Soon the west was
overrun with a golden flush that began to reveal a pink as
delicate as peach bloom and the vapors began to glow with
ineffable splendor.
As we watched the fantastic cloud-wreathed summits whose colors
were altogether indescribable, we noted the intensity of
coloring and rapid kaleidoscopic changes they underwent.
Suddenly a veil of mist would shut out the view for a time, then
grow luminous in the evening light, then fade; revealing new and
more glorious combinations of color until the clear outlines of
the mountains were etched against the sky. Again we asked
ourselves the perplexing question, which mountain scene is
loveliest? Before us rose visions of the airy forms of the Alps,
the beautiful and majestic wall of the Pyranees, the dark,
forbidding masses of the Eifel, and then the various ranges of
the Appalachians.
The answer was that all are beautiful, each possessing its own
peculiar charm. All are ours to enjoy as long as we behold their
outlines; yes, longer, for no one can erase them from our
memory. Each is loveliest for the place it occupies. The
Catskills could not well change places with the White mountains
or the Berkshire hills with the Blue ridge, for the Creator has
fashioned woodland, valley, and river to harmonize.
