Camping among the Tombs 
flies, all kinds of happy insects, seem to be in 
a perfect fever of joy and sportive gladness. 
The whole place seems like a center of life. The 
dead do not reign there alone. 
Bonaventure to me is one of the most impres- 
sive assemblages of animal and plant creatures 
I ever met. I was fresh from the Western 
prairies, the garden-like openings of Wisconsin, 
the beech and maple and oak woods of Indiana 
and Kentucky, the dark mysterious Savannah 
cypress forests; but never since I was allowed 
to walk the woods have I found so impressive 
a company of trees as the tillandsia-draped 
oaks of Bonaventure. 
I gazed awe-stricken as one new-arrived 
from another world. Bonaventure is called a 
graveyard, a town of the dead, but the few 
graves are powerless in such a depth of life. 
The rippling of living waters, the song of birds, 
the joyous confidence of flowers, the calm, un- 
disturbable grandeur of the oaks, mark this 
place of graves as one of the Lord’s most fa- 
vored abodes of life and light. 
[ 69 ] 
