THE LIVE OAKER OF EAST FLORIDA. 127 
Gradually as time past, he saw him descend in the 
west, and still all about him continued a mystery. 
The huge gray trees spread their quaint boughs, 
the rank grass extended on all sides, not a living 
being crossed his path, all was silent and still-— 
like a dull and dreary dream of the land of 
oblivion. On, on, he wandered like a forgotten 
ghost, which failing to reach the spirit land, un- 
heeded by the grim ferryman,, lingered still 
upon the Stygian shore. The hope of extri- 
cation heightened his imagination. Hach fresh 
object he fancied he could recognize, and search- 
ing for land-marks, wandered in reality still fur- 
ther from the right course. 
As evening approached, myriads of insects 
bazzed through the air. The squirrel retired 
to his hole, the crow to its roost, the harsh 
croaking of the heron told, that full of anxiety 
it sought its retreat in. the miry interior of some 
‘distant swamp, the woods resounded to the shrill 
cries of the owl, and all nature warned the wan- 
derer to seek some place of refuge, as the breeze 
sweeping through the forest came laden with 
heavy dews. No moon appeared to irradiate 
the scene and cheer the solitude with silvery 
light, which, “kissing dead things to life,” sheds 
beauty over all: The lost one, despairing and 
weary, laid himself on the damp ground, to 
wait with feverish anxiety the return of day, 
