::::::::ax THE HOT LANDS OF THE PACIFIC m::::;:::: 



mighty tree, enveloping- the cactus, and spreading wide 

 its branches in all directions. 



When once we begin to look for evidence of these 

 silent struggles of the jungle, we find them on all sides, 

 and so realistic do they appear, and so strongly do they 

 appeal to our sympathies, that we are again and again 

 reminded of the living forest of Avhich Dante wrote : 



" I heard on all sides lamentations uttered, 

 And person none beheld I who might make them, 

 So many voices issued through those trunks 

 From people who concealed themselves from us ; 

 Men once they were, and now are changed to trees." 



The most delightful time of day in our tropic tangle 

 was early morning, and, indeed, where in the world is 

 it not? At this time the air was cool and fresh, and 

 the vistas along the brook were alive with birds, some 

 bathing and drinking, others gleaning fish or tiny 

 snails from its depths or borders. Little teetering 

 sandpipers and Louisiana Water-thrushes were always 

 in view, and the dainty Blue Heron seemed a regular 

 habitue of this part of the stream. 



One morning a Black Hawk swept low through the 

 branches and on out of sight. Hardly had he passed, 

 when eight White Ibises veered around a bend in the 

 stream and slowed up just abreast of where we were 

 seated. Their pink legs were outstretched to alight, 

 when one caught sight of us. He dashed up, and back 

 on his track, and silently, except for a swish of wings, 



4 315 ^ 



