292 THE HUNTING GROUNDS 



the open glades ; bees flit from flower to flower ; 

 and lustrous beetles, exhibiting metallic hues of 

 i^reen and blue, that rival the deepest shades of the 

 emerald and the sapphire, hover round in circles, 

 making a peculiar booming noise from the flutter 

 of their wings. Myriads of insects keep up a per- 

 petual hum in the solitudes of the jungle, and other 

 gentle sounds murmur softly from every side, like 

 spirits in the air, and produce an effect singularly 

 strange, soothing, and dreamy. At times, above 

 this jungle melody, may be distinguished the dis- 

 tant cry of the peacock, the shrill wild note of 

 jungle-fowl, the call of the coppersmith, the tapping 

 of the woodpecker against some hollow tree, the 

 chattering of a troop of monkeys as they pass in 

 the distance, bounding from bough to bough : the 

 peculiarly soft and melancholy note of the turtle- 

 doves, as they flutter in pairs from tree to tree ; or 

 the shrill screams of flights of paroquets, whose 

 brilliant plumage shines with exquisite lustre in the 

 light of the sun, as they dash close past, unconscious 

 of danger in their forest home. 



As the day declines, birds of all kinds are seen 

 returninff homeward from their distant feeding- 

 grounds ; pelicans rise heavily on their unwieldy 

 wings from the marshes, and wend their way to their 

 nests on the highest trees in some secluded spot. 

 Flying-foxes leave the shady grove where they have 

 hung suspended during the heat of the day, and are 

 seen in numbers darkening the sky as they roam 



