JUNGLE NIGHT 271 



still an entrance inward as well as outward, and 

 the sweep of breath and throb of the blood are 

 louder than we ever suspect. When at an opera 

 or concert I see some one sitting rapt, listening 

 with open mouth, I do not think of it as ill- 

 bred. I know it for unconscious and sincere 

 absorption based on an excellent physical 

 reason. 



It was early spring in the tropics; insect life 

 was still in the gourmand stage, or that of pupal 

 sleep. The final period of pipe and fiddle had 

 not yet arrived, so that there was no hum from 

 the underworld. The flow of sap and the spread 

 of petals were no less silent than the myriad 

 creatures which, I knew, slumbered or hunted 

 on every side. It was as if I had slipped back 

 one dimension in space and walked in a shadow 

 world. But these shadows were not all color- 

 less. Although the light was strained almost 

 barren by the moon mountains, yet the glow 

 from the distant lava and craters still kept some- 

 thing of color, and the green of the leaves, great 

 and small, showed as a rich dark olive. The 

 afternoon's rain had left each one filmed with 

 clear water, and this struck back the light as 

 polished silver. There was no tempered illumi- 



