THE COUNTRY SUNDAY. 



ROSES bloomed on every bush, and some of the great 

 hawthorns up which the briars had climbed seemed all 

 flowers. The white and pink-white petals of the June 

 roses adhered all over them, almost as if they had been 

 artificially gummed or papered on so as to hide the 

 leaves. Such a profusion of wild-rose bloom is rarely 

 seen. On the Sunday morning, as on a week-day morn- 

 ing, they were entirely unnoticed, and might be said in 

 their turn to take no heed of the sanctified character of 

 the day. With a rush like a sudden thought the white- 

 barred eave-swallows came down the arid road a'nd rose 

 again into the air as easily as a man dives into the water. 

 Dark specks beneath the white summer clouds, the 

 swifts, the black albatross of our skies, moved on their 

 unwearied wings. Like the albatross that floats over 

 the ocean and sleeps on the wing, the swift's scimitar- 

 like pinions are careless of .repose. Once now and then 

 they came down to earth, not, as might be supposed, to 

 the mansion or the church tower, but to the low tiled 

 roof of an ancient cottage which they fancied for their 

 home. Kings sometimes affect to mix with their sub- 

 jects ; these birds that aspire to the extreme height of 

 the air frequently nest in the roof of a despised tenement, 

 inhabited by an old woman who never sees them. The 

 corn was green and tall, the hops looked well, the fox- 

 so 



