a Swamp Beauts 



sun. The specimen — for it is mounted 

 now — that I have been describing did 

 this singular bit of attitudinizing for me 

 on the cypress knee, holding its bill agape 

 meanwhile, its little eyes shining like deep- 

 set, reddish jewels. 



In one respect the snake-bird — a pity 

 the beautiful creature has a name so 

 squirmy! — is fortunate. His haunts will 

 probably never be destroyed by man. 

 The swamps and everglades of the low 

 country seem destined to hold forever 

 their dreary perfection of damp, desolate, 

 irreclaimable loneliness, where Plotus an- 

 hinga may live on, keeping up its strange, 

 serpent-like wrigglings, and decoying en- 

 thusiastic naturalists deep into the mire 

 and quicksands beside the dull, coffee- 

 colored waters. And how the mosquitos 

 do sing and swarm there ! How the moc- 

 casin-snakes do writhe and threaten! 

 Worst of all, how the huge rattlesnakes 

 jar their linked tails and strike venomously 

 home from their, coils under the dwarf 

 palmetto-leaves ! 



But the mocking-birds are not far away. 

 199 



