A SURREY RIVER. 117 



what they are by day, and they come on the ear 

 with startling distinctness. The moor-hen as it flies 

 overhead gives out a call like the clicketing " kevit- 

 kevit " of the barn owl, which also comes flitting now 

 here, now there, on noiseless wings, uttering his 

 harsh hissing scream. As you stand close to the 

 river-tangle you hear the sough of wings overhead ; 

 and then a dusky form, looking like some shadow, 

 drops close to you. It is the heron : he is near you, 

 but his form is not visible. Night-jars hum in the 

 trees, and the whirring noise made as they pursue 

 their prey sounds in strange vibrations over woods 

 and meadows. The cows can be heard as they nip 

 the grass in feeding, a long distance off. In the 

 reeds and tangle the sedge-warblers keep up a con- 

 tinual chatter all through the night. 



Large fish feed by night more than by day ; you 

 may hear a splash and rush on the shallows, and see 

 the glint of scales as the fish dart in all directions 

 from one of their enemies — pike, perch, or eel. Per- 

 haps you may see something which in passing leaves 

 a wake behind it : you look for the lightest part of 

 the narrow run that leads to the nearest pool, and 

 see a dark knob-like object moving swiftly out of 



