colors generally vary from
orange to scarlet. Purple and crimson are confined chiefly to the red
maple; I have seen in different individuals of this species all the hues
that are ever displayed in the autumn woods. The red maples, more than
all other trees combined, are the crowning glory of a New England
autumn. The sugar maple, though more brilliant, has a narrower range of
colors.
As early as the last week in August, we perceive the tinting of a few
red maples, which always exhibit the earliest change. Sometimes a
solitary branch is tinted, while the remainder of the foliage is green,
as if something affecting its vitality had prematurely colored it.
Frequently the coloring process begins at the top; the purple crown of
autumn is placed upon the green brow of summer, and we behold the two
seasons represented at once in the same tree.
The first coloration is usually seen at the veins of the leaf, extending
outwardly until the whole is tinted. Sometimes it appears in spots, like
drops of blood upon the green surface; and in this case the leaf usually
remains spotted. In the foliage of trees that assume a variety of
colors, yellows generally predominate in the interior of the mass, red
and purple on the outside. In the red maple, and less frequently in the
rock maple when in a protected situation, the leaves are often formally
variegated with figures of yellow, red, green, and purple. Those of the
poison sumach, the cornel, and the snowy mespilus, are sometimes
beautifully striated with yellow or orange upon a darker ground; but I
have searched the woods in vain to find any other than a maple-leaf
configurated like a butterfly’s wing.
In the foliage of the tupelo deep shades of purple first appear,
brightening into crimson or scarlet before it falls. This tree more
invariably shows a mass of unmixed crimson than any other species. Even
in the maple, if the general presentation is red, you will find a
considerable mixture of yellow. The colors of the scarlet oak are seldom
pure or unmixed; but those of the tupelo are invariable, except as they
pass through the gradations from purple to scarlet. If, therefore, the
tupelo were as common in the woods as the maple, it would contribute
more splendor to the scenery of autumn. There are many trees that never
produce a red leaf. I have never found one in the foliage of the poplar,
the birch, the tulip, the hickory, or the chestnut, which are all of
some shade of yellow; but there are usually a few yellow leaves
scattered among the ruddy foliage of any tree that assumes this color.
When all the circumstances attending the season have been favorable to
the tints of autumn, there is no tree of the forest that would attract
more admiration from the beautiful sobriety of its colors than the
American ash. But this tree is so easily affected by drought, that after
a dry summer its leaves fall prematurely and its tints are imperfect.
The colors of the ash are quite unique, and distinguish it from all
other trees. Under favorable circumstances its coloring process is
nearly uniform. It begins with a general impurpling of the whole mass of
foliage nearly at the same time, and its gradual changes remind me of
those observed in sea-mosses during the process of bleaching. There is
an invariable succession in these tints, as in the brightening beams of
morn. They are first of a dark bronze, turning from this to a chocolate,
then to a violet brown, and finally to a salmon-color, or yellow with a
slight shade of lilac. When the leaves are faded nearly yellow, they are
ready to drop from the tree. It is remarkable, that, with all this
variety of hues, neither crimson nor any shade of scarlet is ever seen
in the ash. It ought to be remembered that the gradations of autumn
tints in all cases are in the order of those of sunrise, from dark to
lighter hues, and never the reverse. I make no reference to the browns
of dead leaves, which are darker than yellow or orange, from which they
turn. I speak only of the changes of leaves before they are seared or
dry.
After the middle of October, the oaks are the most conspicuous ornaments
of the forest; but they are seldom brilliant. In their foliage there is
a predominance of what we call leather-colors, with a considerable
mixture of certain shades of red that are peculiar to the oak. We rarely
find pure yellow or scarlet leaves in the foliage of any species of oak.
The color of the scarlet oak is nearer a purple or crimson than any
other shade of red. The white oak turns, with but little variation, to
an ashen-purple or impure violet. The black and red oaks display varying
and imperfect shades of drab and orange. The oaks are remarkable for the
persistence of their foliage, and for the duration of their tints, which
are chiefly the brown and russet of dead leaves with a lively polish.
Long after other deciduous trees have become leafless, the various
sombre shades of the different oaks cast a melancholy tinge over the
waning beauty of the forest.
We are wont to speak of trees as the principal objects of admiration in
autumnal scenery, but the shrubs, though less conspicuous on account of
their inferior size, are not less brilliant. It is also remarkable that
reds predominate in the shrubbery, and yellows in the trees. Reds and
purples distinguish the whortleberry, the cornel, the viburnum, and the
sumach, including all their species. There is indeed so small a
proportion of yellow in the shrubbery, that it is hardly distinguishable
in the general mass of scarlet, crimson, and purple. Among trees, on the
contrary, yellows prevail in all miscellaneous woods. They distinguish
the poplar, the birch, the hickory, the tulip-tree, the elm, and a good
proportion of the maples. It ought to be remarked, however, that there
are more shrubs than trees that do not change materially, but remain
green until the fall of their leaves. The alder remains green; and as it
covers a large proportion of our wet grounds, it might seem to an
observer in those situations that the tints of autumn were confined to
the trees.
Many persons still believe frost to be the great limner of the foliage,
as if it were a sort of dyeing material. On the contrary, the slightest
frost will destroy the tints of every leaf that is touched by it. It is
not uncommon to witness a general tarnishing of the autumnal tints by
frost as early as September. In some years they are spoiled by it before
they have begun to be developed. An autumn rarely passes when the colors
of the foliage are not half ruined before the time when they ought to be
in their brightest condition. But the injury they receive from slight
frosts is not apparent to careless observation. In the meridian of their
beauty, heat will damage the tints as badly as frost. A very hot and
sunny day occurring the first or second week of October makes almost as
much havoc with the ash and the maple as a freezing night, fading their
leaves rapidly and loosening their attachment to the branches, so that
the slightest wind will scatter them to the ground. Yet the action of
heat differs materially from that of frost. Frost imbrowns and crisps or
sears the leaves, while heat only fades them to lighter and more
indefinite shades. Frost is destructive of their colors, heat is only a
bleaching agent. Cool weather in autumn without frost is necessary for
the preservation of its seasonal beauty.
The most brilliant autumnal hues appear after a wet summer, followed by
a cool autumn, unattended with frost. Cool weather preserves not only
the purity of the colors, but also the persistence of the foliage. If
the early frosts are delayed, the tints are brighter for this delay
while the weather remains cool. But a wet summer is so generally
followed by premature cold, that the finest displays of autumn scenery
are often suddenly ruined by a hard frost. Seldom are all the favorable
circumstances for preserving the purity of the tints combined in any one
season. Not more than once in six or eight years are both heat and frost
kept away so as to permit the leaves to pass, unseared and untarnished,
through all their beautiful gradations of color.
There are several herbaceous plants that display tints similar to those
of the woods; but they are not very conspicuous. I must not fail to
mention the samphire, a plant of the salt marshes, possessing no beauty
of form, having neither leaves nor any very discernible flowers, which
every year contributes more beauty of color to the grounds it occupies
than any flower of summer. Though I have seen no printed account of its
magnificent crimson spread interruptedly over miles of salt marsh, my
attention has often been called to it by ladies, who are more sensitive
than the other sex to such appearances, and more careful observers of
them.
The tints of the forest in America are said greatly to surpass those of
the European woods. Having never visited Europe, I cannot speak of the
comparison from my own observation. But from descriptions of them by
different authors who have treated the subject, I have been led to
believe that the difference is caused by a larger admixture of scarlet
and crimson among the tints of our own trees. To aid the reader in
drawing a comparison between them, I have made a synopsis of the tints
of American woods during September and October; and have copied a
similar one, less full and particular, by George Barnard, of English
woods.