2 3 o SEPTEMBER 



baked to a uniform hue, to a uniform ripeness, a sight to 

 gratify the eye of any honest farmer. From one side of 

 the long stroke of the T came a strange rumour, a 

 medley of many noises never approached by the cutter- 

 and-binder and the mere tractor ; and soon the new- 

 Colossus heaved into sight. A swathe of three good 

 yards of the nodding barley fell at each circle. The 

 monster dropped a muddle of tangled straw behind it, 

 and shot out groups of sacks on the outward side. It 

 was cutting, thrashing, sorting, and sacking all in one 

 process let that suffice for its mechanics. Its influence 

 on the most characteristic of our English scenes is the 

 present concern. 



Since Ruth was fondly watched 



Praising God among the stooks 



the sheaf and the group of sheaves have served for the 

 very characters in which the tale of the world s harvest 

 is written. We have seen in our days several quick 

 pictorial changes, but all have left this alphabet unaltered. 

 No longer do women and children go gleaning and 

 trapes home in family parties carrying snoods of wheat 

 tied tight just below the ears like some formal bouquet. 

 No longer do we see the rhythm of mowers in echelon, 

 sweating themselves to mere sinew, as they cut and 

 shove the heavy burden into swathes, sometimes with 

 the aid of shields on their scythes. No one any longer 

 makes ropes of straw to bind the sheaves. No longer is 

 the festival, which was as like a religious festival as the 

 field resembles a church, sweetly drawn out till the 

 September day when the old shire horse moved slowly 

 stackwards to the joyful Harvest Home. This rich 

 deliberation of hard .human labour has wholly passed 

 within our time. In Russia, we are told, gleaning is a 



