140 BIRD LIFE ON ISLAND AND SHORE 
level, and then rising buoyant from the waves 
with quick little steps, as gulls rise from stretches 
of smooth sand. Not the spirits of departed 
Maoris winging their way across the ocean soli- 
tudes, flying back from northernmost cape to the 
land whence the race has sprung, seeking their 
ancient fatherland, could seem more utterly alone 
than each Petrel as he falls from the cliff edge 
and spreads his pinions to the air. 
At last the hindermost bird has gone; at last, 
alter the babbling of the busy night, silence pre- 
vails—a silence so sudden and distinct that often 
it has awakened me. Then, perhaps also awakened 
momentarily, and as if cheering the event, each 
Bellbird greets the quiet with a note of inexpres- 
sible freshness. There drops from each sleepy 
bird, motionless amid the dewy leaves, one single 
silver note, exquisite, unforgettable, of a strange 
sweetness, of an almost magical loveliness after 
the discords of the night. It was as though the 
clamorous rout of Comus had withdrawn, and 
that the lady of the play, spotless and pure, 
“breathing divine enchanting ravishment,” had 
reappeared. 
