A VOYAGE TO HEARTS ISLAND. 139 



giant gritting his teeth. I could make my ears 

 assent to either comparison. Suddenly my vi- 

 brating nerves told me that the song of the 

 owl had changed. I listened, excited. " Whoo, 

 hoo-hoo-hoo, whooo, whooo ! " No, it was the 

 same. But hark ! from another tree comes back 

 a response, " Whoo, hoo-hoo-hoo, hoo-hoo-hoo, 

 whooo ! " The male had returned from a hunt- 

 ing trip, and the pair were talking it over. 



Whether it was the change and alternation in 

 the owl's metre, or simple exhaustion on my part, 

 which at last gave me sleep I cannot say, but 

 after hearing a distant deep-toned bell strike 

 twice I lost myself in needed slumber. 



My awakening was sudden. I found myself 

 leaning on my elbow listening to one of the most 

 joyous songs which New England birds produce. 

 "Cherokee, cherokee, bo-peep, bo-peep, chrit, 

 chrit, chrit, perucru, perucru, cru, cru, cru, cru ! " 



Pushing aside tent and mummy cloths I un- 

 snarled myself and gained my feet. The moon 

 was nearing her western harbor, but upon the 

 rim of Fairhaven Hill rested the morning star. 

 There are few moments in life so full of happi- 

 ness and exultation as those in which man, 

 brushing sleep from his eyes, rises with the first 

 bird song and welcomes into his soul the beauty 

 of the dawn. Some minutes in a life seem 

 doubly charged with the essence both of self- 



