A MAGIC PLACE: A Forest Idyll for Young Folks:
by M. Ginevra Munson
WHO has not felt the inspiring and soothing influence of certain quiet spots? as though the jarring and restless forces of nature were there rendered impotent and the soul could commune freely with the great heart-life of all. The conflicting vibrations of human thought are annulled and nature speaks in whatever language you choose: in song or verse, art or science. How it draws one up to the heights of infinitude to sit in solitude, with eye on the expanse of ocean in which is mirrored all the gorgeous tints and cloud-forms in the sky at sunset; or on mountain heights where no sounds or sights except the blue dome overhead and the distant landscape beneath, can distract the mind from the sense of the invisible Presence that fills all space; or in the depths of a noble forest where the foot of man seldom comes.
It was in such a place as this, surrounded by the elves and fairies of the wood, that Helena, in the company of her father and a few other artist spirits, pitched their tents for summer work in the stillness of the forest; sculptors, painters, poets, musical composers, and writers on various themes, each lived in the quiet and privacy of his own domicile, out of sight or hearing of any other.
Helena was the daughter of a poet and inherited that keen sense of communion with and understanding of nature's moods and voices, but had never before been in such a place as this, having been born near a thriving city. She was devoted to her father, and though only yet in her early teens, showed such appreciation of her father's work that he brought her along with him as a sort of mentor when reading his poems over. Then too, her mother was dead, and he felt it his duty to keep Helena under his own care as much as possible, as she was an only child. Nothing could have made her happier or have been better for her than this forest air and odor of fragrant wood, and her spirits and health responded to it gratefully. While her father was busy she wandered about, making companions of the birds, trees, and other forest-life. The inspiration and magic of the place was so great that she was seized with the desire to express the joy and budding knowledge that stirred within her soul; so without saying anything to her father, she would take out tablet and pencil and sit on a fallen log near the singing brook that ran close by, and write down the daily dialog she heard going on around her. Overhead the trees said to the birds: "Are you happy my pretty ones, fluttering and hopping from twig to branch, pluming your feathers as I sway and swing you about?" "Oh yes, dear trees," twittered the birds, "and we will be diligent in destroying the worms that prey on your beautiful leaves, while we sing to you our thanks for the lacy bowers and secret hiding-places for our nests of young birdlings, who take their first lessons in song from the music of the breeze through your branches"; and then they poured forth a chorus in greater glee than ever.
Up in a high fork of the great spreading top of an oak was a huge nest of dead leaves, from one edge of which peered a pair of bright eyes in a furry gray head, over which curled a bushy gray and white tail. A chattering voice chimed in with the birds: "Dear trees, I too love you, for with your leaves for my nest you provide me a home out of reach of all harm, and you feed me with lovely acorns in such abundance that I can store up enough for the whole round year; but I'm sorry I can return so little back to you, save a grateful heart."
"Oh, thanks, I am safe home," said a bounding cotton-tail rabbit, as he shot into the protecting walls of a hollow log. "What would I do if it were not for the deserted trunk of a tree; and even the live ones sometimes give me a home in a hole in their bodies, quite low enough down for me to jump into, yet too small and deep for intruders to poke their noses in very far."
"Yes, yes, I too," chirped a striped ground squirrel, "owe all my comforts to the trees, and no one can find my cosy nest of pine needles, so fragrant and clean."
An old sly fox ran swiftly by, saying: "O shelter me in your depths, dark forest, for I hear the bay of a hound on the scent of my track," then he jumped the purling stream to cut off the lead of the dog, and sped away.
As Helena glanced down the stream she saw a beaver working away on a pile of logs and heard him murmur: "What would I do if the trees did not furnish me logs for my dam? Nothing else would serve me so well, I am sure, and I only cut down young saplings where they are too crowded to thrive. In turn for the favor I will make the stream deeper so the water will not dry away in hot weather, but will give drink to the tree roots all the year through."