"He became less and less timorous as beast and bird evaded him or fled at his approach, and when the moon sank suddenly, and darkness settled down, 'a great stillness came over the world, a velvet silence that wrapped about him, as the velvet shadows wrapped about him. The corncrakes had ceased, all the sounds and stir of animal life had died away, the breeze had fallen,' and thus, calm and full of placid joy, he waited for the dawn, for he had conquered fear."
This is an imaginary picture, based no doubt on some actual experience. It is worth reading because it puts one _into sympathy_ with Nature, even with one of its wildest and most uninhabitable parts. There are girls, and boys too, living in secure houses in village or town, _who are afraid_, afraid of the dark, afraid of the deep woods, afraid of wild, lonely places where snakes may be lurking, or some imagined beast. There are many grown-up people who are more fearful than children, to whom a storm is terrifying, who see little beauty in rough places, who take no enjoyment in fog, rain or snow. It is natural to be afraid, but it is not wholesome, and it betrays ignorance. This kind of fear deprives most people of much that makes up the very best of life. One need not be rash or daring to conquer fear. It is only needful to _awaken_, to get into sympathy with Nature, to see the world as it really is, and not as our shrinking bodies lead us to imagine.
A man died not long ago who for many years had lived perhaps as close to Nature as anyone in this generation. His name was John Muir. He loved the mountains with their vast silences and wide outlooks; the storms and winds, searching every hidden corner and ruling all Nature in their passing; the giant trees of his home country, majestic sentinels of tranquillity, and age-long growth; he loved the clouds and stars, birds, beasts and flowers; he loved mighty waters, whose power man's hand might never check. This man wrote at times modestly and reverently of what he saw and felt. You can learn truth from him. Many other men have seen deeply into Nature, and written with sincerity, pages which we do well to study. There comes to mind the poet Lanier, who, struck by the fatal hand of disease, sought to prolong his life by living with Nature in the open. How delicately and clearly he translated beauty into terms of music and rhythm! How intimately he _sensed_ the world about him! He wrote,