r in fond remembrance.

Joy, and youth, and force, and spring, was Pan to all the creatures
whose overlord he was. Pan meant the richness of the sap in the trees,
the lushness of grass and of the green stems of the blue hyacinths and
the golden daffodils; the throbbing of growth in the woodland and in
the meadows; the trilling of birds that seek for their mates and find
them; the coo of the doves on their nests of young; the arrogant
virility of bulls and of stags whose lowing and belling wake the
silence of the hills; the lightness of heart that made the nymphs
dance and sing, the fauns leap high, and shout aloud for very joy of
living. All of these things was Pan to those of his own kingdom.

Yet to the human men and women who had also listened to his playing,
Pan did not mean only joyousness. He was to them a force that many
times became a terror because of its sheer irresistibleness.

While the sun shone and the herdsmen could see the nodding white
cotton-grass, the asphodel, and the golden kingcups that hid the black
death-traps of the pitiless marshes, they had no fear of Pan. Nor in
the daytime, when in the woods the sunbeams played amongst the trees
and the birds sang of Spring and of love, and the syrinx sent an echo
from far away that made the little silver birches give a whispering
laugh of gladness and the pines cease to sigh, did man or maid have
any fear. Yet when darkness fell on the land, terror would come with
it, and, deep in their hearts, they would know that the terror was
Pan. Blindly, madly, they would flee from something that they could
not see, something they could barely hear, and many times rush to
their own destruction. And there would be no sweet sound of music
then, only mocking laughter. _Panic_ was the name given to this
fear--the name by which it still is known. And, to this day, panic
yet comes, and not only by night, but only in very lonely places.
There are those who have known it, and for shame have scarce dared to
own it, in highland glens, in the loneliness of an island in the
western sea, in a green valley amongst the "solemn, kindly,
round-backed hills" of the Scottish Border, in the remoteness of the
Australian bush. They have no reasons to give--or their reasons are
far-fetched. Only, to them as to Mowgli, _Fear_ came, and the fear
seemed to them to come from a malignant something from which they must
make all haste to flee, did they value safety of mind and of body. Was
it f