194 BIRDS IN TOWN AND VILLAGE 



fusedly rushing about in an impossible way ! a 

 chaos utterly unlike the serenity and imperceptible 

 growth of morning, and not a picture at all. 



By and by I found myself paying special attention 

 to one cock, about a hundred yards away, or a little 

 more perhaps, for by contrast all the other songs 

 within hearing seemed strangely inferior* Its voice 

 was singularly clear and pure, the last note greatly 

 prolonged and with a slightly falling inflection, yet 

 not collapsing at the finish as such long notes fre- 

 quently do, ending with a little internal sound or 

 croak, as if the singer had exhausted his breath ; 

 but it was perfect in its way, a finished performance, 

 artistic, and, by comparison, brilliant. After once 

 hearing this bird I paid little attention to the others, 

 but after each resounding call I counted the seconds 

 until its repetition. It was this bird's note, on this 

 morning, and not the others, which seemed to bring 

 round me that atmosphere of dreams and fancies 

 I exist in at early cockcrow dreams and memories, 

 sweet or sorrowful, of old scenes and faces, and many 

 eloquent passages in verse and prose, written by 

 men in other and better days, who lived more with 

 nature than we do now. Such a note as this was, 

 perhaps, in Thoreau's mind when he regretted that 

 there were no cocks to cheer him in the solitude of 

 Walden. " I thought, he says, " that it might be 

 worth while keeping a cockerel for his music merely, 



