having their upper spurs produced into long, thread-like 

 processes, which extinguishes any possibihty of a warning 

 " swish." 



John Bright, in one of his magnificent perorations, caused 

 his spell-bound listeners to catch their breath, when, con- 

 juring up a vision of the Angel of Death, he remarked " we 

 can almost hear the rustle of his wings." One reaUzes 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 dehcious 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 soimds, 

 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 weU-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 



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