warm; and in the morning, when we took his body away, we saw them clinging hopefully to the sun-warmed stump. "Long live the king!" one fancies their sycophantic word, as they kissed the senseless edges of the heated bark. For three whole days some of them hung to the place, through dew and rain, till a drenching night washed them into perdition.
So it is always when a great man dies. He must have his parasites in life, and it is a cold world for the vermin when he is gone.
What more about the swamp? Snakes? I wish I could close without saying a word defamatory of the poor, maltreated swamp. But one thing is true: it is no more to be blamed for its vermin than the eagle. In fair hands the swamp would purify itself and be as wholesome in its life as in its air and water.
"Pity 'tis, 'tis true." We have told of the birds and flowers and other lovely features of this strange region. Now we must go down into the recesses of its sins and let them see the day.
Booted to the thigh, armed with knife and gun, is the only safe way to enter the canebrake, or, indeed, to depart in any way from the open spaces of the swamp. During our exploring we did not see bear or panther or wildcat; but whoever leaves
