"Man doth usurp all space,
Stares thee, in rock, bush, river, in
the face.
Never thine eyes behold a tree;
'Tis no sea thou seest in the sea,
'Tis but a disguised humanity.
To avoid thy fellow, vain thy plan;
All that interests a man, is man."
HENRY SUTTON.
The trees, which were far apart where I entered, giving free passage
to the level rays of the sun, closed rapidly as I advanced, so that ere
long their crowded stems barred the sunlight out, forming as it were a
thick grating between me and the East. I seemed to be advancing towards
a second midnight. In the midst of the intervening twilight, however,
before I entered what appeared to be the darkest portion of the forest,
I saw a country maiden coming towards me from its very depths. She did
not seem to observe me, for she was apparently intent upon a bunch of
wild flowers which she carried in her hand. I could hardly see her face;
for, though she came direct towards me, she never looked up. But when we
met, instead of passing, she turned and walked alongside of me for a few
yards, still keeping her face downwards, and busied with her flowers.
She spoke rapidly, however, all the time, in a low tone, as if talking
to herself, but evidently addressing the purport of her words to me.
She seemed afraid of being observed by some lurking foe. "Trust the
Oak," said she; "trust the Oak, and the Elm, and the great Beech. Take
care of the Birch, for though she is honest, she is too young not to be
changeable. But shun the Ash and the Alder; for the Ash is an ogre,--you
will know him by his thick fingers; and the Alder will smother you with
her web of hair, if you let her near you at night." All this was uttered
without pause or alteration of tone. Then she turned suddenly and left
me, walking still with the same unchanging gait. I could not conjecture
what she meant, but satisfied myself with thinking that it would be time
enough to find out her meaning when there was need to make use of her
warning, and that the occasion would reveal the admonition. I concluded
from the flowers that she carried, that the forest could not be
everywhere so dense as it appeared from where I was now walking; and I
was right in this conclusion.
For soon I came to a more open part, and
by-and-by crossed a wide grassy glade, on which were several circles of
brighter green. But even here I was struck with the utter stillness. No
bird sang. No insect hummed. Not a living creature crossed my way. Yet
somehow the whole environment seemed only asleep, and to wear even in
sleep an air of expectation. The trees seemed all to have an expression
of conscious mystery, as if they said to themselves, "we could, an' if
we would."