The mock-bird, perched upon the highest limb, was mimicking the monotonous tones of the parrot.

The toucans and trogons flashed from grove to grove, or balanced their bodies under the spray of the _jet d'eau_; while the humming-birds hung upon the leaves of some honeyed blossom, or prinkled over the parterre like straying sunbeams.
I was running my eye over this dream-like picture, in search of a human figure, when the soft, metallic accents of a female voice reached me from the grove of plantains.

It was a burst of laughter--clear and ringing.

Then followed another, with short exclamations, and the sound of water as if dashed and sprinkled with a light hand.
What must be the Eve of a paradise like this! The silver tones were full of promise.

It was the first female voice that had greeted my ears for a month, and chords long slumbering vibrated under the exquisite touch.
My heart bounded.