Waterbury evening Democrat., 1904-08-30
MAGIC OF THE AUGUST MOON.

It is the magic of the August moon that transforms the suburbs into sort of tropical paradise, which not even an October temperature can al- together belle.
 On those August afternoons when anhattanese are beWildered by an unfamiliar sense of perfect physical adjustment to their atmospheric en- vironment, when the town fairly glitters and sparkles as if it had been washed in the deep sea tides of it's own harbor, when marble buildings ray am intolerable white ness into the air, and far steeples up and down Fifth Avenue swim in the pure serene along with stainless aspiring steam jets and banners that seem rimmed with the colors of the spectrum, the Bronx makes ready for its coming transformation beneath the moon.
 Downtown, indeed, the moon ap- pears to the inhabitants of New York as only a superior sort of cleo trio light. But in the suburbs she reigns absolute, and all other lights pale before her.
 The few stars swim mere pin- points in her tides, and those naked arc lights with which the wild high ways of the suburbs are somewhat sparsely sown pale and contract to winking spots of malignant brilliance. Even that great bald spot of the southwest horizon, which is the false electric dawn of Manhattan, is ut terly drowned out and obliterated in the overwhelming floods of the moon.
 And to the suburban eye the moon itself seems sort of magnificent celestial illumination to the universal insect concert. The two seem relat- ed in some mysterious fashion, and the concert. goes pulsing on through the night in regular cadence, with the sharp punctuation of the katy did, shrill little flute of the crick- ct for persistent undertone.
 The suburbanite with ear attuned to the delicate harmonies of those multitudinous voices feels as if he had a seat in some vast amphithe- atre whose galleries span the heav- enly heights, whose pit occupies miles of green suburban earth, whose scenery is made of the moonlit trees and the fringed and tropical shrub bery of a hundred suburban pleasant places.
 Wonderful is the wizardry of the moon amid the living scenery of that far spread concert hall. Ever greens are mere shaggy masses of bristling frosted needles. Films and trees of lesser leaves receive the downpour of silvery light and dimple into alternate spots of glitter and shade.
 But the tulip poplars are the truly splendid portion of the scenery. Their great ridged trunks are dapp- led with shifting spheres and hemi- sheres and crescents of soft light that move f1uttering up and down, now narrowing to mere slits, now dilating to broad patches of hoary splendor.
 Meanwhile the great irregular leaves are dripping with dew and dia14t. Edges are silvered to razor keenness, broad, smooth upper sur faces are splotched with prod1gan- ty of light and the young end leaves, just enfolding from the bud, are like bulbs of tenderest green shading gemmy electric sparks.
 Nothing disturbs the widespread orchestra so magnifcently lighted and eloriously staged. All other sounds fall in with it's complex har- monies.
 The drowsing growing of suburban cocks from roosts far and near comes in at the dramatically proper mom- ent. The hoot and rush of railway trains somewhere beyond the horizon add just the base that the concert needs. Even the sensational shrill- ing and hissing and grinding of the trolley cars on suburban highways cannot introduce a dissonance. .
 All night long the moonlit harmon les play on, and suburbanites wake in the morning to hear the shrill rem nant of the chorus and to ind the common daylight q surprise.