THE RIVER JUNGLE 



comes second nature. A sudden rustle the other 

 side a bush no longer brings you up all standing with 

 your heart in your throat; but you are aware of it, 

 and you are facing the possible danger almost before 

 your slower brain has issued any orders to that effect. 



In rereading the above, I am afraid that I am 

 conveying the idea that one here walks under the 

 shadow of continual uneasiness. This is not in the 

 least so. One enjoys the sun, and the birds and the 

 little things. He cultivates the great leisure of 

 mind that shall fill the breadth of his outlook abroad 

 over a newly wonderful world. But underneath 

 it all is the alertness, the responsiveness to quick 

 reflexes of judgment and action, the intimate corre- 

 lations to immediate environment which must char- 

 acterize the instincts of the higher animals. And it 

 is good to live these things. 



Along the edge of that river jungle were many 

 strange and beautiful affairs. I could slip along 

 among the high clumps of the thicker bushes in such 

 a manner as to be continually coming around un- 

 expected bends. Of such manceuvres are surprises 

 made. The graceful red impalla were here very 

 abundant. I would come on them, their heads up, 

 their great ears flung forward, their noses twitching 

 in inquiry of something they suspected but could not 

 fully sense. When slightly alarmed or suspicious 



