Ay, Mr North, in that case the word Ditch—and the thing—would be dignified by danger, daring, and death. But here——
NORTH.
The case is the same—with a difference, for there is all the Danger—all the Daring—all the Death—that the incident or event admits of—and they are not small. Think for a moment. The Rain falls over the whole broad heart of the tilled earth—from the face of the fields it runs into the Ditches—the first unavoidable receptacles—these pour into the rivers—the rivers into the river mouths—and then you are in the Sea.
BULLER.
Go on, sir, go on.
NORTH.
I am amazed—I am indignant, Buller. Ruit arduus æther. The steep or high ether rushes down! as we saw it rush down a few minutes ago. What happens?
"Et pluvià ingenti sata læta, boumque labores
Diluit!"
Alas! for the hopeful—hopeless husbandman now. What a multiplied and magnified expression have we here for the arable lands. All the glad seed-time vain—vain all industry of man and oxen—there you have the true agricultural pathos—washed away—set in a swim—deluged! Well has the Poet—in one great line—spoke the greatness of a great matter. Sudden affliction—visible desolation—imagined dearth.
BULLER.