298 BLUEFIELDS. 



which the bass is supplied by the roll of the surf 

 falling on the sea-beach at measured intervals, — a low 

 hollow roar, protracted until it dies away along the 

 sinuous shore, the memorial of a fierce but transitory 

 sea-breeze. But there are sweeter sounds than 

 these : the Mocking Bird takes his seat on the highest 

 twig of the orange tree at my feet, and pours forth 

 his rich and solemn gushes of melody, with such an 

 earnestness as if his soul were in his song. A rival 

 •from a neighbouring tree commences a similar strain, 

 and now the two birds exert all their powers, each 

 striving his utmost to outsing the other, until the 

 silence of the lonely night rings with bursts, and 

 swells, and tender cadences of melodious song. Here 

 and there, over the pasture, the intermittent green 

 spark of the Firefly flits along, and at the edges of 

 the bounding woods scores of twinkling lights are 

 seen, appearing and disappearing in the most puzzling 

 manner. Three or four Bats are silently winging 

 along through the air, now passing over the face of 

 the vertical moon like tiny black specks, now dart- 

 ing through the narrow arch beneath the steps, and 

 now flitting so close over head that one is tempted 

 to essay their capture with an insect-net. The light 

 of the moon, however, though clearly revealing their 

 course, is not powerful or precise enough for this, 

 and the little nimble Leatherwings pursue their giddy 

 play in security. 



