128 ON THE UPPER ST. JOH.\ 



enormously at the base, rose straight and 

 branchless into the air. Dead trees, one 

 might have said, light-colored, appar- 

 ently with no bark to cover them ; but if I 

 glanced up, I saw that each bore at the top 

 a scanty head of branches just now putting 

 forth fresh green leaves, while long funereal 

 streamers of dark Spanish moss hung thickly 

 from every bough. 



I am not sure how long I could have 

 stayed in such a spot, if I had not been able 

 to look now and then through the branches 

 of the under-woods out upon the sunny lake. 

 Swallows innumerable were playing over 

 the water, many of them soaring so high as 

 to be all but invisible. Wise and happy 

 birds, lovers of sunlight and air. They 

 would never be found in a cypress swamp. 

 Along the shore, in a weedy shallow, the 

 peaceful dabchicks were feeding. Far off 

 on a post toward the middle of the lake 

 stood a cormorant. But I could not keep 

 my eyes long at once in that direction. The 

 dismal swamp had me under its spell, and 

 meanwhile the patient buzzards looked at 

 me. " It is almost time," they said ; " the 

 fever will do its work," and I began to 



