AUGUST IN BKOADLAND. 



' Oh ! the gallant fisher's life. 



It is the best of any ; 

 'Tis full of pleasure, void of strife, 

 And 'tis beloved of many. 



For our skill breeds no ill, 

 But content and pleasure.' 



Izadk Walton. 



^ HE fair warm days of August dawn upon ripening fields that are l white 

 unto the harvest.' The sound of the whetting of scythes becomes as 

 familiar in the countryside as the chirping of sparrows in the hedge- 

 rows, and the hum of bees among the gaudy wildflowers. There is 

 little time for leisure just now at the farm, for Hodge and Farmer 

 Griles, his l maaster,' are taking advantage of the l wather.' Every fine 

 day has become precious, the depredations of the swarming birds and the fear of 

 sudden storms make it imperative that the fields should be shorn of their wealth 

 and beauty with all possible haste. 



It has been market-day to-day, and one by one, as their stalls have been 

 stripped of the produce of the coop and garden-patch and the output of the dairy, 

 the country-folk have harnessed their horses and turned their heads homewards. 

 It is a pleasing sight on a market-morning to see the heavily-laden carts, with 

 springs strained to their very utmost, piled up with the good things of this life, 

 coming rumbling into town. Those who hold the reins, and those who sit beside 

 the driver, are more quaintly dressed than picturesque, and the broad Norfolk 

 ' patter ' they dispense in the market-place is quainter still. 



