104 THE OPEN AIR. 



head they could not long endure. The English simoon 

 of heat drops suddenly on the heads of the harvesters 

 and finds them entirely unprepared ; they have not 

 so much as a cooling drink ready ; they face it, as it 

 were, unarmed. The sun spares not ; it is fire from 

 morn till night. Afar in the town the sunblinds are 

 up, there is a tent on the lawn in the shade, people 

 drink claret-cup and use ice ; ice has never been seen 

 in the harvest-field. Indoors they say they are melt- 

 ing lying on a sofa in a darkened room, made dusky 

 to keep out the heat. The fire falls straight from the 

 sky on the heads of the harvesters men, women, and 

 children and the white-hot light beats up again from 

 the dry straw and the hard ground. 



The tender flowers endure ; the wide petal of the 

 poppy, which withers between the fingers, lies afloat 

 on the air as the lilies on water, afloat and open 

 to the weight of the heat. The red pimpernel looks 

 straight up at the sky from the early morning till its 

 hour of closing in the afternoon. Pale blue speed- 

 well does not fade ; the pale blue stands the warmth 

 equally with the scarlet. Far in the thick wheat the 

 streaked convolvulus winds up the stalks, and is not 

 smothered for want of air though wrapped and circled 

 with corn. Beautiful though they are, they are blood- 

 less, not sensitive ; we have given to them our feelings, 

 they do not share our pain or pleasure. Heat has 

 gone into the hollow stalks of the wheat and down the 

 yellow tubes to the roots, drying them in the earth. 

 Heat has dried the leaves upon the hedge, and they 

 touch rough dusty rough, as books touch that have 

 been lying unused ; the plants on the bank are drying 



