EVENING WOOD-SPRITES. 219 



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 to the traveler, by whom it is welcomed though 



its source be to him unknown. What a combi- 

 nation of chemical atoms, what perfect union of 

 C. and H. and 0. and other elements, must there 

 be for its production! What a hidden secret 

 must this herb possess that it is enabled to pro- 

 duce and exhale such a unique, pleasing and life 

 inspiring fragrance! 



Bats somewhere near here have their home, 

 dangling during the day from beneath a leafy 

 covert or hanging pendent in the hollow bole of 

 some old tree. Each evening, as the long twi- 

 light is fading, back and forth before my tent 

 they flit in ever widening circles. Swift, noise- 

 less, with wide open mouth and keen searching 

 eye, ever they move. A hybrid as it were, part 

 beast, part bird, they are uncanny objects 

 ghosts of a far distant past which show them- 

 selves as evening wood-sprites, then mope like 

 owls the live-long day. 



Saturday, July 15. Not only berries did I 

 gather on yesterday, but "no-see-ems," chig- 

 gers a thousand and one of them. Even now. 

 though I have smeared my skin with coal-oil, 

 carbolated vaseline and alcohol, they burrow; 

 and to-morrow will they but burrow deeper and 

 itch the more. They are the "sour" which in 

 part offsets the berries' sweet. Ever the two do 

 go in company. 



