239 



AUGUST. 



him to his mother, he sate on her knees till noon, 

 and then died." 2 Kings, c. iv. 1820. 



Let no one say it is not a season of happiness to 

 the toiling peasantry; I know that it is. In the 

 days of boyhood I have partaken their harvest 

 labours, and listened to the overflowings of their 

 hearts as they sate amid the sheaves beneath the 

 fine blue sky, or among the rich herbage of some 

 green headland beneath the shade of a tree, while 

 the cool keg plentifully replenished the horn, and 

 sweet after exertion were the contents of the har- 

 vest-field basket. I know that the poor harvesters 

 are amongst the most thankful contemplators of the 

 bounty of Providence, though so little of it falls to 

 their share. To them harvest comes as an annual 

 festivity. To their healthful frames, the heat of the 

 open fields, which would oppress the languid and 

 relaxed, is but an exhilarating and pleasant glow. 

 The inspiration of the clear sky above, and of 

 scenes of plenty around them, and the very cir- 

 cumstance of their being drawn from their several 

 dwellings at this bright season, open their hearts 

 and give a life to their memories: and many an 

 anecdote and history from " the simple annals of 

 the poor" are there related, which need only to pass 

 through the mind of a Wordsworth or a Crabbe, 

 to become immortal in their mirth or wo. 



Whilst speaking of harvest I must not omit to 

 notice the splendid appearance of the HARVEST 

 MOON. The circumstance of this moon rising 

 several nights successively almost at the same time, 



