Sir Francis Darwin has collected a number of his essays and lectures and has made them into a most readable book. In a delightful manner he discourses on the Rustic Sounds that he has loved since childhood, and his description with illustration, of the making of whistles from a branch of a horse chestnut is both simple and fascinating.
that this was the height of the dome of St. Paul's--I have never tested the truth of either statement. The opening was roofed in by a pair of hinged flaps, or doors, and I especially liked the moment when the rising bucket crashed into the doors from below, throwing them open with a brutal and roystering air, which one forgave it as having made a long and dangerous journey up from the distant water. But the best was when the empty bucket went down, and the fly-wheel spun round till its spokes were invisible. Then was the time to remember the death of a dog (called Dick) who was killed by jumping through the flying wheel. I envied my elder brothers who could actually remember Dick: to me he was only a tragic myth. I imagine that in hot dry weather more water was drawn, or else that being more constantly out of doors we heard more of it. It is at least certain that the sound of the well came to be associated with peaceful days and happy weather in that dear garden.
Another sound I like to recall is conne