H /lDarsb*Ian& ITncibent 



to make way with all of the gnats and 

 mosquitos in the open parts of the wood, 

 and the magnificent wide-armed live-oaks 

 and water-oaks looked like immense apple- 

 trees — an orchard of the gods. 



I stood still, looking all around. But 

 what had become of the birds heard 

 awhile ago? Not a sound could I hear, 

 save the multitudinous rustlings of the 

 wind. No wing-shine flashed across the 

 aisles. The impression of solitude was per- 

 fect. Of course, I had not expected to 

 find a swarming wood in midwinter; but 

 I well knew that this utter silence and 

 stillness could not last; so I strolled on 

 deeper into the shadows, and the first sign 

 of animal life to attract my attention was 

 a tiny brown creeper going spirally up a 

 big tree, amid the lichens and ferns. I 

 stopped to make a note of this, according 

 to habit; and while I was putting away 

 my book and pencil a large bird flew 

 along close to me and lit on a branch not 

 twenty yards distant, but amid the leaves 

 and moss, so that I could not see it. 

 From the merest glimpse, as it went by, I 

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