122 BY-WAYS AND BIRD-NOTES. 
pours on, and the wind sinks and swells like 
the breath of a mighty sleeper. . 
Perfumes, too, affect one strangely, on wak- 
ing, in the depth of night. There is a certain 
decayed wood in the Southern forests which at 
times gives forth a delicate, far-reaching aroma. 
This, together with the occasional wafts of 
sweet-zgum odor and the peculiarly sharp smell 
of pine resin, steals through the woodland 
ways and touches the sleeper’s senses until 
he slowly awakes. Drowsily he hes, with his 
eyes lightly closed, noting the tender shades 
of sweetness as they come and go. But the 
falling of a slight shower of rain, one of those 
short, light, even down-comings of large drops, 
which is not strong enough to break through 
the leaf-canopy overheard, moves the out-door 
slumberer to most exquisite enjoyment. He 
opens his eyes and all his senses at once. 
The air has sweet moisture in it, the darkness 
is deep. Above, around, far and near, a tu- 
mult is in the leaves. The shower is scarcely 
more than momentary in its duration, but it 
is infinitely suggestive. There are millions of 
voices calling from far and near. Vast organ 
swells, tender zolian strains, the thrumming 
of harp-strings and the exquisite quaverings of 
the violin. Multitudes clapping hands and 
crying from afar in applause. Then as the 
cloud passes on, the throbbing sounds trail 
after it, and at length it all dies out beyond 
the hills. 
So our nights were “ filled with music” in 
the Palace of Reeds. 
Our days were the scenes of greater because 
more active pleasures. We had a pirogue dug 
out of a tulip log which we propelled on the 
