166 
BIRDS IN A VILLAGE. 
and blending of floral hues, best suit my present 
enervated condition. I had, I imagine, a swarter 
skin and firmer flesh when I could ride all day 
over great summer-parched plains, where there 
was not a bush that would have afforded shelter to 
a mannikin, and think that I was having a plea- 
sant journey. The cloudless sky and vertical san 
— ^how intolerable they would now seem, and 
scorch my brain and fill my shut eyes with dancing 
flames ! At present even this mild June sun is 
strong enough to make the old mulberry tree on 
the lawn appear grateful. It is an ancient, rough- 
barked tree, with wide branches, that droop down- 
wards all round, and rest their terminal leaves on 
the sward; but underneath it is a natural tent, or 
pavilion, with plenty of space to move about and 
sling a hammock in. Here, then, I have elected to 
spend the hottest hours of my one golden day, 
reading, dreaming, listening at intervals to the fine 
bird-sounds that have a medicinal and restorative 
effect on the jarred and wounded sense. 
From the elms hard by comes a subdued, airy 
prattle of a few sparrows. It is rather pleasant, 
something like a low accompaniment to the notes 
of the more tuneful birds ; the murmurous music 
of a many-stringed instrument, forming the in- 
distinct ground over which runs the bright 
embroidery of clear melodious singing. 
