198 THE ADIRONDACK. 



perpetual chant of nature. Sometimes the hollow 

 tap of the woodpecker, or the loud, babbling voice 

 of the streamlet, rushing under arches of evergreens, 

 gives animation to the song. If you are on the bor- 

 ders of a lake, the clear and limpid sound of the 

 ripples, as they hasten to lay their lips on the smooth 

 pebbles, blend in with the anthem, till the soul sinks 

 into reveries it dare not speak aloud. 



But there is one kind of forest music I love best of 

 all — it is the sound of wind amid the trees. I have 

 lain here by the hour, on some fresh afternoon, when 

 the brisk west wind swept by in gusts, and listened to 

 it. All is comparatively still, when, far away, you 

 catch a faint murmur, like the dying tone of an organ 

 with its stops closed — gradually swelling into clearer 

 distinctness and fuller volume, as if gathering strength 

 for some fearful exhibition of its power ; until, at 

 length, it rushes like a sudden sea overhead, and 

 everything sways and tosses about you. For a mo- 

 ment an invisible spirit seems to be near — the fresh 

 leaves rustle and talk to each other — the pines and 

 cedars whisper ominous tidings, and then the retiring 

 swell subsides in the distance, and silence again 

 slowly settles on the forest. A short interval only 



