slowly with the gentlest breeze and alternately show- 

 ing their leaf-sheathed stems and crested tops, give 

 the appearance of an ever-changing sea of green and 

 gold. Here and there a big rock, black and polished, 

 stands boldly out, and the sea of reeds laps round it 

 like the waters of a lake on a bright still day. When 

 there is no breeze the rustle of the reeds is hushed, 

 and the only constant sound is the ever -varying voice 

 of the water, lapping, gurgling, chattering, murmur- 

 ing, as it works its way along the rocky channels ; some- 

 times near and loud, sometimes faint and distant ; 

 and sometimes, over long sandy reaches, there is no 

 sound at all. 



Get up on some vantage point upon the high bank 

 and look down there one day in the winter of the 

 tropics as the heat and hush of noon approach, 

 and it will seem indeed a scene of peace and beauty 

 a place to rest and dream, where there is neither stir 

 nor sound. Then, as you sit silently watching and 

 thinking, where all the world is so infinitely still, 

 you will notice that one reed down among all those 

 countless thousands is moving. It bows slowly and 

 gracefully a certain distance, and then with a quivering 

 shuddering motion straightens itself still more slowly 

 and with evident difficulty, until at last it stands up- 

 right again like the rest but still all a-quiver while 

 they do not move a leaf. Just as you are beginning 

 to wonder what the reason is, the reed bows slowly 

 again, and again struggles back ; and so it goes on as 

 regularly as the swing of a pendulum. Then you 

 know that, down at the roots where you cannot see 

 it, the water is flowing silently, and that something 



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