38 EDGE OF THE JUNGLE 
with an actual bluebird which looped across the 
open space in front. The spell was broken for a 
moment, and my subconscious autocrat thrust 
into realization the instantaneous report—appar- 
ent blue-bird call is the note of a small flycatcher 
and the momentary vision was not even a moun- 
tain bluebird but a red-breasted blue chatterer! 
So I shut my eyes very quickly and listened to 
the soft calls, which alone would have deceived 
the elosest analyzer of bird songs. And so for a 
little while longer I still held my picture intact, 
a magic scape, a hundred yards square and an 
hour long, set in the heart of the Guiana jungle. 
And when at last I had to desert Canada, and 
relinquish New Jersey, I slipped only a few hun- 
dred miles southward. For another twenty min- 
utes I clung to Virginia, for the enforced shift 
was due to a great Papilio butterfly which 
stopped nearby and which I captured with a 
lucky sweep of my net. My first thought was of 
the Orange-tree Swallow-tail, née Papilio cres- 
phontes. Then the first lizards appeared, and by 
no stretch of my willing imagination could I pre- 
tend that they were newts, or fit the little emerald 
scales into a New England pasture. And so I 
chose for a time to live again among the Virgin- 
