The Chorus of the Forest 



evening, when others were singing vespers, he 

 stood on tiptoes, and reaching his limit for his 

 highest note with which to surpass them, in a posi- 

 tively lazy manner slid sobbingly down the scale 

 to his last clear utterance. At the instant we mis- 

 guided mortals were shuddering over the heart- 

 break in these wailing, long-drawn notes the little 

 rascal was turning somersaults in the air, darting 

 here and there after a fly, his sharp mandibles 

 clipping together when he missed until the sound 

 came to us on the ground far below. He was 

 the happiest little creature of song and dance that 

 wore a feathered coat. 



Beside his tree grew another that made me 

 wonder why, since from the inception of art dec- 

 orators, designers, and painters have gone to the Art in 

 forest for copy, they did not use this. From the the Forest 

 frequency with which our artists work over de- 

 signs of fern, violet, goldenrod, and sweet brier, 

 one might t>e forgiven the supposition that with 

 these, material was exhausted. I think the truth 

 is that these good folk kept to the fence or turned 

 back at the gateway, and never penetrated to the 

 heart of the forest. Things infinitely more beau- 

 tiful than those that have been used are waiting 

 to be discovered and familiarized. Finding almost 

 a tree for size ladened with velvety big green fruit 

 made me think of studiies of papaw bloom that 

 I had made early in the season. 

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