A YARD OF JUNGLE MS 



tempting to record the happenings against the 

 glare of the sky high up among the fohage of 

 this bit of jungle. I strained through my high- 

 power glasses, until, when I looked without 

 them, the world seemed withdrawn, dwarfed, 

 ds in the horrid imaginings of fever. The glasses 

 gained in weight as I held them pointing verti- 

 cally until they fairly dropped from my aching 

 arms. My ears strove to catch every song, every 

 note which might prove a character of worth. 

 The jungle scents played upon my emotions 

 and sometimes dominated my work; the faint 

 aroma from some invisible orchid overhead, the 

 telltale musk from a passing mammal, the 

 healthful scent of clean jungle mold. As for 

 taste, I had tested the aromatic berries and 

 fruit of my canella tree, and for science' sake 

 had proved two warningly colored insects. My 

 sense of feeling had operated involuntarily 

 and wholly aside from my scientific desires. 

 Whether stimulated by dozens of mosquitoes, 

 scores of ants, or hundreds of betes rouges or 

 "mucuims," the insistency of discomfort never 

 discouraged a primary desire to delve as deeply 

 as possible into the secrets of this small area 

 of tropical jungle. 



