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chirps as it flies very much in the tone of a Mniotilt a — 
a penetrating, wiry, zeep ing chirp. 
We saw several Parrots flying high and swiftly 
over the forest, calling. 
I shall remember this evening to the end of my life. 
It was perfectly calm with a cloudless sky in which the 
new moon hung like a curved silver thread. The light for 
half-an-hour after sunset was something incredible, a clear 
strong, amber light which brought out every detail of tree 
trunk and foliage more distinctly than it is ever seen 
at noonday. But, beautiful as was this light and the 
tropical foliage which-it glorified, I scarce noticed either, 
so absorbing was the interest aroused in me by the crepus¬ 
cular and nocturnal bird voices which I here heard for the 
first time. No sooner had the sun set and the heavy 
tropical dew begun to fall than all aground the edges of 
the forest — now here, now there, next from two or three 
points at once, rose a long, rolling whistle as clear and 
sweet in tone as that of a silver bell yet with a strange 
eery quality — a subtle coldness, almost heartlessness, 
of expression which, like certain types of human beauty, 
at once fascinated and repelled. This strange, unearthly 
voice might well typify the cry of a lost soul, hopeless 
yet unrepenting. It held me spellbound for many minutes 
and thrilled me as no bird music has ever done before, yet 
