hushed.

The loud hoarse bark of an elk now unexpectedly startles the ear;
presently it is replied to by another, and once more the plover shrieks
"Did he do it?" and a peacock waking on his roost gives one loud scream
and sleeps again.

The heavy and regular splashing of water now marks the measured tread
of a single elephant as he roars out into the cooled lake, and you can
hear the more gentle falling of water as he spouts a shower over his
body. Hark at the deep guttural sigh of pleasure that travels over the
lake like a moan of the wind!--what giant lungs to heave such a breath;
but hark again! There was a fine trumpet! as clear as any bugle note
blown by a hundred breaths it rung through the still air. How
beautiful! There, the note is answered; not by so fine a tone, but by
discordant screams and roars from the opposite side, and the louder
splashing tells that the herd is closing up to the old bull. Like
distant thunder a deep roar growls across the lake as the old monarch
mutters to himself in angry impatience.

Then the long, tremulous hoot of the owl disturbs the night, mingled
with the harsh cries of flights of waterfowl, which doubtless the
elephants have disturbed while bathing.

Once more all sounds sink to rest for a few minutes, until the low,
grating roar of a leopard nearer home warns the horses of their danger
and wakes up the sleeping horsekeeper, who piles fresh wood upon the
fires, and the bright blaze shoots up among the trees and throws a
dull, ruddy glow across the surface of the water. And morning comes at
length, ushered in, before night has yet departed, by the strong,
shrill cry of the great fish-eagle, as he sits on the topmost bough of
some forest tree and at measured periods repeats his quivering and
unearthly yell like an evil spirit calling. But hark at that dull, low
note of indescribable pain and suffering! long and heavy it swells and
dies away. It is the devil-bird; and whoever sees that bird must
surely die soon after, according to Cingalese superstition.

A more cheering sound charms the ear as the gray tint of morning makes
the stars grow pale; clear, rich, notes, now prolonged and full, now
plaintive and low, set the example to other singing birds, as the
bulbul, first to awake, proclaims the morning. Wild, jungle-like songs
the birds indulge in; not like our steady thrushes of Old England, but
charming in their quaintness. The jungle partridge now wakes up, and
wit