"Rookery, indeed!" she said. It is
almost the only point of disagreement I have with that admirable woman. Not
to love a rookery is _prima facie_ evidence against you. I have heard of
men who have bought estates because of the rookery, and I have loved them
for their beautiful extravagance. I am sure I should have liked David
Copperfield's father from that solitary incident recorded of him. He was
not a very practical or business-like man, I fear; but people who love
rookeries rarely are. You cannot expect both the prose and the poetry of
life for your endowment.
How much the feeling created by sound depends upon the setting may be
illustrated by the bagpipes. The bagpipes in a London street is a thing for
ribald laughter, but the bagpipes in a Highland glen is a thing to stir the
blood, and make the mind thrill to memories of
Old, unhappy, far off things.
And battles long ago.
It is so even with the humble concertina. That instrument is to me the last
expression of musical depravity.
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