MIDSUMMER MOONLIGHT 113 



horizon had form. All else was a void, not that 

 of chaos but a soft cosmos of completion. 



It is singular how long one may look at this 

 complete darkness and not note the dancing 

 lights in it. After you see them, the glint of the 

 fireflies flitting hither and thither, starring the 

 meadows as thickly as distant suns star the sky, 

 making a milky way of the brookside and flash- 

 ing comet-like along the dry upland, is singularly 

 vivid. They sparkle, these northern fireflies of 

 ours, with a dainty glint that merely emphasizes 

 the darkness. Now and then you may see the 

 larva of one of these, which is the glow-worm be- 

 side the path. You may get a very faint real 

 illumination from him, lighting perhaps the space 

 of your fingernail as he crawls along. He, too, 

 merely serves to make the darkness visible. The 

 firefly of the tropics is more spectacular. He 

 blazes forth like a meteor, setting all the thicket 

 aglow for a moment. The lights of our fireflies 

 are more like a frosting of the darkness, as when 

 the moon shines in winter and the light glints 

 from ice crystals hung on the frozen grass. I 

 like ours best. 



The herald of the moon is the whippoor-will. 



