The Louisiana Democrat. [volume] (Alexandria, La.) 1845-1918, 1886-12-08
HENRY /. BIOSSiT, Business Manage

recurrent and perplexing cry in rude
instrument formed by the crossing of
two branches, of which the one sawed
upon the other like violin bow drawn
across string. Both bow and string,
stout and tough of fiber, were worn
and polished by long practice of that
solitary note. Even the lightest wood
has its hushed twitterings, its vanish.
ings and inexplicable rustlings.
The copse depths into little noises start.
I remember as a child being made
curious, then awed, and gradually
frightened by low sound resembling
gentle, regular breathing, which pro-
ceeded from under an alder-bush on
the edge of n swampy thicket. l drew
nearer and peeped, in. The only live
thing visible was brown thrush, who,
indeed, was skulking away, as if caught
in the act; but l knew that was only
his usual conscious, embarrassed air,
and refused to suspect HIM of any con-
nection with the disturbance. No
other culprit appeared, and
yet the even resplrations contin-
ued, till my courage, like that of
Bob Acres, oozed away. and I fled, not
from an apparation, but from a vibra-
ton.
More appalling than any sound is the
silence and lonesomeness of the deep
forest. One is haunted by the antiquity
which is symboled IN long moss boards,
and which lies visible ali around in huge
decaying trees, the unburicd ancestors
of the monarchs who are still standing
strong in their girth of rings. 1t sug-
gests the Paleozoic era and the forma-
ton of coal to see those great trunks,
hewn down by time and tempest, half
sunken in the earth, and already per-
haps many seasons on in the existence
which is theirs after death. Covered
with moses and bright fungi, they
seem still half sentient and more
wrought upon by age than the coal
itself, which has forgotten and become
inorganic so long ago that years do
not count. Among those aged gen.
erations the mountain climber is an
anarchronism as well as an intruder,
and is confronted at every step by the
question what he doth there. Time has
put obstacles in his way; to make any
progress, he must Chamber over logs,
tack around powders, and avoid i'm
penetrable places. There silence reigns,
with break now and then, which
leaves it to settle again deeper than
before. Even so busy and cheerful a
sound as the woodpecker's hammer
divides and ntensifies the stiffness with
! q certain sOlemnity.
In ancient days Of superstition the
| croaking of a raven foreboded ill-hap.
| If there were an index expurgatory Of
New England birds, the jay, for all his
heavenly plumage. would have to be
placed in it. There are few bird notes
more weird than that high scream of
his, heard in the autumn across the
brown fields or through the arches OF
the pine grove. 1t rings through all
the aisles, making the quietude like a
hush of apprehension.
There are moments when. on entering
the woods, one seems to have broken III
upon some high festivity of Nature. A
few hours before, in the same spot, life
was suspended; one could walk from
end to end of the wood path and hear
not breath, detect no movement save
of noiseless insects or a little leaf-hued
frog, in complexion like his carpet.
That was at the noon-tide solstice, when
rose-colored light filtered through
broad leaves, and one could fancy siestas
in progress behind the jalous es OF
green. But later in the day what group
ings and activities! Squirrels. start and
scuttle of, thrushes beat a hasty retreat
through the underbrush, cartridges
spring up with sudden rustic of fir ght
and Indignation, and 90 whirring away
in loud protest You have d disturbed
the wood-gods at their feast. the fairies
at gathering, and your sense of intru.
sion is stronger than when you walked
through the empty halls while they slept
There is something in these sylvan scat.
terings which suggests almost irresisti.
bly, the breaking-up OF fairy dance OF
flight of shy nymphs. In early morn.
ing such Interruptions give hints of 8
whole night OF revelry, and tempt us te
believe little in "the good people, y
and half regret their Punishment from
power. The pale nYmphs dancing a
dawn, in landscape of Corot's are
they not formed from the dawn itself,
from the first shafts and glimmering O.
light on the forests edgeP And may no
myths have been evolved in the same
manner?
: But of all imaginations that have PEG
pied the woods, Shakespeare has mos
exquisitely fitted his creations into theil
shadows and sun-fecks. Their greer
gladcs and hooks. Mr.. Burroughs, II
one of his delightful papers on the nat
ural history of the poets, has paid trib
ute to the wonderful accuracy of Shak
speare's incidental transformations O.
birds and plants. But beyond this init
mate knowledge of herb and songstel
and creeping thing, there is in his out
door comedies a breadth of greenery, {
sense of the manifold harmonies andre
pose of the forest, consciousness of it
many tints and meanings. The oaks
spread lovingly over Rosalind and thu
flowers grow about Perdita. Theil
speech does not disturb the quiet, no.
ring false among the boughs. They jes
and love; they were born in courts ant
must return thither; yet they belong t.
the greenwood, and we are never quite
reconciled to seeing them on the stage
To find Shakespeare face to face, how
ever, with the woods and the sky, we turr
to The Tempest. l have always had q
fancy that in this play, as in the Sonnets
the poet unlocked his heart" but tina
time or our own dizziness has sealed /
again. The Tempest seems to me more
indicative of our relations to Nature
than any other writing We see in i
her terrors, her beauty, and her inscru-
tableness. We are wrought upon by ;