—and　yet　what　a　pleasant　time　it　is！　Orchards　and　cornfields　ring　with　the　hum　of　labours；　trees　bend　beneath　the　thick　clusters　of　rich　fruit　which　bow　their　branches　to　the　ground；　and　the　corn；　piled　in　graceful　sheaves；　or　waving　in　every　light　breath　that　sweeps　above　it；　as　if　it　wooed　the　sickle；　tinges　the　landscape　with　a　golden　hue。　A　mellow　softness　appears　to　hang　over　the　whole　earth；　the　influence　of　the　season　seems　to　extend　itself　to　the　very　wagon；　whose　slow　motion　across　the　well…reaped　field；　is　perceptible　only　to　the　eye；　but　strikes　with　no　harsh　sound　upon　the　ear。

As　the　coach　rolls　swiftly　past　the　fields　and　orchards　which　skirt　the　road；　groups　of　women　and　children；　piling　the　fruit　in　sieves；　or　gathering　the　scattered　ears　of　corn；　pause　for　an　instant　from　their　labour；　and　shading　the　sunburnt　face　with　a　still　browner　hand；　gaze　upon　the　passengers　with　curious　eyes；　while　some　stout　urchin；　too　small　to　work　but　too　mischievous　to　be　left　at　home；　scrambles　over　the　side　of　the　basket　in　which　he　has　been　deposited　for　security；　and　kicks　and　screams　with　delight。　The　reaper　stops　in　his　work；　and　stands　with　folded　arms；　looking　at　the　vehicle　as　it　whirls　past；　and　the　rough　cart…horses　bestow　a　sleepy　glance　upon　the　smart　coach　team；　which　says；　as　plainly　as　a　horse’s　glance　can；　“It’s　all　very　fine　to　look　at；　but　slow　going；　over　a　heavy　field；　is　better　than　warm　work　like　that；　upon　a　dusty　road；　after　all。”　You　cast　a　look