I shall now remember, much better than I used to do, some of your favourite descriptions, that I have learned over and over again. My aunt says, that it has been remarked, by a philosopher who has written a most interesting book on the human mind, that in descriptive poetry we always remember best those scenes which we can picture to ourselves. I am sure this is the case; for now, as I begin to understand the allusions, it requires but little effort to recollect those beautiful lines of Thomson on harvest-home.
When I came here, several of the fields were still unreaped: all is now cut, dried, drawn home, and stacked; and the fields only show, by the yellow stubble remaining in the ground, what treasures gilded the earth but a short time since.
All the farmers in this neighbourhood have finished their harvest; and my uncle took me again to Farmer Moreland’s, that I might see the whole of the process. The stacks, I see, are placed on stands, supported by stone pillars, with a projecting cap of flag-stone, so that the corn has a free passage of air underneath, and is out of the reach of rats.
Farmer Moreland is one of the most comfortable farmers in this part of the country; and, being an old, experienced man, and very much respected, he seems to be considered at the head of the yeomanry.
Every year, when his great harvest is well secured in his farmyard, he gives a feast to all his labourers and the neighbouring farmers; and, when he saw that we were so much interested, he very civilly said to my uncle, “If so be the young ladies would like it, and if you have no objection to a little mirth or so, they shall be heartily welcome to see my harvest home, on Saturday, at three o’clock.”
We were all delighted to go, and have had a lovely day for it. We walked through the little beech-grove and the pretty fields to the farmer’s; we found all his labourers and their families assembled, dressed in their Sunday clothes. The farmers’ wives and daughters amused me by the varieties in their dress;—some in fine flourishing caps, with broad ribbons and borders, and flounces in imitation of the Squire’s lady; and others, plain, clean, and tidy.
There was a very plentiful dinner, set on tables under a clump of trees; and the good farmer seemed to feel real delight in making his hard-working labourers eat heartily. Two fiddlers were playing all the time, to enliven them; and the ale and cider were abundantly circulated. When the repast was finished, the more active sports began; and nothing could be prettier than the different groups of dancers, or more laughable than the attempts to jump through a ring, and hop in a sack.
Under the trees, most of the older people sat comfortably, talking; though some, excited by the general joy, took part in the dance, and others presided at a wrestling match. Each of those men who had been more particularly engaged in getting in the harvest, had his hat ornamented with a large bunch of wheat; but the leader, or captain of the sports, was actually crowned with a whole sheaf. He was carried round the tables on the shoulders of his comrades, and the sports began by dancing round him in a general ring; at last he gave the signal, when they suddenly separated, and each fixed on his favourite damsel.
Dame Moreland gave us some nice syllabub; and, highly gratified with the whole scene, we left her and her happy guests, in the midst of their merriment.
My uncle met there an old acquaintance, whom he had not seen or heard of for several years. When he knew him, this gentleman was in the fashionable world, but now he seems completely a farmer. He is much altered: my uncle did not recollect him; but he had so much the look and language of a gentleman, that my uncle’s attention was attracted. His manner, to the inferior society he was with, was mild and good humoured, without any appearance of proud condescension, or of too great familiarity. My uncle spoke of him two or three times on our way home, as if he was surprised at finding him in his present situation.