the singularly pleasing strain until light and sound failed--the one as
softly and insensibly as the other. I had enjoyed a new sensation.

Relieved of the agreeable pressure of the text, my thoughts turned to the
consideration of bird voices--more to the notes of pigeons, their variety
and range. There are sounds, little in volume and rather flat than sharp,
rather moist than dry, which seem to carry farther under favouring
atmospheric conditions than louder and more acute noises. The easy
contours of soothing sounds created in the air seem to resemble the lazy
swell of the sea; while fleeter though less sustained noises may be
compared to jumpy waves caused by a smart breeze. Pitched in a minor key
sounds roll along with little friction and waste, whereas a louder,
shriller stinging note may find in the still air a less pliant medium.
The cooing of pigeons--a sound of low velocity--has a longer range than
the shrieking of parrots. My pet echo responds to an undertone. A loud
and prolonged yell jars on its sensitiveness--for it is a shy echo,
little used to abrupt and boisterous disturbances. A boy boo-hooting into
an empty barrel soon catches the key to which it responds. He adjusts his
rhythms to those of the barrel, which becomes for the time being his
butt. "Straining harsh discords and unpleasing sharps," he girds at its
acoustic soul until it finds responsive voice and grunts or babbles or
bellows in consonance with his. Only when the vibrations--subdued or
lusty--correspond with the vocal content of the barrel are the responses
sensitive and in accord. On this stilly, damp evening the air in the
corner of the veranda happened to be resilient to the mellow notes of
far-away pigeons.

Thus reflecting, I was less astonished that the coo-hooing of the
congregation had reached me through three-quarters of a mile of vacant
air. There was no competing noise. It was just the fluid tone that filled