If this symphony of nature is to be written down, it must be by some master who will combine in one marvellous melody these musical utterances that are so mighty and impressive, so full of mystery and charm, and so often dying away in the deepest and most delicate cadences. None of these tones should be missing, no note of them all should be struck out. I should like to set in contrast with this mighty primeval harmony of the wilderness the sounds and voices of the modern industrial world, which gradually and unwittingly we take to be something natural. He who would feel all its greatness and perfection must keep himself far away for weeks and months from the screaming whistle he hears on the railway, and the howling siren of a steamship. Then there is the insect world! Those flower-covered bushes have attracted a multitude of great droning beetles. They hasten to them in heavy flight. On the ground a host of scarabæus beetles are busy with their special work. The ceaseless sharp chirps of the cicadas sing their continual song. Through all its variations there goes on this hum and buzz of the millions and millions of the lower creation. And joined with it there ring out the thousands and thousands of songs of the birds; the powerful voices of the great mammals bellow over plain and bushland, through swamps and primeval forests, over dale and hill. The concert of the feathered songsters is suddenly silent, as, it may be, the harsh cry of the leopard resounds, or the mighty, dull, rumbling roar of the king of the desert thunders over the earth; or the trumpet-like cry of the elephant vibrates through the woods; or harsh war-cries from human lips, battle-songs of primitive men, are heard--but heedless of it all, even at these moments, day and night resound the weak voices of all the myriads of lesser creatures of the animal world. But he who penetrates into this wilderness must have receptive senses to understand the full beauty of it all. For him this harmony exists wherever the primitive animal world lives its life. [Illustration: ON THE WEST SIDE OF KILIMANJARO I FOUND A BROOK, CALLED BY THE MASAI “MOLOGH.” ABOUT TEN MILES FROM THE WESTERN ‘NJIRI SWAMPS IN THE DRY SEASON IT SUDDENLY DISAPPEARS AMONG THE STONES AND REACHES THE SWAMPS BY AN UNDERGROUND CHANNEL.]