304 The Hunting Grounds 



in the cloudless sky, or skimming, with strange wild 

 cries, over the tops of the jungle in search of their 

 prey, and the green enamelled dragon-flies that still 

 flit over the water from leaf to leaf. Then the sturdy 

 hunter, overcome with lassitude, suspends his toil, and 

 seeks the grateful shade of some gigantic forest-tree 

 or overhanging rock, where he reposes until the mid- 

 day heat is passed, whilst his dog, also sharing in 

 the universal languor which seems at that hour to 

 oppress the whole face of nature, lies panting upon 

 the ground, with his legs extended to the utmost, and 

 his tongue hanging far out of his mouth. 



The weary hours roll on, and nature revives ; the 

 woods again resound with the melody of the voice of 

 birds ; butterflies, of varied hue, flutter across the 

 open glades; bees flit from flower to flower; and 

 lustrous beetles, exhibiting metallic hues of green 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 perpetual 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 dis- 

 tinguished the distant cry of the peacock, the shrill 

 wild note of jungle-fowl, the call of the coppersmith, 

 the tapping of the woodpecker against some hollow 



