FROM WOOD TO WOOD 147 



The passage from the one to the other is an in- 

 teresting thing to see, but it does not take place till 

 after a considerable interval, during which the birds 

 talk, and seem to be preparing themselves for going 

 to bed. At last they are ready, or the proper time 

 has come. The sun has sunk, and evening, in its 

 stillness, seems to wait for night. The babbling 

 sing-song, though swollen, now, to its greatest 

 volume, seems — such are the harmonies of nature 

 — to have more of silence in it than of sound, but, 

 all at once, it changes to a sudden roar of wings, as 

 the birds whirl up and fly across the intervening 

 space, to their final resting-place. It seems, then, 

 as though all had risen, at one and the same 

 moment, but, had they done so, the plantation 

 would now be empty, and the entire sky, above it, 

 darkened by an immense host of birds. Such, 

 however, is not the case. There is, indeed, a con- 

 tinuous streaming out, but, all or most of the while 

 that it is flowing, the plantation from which it 

 issues must be stocked with still vaster numbers, 

 since it takes, as a rule, about half-an-hour for it to 

 become empty. It is drained, in fact, as a broad 

 sheet of water would be, by a constant, narrower 

 outflow, taking the water to represent the birds. 



Thus, though the exodus commences with sud- 

 denness, it is gradually accomplished, and this gives 

 the idea of method and sequence, in its accomplish- 

 ment. The mere fact that a proportion of the 

 birds resist, even up to the last moment, the impulse 

 to flight, which so many rushing pinions, but just 

 above their heads, may be supposed to communicate, 

 suggests some reason for such self-restraint, and 



