IN A PALACE OF REEDS. 131 



turtles came up out of the water and crawled 

 along on a sandy place. Two doves circled in 

 the air, sailing like sparrow-hawks, getting 

 lower and lower, until they lit upon a stone 

 in the shallows below us and drank thirstily. 

 We heard the woodpeckers pounding in the 

 woods behind the hill, the nuthatches crying 

 &quot; ank, ank,&quot; in the great tulip tree hard by, 

 and high overhead, in the yellow glory of sun 

 light, a hen-hawk screaming. Odors arose 

 and passed down the waxing wind. The cane 

 leaves tipped each other lightly, and a whisper 

 ing of many voices arose from the rushes and 

 flags. So twilight thickened into night. The 

 stars crept out and the great horned owl and 

 the night-hawk crept out, too, with some solemn 

 bats and giant moths, that whirled and darted 

 above the reeds. 



Such a fortnight in the woods as I have been 

 lightly sketching, will bring to him who rightly 

 uses it a rich return for whatever sacrifice it 

 compels. It is to Nature one must go for 

 ideas. Her lessons are rich with original 

 germs for the philosopher, the poet, the artist 

 or the romancer to vitalize his works withal. 

 No genuine bit of originality can be found, in 

 poem, picture or tale, which has not been 

 drawn from the secret depositories of Nature. 

 The woods and streams, the hills and winds 

 are but the indices to volumes, one leaf of 

 which would exhaust the literature of ages. 

 All eloquence, poetry, and painting can be 

 better understood when one is as free as the 

 winds and as happy as a brook. To know 

 what is supreme enjoyment, go into the woods 

 and, lying beside a rivulet in fair June weather, 

 read Theocritus till the bubbling stream and 



