Jdly 11.] 
THE COTTAGE GARDENER. 
227 
peas are very good varieties for sowing at this season, as 
they require but little room, and may be sown at two 
feet distance, or as an edging to a quarter. The seed ol 
both beans and peas may bo quickened by first soaking 
j them for twelve hours. 
Endive and lettuce should be sown in succession, and 
| plantings made of those already large enough. A small 
| sowing of spinach should be made for autumn consump¬ 
tion, and a kindly prepardnon made on a warm border, 
! or sheltered rich quarter, for the winter spinach. Herbs 
of all kinds, as fast as they come into bloom, should be 
cut or gathered while dry. Lavender should not be too 
forward previous to cutting, or much of its blossom will 
drop of. Make another sowing of parsley, and trans¬ 
plant some of the strongest and most curly into pots, to 
get well established for the winter. 
The root crops, such as beet, carrots, parsnips, onions, 
horseradish, salsafy, scorzonera, &c., should by this time 
have had their final thinniug; and as long as the hoe or 
hand scarifier can be got amongst them, it should be em¬ 
ployed continually. 
James Barnes. 
MISCELLANEOUS INFORMATION. 
OUR VILLAGE WALKS. 
By the Authoress n/“ My Flowers .” 
Our walks are now enlivened by the bustle and fragrance 
of innumerable hay-fields; and what animation there is in 
the scene! The labour of hay-making is more pleasing to 
the eye than that of the harvest; its groupings are more 
varied and picturesque, and the sounds that accompany it 
are more lively and joyous. The position of the reaper is 
one of uneasiness and fatigue, while that of the hay-maker 
is erect, and frequently relieved by change of action. This 
may, perhaps, account for the cheerful voices and merry 
laughs of tho different groups, as they turn and toss the hay; 
for there is comparative silence in the corn-fields, in spite of 
the deep and thrilling interest that attends it. 
The hay-harvest, with all its beauty, endeared to us as it 
is from our earliest childhood, is one of the very lew agricul¬ 
tural scenes that is not associated in our minds with Scrip¬ 
tural interest; there is no mention in the Sacred Writings of 
such a provision being required or made for the wants of the 
animal creation. The burning influence of the sun, the 
absence of wintry seasons, and the rich fertility of the soil in 
eastern lands, may have rendered this process unnecessary 
or impossible; at all events, we have no intimation of it, or 
allusion to it, in the books of the Old Testament. Thus, 
although we may in every case receive spiritual improvement 
from the simplest incident that passes before our eyes, yet 
the hay-field is singularly deficient in this sweetest and 
holiest interest. The waving crops of autumn, the piled-up 
shocks that succeed them, even the dry and barren stubble 
when all has been gathered in, has a word of solemn instruc¬ 
tion to the passer-by. We can scarcely perform an operation 
in the farm or garden, without feeling that we are practising 
and exemplifying customs and allusions conveyed to us by 
the Word of God, and common in the days when the Creator 
veiled His glory, and visited the earth as man. We feel that 
they are sanctified, by His having used them to impart 
instruction to the unenlightened minds of His disciples, anil 
our enjoyment in them is, therefore, heightened a thousand 
fold; but when we are contemplating our sweet English hay- 
field, no Scriptural recollections increase its charms, no 
Bible story, simply and exquisitely told, rushes into our 
minds: we are reminded chiefly of the days of our youth, 
when the enjoyment of this peculiar season was so great, the 
smell of tho hay so pleasant, and the houses we made in it 
were so sweet and snug. I have little doubt but that all my 
readers look back with a smile, and, perhaps, a sigh, to those 
days of childish glee, when the few sorrows they felt were 
not more severe than when a wet day occurred during hay¬ 
time, or the summons to bed was sent after them, before the 
last waggon load had been carried in. 
Still we may gain instruction as we watch another genera¬ 
tion playing as we have done before them. Are we not still 
children, nay, I may say, idiots, in our advancing years ? Are 
we not still thoughtlessly amusing ourselves with the trifles 
of a passing world, like children in a hay-field ■ Still sport¬ 
ing in gladness of heart, or mourning over some blighted 
hope but all with reference to the world in which we live, to 
the time which hath an end, to the things that “ are seen,” 
and that will all soon perish for ever! While we pride our- 
selves on our intellectual powers and mental acquirements, 
let us remember that in spiritual things we are less than 
children; and let us strive, “ while it is called to-day,” to 
put away childish things.” 
How full of beauty is the whole face of nature at this time. | 
The rains over which we were grieving a few days ago “ are 
ended and gonebut they have enriched and refreshed the 
soil, and have caused bud and blossom to swell into richer 
luxuriance. The hedges—my favourite hedges—are decked 
in all their simple loveliness, and the graceful, wild creepers 
are now encircling the stems and boughs with such thick and 
beautiful wreaths, that the garden cannot boast of anything 
more agreeable to the eye. An evening stroll is delicious 
when the cool breeze has sprung up, especially on the banks 
of a river, where we can sometimes enjoy the musical dip of 
the oars as a boat quietly glides by. I am enjoying this 
luxury now, and I delight, too, in watching the gallant spring 
and plunge with which a noble dog takes the water—the 
white foam sparkling round him, and his long shaggy black 
coat shining and dripping as he stands anxiously waiting for 
another stick to be thrown in. 
There are few situations so utterly devoid of beauty and 
interest as not to afford us pleasure at this charming season 
of the year. If we simply observe a glowing sunset, what a 
train of thought arises, and how quickly our minds are led 
on from admiring its outward splendour, as it sinks among 
gold and purple clouds, to that “ excellent glory ” of which— 
although the grandest of all natural objects—it is but the 
type and shadow. Even that sun—that splendid orb of fire 
—whose lustre the eye cannot bear, shall be “ ashamed ’’ I 
when that day shall dawn in which “ the Lord of Hosts shall 
reign in Mount Zion, and in Jerusalem, and before his 
ancients gloriously.” 
The song of birds, too, although not so full as during the 
preceding months, greets us delightfully in our evening 
walks, It is rather singular to remark the sudden way in 
which it ceases at night. We have sat on the lawn listening 
to the full chorus around until night has closed quietly in ; 
but still all was vocal, until in one instant, as if by general 
consent, the concert ceased, and we have been almost startled 
by the sudden silence. It seemed as if all had joined in a 
final hymn of praise, and when that ended their daily work 
was done. 
The nightingale has just ceased to add its full liquid notes 
to the general harmony; after the 20th of June it is heard 
no more. In the garden of the friends with whom I am now 
staying, it seems unusually social. I have been accustomed 
to hear them in the woods, among the tall trees of the dist ant 
grounds, and occasionally nearer to the house, but here they 
sang among the garden shrubs, close to tho windows, and 
when we were sitting at work on the lawn, they warbled im¬ 
mediately over our heads. I saw one day a little quiet-looking 
bird resting on the branch of a weeping ash not yet in full 
leaf, and it was so close to us, that we could perceive its 
throat swelling with the fulness of its voice, which was re¬ 
markable in so small a creature. This was the far-famed 
Philomel of tho poets, uttering those plaintive notes so 
