IN THE HEMLOCKS. 59 



It is never without surprise that I find amid these 

 rugged, savage aspects of Nature creatures so fairy 

 and delicate. But such is tlie law. Go to the sea 

 or climb the mountain, and with the ruggedest and 

 the savagest you will find likewise the fairest and the 

 aaost delicate. The greatness and the minuteness of 

 Nature pass all understanding. 



Ever since I entered the woods, even while listen- 

 ing to the lesser songsters, or contemplating the silent 

 forms about me, a strain has reached my ears from 

 out the depths of the forest that to me is the finest 

 sound in nature, — the song of the hermit-thrush. I 

 often hear him thus a long way off, sometimes over a 

 quarter of a mile away, when only the stronger and 

 more perfect parts of his music reach me ; and 

 through the general chorus of wrens and warblers 

 I detect this sound rising pure and serene, as if a 

 spirit from some remote height were slowly chanting 

 a divine accompaniment. This song appeals to the 

 sentiment of the beautiful in me, and suggests a se- 

 rene religious beatitude as no other sound in nature 

 does. It is perhaps more of an evening than a morn 

 ing hymn, though I hear it at all hours of the day 

 It is very simple, and I can hardly tell the secret of 

 its charm. " O spheral, spheral ! " he seems to say ; 

 " O holy, holy ! O clear away, clear away ! O clear 

 ap, clear up ! " interspersed with the finest trills and 

 .he most delicate preludes. It is not a proud, gor- 

 geous stram, like the tanager's or tne grossbeak's 

 luggests no passion or emotion, — nothing personal 



