Outside London 



signalling, but oh! how repellent and straight and 

 stupid among clumps of graceful elms ! 



II 



The dismal pits in a disused brickfield, unsightly 

 square holes in a waste, are full in the shallow places 

 of an aquatic grass, Reed Canary Grass, I think, 

 which at this time of mists stretches forth sharp- 

 pointed tongues over the stagnant water. These 

 sharp-pointed leaf-tongues are all on one side of the 

 stalks, so that the most advanced project across the 

 surface, as if the water were the canvas, and the 

 leaves drawn on it. For water seems always to rise 

 away from you to slope slightly upwards; even a 

 pool has that appearance, and therefore anything 

 standing in it is drawn on it as you might sketch on 

 this paper. You see the water beyond and above 

 the top of the plant, and the smooth surface gives 

 the leaf and stalk a sharp, clear definition. But the 

 mass of the tall grass crowds together, every leaf 

 painted yellow by the autumn, a thick cover at the 

 pit-side. This tall grass always awakes my fancy, 

 its shape partly, partly its thickness, perhaps; and 

 yet these feelings are not to be analysed. I like to 

 look at it ; I like to stand or move among it on the 

 bank of a brook, to feel it touch and rustle against me. 

 A sense of wildness comes with its touch, and I feel a 

 little as I might feel if there was a vast forest round 

 about. As a few strokes from a loving hand will 

 soothe a weary forehead, so the gentle pressure of 

 the wild grass soothes and strokes away the nervous 

 tension born of civilised life. 



I could write a whole history of it ; the time when 

 the leaves were fresh and green, and the sedge-birds 

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