152 
BIRDS IN A VILLAGE. 
for what purpose — whether to call down a passing 
swarm of bees, or to summon the chickens to be fed 
— I never know. It is only my mental picture of 
a " lively din." As to the second line, all attempts 
to see the thing described only bring before me 
clouds and shadows, confusedly rushing about in an 
impossible way ; a chaos utterly unlike the serenity 
and imperceptible growth of morning, and not a 
picture at all, or if a picture, then a nocturn or 
symphony by Mr. Whistler. 
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 frequently do, ending with a little 
internal sound or croak, as if the singer had ex- 
hausted 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 resoundincf 
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 sorrow- 
