THE BIRDS AT THE MANGO TOPE. 155 



idiot boy took for a cock ; this squeaks and jibbers like a 

 ghost in the Roman streets. Yet it is impossible to get 

 rid of the impression that the spotted owlet is not such a 

 fool as it looks. Let us say it is eccentric. In this same 

 tope there is, however, though it will not let you see it, a 

 bird or feathered spectre of some sort, which fully restores 

 the owlish reputation, for it out-'owls (no pun) every owl. 

 Its voice carries melancholy to a depth of abysmal dole- 

 fulness which the ear must hear before the mind can image 

 it. What a power of conceiving unutterable anguish must 

 lie in the bosom which can express itself so ! The natives 

 say the devil is in the bird, and they will not go near the 

 place at night. 



The tope has on one side of it a sort of suburb of bore 

 and babul-trees, mixed with a little scrubby underwood, 

 and this affords shelter to some birds which could not find 

 sustenance or a congenial habitation among the mango- 

 trees. For instance, there is that ungainly object the 

 coucal, crow-pheasant, jungle-crow, or whatever else you 

 like to call the miscellaneous thing as it clamours through 

 a creeper-laden bush, or spreads its reddish-bay wings, and 

 makes a slow voyage to the next tree. To judge by its 

 appearance only, it might be a crow developing for a pea- 



II 2 



