ing day, are still growing in the fields, while through 

 the sere leaves, like live coals glow the glossy red apples, 

 and gleam like bottles of nectar the yellow pears, not to 

 name the fragrant, juicy peaches, or here and there on 

 tree and trellis, or half hidden in the more luxurious and 

 dainty glasshouse, the rich clusters of the bounteous 

 grapes. It is a pleasure even to hunt through farm 

 house and dairy ; to count the long rows of glistening 

 milk pans, their tops coated with gold ; to turn over the 

 big cheeses, peep into the choice cream-pot and taste the 

 sweet, fresh flavor of the butter ; and, by and by, after 

 the ripening frosts have come, the chestnut basket and 

 the old tub of walnuts and butternuts in the garret under 

 the eaves, and the wreaths of dried peaches and apples 

 even, shall not be without their charm, especially for the 

 sly, mischievous youngsters, in the long winter evenings 

 and of a Saturday afternoon. But other joys and de- 

 lights belonging to other seasons, continual, unceasing 

 and ever varying, greet the farmer as the joyful months 

 dance their mystic round. The green meadows and the 

 waving grain, over which with gentle feet and fanning 

 wings glide the zephyrs, — -the Indian corn, lifting its 

 green, shining banners in the joyful air, true child of our 

 blazing suns, decking the face of our hard northern soil 

 with a very tropical richness, and rejoicing with the rich 

 dark green of its broad glossy leaf, the eye of every 

 beholder. 



Then the farmer has his music. The distant bleating 

 of the frolicsome lambs in the mountain pastures ; the 

 lowing of the well fed cattle, reposing in the shadows of 

 the old oak by the spring, or reclining with full udders 

 on the hill side ; the gentle cooing of brooding doves ; 

 the murmur of the bees that distil his honey ; the trilling 

 crake of the busy hen, or quack of talkative duck, 

 mingling with the innocent whistlings of young chicks. 



