8 IN BIRD-LAND 



was still the sweetest possible harmony. I think 

 I never heard such a chorus of avian music before ; 

 there was a Thrush sitting on the topmost branch 

 of a tree near, a ray from the sun setting off his 

 spotted breast, and his throat could be seen 

 expanding as he sang. 



But as the sun slowly sank below the hills, one 

 by one of these songsters broke off their notes. 

 The sun was presently hid from view, and the 

 golden clouds that marked his course were floating 

 gradually away, meanwhile changing into a dark 

 grey as they disappeared in the south ; the hills 

 were cut out in sharp profile against the broad 

 streak of yellow sky in the west ; but gradually 

 this colour faded away and the hills seemed to 

 become blended with the sky by a haze that hung 

 over them. The birds had ceased singing, with 

 the exception of a Thrush sitting near, and at last 

 he also left his high perch to retire to rest in the 

 bush beneath. 



Stillness hovered over the whole woodland ; 

 hardly a sound was to be heard with the excep- 

 tion of the sighing of the evening breeze as it 

 rustled through the young leaves. Presently a 

 slight noise below caused me to look down, when 

 a field-mouse, tame because unconscious of danger, 

 was sitting on its hind feet looking up with his 



