FEB. 19, 1923 HUMPHREYS: THE MURMUR OF THE FOREST 57 
sions, because actual winds are not so regular as these exact solutions 
would require, and because the general effect can best be shown 
graphically. Let, then, the wind blow more or less directly across 
a mountain, up one side and down the other parallel to the surface, 
and increase with distance from that surface, all of which occurs in 
nature. Obviously a sound wave-front travelling with such a wind 
tends more and more towards the vertical as it climbs the windward 
side of the mountain, crosses the ridge substantially upright, when 
the distance to the source and the wind velocity are in proper adjust- 
ment, and then focusses onto the leeward valley, all as diagrammati- 
cally illustrated in fig. 4, in which S is the source of the sound, and 
F its leeward focus, necessarily diffuse, as determined by the wind 
currents and indicated by the progressive positions of the wave front. 
Roaring of the mountain.—At about the time the above transmon- 
tane noises are heard, or shortly thereafter, the mountain over which 
they come begins to produce a low sighing or moaning sound which 
in a few hours, particularly during winter, when the winds are strong 
and have free access to the eddy and vortex-producing twigs, often 
grows to a cataract roar. 
This roaring of the mountain is a very striking phenomenon, espe- 
cially to any one not accustomed to it. To the imaginative who 
know its cause, it ranges from the beautiful to the sublime; while to 
the superstitious it may run the whole gamut of horrors from the 
uncanny to the demoniacal, as illustrated by the following tradition: 
It seems that the ridge shown in fig. 2, and which is about a mile 
and a half long, was owned first, some 150 years ago, by one Jesse 
Bland. But he soon lost it, it is said, by deeding half his place to a 
“witch doctor” to cure him of the witches, whose direful threats carried 
by the howling wind were ever more clamorous with the swell of the 
mountain’s roar, and who night after night transformed him to a. 
horse and furiously rode him 200 miles for a bag of salt—so he ex- 
plained his night sweats—and shortly afterwards the remaining 
half to a lawyer to sue the witch doctor for not curing him. Today 
in this enchanting valley there lives neither witch, witch doctor, nor 
lawyer. Its people believe neither in folly nor in fuss. But the 
mountain still roars and at times one can sympathize with Jesse, or 
with the Esthonians of today who, attributing, we are told, the bitter 
northerly winds of spring to the spells of Finnish wizards and witches, 
are afraid to go out on Ascension Eve, or either of the other two 
Days of the Cross:— 
