The Music of Brooks 



brook, as it were. Sit down and listen again. 

 You will notice that you have changed the 

 music of the brook, that it is singing a new 

 phrase, somewhat uncertainly at first, but 

 gradually becoming definite and fixed, as 

 the stones settle in place, and the water 

 catches the keynote of the new obstruction. 

 How often I have tried this experiment, for 

 the sake of seeing how many different songs 

 there are in the heart of a brook! It re 

 minds me of the changed music of a life, 

 a life that meets new obstructions, new fret- 

 tings, new trials, only to make a new song 

 out of them. 



But you will notice, further, that the 

 tinkling brook has not only a rhythm, a 

 metrical phrase, but a melody, due to vari 

 ations of pitch. The notes run into each 

 other more confusingly than in the clearly 

 defined songs of birds; they have more of 

 the sliding-scale quality, and remind one of 

 the sweet, slurring, cascading tones of toy 

 trombones. But there is actual melody in 

 the music of the brook. It is a light- 

 hearted, careless, somewhat indefinite song, 

 like the extemporizing of a boy who whistles 

 with an overflowing heart, too riotously 



