THE COUNTEY PAESON 



Those who have had to make their own way in the world 

 must call to mind times and seasons in their younger days 

 when the stress of business occasioned their burning the 

 midnight oil, night after night, and frequently not 

 '' dividing the Sunday from the week," for weeks or months 

 tof^ether. In the days when my lot was cast in the midst 

 of a very hard-working world, at the time of the railway 

 mania, I was fortunate enough to be ''semper welcome" at 

 more than one country vicarage, if I could get away on 

 Saturday evening; and, although a hot London church 

 would have been unbearable, the quiet village Sundays were 

 periods of rest which I recall with much pleasure. There 

 was no need to be awakened on Sunday morning. A tree 

 full of birds close to the window kept up a chattering early 

 enough, and the sun shining in, and the cawing of the 

 rooks, and the tramping of the cart horses going to water, 

 and impertinent bees who flew in at the open window and 

 levied toll on the flowers which stood on the table, to say 

 nothing of the church bells, which rang at 8 o'clock, made 

 sleep impossible. And who ever wanted sleep on a fine 

 June morning ? 



It used to be a great treat to find that I was the only 

 idle man on the parson's busy day, though the time never 

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