THINGS WORTH DOING 279 



grass and heath, or in the dead leaves under the trees, 

 I can tell whether it is snake or lizard, mouse or bird. 

 Many birds I am aware of only by the sound of their 

 flight. I can nearly always tell what trees I am near 

 by the sound of the wind in their leaves, though in 

 the same tree it differs much from spring to autumn, 

 as tho leaves become of a harder and drier texture. 

 The Birches have a small, quick, high-pitched sound ; 

 so like that of falling rain that I am often deceived 

 into thinking it really is rain, when it is only then- 

 own leaves hitting each other with a small rain- 

 like patter. The voice of Oak leaves is also rather 

 high-pitched, though lower than that of Birch. 

 Chestnut leaves in a mild breeze sound much more 

 deliberate ; a sort of slow shther. Nearly all trees 

 in gentle wind have a pleasant sound, but I con- 

 fess to a distinct dislike to the noise of all the 

 Poplars; feeling it to be painfully fussy, unrestful, 

 and disturbing. On the other hand, how soothing 

 and delightful is the murmur of Scotch Firs both near 

 and far. And what pleasant muffled music is that 

 of a wind-waved field of corn, and especially of ripe 

 barley. The giant Grasses, Reeds, and Bamboo sound 

 curiously dry. The great Reed, Arundo Donax, makes 

 more noise in a moderate breeze than when the wind 

 blows a gale, for then the long ribbon-like leaves are 

 blown straight out and play much less against each 

 other ; the Arabs say, " It whispers in the breeze and 

 is silent in the storm." But of all the plants I know. 



