without pause, they quickly left me behind, and presently my
career was stopped by an impenetrable tangle of bushes, vines,
and roots of large trees extending like huge cables along the
ground. In the midst of this leafy labyrinth I sat down on a
projecting root to cool my blood before attempting to make my way
back to my former position. After that tempest of motion and
confused noises the silence of the forest seemed very profound;
but before I had been resting many moments it was broken by a low
strain of exquisite bird-melody, wonderfully pure and expressive,
unlike any musical sound I had ever heard before. It seemed to
issue from a thick cluster of broad leaves of a creeper only a
few yards from where I sat. With my eyes fixed on this green
hiding-place I waited with suspended breath for its repetition,
wondering whether any civilized being had ever listened to such a
strain before. Surely not, I thought, else the fame of so divine
a melody would long ago have been noised abroad. I thought of
the rialejo, the celebrated organbird or flute-bird, and of the
various ways in which hearers are affected by it. To some its
warbling is like the sound of a beautiful mysterious instrument,
while to others it seems like the singing of a blithe-hearted
child with a highly melodious voice. I had often heard and
listened with delight to the singing of the rialejo in the
Guayana forests, but this song, or musical phrase, was utterly
unlike it in character. It was pure, more expressive, softer--so
low that at a distance of forty yards I could hardly have heard
it. But its greatest charm was its resemblance to the human
voice--a voice purified and brightened to something almost
angelic. Imagine, then, my impatience as I sat there straining my
sense, my deep disappointment when it was not repeated! I rose
at length very reluctantly and slowly began making my way back;