The Argosy — page 224: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

207 INT THE’ Siac K FOREST: By CHARLES W. Woop, AUTHOR oF ‘“‘ THROUGH HOLLAND,” ‘¢Rounp ABouT Norway,” &c. Wet 210 yin A left Allerheiligen in *Hidsemeecet 2 )t.. the early morning. The he, ee Saal summits of the trees were gilded with a celestial light that threw the lower portions of the valley into yet deeper shadow. ‘The good people in the breakfast-room, in all stages of déshabille, looked after the receding equipage until a turn of the road took it from sight as we wound upwards into the splendid forest gloom, with its intense “at {i n = ~ pe BT SS ——————— ot sr ~ ao Pa — ~ —_— & — —= / 4 j gis ‘ Mh ff : AG “a A i i hd) y I}, : ~ TPT pa { I J y AY ie bilany , ; —_ 4 5 La Me Cave ae sy 0 Hkh ( f Au PSR WAN ANF aN a ‘ ; } ; : MALE a sh LAVAL TP {iy Wh Uy aa nie i 1h 7, ’ ! | it — ff Hi ¥ a — \ | / SN ———— —— =< TP 2 . AA Aa) a - J * é —-> ~< A... Jae eS TA : ———>= = green refreshed the eye from the springing shrubs and bracken, the trees alone faith- ful to their own sad tone. Presently, sweeping down again, we crossed a bridge at the foot of the zig-zag fall formed by the waters of the Grin- denbach, and rejoicing in the name of the “Seven Cauldrons.” The narrow cleft through which it rushes was,the effect of an earthquake ; certainly so wild, distorted a fissure and mass of rocks could scarcely have been the result of anything less than a convulsion of nature. Finally we passed from the precincts of Allerheiligen, and, like a ship clear of her anchor, felt ourselves fairly under way. For a time that way led through a wild, narrow valley. On either side nothing seen but a wealth of pine-covered hills; nothing heard but the murmur of a stream, and the soft rustling of the wind in the waving trees. The sad green blended with the pure blue of the far- off sky, so high, so ethereal in this rarefied pine-scented air. The glowing sun, by kissing the swaying branches, did his utmost to turn their melancholy into laughter. But, journeying in broad daylight, this melancholy casts no gloom upon the mind of the traveller. Rather it sheds forth a repose grateful to the eye, restoring to the nerves, refreshing to the spirit. Soon you grow to love the pines, “with a mute affection ;” to miss them where they are not. After a day or two’s sojourn in a Black Forest town, you long for the wild freedom of the woods, their unrestrained influences, their long, love solitude. Many shades of COMMICMOOOKS.Cc©