04-sounds-第4部分

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a　cockerel　for　his　music　merely；　as　a　singing　bird。　　The　note　of

this　once　wild　Indian　pheasant　is　certainly　the　most　remarkable　of

any　bird's；　and　if　they　could　be　naturalized　without　being

domesticated；　it　would　soon　become　the　most　famous　sound　in　our

woods；　surpassing　the　clangor　of　the　goose　and　the　hooting　of　the

owl；　and　then　imagine　the　cackling　of　the　hens　to　fill　the　pauses

when　their　lords'　clarions　rested！　　No　wonder　that　man　added　this

bird　to　his　tame　stock　　to　say　nothing　of　the　eggs　and　drumsticks。

To　walk　in　a　winter　morning　in　a　wood　where　these　birds　abounded；

their　native　woods；　and　hear　the　wild　cockerels　crow　on　the　trees；

clear　and　shrill　for　miles　over　the　resounding　earth；　drowning　the

feebler　notes　of　other　birds　　think　of　it！　　It　would　put　nations

on　the　alert。　　Who　would　not　be　early　to　rise；　and　rise　earlier　and

earlier　every　successive　day　of　his　life；　till　he　became　unspeakably

healthy；　wealthy；　and　wise？　　This　foreign　bird's　note　is　celebrated

by　the　poets　of　all　countries　along　with　the　notes　of　their　native

songsters。　　All　climates　agree　with　brave　Chanticleer。　　He　is　more

indigenous　even　than　the　natives。　　His　health　is　ever　good；　his

lungs　are　sound；　his　spirits　never　flag。　　Even　the　sailor　on　the

Atlantic　and　Pacific　is　awakened　by　his　voice；　but　its　shrill　sound

never　roused　me　from　my　slumbers。　　I　kept　neither　dog；　cat；　cow；

pig；　nor　hens；　so　that　you　would　have　said　there　was　a　deficiency　of

domestic　sounds；　neither　the　churn；　nor　the　spinning…wheel；　nor　even

the　singing　of　the　kettle；　nor　the　hissing　of　the　urn；　nor　children

crying；　to　comfort　one。　　An　old…fashioned　man　would　have　lost　his

senses　or　died　of　ennui　before　this。　　Not　even　rats　in　the　wall；　for

they　were　starved　out；　or　rather　were　never　baited　in　　only

squirrels　on　the　roof　and　under　the　floor；　a　whip…poor…will　on　the

ridge…pole；　a　blue　jay　screaming　beneath　the　window；　a　hare　or

woodchuck　under　the　house；　a　screech　owl　or　a　cat　owl　behind　it；　a

flock　of　wild　geese　or　a　laughing　loon　on　the　pond；　and　a　fox　to

bark　in　the　night。　　Not　even　a　lark　or　an　oriole；　those　mild

plantation　birds；　ever　visited　my　clearing。　　No　cockerels　to　crow

nor　hens　to　cackle　in　the　yard。　　No　yard！　but　unfenced　nature

reaching　up　to　your　very　sills。　　A　young　forest　growing　up　under

your　meadows；　and　wild　sumachs　and　blackberry　vines　breaking　through

into　your　cellar；　sturdy　pitch　pines　rubbing　and　creaking　against

the　shingles　for　want　of　room；　their　roots　reaching　quite　under　the

house。　　Instead　of　a　scuttle　or　a　blind　blown　off　in　the　gale　　a

pine　tree　snapped　off　or　torn　up　by　the　roots　behind　your　house　for

fuel。　　Instead　of　no　path　to　the　front…yard　gate　in　the　Great　Snow

　no　gate　　no　front…yard　　and　no　path　to　the　civilized　world。