Did you ever chance to hear the midnight flight of birds passing through
the air and darkness overhead, in countless armies, changing their early
or late summer habitat? It is something not to be forgotten. A friend
called me up just after 12 last night to mark the peculiar noise of
unusually immense flocks migrating north (rather late this year.) In
the silence, shadow and delicious odor of the hour, (the natural perfume
belonging to the night alone,) I thought it rare music. You could _hear_
the characteristic motion--once or twice "the rush of mighty wings,"
but often a velvety rustle, long drawn out--sometimes quite near--with
continual calls and chirps, and some song-notes. It all lasted from 12
till after 3. Once in a while the species was plainly distinguishable;
I could make out the bobolink, tanager, Wilson's thrush, white-crown'd
sparrow, and occasionally from high in the air came the notes of the
plover.