288 A HUNTER'S LULLABY. 



flitting shadows, fully expecting to meet more 

 than an earthly antagonist ; but after a moment's 

 reflection, he will lay down his trusty weapon 

 with a smile at his own excitability, knowing 

 that the strange sounds he has heard either 

 proceeded from some prowling hyena, or were 

 caused by the wind sweeping through the giant 

 trees and rocky gorges. Again, sometimes, when 

 on trail, he will fancy that he hears "floating 

 sounds," like passing wings, and a hum like mur- 

 muring of voices in the air, and will stop and 

 listen intently, fearing to move lest he should 

 break the spell, when in reality it was only the 

 creaking of boughs, bamboos rubbing against 

 each other, or the foliage overhead being stirred 

 by a gentle breeze. 



A Hunt r* Many a time in the still night, as he 

 lays down to rest after the fatigues of 

 the day, under some mighty patriarch of the 

 forest, he will hear the wind sighing his lullaby 

 among the distant hills, slow, sad, and melan- 

 choly. I remember in 1855, when crossing a 



