A MIDSUMMER IDYL 



ows and no pastures, no grazing cattle, none of the 

 genial, mellow look which our landscape presents. 

 Harshness, rawness, aridity, are the prevailing 

 notes. 



From my barn-door outlook I behold meadows 

 with their boundary line of stone fences that are 

 like lakes and reservoirs of timothy and clover. 

 They are full to the brim, they ripple and rock in 

 the breeze, the green inundation seems about to 

 overwhelm its boundaries, all the surface inequah- 

 ties of the land are wiped out, the small rocks and 

 stones are hidden, the woodchucks make their 

 roads through it, immersed like dolphins in the 

 sea. What a picture of the plenty and the flowing 

 beneficence of our temperate zone it all presents! 

 Nature in her kinder, gentler moods, dreaming of 

 the tranquil herds and the bursting barns. Surely 

 the vast army of the grass hath its victories, for 

 the most part noiseless, peace-yielding victories 

 that gladden the eye and tranquillize the heart. 



The meadow presents a pleasing picture before 

 it is invaded by the haymakers, and a varied and 

 animated one after it is thus invaded; the mowing- 

 machine sending a shudder ahead of it through the 

 grass, the hay-tedder kicking up the green locks 

 like a giant, many-legged grasshopper, the horse- 

 rake gathering the cured hay into windrows, 

 the white-sleeved men with their forks pitching it 

 into cocks, and, lastly, the huge, soft-cheeked loads 



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