. The White hills; their legends, landscape, and poetry. edge bevisible, burnished to an amber blaze by the setting sun, and drivenas one crystal into the chilly sky. And the Stratford peaks do notlook so high and solemn m August, Avhen the sun fevers their sheerprecipices, as at such a time in their priestly drapery. On all thebald ridges and crests the silver splendor was reheved against theblue. This makes the richest charm of the Alps ; and one could thendrive among the White Hills as through a mimic Switzerland. Yes,and the colors must have been essentially the same. For the artist 378 TH
. The White hills; their legends, landscape, and poetry. edge bevisible, burnished to an amber blaze by the setting sun, and drivenas one crystal into the chilly sky. And the Stratford peaks do notlook so high and solemn m August, Avhen the sun fevers their sheerprecipices, as at such a time in their priestly drapery. On all thebald ridges and crests the silver splendor was reheved against theblue. This makes the richest charm of the Alps ; and one could thendrive among the White Hills as through a mimic Switzerland. Yes,and the colors must have been essentially the same. For the artist 378 THE WHITE HILLS. that would paint the magnificence we saw on the Pilot Hills and theWhite Mountain range at sunset and sunrise from Lancaster, mustdip his brush into as exquisite ambers, plum tints, gold, and purple,as he would need to interpret the baptism of the evening upon MontBlanc, or the morning glow upon the Jungfrau. During the same visit we enjoyed a ride among the famiUar hillaof the Androscoggin Valley, and can recall the contrast to the gen-. eral wildness given by a drive from Gorham to the Glen. The highwalls which guard that road from the northwesters had saved thesnow from drifts. It lay for six miles perfectly even, to the depthof some six inches, without blemish ; and unbroken, except by alarge sled-load of hay that had been driven over it, and Avhich, over-hanging the runners, had left delicately pencilled lines all along theuntrodden margins of the path. The green on Carter and Moriah,\t the left, was turned into rusty bronze, and the snow which shone THE CONNfXTICUT VALLEY. 879 through the stripped trees around the roots of the forests madetheir sombre sides look as though thej had been powdered with crys-tal dust. Every blackened stump along the roadside seemed anEthiopian head crowned with a graceful and stainless turban. Eachrock in the river-bed showed a fantastic nightcap. The springs were stagnant with wrinkling frost. And at every turn, old Washing-to
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1800, bookdecade1870, booksubjectwhitemo, bookyear1876
