196 IN THE MIDDLE COUNTRY. 



person of sensibility can listen to without sym- 

 pathy." " The solemn voice of sorrow," an- 

 other writer calls it. All this is mere sentimen- 

 tality, pure imagination ; and if the writers 

 could sit, as I have, under the tree when the 

 bird was singing, they would change their opin- 

 ion, though they would thereby lose a pretty 

 and attractive sentiment for their verse. I be- 

 lieve there is 



" No beast or bird in eartli or sky, 

 Whose voice doth not with gladness thrill," 



though it may not so express itself to our senses. 

 Certainly the coo of the dove is anything but 

 sad when heard very near. It has a rich, far-off 

 sound, expressing deep serenity, and a happiness 

 beyond words. 



First in the morning, and last at night, all 

 through June, carne to me the song of the dove. 

 As early as four o'clock his notes began, and 

 then, if I got up to look out on the lawn, where 

 I had spread breakfast for him and other feath- 

 ered friends, I would see him walking about 

 with dainty steps on his pretty red toes, looking 

 the pink of propriety in his Quaker garb, his 

 satin vest smooth as if it had been ironed down, 

 and quite worthy his reputed character for 

 meekness and gentleness. 



But I wanted to see the dove far from the 

 " madding crowd " of blackbirds, blue jays, and 



