The round moon peered over the east- 

 ern rim of the valley, and caught a 

 glimpse of the brazen sun as it disap- 

 peared behind the western hills. 



Here now was the time ripe for my 

 visit to the sleeping forest. The twi- 

 light was tempered by the rising moon, 

 and the voices of the night were dis- 

 placing those of the day. A gentle south 

 wind stirred the myriad leaves, and 

 pliant twigs, and swayed them slowly 

 back and forth, and a low murmuring 

 sound came from everywhere and no- 

 where. The chirping of the crickets 

 sounded shrill and sharp in the greater 

 stillness. Off in the dense wood was 

 heard the mournful call or song of the 

 whip-poor-will, while at times, up in the 

 air somewhere, a screech owl gave forth 

 its shuddering loon-like cry. Nature is 

 getting drowsy, so it is time for me 

 to make my call on the forest. 



As I stepped out of the door and 

 strolled across the lawn, the full moon 

 looked down, and the shadows of the 

 trees were circumscribed by the expanse 

 of their branches. The silvery light lay 

 white on the grass like a counterpane. 

 I reached the wood and entered along 

 the narrow road; the branches on either 

 hand interlocked overhead, and it was 

 like entering a darkened room. Soon 

 the eye became accustomed to the dark- 

 ness, and the form of shrub and tree 

 become defined. Triangular, and square, 

 and round, and irregular shapes of 

 moonlight danced and flitted among the 

 undergrowth as the breeze stirred the 

 branches, and gave one a peculiar sen- 

 sation as he watched them move about 

 so silently and irrationally. Here and 

 there an opening lets in a flood of 

 moonlight, making by contrast a deeper 

 shade of the adjacent gloom. Color is 

 lost in the night and only moonlight and 

 shadows are present. The odors of 

 flowers and leaves, of mould and decay- 

 ing wood, blend into an undefined 

 fragrance, nowhere else found but in 

 the forest, and at no time so pronounced 

 as at night. And sounds ! The voices 

 of the night — for there are voices of the 

 night — are different and distinct from 

 those of the day. The medley of bird 

 song is hushed, the lowing of the kine, 

 the neighing of the horse, the bleating 



of the sheep and the vociferous call of 

 the swine, along with the hum of indus- 

 try that fills the day and penetrates even 

 into the solitude of the forest is hushed, 

 and a deep, a solemn silence pervades 

 the wood. 



At length I reached the coveted spot, 

 and took a seat on an inviting stump. 

 The gentle breeze that lightly moved 

 the leaves as I entered the wood, had 

 entirely died away. The sky became 

 thinly overcast by drifting clouds broken 

 by many rifts through which the moon- 

 beams shone, and then were shut off 

 as the clouds drifted past, throwing the 

 forest into alternate light and darkness. 

 In the darkness flashed and glowed 

 many fire flies, while numerous moths 

 flitted aimlessly about, showing dazzling 

 white in the moonlight ; but all were on 

 silent wings and the occasional bats 

 wheeling among the branches were as 

 silent as they. Not a sound of ani- 

 mated life was heard. Long time, silent 

 as the night, and motionless as the trees 

 I sat there and pondered, and let that 

 awe-inspiring stillness permeate my 

 being. But not for an instant was there 

 silence as we define silence, — the ab- 

 sence of sound, — for on every hand, 

 along the ground, amid the bushes and 

 trunks of the trees, and in their branches 

 were there undefined and intangible 

 sounds, low murmurings, faint rustlings, 

 quiet droppings, and half audible whis- 

 perings. The awful stillness was vocal 

 with sounds. What were they? They 

 were the spirit of life, which is the 

 spirit of God, moving in the forest, and 

 acting its pleasure, on tree and shrub, 

 and every mute form in all that forest 

 wilderness, — the spirit of life which had 

 brought up that giant forest from the 

 tiny seed, that had clothed the tower- 

 ing trees with renewing foliage, that had 

 carpeted the mould with vegetation and 

 peopled the recesses of the wood with 

 unnumbered and varying forms, each 

 fitted to it5 place and all making an 

 harmonious whole. It was a solemn 

 place, it was a solemn hour, and my 

 soul was filled with the profound sol- 

 emnity of it all, and I thought as I 

 retraced that shaded aisle, that this, my 

 last visit to my loved forest was best 

 of all. L. O. MosHER. 



227 



