A JUNGLE CLEARING 35 
the States, with its clusters of tiny white blos- 
soms bouqueted in the bracts of its leaves. 
A few yards down the hillside was a clump of 
real friends—the rich green leaves of vervain, 
that humble little weed, sacred in turn to the 
Druids, the Romans, and the early Christians, 
and now brought inadvertently in some long-past 
time, in an overseas shipment, and holding its 
own in this breathing-space of the jungle. I was 
so interested by this discovery of a superficial 
northern flora, that I began to watch for other 
forms of temperate-appearing life, and for a long 
time my ear found nothing out of harmony with 
the plants. The low steady hum of abundant 
insects was so constant that it required conscious 
effort to disentangle it from silence. Every few 
seconds there arose the cadence of a passing bee 
or fly, the one low and deep, the other shrill and 
penetrating. And now, just as I had become 
wholly absorbed in this fascinating game,—the 
kind of game which may at-any moment take a 
worth-while scientific turn,—it all dimmed and 
the entire picture shifted and changed. I doubt 
if any one who has been at a modern battle-front 
can long sit with closed eyes in a midsummer 
meadow and not have his blood leap as scene after 
