IIO IDLEHURST: 



of the hay and smell it ; half the spell of June is 

 in the grey fibres ; he can almost hear the blackbirds 

 on the wind ; if by chance the cowman should begin 

 to sharpen the hay-knife behind the rick, he hears the 

 clink of the scythe in the shimmering fields ; the 

 essence of summer is laid up in the heart of the hay. 

 Something after this fashion I find in talking with 

 old Avery. There is a kind of laid-up sunshine in 

 his nature, a quality impenetrable by winds of fortune, 

 which makes him a shelter for others on bleak days. 

 I wish it were given to more of us so to stack our 

 Midsummer grass, that it will make pleasant corners 

 for windy weather, and cut out sweet and wholesome 

 to the last truss when the scythes swish again through 

 the sorrel and the dog-daisies. 



22nd. Last night we had rain, after a grievous 

 drought which entirely spoiled the transition from 

 latter Spring to Summer. For a month past the 

 glass has dropped and risen, the wind has gone about 

 from raw north to sweet south, every shape of cloud 

 has loomed and melted ; the cockchafers have held 

 their yearly one night's festival ; sooty airs have 

 pervaded the house, and candles have sputtered o' 

 nights ; without bringing the desired showers. It is 

 heart-breaking work to watch the windward from 

 hour to hour ; to see the promise of the airy wisps 



