i;}8 THE LIFE OF THE FIELDS. 



chase each other, and then hover fluttering above the 

 hedge. The stubble, whitened by exposure to the 

 weather, looks lighter in the sunshine, and the distant 

 view is softened by haze. A water-tank approaches, 

 and the cart-horse steps in the pride of strength. The 

 carter's lad goes to look at the engine and to wonder 

 at the uses of the gauge. All the brazen parts gleam 

 in the bright sun, and the driver presses some waste 

 against the piston now it works slowly, till it shines 

 like polished silver. The red glow within, as the 

 furnace-door is opened, lights up the lad's studious 

 face beneath like sunset. A few brown leaves yet 

 cling to one bough of the oak, and the rooks come 

 over cawing happily in the unwonted warmth. The 

 low hum and the monotonous clanking, the rustling 01 

 the wire rope, give a sense of quiet Let us wander 

 along the hedge, and look for signs of spring. This is 

 to-day. To-morrow, if we come, the engines are half- 

 hidden from afar by driving sleet and scattered snow- 

 flakes fleeting aslant the field. Still sternly they 

 labour in the cold and gloom. A third time you may 

 find them, in September or bright October, with acorns 

 dropping from the oaks, the distant sound of the gun, 

 and perhaps a pheasant looking out from the corner. 

 If the moon be full and bright they work on an hour 

 or so by her light, and the vast shadows of the engines 

 are thrown upon the stubble. 



n. 



Among the meadows the buttercups in spring are as 

 innumerable as ever and as pleasant to look upon. 



