ow ferns
beneath his hammock. He reached over and caught hold of one of the cords,
finding the attendant trap heavy with prey. He was on the point of feeling
his way to the trap itself, when instead, by some subconscious prompting,
he reached over and snapped on his flashlight. And there before him,
hanging in mid-air, striking viciously at his fingers which were just
beyond its reach, was a young fer-de-lance--one of the deadliest of
tropical serpents. His nerves gave way, and with a crash the trap fell to
the ground where he could hear it stirring and thrashing about among the
dead leaves. This ominous rustling did not encourage sleep; he lay there
for a long time listening,--and every minute is longer in the
darkness,--while his hammock quivered and trembled with the reaction.

Guided by this, I might enter into a new field of naturalizing and say
to those who might, in excitement, be tempted to do otherwise, "Look
at your traps before lifting them." But my audience would be too
limited; I will refrain from so doing.

It is true that this brief experience might be looked upon as one
illustration of the perils of the wilderness, since it is not
customary for the fer-de-lance to frequent the city and the town. But
this would give rise to a footless argument, leading nowhere. For
danger is everywhere--it lurks in every shadow and is hidden in the
bright sunlight, it is the uninvited guest, the invisible pedestrian
who walks beside you in the crowded street ceaselessly, without
tiring. But even a fer-de-lance should rather add to the number of
hammock devotees than diminish them; for the three feet or more of
elevation is as good as so many miles between the two of you. And
three miles from any serpent is sufficient.

It may be that the very word danger is subjected to a different
interpretation in each one of our mental dictionaries. It is elastic,
comprehensive. To some it may include whatever is terrible,
terrifying; to others it may symbolize a worthy antagonist, one who
throws down the gauntlet and asks no questions, but who will make a
good and fair fight wherein advantage is neither taken nor given. I
suppose, to be bitten by vampires would be thought a danger by many
who have not graduated from the mattress of civilization to this
cubiculum of the wilderness. This is due, in part, to an ignorance,
which is to be condoned; and this ignorance, in turn, is due to that
lack of desire for a knowledge of new countri