Every day advanced the passing of the leaf, and soon our painters had to go in quest of the desirable 'spot of red.' The hills that had been crimson and scarlet with maple were changed to purplish grey. The yellow leaves were following fast. They realized one night of breaking cloud that there was a growing moon, and they looked at old star friends from the car door - the Dipper lying flat among the spruce tops, and one rare night bright Capella dimmed in a jet of Aurora. After such a night the trees could resist no longer, and they saw many a one cast off all her leaves in one desperate shower. Birch woods, that were dense yellow in the morning were open grey by night. But the wild cherry leaves still hung as though the high fifes and violins were to finish the great concert of colour. They were another of the notable little graces of the bush, daintily hung in every shade from palest yellow to deep crimson against the big blue-gold hills of the Montreal Valley.
I meant to express mountain architecture, but failed in the solidity which had first attracted me.
Only two sales were made. We didn't sell enough catalogues to make printing expenses. So it seems probable that we shall have to pay, as usual, for the privilege of giving the... public an art education.
One felt that the mountains are not completed. The builders are still at work. Stones come rolling and jumping from the upper scaffolding and often from the chasms one hears the thundering as the gods of the mountains change their minds.
Got up during the night to see the moonlight on Mt. Lefroy. Clear and fine. All detail simplified - few tones and a rare transparent effect, no strong contrast, three or four values, the lake only slightly darker than the shore.