It may be observed further, without fear of rebuke, that the
behaviour of the different kinds of birds during the prevalence of
romantic love is not always equally above reproach.  The courtship
of English sparrows--blustering, noisy, vulgar--is a sight to offend
the taste of every gentle on-looker.  Some birds reiterate and
vociferate their love-songs in a fashion that displays their
inconsiderateness as well as their ignorance of music.  This trait
is most marked in domestic fowls.  There was a guinea-cock, once,
that chose to do his wooing close under the window of a farm-house
where I was lodged.  He had no regard for my hours of sleep or
meditation.  His amatory click-clack prevented the morning and
wrecked the tranquillity of the evening.  It was odious, brutal,--
worse, it was absolutely thoughtless.  Herein is another parable.

Let us admit cheerfully that lovers have a place in the landscape
and lend a charm to it.  This does not mean that they are to take up
all the room there is.  Suppose, for example, that a pair of them,
on Goat Island, put themselves in such a position as to completely
block out your view of Niagara.  You cannot regard them with
gratitude.  They even become a little tedious.  Or suppose that you
are visiting at a country-house, and you find that you must not
enjoy the moonlight on the verandah because Augustus and Amanda are
murmuring in one corner, and that you must not go into the garden
because Louis and Lizzie are there, and that you cannot have a sail
on the lake because Richard and Rebecca have taken the boat.

Of course, unless you happen to be a selfish old curmudgeon, you
rejoice, by sympathy, in the happiness of these estimable young
people.  But you fail to see why it should cover so much ground.

Why should they not pool their interests, and all go out in the
boat, or all walk in the garden, or all sit on the verandah?  Then
there would be room for somebody else about the place.