haft of light touched the tips of the highest trees, and as if in
response to a poised baton, there broke forth that wonder of the
world--the Zoroastrian chorus of tens of thousands of jungle
creatures.

Over the quicksilver surface little individual breezes wandered here
and there. I could clearly see the beginning and the end of them, and
one that drifted ashore and passed me felt like the lightest touch of
a breath. One saw only the ripple on the water; one thought of
invisible wings and trailing unseen robes.

With the increasing warmth the water-mist rose slowly, like a last
quiet breath of night; and as it ascended,--the edges changing from
silvery gray to grayish white,--it gathered close its shredded
margins, grew smaller as it rose higher, and finally became a cloud. I
watched it and wondered about its fate. Before the day was past, it
might darken in its might, hurl forth thunders and jagged light, and
lose its very substance in down-poured liquid. Or, after drifting idly
high in air, the still-born cloud might garb itself in rich purple and
gold for the pageant of the west, and again descend to brood over the
coming marvel of another sunrise.

The tallest of bamboos lean over our low, lazy spread of bungalow; and
late this very night, in the full moonlight, I leave my cot and walk
down to the beach over a shadow carpet of Japanese filigree. The air
over the white sand is as quiet and feelingless to my skin as
complete, comfortable clothing. On one side is the dark river; on the
other, the darker jungle full of gentle rustlings, low, velvety
breaths of sound; and I slip into the water and swim out, out, out.
Then I turn over and float along with the almost tangible moonlight
flooding down on face and water. Suddenly the whole air is broken by
the chorus of big red baboons, which rolls and tumbles toward me in
masses of sound along the surface and goes trembling, echoing on over
shore and jungle, till hurled back by the answering chorus of another
clan. It stirs one to the marrow, for there is far more in it than the
mere roaring of monkeys; and I turn uneasily, and slowly surge back
toward the sand, overhand now, making companionable splashes.

And then again I stop, treading water softly, with face alone between
river and sky; for the monkeys have ceased, and very faint and low,
but blended in wonderful minor harmony, comes another chorus--from
three miles down the river: the convicts singing hymns in the