The Coming of the Dawn 



that brown thrush in the barberry- 

 hedge. She turns in every night as soon 

 as the darkening shadows begin to fall 

 across the lea, and stirs not at all again 

 until the sunlight calls her forth to her 

 accustomed tasks. I am no thrush. 

 I can and would get up frequently with 

 the fabled lark if there were any 

 around, but the much-touted species 

 of song and story does not register at 

 Midlothian. And so it sometimes 

 happens that I awake long before the 

 first gray tones outside have given 

 silent notice of the passing of another 

 night, only to find that there is no sign 

 of life in air or sky but one — the 

 crowing of the roosters on the neigh- 

 boring farms. 



Theoretically, Chanticleer is sup- 

 posed to announce the onset of Aurora 

 and the Hours. Practically, he does 

 nothing of the kind. Evidently he 

 suffers terribly from insomnia. Not 

 only that, but he seems to have little 

 consideration for the faithful spouses 

 [69] 



