THE BIRDS IN THE MOON 95 



the surrounding darkness are tantalising hints 

 telling of the passing legions. Thousands and 

 thousands of birds are every night pouring north- 

 ward in a swift, invisible, aerial stream. 



As a projecting pebble in mid-stream blurs the 

 transparent water with a myriad bubbles, so the 

 narrow path of moon-rays, which our glass re- 

 veals, cuts a swath of visibility straight through 

 the host of birds to our eager eyes. How we hate 

 to lose an instant's opportunity! Even a wink 

 may allow a familiar form to pass unseen. If we 

 can use a small telescope, the field of view is much 

 enlarged. Now and then we recognise the flight 

 of some particular species, — the swinging loop of 

 a woodpecker or goldfinch, or the flutter of a 

 sandpiper. 



It has been computed that these birds some- 

 times fly as much as a mile or more above the sur- 

 face of the earth, and when we think of the tiny, 

 fluttering things at this terrible height, it takes 

 our breath away. What a panorama of dark 

 earth and glistening river and ocean must be 

 spread out beneath them! How the big moon 

 must glow in that rarefied air ! How diminutive 

 and puerile must seem the houses and cities of 

 human fashioning ! 



The instinct of migration is one of the most 

 wonderful in the world. A young bob-white and 

 a bobolink are hatched in the same New England 

 field. The former grows up and during the fall 



