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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