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Perhaps thereafter she may bear you through the immense silence of drenched rice-fields, where the yellow-green level is broken at long intervals by the black silhouette of some irrigating machine; but, whichever of the five different routes be pursued, you will find yourself more than once floating through sombre mazes of swamp-forest, past assemblages of cypresses all hoary with the parasitic tillandsia, and grotesque as gatherings of fetich-gods.
Ever from river or from lakelet the steamer glides again into canal or bayou, from bayou or canal once more into lake or bay; and sometimes the swamp-forest visibly thins away from these shores into wastes of reedy morass where, even of breathless nights, the quaggy soil trembles to a sound like thunder of breakers on a coast: the storm-roar of billions of reptile voices chanting in cadence, rhythmically surging in stupendous crescendo and diminuendo, a monstrous and appalling chorus of frogs! ....
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