38 EDGE OF THE JUNGLE 



with an actual bluebird which looped across the 

 open space in front. The spell was broken for a 

 moment, and my subconscious autocrat thrust 

 into realization the instantaneous report appar- 

 ent blue-bird call is the note of a small flycatcher 

 and the momentary vision was not even a moun- 

 tain bluebird but a red-breasted blue chatterer! 

 So I shut my eyes very quickly and listened to 

 the soft calls, which alone would have deceived 

 the closest analyzer of bird songs. And so for a 

 little while longer I still held my picture intact, 

 a magic scape, a hundred yards square and an 

 hour long, set in the heart of the Guiana jungle. 

 And when at last I had to desert Canada, and 

 relinquish New Jersey, I slipped only a few hun- 

 dred miles southward. For another twenty min- 

 utes I clung to Virginia, for the enforced shift 

 was due to a great Papilio butterfly which 

 stopped nearby and which I captured with a 

 lucky sweep of my net. My first thought was of 

 the Orange-tree Swallow-tail, nee Papilio ores- 

 phonies. Then the first lizards appeared, and by 

 no stretch of my willing imagination could I pre- 

 tend that they were newts, or fit the little emerald 

 scales into a New England pasture. And so I 

 chose for a time to live again among the Virgin* 



