WILD LIFE IN SEVERN ESTUARY 7 



ing, eloquent of communicated feeling. There is 

 indeed, one feels, a language of the emotions among 

 animals. Yet it is not, as it is often absurdly 

 imagined, a language of words. It is a language of 

 sounds and sometimes of signs. But the sounds 

 do not represent words. They are thrills and utter- 

 ances which reach the depths of primitive emotion. 

 They are declamations, intonations, cadences, incan- 

 tations. And beyond doubt they are capable of 

 powerfully and instantly reproducing corresponding 

 states and shades of intense feeling in those affected 

 by them. 



The tide has turned and has now begun to flow, the 

 water rapidly lapping its way over the mud and 

 singing on the half-dried surface as it recovers it. 

 Remote in the distance a kestrel hangs in mid-air 

 over the sand dunes, looking, save for the difference 

 of size, curiously like the turkey-buzzard as it may 

 often be seen on the wing in Southern California. 

 Yet not, like the latter, on the look-out for carrion, 

 but with an alert eye watching the small birds in 

 the brambles below and ready at an opportune 

 instant to swoop on its prey like a bolt from above. 

 Nearer still but higher in the air a large bird, long 

 and slim in body and strong of flight, is making 

 for the south-west, looking almost headless as it 

 wheels in the air. It is the peregrine falcon of 

 lordly fame in the spacious days of hawking. The 

 bird still nests nearby, and with the single exception 

 of the raven it is the master of all that flies here. 

 And yonder, travelling high over the inland marshes 

 with its large wings flapping in slow and stately 

 progress, is its ancient and noble quarry the heron. 

 Many of the old heronries still exist. There are 



