sounds are heard, less agreeable to the ear: the
shrill "chirrup" of cicadas and tree-toads ringing so incessantly, that
only when they cease do you become conscious of their existence; the
dull "gluck-gluck" of the great bullfrog; the sharp cries of the heron
and _qua-bird_; and the sepulchral screech of the great horned owl.
Still less agreeable might appear the fierce miaulling of the red
_puma_, and the howl of the gaunt wolf; but not so to the ears of the
awakened hunter, who, through the chinks of his lone cabin, listens to
such sounds with a savage joy.

These fierce notes are now rare and exceptional--even in the backwoods--
though, unlike the war-whoop of the Indian, they have not altogether
departed. Occasionally, their echo may be heard through the aisles of
the forest, but only in its deepest recesses--only in those remote river
"bottoms" where the squatter delights to dwell. Even there, they are
heard only at night; and in the morning give place to softer and sweeter
sounds.

Fancy, then, a fine morning in May--a sunshine that turns all it touches
into gold--an atmosphere laden with the perfume of wild-flowers--the hum
of honey-seeking bees--the song of birds commingling in sweetest
melody--and you have the _mise en scene_ of a squatter's cabin on the
banks of the Obion, half an hour after the rising of the sun. Can such
a picture be called _commonplace_? Rather say it is enchanting.

Forms suddenly appear upon the scene--forms living and lovely--in the
presence of which the bright sunshine, the forest glories of green and
gold, the bird-music among the trees, the flowery aroma in the air, are
no longer needed to give grace to the clearing of the squatter. It
signifies not that it is a morning in the middle of May: were it the
dreariest day of December, the effect would be the same; and this
resembles enchantment itself. The rude hut seems at once transformed
into a palace--the dead trunks become Corinthian columns carved out of
white marble--their stiff branches appear to bend gracefully over, like
the leaves of the recurrent _acanthus_--and the enclosure of carelessly
tended maize-plants assumes the aspect of some fair garden of the
Hesperides!

The explanation is easy. Magic is not needed to account for the
transformation: since there exists a far more powerful form of
enchantment in the divine presence of female beauty. And it is present
there, in its distinct varieties of _dark_ and _fair_