"That then is the Halcyon--the kingfisher," said Chaerephon. "I
never heard a bird like it before. It has truly a plaintive note.
What kind of a bird is it, Socrates?"

"Not a large bird, though she has received [82] large honour from the
gods on account of her singular conjugal affection. For whensoever
she makes her nest, a law of nature brings round what is called
Halcyon's weather,--days distinguishable among all others for their
serenity, though they come sometimes amid the storms of winter--days
like to-day! See how transparent is the sky above us, and how
motionless the sea!--like a smooth mirror."

True! A Halcyon day, indeed! and yesterday was the same. But tell
me, Socrates, what is one to think of those stories which have been
told from the beginning, of birds changed into mortals and mortals
into birds? To me nothing seems more incredible."

"Dear Chaerephon," said Socrates, "methinks we are but half-blind
judges of the impossible and the possible. We try the question by
the standard of our human faculty, which avails neither for true
knowledge, nor for faith, nor vision. Therefore many things seem to
us impossible which are really easy, many things unattainable which
are within our reach; partly through inexperience, partly through the
childishness of our minds. For in truth, every man, even the oldest
of us, is like a little child, so brief and babyish are the years of
our life in comparison of eternity. Then, how can we, who comprehend
not the faculties of gods and of the heavenly host, tell whether
aught of that kind be possible or no?--What a tempest you saw [83]
three days ago! One trembles but to think of the lightning, the