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235
The Private Papers of Henry Ryecroft
·
George Gissing
179
This
morning
I
was
awakened
by
a
continuous
sound
which
presently
shaped
itself
to
my
ear
as
a
multitudinous
shrilling
of
bird
voices.
I
knew
what
it
meant.
For
the
last
few
days
I
have
seen
the
swallows
gathering,
now
they
were
ranged
upon
my
roof,
perhaps
in
the
last
council
before
their
setting
forth
upon
the
great
journey.
I
know
better
than
to
talk
about
animal
instinct,
and
to
wonder
in
a
pitying
way
at
its
resemblance
to
reason.
I
know
that
these
birds
show
to
us
a
life
far
more
reasonable,
and
infinitely
more
beautiful,
than
that
of
the
masses
of
mankind.
They
talk
with
each
other,
and
in
their
talk
is
neither
malice
nor
folly.
Could
one
but
interpret
the
converse
in
which
they
make
their
plans
for
the
long
and
perilous
flight--and
then
compare
it
with
that
of
numberless
respectable
persons
who
even
now
are
projecting
their
winter
in
the
South!
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