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 with his loud cry subdues all other sounds, until the numerous peacocks, perched on the high trees around the lake, commence their discordant yells, which master everything.
The name for the devil-bird is "gualama," and so impressed are the natives with the belief that a sight of it is equivalent to a call to the nether world that they frequently die from sheer fright and nervousness.