44 WILD SPOUTS IN THE SOUTH. 



of the rail, the mournful howl of the wolf, ascended in 

 turn, or in a confused medley, now low, now high, as the 

 wind rose or fell, and all up and down the river the bel- 

 lowing of the alligator domineered over every other 

 g ound, with its huge volume of noise. Then there were 

 other sounds that played low accompaniments to the bass 

 of the river. The occasional twitter of a bird, the drops 

 of the chinquapen nut, the patter of the dew falling from 

 the trees, and the rustle of the leaves, all joined in that 

 nocturnal anthem that was swelling from every rood of 

 ground on the great Peninsula, and entered into our 

 souls by the Wakassare with the mysterious lulling 

 influence with which nature's chorus affects the human 

 mind, where it is left open to the whisperings of the wild 

 creations of God. 



The day dawned reluctantly, the morning after our 

 crossing, and so slowly the light broke through the mist 

 that environed the camp, that it was more like moonshine 

 than daylight. Drip, drip, drip, pattered the gathering 

 moisture from the cypress trees into the pools beneath. 

 The osier-grass bent down, heavy with the dew, the ferns 

 were matted to the earth, and the glassy leaves of the 

 magnolia glinted with a double lustre of sheen and water. 

 " Like a sea fog landward bound," the warm fog shut us 

 in, as did a few hours before, the darkness. The voices 

 of the night were hushed with the dawning, and all ani- 

 mal life was motionless, save where, now and then, from 

 the invisible heights of the tree-tops, some moving ani- 

 mal would shake down showers of drops. 



