The Morning Cleared A Little, And The Sky Was Once More The Old
Stone-Coloured Vault Over The Sallow Meadows And The Russet Woods,
As I Set Forth On A Dog-Cart From Wendover To Tring.
The road lay
for a good distance along the side of the hills, with the great
plain below on
One hand, and the beech-woods above on the other.
The fields were busy with people ploughing and sowing; every here
and there a jug of ale stood in the angle of the hedge, and I could
see many a team wait smoking in the furrow as ploughman or sower
stepped aside for a moment to take a draught. Over all the brown
ploughlands, and under all the leafless hedgerows, there was a
stout piece of labour abroad, and, as it were, a spirit of picnic.
The horses smoked and the men laboured and shouted and drank in the
sharp autumn morning; so that one had a strong effect of large,
open-air existence. The fellow who drove me was something of a
humourist; and his conversation was all in praise of an
agricultural labourer's way of life. It was he who called my
attention to these jugs of ale by the hedgerow; he could not
sufficiently express the liberality of these men's wages; he told
me how sharp an appetite was given by breaking up the earth in the
morning air, whether with plough or spade, and cordially admired
this provision of nature. He sang O fortunatos agricolas!
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