There was only the danger of feeling too deeply the spell of his voice.

His voice had the mellow fulness of the clarionet.

But for the subject, she could have fancied a noontide piping of great Pan by the sedges.

She had never heard a continuous monologue so musical, so varied in music, amply flowing, vivacious, interwovenly the brook, the stream, the torrent: a perfect natural orchestra in a single instrument.

He had notes less pastorally imageable, notes that fired the blood, with the ranging of his theme.