IN THE SOLEMN MIDNIGHT 



crossed and recrossed by hosts of small footprints. 

 They mark the recent passing of nimble rabbits. 

 Perhaps the little creatures were disporting them- 

 selves here at the very time of our appearance, for 

 they are partial to nocturnal rambles; and no 

 doubt, from the security of their shelter, they are 

 watching our course with curious gaze. 



How strange do even every-day, familiar wood- 

 land paths appear, when entered during the hours 

 of the night ! To the forest's midnight utterance 

 may be applied what has been said of the voice of 

 the pines: " It whispers to us of things we have 

 never said and never can say things that lie deep- 

 er than words, deeper than thought. Blessed are 

 our ears if we hear, for the message is not to be 

 understood by every comer, nor indeed by any ex- 

 cept at happy moments. In this temple all hear- 

 ing is given by inspiration, for which reason the 

 language of [the forest] is inarticulate, as Jesus 

 spoke in parables." * 



At last I hear a faint murmur ; the slightest of 

 rustlings among the dead leaves that cling to the 

 boughs of this old beech. Of all the summer trees 

 ofthe grove only the oaks and the beeches still 

 keep some of their foliage. The latter trees are 



*Mr. Bradford Torrey, in The Foot- Path Way. 



