SUMMER NIGHT IN THE WOODS. 163 



There are gentle flutterings of winds that nestle in the 

 foliage ; mysterious whisperings of zephyrs and hum- 

 ming of nocturnal insects, that hover around us like 

 spirits, and seem to interrogate us about the reason of 

 our presence at this unseasonable hour. We catch the 

 floatings of distant sounds, mellowed into harmony by 

 the softening effect of distance, hardly to be distin- 

 guished from the noise made by a dropping leaf, as it 

 comes rustling down through the small branches. The 

 stirring of a little bird, as he preens his feathers upon a 

 branch just over our heads, and uttering an occasional 

 chirp ; a little quadruped leaping suddenly through the 

 underwood, and secreting itself hastily among the herb- 

 age, are trifles that add cheerfulness to the solemn 

 quietude of night. 



I am supposing the night to be perfectly calm ; but 

 how calm soever it may be, now and then a breeze will 

 pass fitfully overhead, and the trees will shake their 

 fluttering leaves in the wind. Perfect stillness will im- 

 mediately follow, save at intervals a whisper is heard 

 from some unseen object, as if something that had 

 life was watching your motions, or you had obtained a 

 faint perception of sounds from the invisible world. 



Among the affecting circumstances attending a night 

 in the woods I must not omit to mention the sounds of 

 distant bells that proclaim the flight of time. These, 

 while they add to the solemnity of our feelings, afford a 

 pleasant assurance of the nearness of human habita- 

 tions. But the single stroke that tells the hour of mid- 

 night, as it tolls over the echoing landscape, repeated at 

 short intervals, from different villages, is peculiarly 

 solemn and impressive. You then feel that you are 

 under the very meridian of night, and that darkness is 



