TONGUES IN TREES. 



BY DR. WILLIAM VVHITAIAN BAILEY. 



I LOVE on summer afternoons, to live in the shade of 

 forest trees. I leave the dirty city far behind me, and 

 seek some leafy nook, where, lulled by the tinkle of distant 

 cow-bells, I can repose, half dreaming, on the velvet inoss. 

 Through the foliage, just rustled by the sweet south AX'ind, 

 I catch glimpses of the beautiful river as it flows onward 

 to the ocean, here and there dotted by the white sail of 

 some ship that goes out with the trusting faith of youth 

 into unknown storms, or still more dangerous calms. 

 Now and then a great full-laden bee blunders against my 

 face and with a buzz of apology flies off wath his golden 

 pollen treasure; then, a gaudy butterfly, banded with 

 black and yellow drops upon me like the petal of some 

 tropic flower. 



Afar off from the shrubbery comes the music of the 

 thrush, as in peasant garb of brown he woos his gentle 

 mate. Above is the deep blue of the sky, flecked by billowy 

 clouds — be3^ond which fancy soars to the infinite. Even 

 ants, who laboriously^ pursue their various vocations and 

 cross our human obstacle of the body as indifferently as 

 they would a log, seem in perfect keeping with the place 

 and hour. I like to contrast my present laziness with their 

 unceasing energy, and really feel a pity for these mites 

 who take no rest. 



Sweetly the pine trees sing to us of the ocean. From 

 standing so long in view of the waves, they have caught 

 the song of the Atlantic. Now they murmur softly, like 

 ripples when they kiss the beach ; now we scarcely note 

 that the deeps are stirred ; and then, with swelling grand- 

 eur, arises the full sound or diapason of the roaring 

 Dreakers and dashing surf. "O, pilot, 'tis a fearful night !" 

 We hear a vessel in distress, the signal gun, and the loud 

 thunder of the tempest ; again, all is still, and the billows 

 chant their requiem over the lost. There is no more mel- 

 ancholy sound in nature than this soughing of the pines. 

 The most unimaginative person must pause and wonder, 



