WILD WINGS: A FAREWELL 309 



Rough and rainy days succeeded that rare evening 

 of a wild-wing display on a magnificent scale ; then 

 followed yet another perfect November morning 

 like that on which the martins had abandoned their 

 stricken nest. A clear sky, a light that glorified that 

 brown marshy world and a clear sharp air which 

 almost made one think that " miracles are not ceased," 

 since in breathing it in the shackles that hold and 

 weigh us down appear to drop off. On such a morn- 

 ing it is only necessary for a man to mimic the actions 

 of a crane or stork by lifting his arms and taking a 

 couple of strides and a hop forward, to find himself 

 launched in space, rising to a vast height, on a voyage 

 of exploration to " heavens not his own and worlds 

 unknown before." It is the nearest we can get to the 

 state of being a bird. 



On that side where the large sun was coming up 

 the sky was all a pale amber-coloured flame, and 

 on it, seemingly at a great distance, appeared minute 

 black floating spots, which rapidly increased in size 

 and presently resolved themselves into a company of 

 hooded crows just arrived from their journey over 

 the North Sea. And no sooner were they gone journey- 

 ing inland in their slow-flapping laborious manner, 

 than other crows and yet more crows succeeded, in 

 twos and threes and half-dozens, and in scores and 

 more, an endless straggling procession of hoary 

 Scandinavian or " Danish " crows coming to winter 

 in England. And from time to time fieldfares, too, 

 appeared, travelling a little faster with an undulatory 



