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 



