He breathes the fresh air of the morning, and wonders at his eagerness for breakfast, so opposed to his usual City habits. The snow-white eggs and smoking rasher, with the sweet country loaf and delicious butter, have ample justice done to them, and prepare him for another walk round the farm with his host, or some neighbouring landholder. A bright and warm morning has cheered the hearts of the master and men who are hard at work mowing the grass, or spreading it out. In some of the fields others are busily engaged in gathering up the windrows and cocking the hay ready for the coming carters, and fork and rake are each in demand. Life and bustle pervade the scene, and men, women, and children are working with hearty wills and healthy Here he finds congregated together men from Ireland, Scotland, and Wales, in busy juxtaposition with natives of Lancashire, Salopians, and cockneys. They, following the true laws of commerce, bring their labours to the now-waiting fields, and demand has resulted in a corresponding supply. Leaving the districts where fourteen-hours' work in densely-packed fever-pens have barely enabled them to drag on a weary existence, the children and women of London's pent-up alleys may be seen pitching the grass and dragging the hay about with a readiness produced by the knowledge of fair wages, and the exhilarating influences of a changed atmosphere. They have left behind them the grog-shops and gin-palaces of our modern Babylon, and fresh air and healthy exercise have worked a natural but marvellous change on their emaciated bodies. Some of the very best haymakers are to be found composed of tailors and shoemakers, who here make up for the close constraint of their usual callings; and in the change of life thus produced, are adding days-in some it may be years to their existence. Instead of sleeping in rooms with seven or eight human-beings, breathing an atmosphere contaminated with the exhalations from dirty bodies and filthy vestments during the preceding day, they are now to be found resting under some hay-rick, or in their master's barn or hovel, and rise in the morning with an alacrity and vigour unknown to their London life. The morning finds them ready for returning to their daily labours, and the evening again sends them, wearied, perhaps, in body, but substantially better and stronger men and women to their repose. stead of drinking the intoxicating or fiery fluids prepared for them by the London publican, they imbibe a pure malt-and-hop beverage, and the bread-and-meat they eat is not poisoned by the air in which it has been prepared. The country-shopkeeper does not retail food which has passed into semi-putrefaction, and they must perforce purchase a better article than is their London wont. A piece of fat pork and a cabbage is added to their dinner-meal, and the skim-milk from the dairy is often called to mind by parents and children when driven back to their old haunts during the following winter.

In

The carts now arrive, and rakes and drags are called into requisition. The pitchers take their stands, and fork after fork projects its load on to the waiting vehicle. As it is driven forward the followers clear the ground, and bring with them the hay not previously taken up ; whilst the careful master comes behind to see that none is lost. The visitor goes on with the load to the rick-yard, and watches the unloading of the various carts and tumbrils as they gather in; and being invited to mount, ascends the rising stack, and pays his footing. Well

is he rewarded for the piece of silver thus extracted, by the odoriferous perfume of the standing-place. No lavender-water or eau de Cologne can exceed it in flavour, and many a time in after-hours will its fragrance rise again to his memory, and recall the days of pleasure thus enjoyed. The view of the surrounding country is here beheld to the greatest advantage, and the prospects of the coming harvest ascertained. The flocks of sheep scattered over the cleared pastures, and the kine and cattle enjoying themselves according to their respective natures, present a pleasing picture to the gazing cockney.

Again he returns to the haymakers, and feeling an increased interest in their labours, he scans more closely their work and persons, and perhaps forms some ideas as to their habits and home pursuits. Drawn out of self, he finds himself approximating to his fellow-creatures, although their standing in society may not equal his own, and begins to take an interest in those he has hitherto looked down upon. The pale-faced child reclining under a hedge arrests his attention, and his hand searches in his pockets for a penny to lure it to his call. Thus attracted, the little one comes up, and although at first shy and diffident, eventually perceives the interest taken in him. Gradually its innocent prattle has informed the querist "That father is gone away for a soldier, and that mother is working with that lot." The knowledge is also acquired "that Sister is ten years old and Brother five, and they are the one at stone-picking, or some other work, and the brother at the national or parish school; that mother takes in or goes out to washing, and that the master is very kind to them." Whilst thus engaged, the "beaver" time has come, and away runs the child to meet its coming parent.

The clustering of the various groups has placed a new notion in the visitant's brain, and he begins to think he should relish a draught out of the tankard himself. He therefore turns homeward, whither he arrives to find the bread and cheese and jug of ale or cider ready, with mind and body equally in cue for their enjoyment. Thus refreshed, he takes up a book, and strolling into the garden or paddock, thinks of old Virgil, and begins

"Tityre, tu patula recubans sub tegmine fagi," &c.,

and lighting his cigar, enjoys the fragrant weed. Perhaps his mind reverts for a time to the scenes he has left behind him, and he returns to the house to write his letters in time for the post of the day. He thus escapes the burning heat of noon, and when his occupation is ended, he ascends to the chamber, and enjoys the pleasure and benefit of complete ablution. The fresh linen and change of garments has completely renovated the man himself, and the book or pamphlet now perused arrests his attention more vividly, and is perused with an eagerness and zest not often given to the author or the subject. Whilst thus absorbed hour after hour has passed away, and he feels almost startled when informed that "dinner is ready."

The free and easy style of the country house soon sets him at his ease, and he enjoys the meal set before him. The open windows admit the breezes fragrant with the perfumes of mown hay and clover, and perchance a wasp or inquiring bee. No London smoke or pollution annoys his olfactory organs, and his sense of hearing is not disturbed

by discordant sounds. He thoroughly enjoys his repast, and the dish of cherries or other fresh-gathered fruit tempts him to pass away a little more of this time of pleasure and enjoyment. But even this must have an end, and again he resumes his hat, and prepares for an evening ramble. By this time the tired labourers are wending their ways homeward, and group after group, with rakes on shoulders, pass him as he strolls along. If a fisherman, perchance he has mounted a fly, and begins to whip the stream for a trout, or dibbles for chub or roach or dace, that he may present his hostess with a dish of fish. Thus occupied, he paces along the side of the meandering stream, and watches for the rise of his destined victims. Rise succeeds to rise, but his flies suit not the water, and he straight sets to dub on a more tempting bait. The hackle is changed for a dun, or a caddis baits his hook, and soon success repays his watchfulness. Fish after fish is added, until at last, with well-filled basket, he wends his own paces backward. A cheering cup of tea, with the smiles of the lady of the house, reward him for his walk, and refresh him for the evening. A cheerful chat, or, may be, a game of chess follows; and at an hour when in London he would begin only to think of society, the light supper crowns the day. The farmer must recruit his strength for the morrow, and early rising and late hours agree neither in town nor country. Adapting himself to the customs of his present whereabouts, he takes up the lighted taper, and retires to that repose he has so well qualified himself to enjoy. A soft bed, clean sheets, and a quiet conscience soon lull him in the embraces of Somnus, and he passes a dreamless night in soft repose. Each succeeding day of his visit finds him in the possession of similar enjoyment; and the fields, the river, and the house are equally sources of pleasure to body and to mind.

He returns at length to the cares of business, and to the daily routine of a city life; but with a body re-invigorated and a mind strengthened for the contest. Instead of finding himself worn out by the progress of the time passed in his visit, he feels himself really a younger man from his trip to the country. When vexed with petty annoyances, or oppressed by the trials he may be called upon to endure, the thoughts of past or anticipated future pleasures in these country trips will enable him to put them aside, and thus pass by those things which otherwise must constitute a grievous burthen. I prefer a visit to the hay-field in the summer to jostling with the throng of pleasure-seekers at some over-crowded seaport, rendered notorious for high prices and little accommodation. I have no particular desire to follow into apartments a family who may have left behind them the embryos of diseases, in the shape of lurking fever or other malady; and I firmly believe that much more happiness is to be obtained by a visit to an inland farm than to the resorts of fashionables, who often only leave town because they have not the courage to declare they cannot afford to follow in the wake of those who are better off than they themselves are. Many families are needlessly pinched for months that they may be able to keep up with those who only laugh at them for their follies in striving to maintain appearances beyond their means. To such the continued vexations of the succeeding months occasion more injury than can be counter-balanced by any temporary benefits they may derive from the country trip, which will not leave to them the happy reminiscences en

joyed by the man who cuts his coat according to his cloth. To those who by judicious arrangements can provide for a country trip, I recommend them to try a visit during the hay-season, and to carry with them not only a desire for their own enjoyment, but also a determination to carry into the families they visit all the happiness and knowledge which they may be enabled to impart. Thus desiring and thus acting, they will carry with them, as well as return with, mutual enjoyment and satisfaction.

The hunting season of 1867-8 has been a fair average one, as the frost has not been of very long duration. In the "Shires" the "noble science" has been supported by many of our leading nobility, and it is truly gratifying to find that both in Norfolk aud Huntingdonshire the Prince of Wales has shown his love for the "chase," which the poet Pope terms "The Sport of British Kings." His Royal Highness not only takes delight in hunting, but rides very forward, uniting pluck with judgment.

So much has been written about modern hunting that we shall "hark back" to by-gone days.

A writer in the Gentleman's Magazine thus addresses the editor :

February 28th, 1734.

"SIR,-As that manly and royal pastime, HUNTING, has prolonged my days to 79 years, and I am now hearty and cheerful, and can read your magazine without spectacles, I hope you will not interrupt the quiet of a happy old man, by denying a favourite song of his a place in your next. I shall submit the whole to your correction, being with all imaginable regard,

'Yours, &c.,

A SONG IN PRAISE OF HUNTING.

TUNE-"I am a Jolly Toper."

"Of all our fond diversions

A hunter's is the best ;

In spite of wars and petty jars,
That sport has stood the test.
And a hunting we will go.

Of Nimrod and of Esau,
What gallant feats they tell!

On foot they follow'd hunting,

They lov'd the sport so well, &c."

"A. V."

Here follow some verses on "brave Acteon," "Diana, the pride of ," "Orion," " Dido;" but they are not quite suited to the

female race,'

taste of the present day.

"Euripedes! had hunting

Been lov'd but like thy books,
The hounds had not devour d thee;
They know a sportsman's looks, &c.

If, friend, you're call'd a hunting,
Throw all your books aside;

('Tis Horace thus advises),

And mount your horse and ride, &c.