CHAPTER XXVI. 



Harvest — Scythe and Sickle v. Reaping Machines — Potatoes — Garibaldi and Potatoes at 

 Caprera— Fishing— P/aiejOT Gemmatus, or Diamond Plaice— Mushrooms— The Poetry 

 of Fairy Rings — Harvest-Home. 



With such fine weather as we enjoy at present, September [1871] 

 is one of the pleasantest months of the year. Harvest operations 

 are now in full swing, and the redbreast — having moulted, and 

 proudly conscious of the splendour of his scarlet vest — has already 

 begun his autumnal song — more delectable now and more appreci- 

 ated, because now, with the exception of an occasional voluntary from 

 the wren, he only sings, whereas his vernal strains are lost in their 

 amalgamation with the f uU chorus of a thousand performers. It is 

 pleasant now, as you saunter or ride along, to listen to the merry 

 laughter of the reapers afield, and to their song, as, more majonim, 

 it floats in chorus on the gale : pleasant, too, to us at least, and far 

 from unmusical, the frequent sound of the whetting of scythe and 

 sickle in every direction — the bloodless weapons — as they are deftly 

 handled in the process, glancing brightly in the sunlight ! Reaping 

 " machines " and " steam " ploughs may be very good things in 

 their way, but we are not ashamed to confess that we are glad that, 

 as yet at least, wo know nothing of them in the West Highlands. 

 The utilitarian must be content if we admit all their value and 

 importance from his point of view, while at the same time we yet 

 assert that wherever they appear all the poetry of agriculture incon- 

 tinently becomes plain prose — -Sic traTisit gloria Cereris. Very 

 excellent, at all events, are our crops this season, and very excel- 



