The autumn of that year was now approaching its close.  There is in North America, at that period of the year, what is called the "Indian summer."  The air is balmy, but fresh, and mere existence to those in health is delightful; a light gauze-like mist pervades the atmosphere, preventing the rays of the sun, beaming forth from an unclouded sky, from proving over-oppressive.  Already the forest has assumed its particoloured tints.  The maple has put on a dress of every hue,--of yellow, red, pink, and green.  The leaves of the beeches become of a golden tinge, and those of the oak appear as if turned into bronze, while numerous creepers present the richest reds.