3 8 Poachers and Poaching. 



sends its carbonate to dome our retreat. Minia- 

 ture stalactites hang from the roof, and bright 

 bosses rise from the floor. Frail fern fronds 

 depend from the crevices, and as the light rushes 

 in, masses of golden saxifrage gild all the 

 chamber. The beams will not long stay, for the 

 sun dips in the western woods. From the mouth 

 of our recess we take in a silent river reach. It 

 is thickly embowered and overhung. Long 

 drooping racemes of green tree flowers attract 

 innumerable insects, especially those of the lime, 

 and intent upon these a flycatcher sits length- 

 wise upon a branch. How beautiful are its short 

 flights, the iridescence of its plumage, its white 

 eye-lines, and barred forehead ! Numerous small 

 waterfalls, the gauze and film veils of which, 

 when the wind blows, and dripping moss, have 

 attracted the dippers. Kingfishers, too, in their 

 green flight, dash over the still water. The 

 remote pines have lost their light, and stand 

 black against the sky. Sundown has come, and 

 it is the hour of vesper hymns. The woods are 

 loud swelling volumes of sound. Behind us is a 

 woodland enchanted, though with no sadder 

 spirits than blackbirds and thrushes that whistle 

 to cheer it. This loud evening hymn lasts for 

 an hour, then subsides, and the woods hush. 

 The stem of the silver birch ceases to vibrate 

 to the blackbird's whistle. The polyglot wood- 

 thrush is dreaming of gilded fly and dewy morn. 



