260 AMERICAN GAME BIRD SHOOTING 
less—unmoved, yet whispering to the water about their 
roots with a strange trickling. But the light came on; 
the distant hills took shape and settled in firm gray out- 
line against the sky, and a breath of fresher, purer air, 
messenger of morning, passed over the lake, dispelling 
the vapors that hung reluctant, and causing the reeds to 
sway in graceful salute to the coming sun. A sparrow 
chirped from her perch with joy; a field lark rose from 
her bed in the grass, tuning her limpid pipe to a song 
of gladness; and the wild fowl plashed about right 
heartily, when the highest hilltop was touched with 
gold, and another and another, till the scene was il- 
lumined to the very bosom of the lake. The feathered 
orchestra sounds never so impressive as when it ushers 
in the day; never so fine and complete as when familiar 
voices sing the higher notes to the strange deep bass of 
the grouse; heard for the first time, as it was on this 
occasion, the effect is indescribable. No one could say 
whence the sound proceeded, nor how many birds, if 
more than one, produced it; the hollow reverberations 
filled the air, more like the lessening echoes of some 
great instrument far away, than the voice of a bird at 
hand. I listened to this grand concert, absorbed in 
the reflections it stirred within me, no longer alone, 
but in company I love, till the booming fell less fre- 
quently upon my ear, and then ceased—it was broad 
day; the various birds were about their homely avoca- 
tions, and I must betake myself to practical concerns. 
“Thus, in no faltering accents of timid expectancy, 
but in the bold tone of assured success, the grouse 
