THE LAKE VILLAGE 201 



and there for half an hour we had them right before 

 us while we drank tea and ate strawberries, and watched 

 them working at the cones — our quaint pretty little 

 parrots of the north, so diversely coloured — one red like 

 a red cardinal, one or two yellow, others green or mixed. 

 On the following day I was at Wells ; it was Sunday, 

 and in the morning, happening to see the bell-ringers 

 hurrying into St. Cuthbert's church, I was reminded 

 of an old wish of mine to be in a belfry during the bell- 

 ringing. This wish and intention was formed some 

 years ago on reading an article in the Saturday Review 

 by Walter Herries Pollock, describing his sensations 

 in a belfry. Here then was my opportunity — a better 

 could not have been found if I had sought for it. St. 

 Cuthbert's is one of the greatest of the great Glaston- 

 bury church towers, with a peal of eight big bells. I 

 had often listened to them with pleasure from a re- 

 spectable distance, and now I felt a slight twinge of 

 apprehension at the prospect of a close acquaintance. 

 The bell-ringers were amused at my request : nobody 

 ever wanted to be among the bells when they were 

 being rung, they assured me ; however, they did not 

 object, and so to the belfry I climbed, and waited, a 

 little nervously, as some musical enthusiast might wait 

 to hear a symphony from the days of the giants, com- 

 posed (when insane) by a giant Tschaikovsky, to be 

 performed on " instruments of unknown form " and 

 gigantic size. I was not disappointed ; the effect was 

 too awful for words and was less musical than I had 

 thought it would be. In less than three minutes it 



