The Potter journal. [volume] (Coudersport, Pa.) 1857-1872, 1861-07-11
,BUIY.

begin to pass into fruit. Already we are
gathering the small fruits, and dishes
piled with berries, and garnished with
sugar and cream, grace the farmers re-
past. The cherries, in those sections of
the country where they have not been
winter killed, stand thick among the green
leaves, and the apples and pears are ra-
pidly pushing on toward maturity. The
meadow is now in its glory, and all the
variety of grasses are shaking their plumes
in the morning breeze. Much of the in
terest of the northern farm at this season,
clusters around the bayfield,. 1t has Its
poetry as well as its philosophy, its SEN
timcnt, as we'll at its dull rcalitiles.
There is hardly a more beautiful sight
among all the peaceful scenes OF rural
life, than the meadow at moving time.
Grass is at all times grateful to the eye,
and the smooth shaven lawn, with nothing
but evenness and monotonous green to
commend it, is perpetual feast. We
can find contrasts enough in other things.
But the verdure Of the meadow has a
thousand varying shades, as the grasses
come into bloom in midsummer Not
only are there many varieties of grasses
but each variety gives succession Of
hues, as it passes from the blade into the
season of ripeness. We have different
shades of green, and then as the taSsels
and plumes come out, different shades of
purple, blue, pink, and crimson, blending
with the ground work of Vordure beneath.
Then, to vary the scene, we have these
colors modified by the dew and the rain,
by cloud and sunshine. by wind and calm.
a gentle breeze sweeping over the tall
grass, gives one the impression of the
waves of the sea. We never thrust
scythe into a full grown meadow, without
Il sigh that SO much of beauty has to be
sacrificed to the necessities Of man and
beast.
But the hay field is pleasing to the
locker on, if not to the haymaker, after all
lis acdding plumes and flowers have gone
down before the scythe. We love to see
the ooys tossing the withered herbage,
the rakers gathering up the long wind
rows, the hay in cocks and covered with
snowy caps, looking in the distance like
a tented field, the hay cart with its enor-
nous bulk drawn into the barn, the stacks
suggestive of barns running over full with
fodder, the farmers nooning-the whole
labOring group reclined upon the fragrant
hay, the mirthful boys, full of dinner apd
pratical jokes.
Nor is the eye alone pleased with the
hay field. No flower border sends UP
more grateful odors, than the blooming
meadow on Summer morning. 1t pays
for early rising to inhale the fragrance
rs well as to catch the sparkle of the first
sunbcams, as they fash from the dew
drops, and then when all the grasses are
laid low in death, the perfume that comes
MP from the crushed blossoms surpasses
Nil that they exhaled while living. "NeW
mown hay gives name to one of the
most exquisite products of the perfumer
and the Broadway belle is redolept of one
Of the most common odors of the farm
This fragrance is most perceptible at eve.
ming, as the dew begins to fall, and moon.
light rides in July are particularly de.
lightful to those who have the leisure tc
enjoy them.
Sweet sounds are also the charm of the
hay field, and cheer tie laborer at his
task. You will always bear the robin
from the adjoining orchard or fence, and
the Bobolink pours forth his ecstasy from
every weed and shrub that overtops the
surrounding grass. The meadow lark
and the quail both build their nests
among the grass and their notes are the
constant companion of the mower. Then
the murmur of bees among the clover
heads, comes up as subdued undertone
to the varied music Of the feathered tribes
And who that has been bred in a nor
them home and studied the New England
Primer, with its familiar illustration Of
cid Time and his scythe, has notindulged
IN a bit of sentiment, as he thrust his