160 A FARMER'S YEAR 



bones of those who like myself once held lands in Bedingham 

 and sat to worship in its sanctuary, there is an atmosphere a 

 very presence of the past which impresses me more and comes 

 closer to the tangible than that of any other church I know. 

 Perhaps it is the half-forsaken appearance of the place, or the dull 

 light of the April afternoon, or the solemn echo of the rector's 

 voice as he reads the prayers, or all of them together, that have 

 this peculiar power of reviving that which sleeps, and almost of 

 making visible that which has vanished. But that which sleeps 

 may awake, and that which has vanished may appear. It is not 

 necessary to be superstitious indeed there is no superstition in 

 the belief, or perhaps in the vagary, that here are present the 

 spirits of the dead pressing round us in the place once familiar to 

 their feet, watching us with their quiet eyes which have looked 

 on peace, and waiting to welcome us to the number of their 

 company. 



At least this is certain our old English churches bind together 

 the generations who passed beneath their doors in life, and in 

 death sleep about their walls, with a tie that is not the less strong 

 because it can scarcely be defined in words. 



After church I walked over the farm. The old mare, who 

 looks very spare and aged, has now produced a rather thin foal, 

 whose presence seems to surprise and annoy her, for from time to 

 time she turns her ancient head and contemplates it with a hollow 

 and inquiring eye. We have, therefore, but one effective horse 

 left upon the place at present, by the help of which Moore got in 

 the kohl-rabi yesterday on part of the new-drained field, No. 18. 

 First the horse rolled the land, then he went into the drill and 

 drilled it, ending up a useful day's work by returning to the roller 

 and rolling it again. On No. 21! found the grass sown for per- 

 manent pasture just pricking through among the barley, thousands 

 of tiny green and yellow spears, with here and there an unfamiliar 

 seedling, doubtless of chicory or burnet, or one of the other tap- 

 rooted herbs that have been sown among the grasses. The 

 beans grow well as usual, but are again being hoed to get rid of 



