78 A Walk from 



On the following Monday, I resumed my walk north- 

 ward, after a carriage ride which a Friend kindly gave 

 me for a few miles on the way. Passed through a 

 pre-eminently grain producing district. Apparently full 

 three-fourths of the land were covered with wheat, 

 barley, oats and beans. The fields of each were larger 

 than I had noticed before ; some containing 100 acres. 

 The coming harvest is putting forth the full glory of 

 its golden promise. The weather is all a farmer could 

 wish, beautiful, warm and bright. Nature, in every 

 feature of its various scapes, seems to smile with the joy 

 of that human happiness which her ministries inspire. 

 Here, in these still expanses, waving with luxuriant 

 crops, apparently so thinly peopled, one, forgetting the 

 immense populations crowded into city spaces, is almost 

 tempted to ask, where are all the mouths to eat this 

 wide sea of food for man and beast, softening so gently 

 into a yellow sheen under the very rim of the distant 

 horizon ? But, in the great heart of London, beating 

 with the wants of millions, he will be likely to reverse 

 the question, and ask, where can one buy bread where- 

 with to feed this great multitude ? 



At Sawston, a rustic little village on the southern 

 border of Cambridgeshire, I entered upon the enjoy- 

 ment of English country-inn life with that relish which 

 no one born in a foreign land can so fully feel as an 



