BIRDS IN LONDON 269 



captured him, and miserably lean, for he had 

 been starving ; but his frightened heart beat 

 so violently as I held him, that I was glad to 

 open the door and set him free. He will come 

 back no more, was my thought, when I watched 

 him flying softly away — a strange white bird in 

 the brDliant sunhght, soon vanishing in the shade 

 of the cool, green wood. But on the following 

 night, a little past midnight, his cry sounded 

 once more — that long, sepulchral, sibUant cry 

 as of the night- wind shrieking in the roof of 

 some old haunted house. Louder and louder it 

 sounded as he came nearer to my open window, 

 then fainter as he flew round to the other side 

 of the house, then louder again as he returned. 

 He was perhaps thanking me for rescuing him. 



The last thing every night, when the house 

 was dark and stiU, I would lean out of my 

 window to listen to the nightingales singing, 

 widely scattered, some near and loud, some at 

 a distance, scarcely audible. At such times the 

 dark earth, spread out before me, and the wide 

 sky above, each through a different sense, — one 

 with melody of hidden birds, the other with 

 glitter of stars, — seemed to produce a similar 



