JULY. 177 



haymakers are abroad, tossing the green swaths 

 to the sun. It is one of Nature's festivities, 

 endeared by a thousand pleasant memories and 

 habits of the olden days, and not a soul can 

 resist it. 



There is a sound of tinkling teams and wag- 

 gons rolling along lanes and fields the whole 

 country over, ay, even at midnight, till at 

 length, the fragrant ricks rise in the farm- 

 yard, and the pale smooth-shaven fields are 

 left in solitary beauty. 



They who know little about the country may 

 deem the strong penchant of our poets, and of 

 myself, for rural pleasures, mere romance and 

 poetic illusion ; but if poetic beauty alone were 

 concerned, I must still admire harvest-time in 

 the country. The whole land is then an 

 Arcadia full of simple, healthful, and rejoicing 

 spirits. Overgrown towns and manufactories 

 may have changed, for the worse, the spirit 

 and feelings of their population ; in them " evil 

 communications may have corrupted good man- 

 ners ;" but in the country at large, there never 

 was a more simple-minded, healthful-hearted 

 and happy race of people than our British 

 peasantry. They have cast off, it is true, many 

 of their ancestors' games and merry-makings, 

 but they have, in no degree, lost their soul of 

 mirth and happiness. Many of the sports and 



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