the giant palms of the American tropics cannot be adequately represented by the modern methods of p

e weird solemnity of that mighty colonnade. Each stone-grey trunk is a perfect pillar,-but a pillar of which the stupendous grace has no counterpart in the works of man. You must strain your head well back to follow the soaring of the prodigious column, up, up, up through abysses

d in it have begun to set in motion widely different groups of ideas,-can you comprehend how very complex it must have been. Many impressions belonging to personal experience were doubtless revived in it, but also wi

man in the gloom beneath as of a groping beetle,-thrills like the rhythm of some single marvellous verse that is learned in a glance and remembered forever. Yet the delight, even at its vividest, is shadowed by a queer disquiet. The aspect of that monstrous, pale, naked, smooth-stretching column suggests a life as conscious as the s