LETTER XVIII. 123 



The only objection to rural retired life is that from its 

 monotony the time slips along too smoothly and unperceived. 

 Old Chronos seems to be jogging round the hour-hand of his dial 

 with his finger and cheating us out of our minutes ; shaking the 

 sand through his glass, or " flogging " it, as is done at sea — that is, 

 whipping it round in legerdemain style before the last grains have 

 fully run out, which has the double advantage of shortening the 

 current hour and of giving the new one a fair start in life, the 

 united effect of which brings the sleepy-headed watch on deck so 

 much the nearer to their snug moorings in " blanket bay," the 

 haven where they would be. When I apply the word " monoton- 

 ous " to country life, it is not my intention to imply anything like 

 ennui. No, far from it ! Each season in its turn brings con- 

 stantly varying scenes and entertainments, each day brings its 

 own duties and occupations, and each morning we rise with 

 refreshed zeal to the cheerful labours of the day, and renewed zest 

 to its sober delights. Still, though we travel through a fertile 

 and pleasant land, yet the slight undulations over which we pass 

 are so uniform in appearance, and so unvaried in direction and 

 general regularity of outline, that we skim along in a delightful, 

 dreamy, contemplative mood, till — rat, tat ! — we go over some 

 accidental rut and are shaken into sudden consciousness that we 

 are just passing the thirtieth, fortieth, or fiftieth mile-stone upon 

 our journey of three-score miles and ten, and are quite surprised 

 at the killing pace at which we are going. 



The old exemplification of this matter is the comparison between 

 the apparent lengths of a measured mile on the lone highway 

 and one through the streets of a city. But there is another, very 



