A SUMMERS DAY. 347 



of admiration and envy as they toil and moil with their 

 willing quadrupeds. But Hodge finds comfort in beer, in 

 the thought of big wages for piecework, and possibly, in the 

 idea of a carouse at harvest home. Alas ! in none of these 

 thoughts can one find consolation in extremis, as represented 

 by our condition on a warm day of summer with nothing 

 to do. 



Is there, after all, anything which powerfully draws us 

 towards the running water which gurgles past our windows, 

 and which sings a never-ending lullaby as it streams lazily 

 beneath the mill, and drips over the water-gate close by ? 

 Or are we attracted to the river because it presents us with 

 the antithesis of our indoor estate, and promises coolness by 

 the margin of its waters ? Let us believe in the utilitarian 

 rather than in the transcendental, if you will, and sally forth 

 into the sunlight and regard the fair prospect before us. 

 Yonder, in the landward direction, stretch the flat lands dear 

 to minds agriculturally-wise inclined, and which terminate 

 some ten miles off at the slope of the low ridge of hills 

 which, in the eyes of dwellers in these parts, are mountains 

 in verity. You spent your last summer holiday mayhap in 

 Skye, and you revelled in hill and mountain until you under- 

 stood William Black better, and until you half owned that 

 the Skye hills were preferable to the Alps, and the west 

 coast of Scotland more picturesque than Helvetia itself. 

 And now you are vegetating in the flat lands of Oxon, it may 

 be, with the Thames within a mile of you, and with Babylon 

 the modern lying only some sixty miles or so to the south- 

 east. Your holiday seasons are in striking contrast, and you 

 look with disdain on flat land and hill after Skye. But 

 there is poetry enough around you, if you will but read it, 

 and even if the mood of the flat river-land is different from 

 the rhythm of the brae-side and glen. 



We see the orchard just before us standing on an island 

 formed by the division of the river, which has been utilised 

 as a mill-stream, and which is hurrying onwards with a 

 sleepy monotonous grumble to Father I sis. We will cross 



