upper spurs produced into long, thread-like processes, which 
extinguishes any possibility of a warning “ swish.” 
John Bright, in one of his magnificient perorations, caused 
his spell-bound listeners to catch their breath, when, conjuring 
up a vision of the Angel of Death, he remarked “ we can almost 
hear the rustle of his wings.” One realizes the vividness of 
that imagery, when one hears, as on rare occasions one may, 
the awe-inspiring rustle of the death-dealing swoop of the falcon, 
or the sparrow-hawk, as he strikes down his victim. 
But the swish, and whistle of wings often stirs the blood 
with delicious excitement, as, when one is out on some cold, dark 
night, “flighting.” That is to say, awaiting mallard passing 
overhead on the way to their feeding ground, or in watching 
the hordes of starlings, or swallows, settling down to roost in a 
reed-bed. No words can describe these sounds, but those to 
whom they are familiar know well the thrill of enjoyment they 
beget. There is no need, here, to muffle the sound of the wing- 
beat. The falcon vies with the lightning in his speed, escape is 
well nigh hopeless: neither have the swallows need for silence ; 
indeed, on these occasions, they add, to the music of their wings, 
the enchantment of their twittering. 
So much for flight in its more general aspects. Let us turn 
now to a survey of some of the more remarkable forms of flight, 
beginning with that known as “ soaring.” 
24 
