1903. The American newspaperman and novelist begins The Sherrods:
Through the soft summer night came the sounds of the silence that
is heard only when nature sleeps, imperceptible except as one feels
it behind the breath he draws or perhaps realizes it in the touch
of an unexpected branch or flower. The stillness of a silence that
is not silent; a stillness so dead that the croaking of frogs, the
chirping of crickets, the barking of dogs, the hooting of owls, the
rustling of leaves are not heard, although the air is heavy with
those voices of the night-the stillness of a night in the country.
All human activity apparently at an end, all sign of life lost in
somber shadows. The ceaseless croaking, the chirping, the hooting,
the rustling themselves make up this unspeakable silence-this
sweet, unconscious solitude. See other titles by this author
available from Kessinger Publishing.
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