98 East and West 
over the river and above the cotton fields, 
others soar on easy wing, ever up and up, 
climbing the sky like free spirits of the air. 
Nothing could present a greater contrast than 
these buzzards circling aloft in the blue, and 
the same birds huddled below in the dismal 
swamp. It is as though the bird had a 
double personality and were now possessed of 
a soaring spirit—free and pure—and again, 
dropping to earth, assumed its sordid and 
gruesome aspect, becoming a dismal carica- 
ture of its former self. When at length the 
free spirit moves it to rise out of the swamp, it 
soars once more in the realms of light with 
that beautiful flight, effortless, tireless, all 
grace and freedom, which sets the observer to 
soaring also. 
For several weeks logging was at a stand- 
still, the river being in flood, and hour by 
hour the yellow water crept up the banks and 
submerged the shore—formidable in its silent, 
sinister display of power. One could see it 
rise as the flood weltered up over cypress 
knees and the trunks of gum and ash with 
softly murmured swish. Far away in the 
mountains, it roared and fretted and foamed, 
highstrung, irritable, and impatient—the 
youthful impetuous river. But here in the 
