ao TROPIC DAYS 



tiny creature which suffers handling without resistance, 

 the shred of bark, driven by the imperceptible zephyr, 

 falls a few yards away, and in an agony of anxiety 

 utters an imploring purr, or was it an imprecation ? 

 That half purr, half hiss has been the only sound of 

 the episode. It is a warning to be gone and leave 

 Nature to her secrets and silences. 



A month's abstinence may not be a very severe 

 penance for an island on which the rainfall averages 

 124 inches per year; but when vegetation suffers from 

 the cruelty of four almost rainless months, promises 

 and slights amount to something more than mere dis- 

 courtesy. How genuine the thanksgiving to the soft 

 skies after an incense-stimulating shower. Insects 

 whirl in the sunshine. Among the pomelo-trees is 

 a cyclone of scarcely visible things. Motes and specks 

 of light dance in disorderly figures, to be detected as 

 animated objects only by gauzy wings catching the 

 light and reflecting it. Each insect, wakened but an 

 hour ago by the warmth of the moist soil, in an abandon- 

 ment of the moment, is a helioscope transmitting 

 signals of pure pleasure. Drops still linger on myriads 

 of leaves, and glitter on the glorious gold of the Chinese 

 laburnum; the air is saturated with rich scents, and 

 the frolicking crowd, invisible but for the oblique light, 

 does not dream of disaster. Their crowded hour has 

 attracted other eyes, appreciative in another sense. 

 Masked wood-swallows, swiftlets, spangled drongos, 

 leaden fly-eaters, barred-shouldered fly-eaters, hurry 

 to the circus to desolate it with hungry swoops. The 

 assemblage is noisy, for two or three drongos cannot 

 meet without making a clatter on the subject ^ the 

 moment. They cannot sing, but clink and jangle 

 with as much intensity and individual satisfaction as 

 if gifted with peerless note. It is the height of the 



