A MIDSUMMER NIGHT 83 



into full song. Cherry-dew, cherry-dew ! Be-quick, 

 be-quick ! Strangely cleeir and distinct, the full notes 

 ring out in the still morning. Soon it is joined by 

 another, and in a moment another and another have 

 answered from the high elms around. The volume 

 of sound continues to grow, but as yet it is only the 

 thrushes which greet the dawn. Soon there reaches 

 the ear a faint, harsh murmur ; now it is louder, 

 and soon it swells into a hoarse din. It is as if a 

 great army of workmen had suddenly begun to 

 labour below, and the harsh chip and fret of countless 

 iron tools rose upward in blended discord. It is 

 the multitudinous voice of the house-sparrow. He 

 rears three families in the year, and he has begun 

 his day's work of eighteen hours. He it is who, 

 alone of wild birds, can regard the nineteenth 

 century as an era of unexampled prosperity. He has 

 multiplied in incredible numbers with the growth 

 of towns. Nay, more : following the Anglo-Saxon, 

 he has spread with the extending race to the ends 

 of the world, till over two continents, with a certain 

 appropriate inaccuracy, he is known and banned 

 as the English sparrow. From the lower shrubs of 

 the private gardens the rich, mellow note of the black- 

 bird begins now to blend with the others. Louder 

 and louder swells the chorus of voices, as the finches, 

 robins, and other small birds join in at last. It is 

 a strange harmony — one which is seldom heard by 

 the sleeping world. The strangest feature is, indeed, 

 the almost complete absence of any human sound ; 

 save for the occasional scream of the whistle of a 

 locomotive shunting on the distant line, all but the 

 voices of the birds is silent. 

 Round the tower the bats are still hawking. 



