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HARDWOOD RECORD 



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In Forest Land. 



KT nu' lly I'miii llic stress ami scmllrssiicss of' the wnrlil 

 for a season! (live me one ilay not jai-recl liy suyycs- 

 tion of the sordid — the eoniniercial ! Far, far from the 

 liriek walls of the city T must. go — out where the trees 

 are siglnng and only llic woodland \'oiees Itreak the cool sih'nco. 

 Tlic worhl and its ways offend me ever. Let city streets recede 

 and their very echoes die away. 1 will find cscjipc where tall, stati'ly 

 trees speak the langnafje of Nature; 1 will wander amid the shade 

 their great tops cast, re.joicing in the tremulous arabescpies that stray 

 sunlight sheds on the ground. One long day's respite would I liave 

 there, free from the fierce strivings of the outer world. Wanting hu- 

 man sympathy and a congenial tongue, I will converse with the whis- 

 ]iering spirits of the forest; for however deceitfuU.v man may speak, 

 the woodland voice is comforting and true. Tired of insincerity and 

 pretense, I will go where the world is primitive. 



At last the symjiathetic welcome for which I have been longing, 

 greets my ear. I had hardly craved in my soul starvation, voice more 

 soothing than the pine's. It breathes the subdued and plaintive 

 strains of an a>olian harp with each passing wind. I ask no more than 

 to walk here, where the mind borrows its fancies from the trees, and 

 the heart its feelings. All about me I hear life's story. How manv 

 years was this great oak in reaching its noble height? However long- 

 ago it sprung from its parent acorn, it stands an undisputed mon- 

 arch today. Some good fortune has kept the alien axeman away from 

 this harmonious company, and Nature reigns supreme. Somewhat 

 apart in the woods, as if seeking seclusion, grows the cool, substan- 

 tial' beech. Tempted by its smooth bark, I adorn the tree with name 

 and date. The pine — that "tree of sighs," predominates, but hick- 

 ory, chestnut, holly and an occasional cedar make up the congenial 

 family whose peaceful realm I have invaded. Woods mould from 

 many generations of leaves lies thick upon the ground; the limbs of ■ 

 many trees hang low, making one bow the head in passing. My step 

 seems rudely loud upon the leafy carpet, and I tread as softly as I 

 can, lest I disturb the forest symphony. 



The Indian walked here in ages long gone by, as I do now. and 

 hardly less reverently. Child of the woods and close kinsnmn of Na- 

 ture, his race is distippciring with the trackless forests which gave it 

 shelter. 



IMy heart grows yo\inger through communion witli the spirit of the 

 woods which ever calls to the higher self within me. The sigh and 



rustle of the leaves give f«rth a complex melody through which comes 

 the occasional round note of a bird. Oh, that tlw forest might stand 

 as now forever — a great temple to which an overwrought world 

 may lly and be care-free for a season. Left .-ilone, these great jdllars 

 would endure for ages. Trees have not our human limitations, but one 

 merciless law of Nature — the survival of the fittest — prevails on every 

 hand. The ones with whose spirits I commune are but a tithe of those 

 tliat sprung up with them; the weaker passed away, as Nature rules. 

 1 walk on. The beech stands cool and airy in its light green dress, 

 tempting me to sit and muse in its shade. Here, too, is the dogwood, 

 that gladdened the eye in spring with a wealth of white bloom. The 

 gum tree's star-like leaves dance like those of the cottonwood, in every 

 passing breeze; whoever thinks the gum lacks beauty should see it iu 

 its October blush. Poplar and hickory stanil in dignity, as though 

 each fancied itself the monarch of the forest. 



Would that I might come more often, to revid free and happy in 

 the confidence and companionship of the trees. They are sighing ajid 

 whispering their old secrets above nu', as in days of long ago. No 

 wonder the heart, tired (jf the world's shams and sins, sighs for "a 

 lodge iu some vast wilderness, some boundless contiguity of shade. ' " 

 Howev.?r silent, the forest is yet eloquent. Can man do more for the 

 welfare of his tired brain ami body, than cnnie here for a day of rest 

 and meditation? 



Evening shadows are drawing toward forest land at last, an<l a 

 cathedral light falls through the overhanging boughs. The bright 

 western sky that dimly shows among the distant tree trunks, guides 

 me to the end of the woods. 



I am out in the open again. The sun has nearly set. The west is 

 resplendent. A crimson halo overspreads the sky as shadows deepen. 

 I climb a nearby hill that I may look back over the forest where I 

 have wandered in happy abandon today. I am greeted by a great 

 .sea of waving tree-tops, almost indistinguishable in the fading light. 

 As I gaze, I can but ask if vandal man will soon despoil so beautiful 

 a spot. Was my day among the trees iu last farewell to pine and 

 oak and hickory? As if in ominous answer comes the shriek of u 

 far-distant sawmill, heralding the closing hour. But I put away dis- 

 turbing thoughts and turn to bid silent good-night to the whispering 

 voices, a sense of sadness and ,vet of pi'ace, possessing me the while. 

 I have left the woods, but in memory their spirits call to me and 

 will draw me back again. — John Tayloe Perbin. 



