GETTING AC^AINTED M^ITH THE TREES 



kindly to the lungs ; hark to the music of the 

 wind in their tops, telling of health and pu- 

 rity, of God's love and provision for man's 

 mind and heart, and you will begin to know 

 the song of the firs. To really hear this grand 

 symphony, for such it then becomes, you must 

 listen to the wind playing on the tops of a 

 great primeval coniferous forest, of scores and 

 hundreds of acres or miles in extent. And 

 even then, many visits are needed, for there are 

 movements to this symphony — the allegro of the 

 gale, the scherzo of the easy morning breeze, 

 the deep adagio of a rain-storm, and the andante 

 of warm days and summer breezes, when you 

 may repose prone upon a soft carpet of pine 

 needles, every sense made alert, yet soothed, 

 by the master-theme you are hearing. 



There is a little wood of thick young pines, 

 interspersed with hard maple and an occasional 

 birch, close by the lake of the Eagles, where 

 my summers are made happy. The closeness 

 of the pines has caused their lower branches 

 to die, as always in the deep forest, and the 

 falling needles, year by year, have deepened 

 the soft brown carpet that covers the forest 



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