Agriculture. 233 



damsel is there adding her sunny beauty to that of universal 

 nature; the boy cuts down the stalks which overtop his head; 

 children glean amongst the shocks; and even the unwalkable in- 

 fant sits propped with sheaves and plays with the stubble, and 



With all its twined flowers. 



Such groups are often seen in the wheat-field as deserve the im- 

 mortality of the pencil. There is something, too, about wheat- 

 harvest, which carries back the mind and feasts it with the plea- 

 sures of antiquity. The sickle is almost the only implement 

 which has descended from the olden times in its pristine sim- 

 plicity to the present hour, neither altering its form, nor becom- 

 ing obsolete, amid all the fashions and improvements of the 

 world. It is the same now as it was in those scenes of rural 

 beauty which the Scripture history, without any labored descrip- 

 tion, often by a single stroke, presents so livingly to the imagin- 

 ation, as it was when tender thoughts passed 



Through the sad heart of Ruth, when sick for home, 

 She stood in tears amid the alien corn ; 



when the minstrel-king wandered through the solitudes of Paran, 

 or fields reposing at the foot of Carmel, or, " as it fell on a day, 

 that the child of the good Shunamile went out to his father to 

 the reapers. And he said unto his father, My head, my head ! 

 And he said to a lad. Carry him to his mother. And when he 

 had taken him, and brought him to his mother, he sat on her 

 knees till noon, and then died." 2 Kings iv. IS — 20. 



Let no one say it is not a season of happiness to the toiling 

 peasantry ; I know that it is. In the days of boyhood I have 

 partaken their harvest labors, and listened to the overflowing of 

 their hearts, as they sate amid the sheaves beneath the fine blue 

 sky, or among the rich herbage of some green headland beneath 

 the shade of a tree, while the cool keg plentifully replenished the 

 horn ; and sweet, after exertion, were the contents of the harvest 

 field basket. I know that the poor harvesters are among the 

 most thankful contemplators of the bounty of Providence, though 

 so little of it falls to their share. To them harvest comes as an 

 annual festival. To their healthful frames, the heat of the open 

 fields, which would oppress the languid and relaxed, is but an 

 exhilarating glow. The inspiration of the clear blue sky above. 



