246 RIVERBY 



ently all is still, save the ringing in your own ears. 

 Then after a few moments, during which you have 

 sat in a silence like that of the interstellar spaces, 

 you hear over your left shoulder a distant napping 

 of wings, followed by the crowing of a cock. You 

 turn your head in that direction and behold a faint 

 dawn breaking on the horizon. It slowly increases 

 till you hear footsteps approaching, and your dusky 

 companion, playing the part of Apollo, with lamp 

 in hand ushers in the light of day. It is rather 

 theatrical, but a very pleasant diversion nevertheless. 

 Another surprise was when we paused at a cer- 

 tain point, and the guide asked me to shout or call 

 in a loud voice. I did so without any unusual ef- 

 fect following. Then he spoke in a very deep bass, 

 and instantly the rocks all about and beneath us * 

 became like the strings of an Jolian harp. They 

 seemed transformed as if by enchantment. Then I 

 tried, but did not strike the right key; the rocks 

 were dumb; I tried again, but got no response; flat 

 and dead the sounds came back as if in mockery; 

 then I struck a deeper bass, the chord was hit, and 

 the solid walls seemed to become as thin and frail 

 as a drum-head or as the frame of a violin. They 

 fairly seemed to dance about us, and to recede away 

 from us. Such wild, sweet music I had never be- 

 fore heard rocks discourse. Ah, the magic of the 

 right key ! " Why leap ye, ye high hills ? " why, 

 but that they had been spoken to in the right voice ? 

 Is not the whole secret of life to pitch our voices in 

 the right key ? Responses come from the very rocks 



