THE DREAM OF THE YELLOW-THROAT 



MANY of us look with longing to the days 

 of Columbus; we chafe at the thought of 

 no more continents to discover ; no unknown seas 

 to encompass. But at our very doors is an "un- 

 discovered bourne," from which, while the travel- 

 ler invariably returns, yet he will have penetrated 

 but slightly into its mysteries. This unexplored 

 region is night. 



When the dusk settles down and the creatures 

 of sunlight seek their rest, a new realm of life 

 awakens into being. The flaring colours and loud 

 bustle of the day fade and are lost, and in their 

 place come soft, gray tones and silence. The 

 scarlet tanager seeks some hidden perch and soon 

 from the same tree slips a silent, ghostly owl ; the 

 ruby of the hummingbird dies out as the gaudy 

 flowers of day dose their petals, and the gray 

 wraiths of sphinx moths appear and sip nectar 

 from the spectral moonflowers. 



With feet shod with silence, let us creep near a 

 dense tangle of sweetbrier and woodbine late some 

 summer evening and listen to the sounds of the 

 night-folk. How few there are that our ears can 



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