DAYS AMONG THE PLOVER, Itf 



stillness lingered in the groves, and a milder 

 radiance played along the hills do you not 

 remember those days? Can you forget how 

 something like the whisper of an angel in a silver 

 flute struck a strange chord within, and, while you 

 stood wondering whether it fell from the sky or 

 came from below the horizon's verge, you saw a 

 little scrap of gray whisking from the grass, far out 

 of reach, and aimed for the stars? And then 

 louder, clearer t yet even softer than before, fell 

 again that strange ripple of sound that putc to 

 shame the wonders of acoustics, beside which 

 ventriloquism is ridiculous and whispering-gal- 

 leries contemptible. So near it seemed in its 

 liquid purity that you expected to see another 

 bird rising from the grass within easy shot ; and 

 as you saw nothing, there came, more tender yet, 

 even clearer and nearer than before, another 

 pearly triplet of tone, as if another bird had risen 

 at your feet. Can so much energy be lodged in 

 that bit of frail machinery, that under the edge 

 of yon distant cloud seems to need all its power 

 to maintain its velocity? How can sound so 

 light be so far-reaching, or tone so sweet traverse 

 space like the thunderbolt with so little loss of 



