With the Dog Star low in the south-eastern sky and 

 the crescent moon rising to peer through obscuring 

 clouds, the silence of morning commands a subdued 

 respect almost akin to reverence. Slowly moving 

 forms, distorted by the uncertain light that outlines 

 them against the still water, seem to make the hush 

 more oppressive. The air is still, and there is not even 

 a tremulous motion among the tallest rushes that rise 

 above the impenetrable and entangled growths of the 

 marsh. Clouds hang low, as if festooning the great 

 invisible dome. The grandest temple that man can 

 rear is weak and insignificant compared with the vast 

 solemnity of the open, lingering night. This all- 

 enshrouding temple is suddenly profaned by a swift, 

 red flash followed by a harsh, explosive report. Flash 

 and report follow again and again in close irregularity, 

 some near and some dulled and almost invisible in 

 the distance, where the long, extending shore is still 

 curtained by the night. Answering reports come in 

 rapid succession from the concealed reaches of the 

 marsh, and before there is a trace of day in the east 



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