THE LIVE OAKER OF EAST FLORIDA. 127 



Gradually as time past, he saw him descend in the 

 west, and still all about him continued a mystery. 

 The huge gray trees spread their quaint boughs, 

 the rank grass extended on all sides, not a living 

 being crossed his path, all was silent and still — 

 like a dull and dreary dream of the land of 

 oblivion. On, on, he wandered like a forgotten 

 ghost, which failing to reach the spirit land, un- 

 heeded by the grim ferryman, lingered still 

 upon the Stygian shore. The hope of extri- 

 cation heightened his imagination. Each fresh 

 object he fancied he could recognize, and search- 

 ing for land-marks, wandered in reality still fur- 

 ther from the right course. 



As evening approached, myriads of insects 

 buzzed through the air. The squirrel retired 

 to his hole, the crow to its roost, the harsh 

 croaking of the heron told, that full of anxiety 

 it sought its retreat in the miry interior of some 

 distant swamp, the woods resounded to the shrill 

 cries of the owl, and all nature warned the wan- 

 derer to seek some place of refuge, as the breeze 

 sweeping through the forest came laden with 

 heavy dews. No moon appeared to irradiate 

 the scene and cheer the solitude with silvery 

 Hght, which, "kissing dead things to life," sheds 

 beauty over all. The lost one, despairing and 

 weary, laid himself on the damp ground, to 

 wait with feverish anxiety the return of day, 



