WINTER 47 



There was one bird who used to crow 

 for about forty minutes, beginning at one 

 o'clock in the morning. The wrath engen- 

 dered by these solos kept me awake until 

 three, and shortly after that hour he re- 

 sumed for another half-hour or so. At 

 five he began to crow in serious earnest 

 for the day. And that pesky bird would 

 go to bed while the sun was an hour high, 

 in order to keep his voice fresh. His 

 owner was one of the Seven Sleepers, and 

 had never heard him ; but by reason of an 

 order from the health board and a police 

 visit, I convinced him that the rest of us 

 did, and the warbler was shut up after dark 

 forthwith. He had escaped no end of 

 stones, coal, and kindling that had been 

 hurled at his voice during the night by 

 people who went to bed at midnight and 

 slept with their windows open. 



Not all roosters are so offensive. I have 

 heard the crow of one that was a long, wail- 

 ing note like the howl of a dog. No two 

 voices are alike, be it of men or birds ; no 

 two faces, no two minds, no two creatures, 

 crystals, flowers, or petals. Nature's infi- 



