Cincinnati daily press. [volume] (Cincinnati [Ohio]) 1860-1862, 1861-09-12
A sUMMRR.DAY IN HAYING.
By b. F. TAYLOR.

those who see it now must determine. The |
fly-leaves Of many winters have been turned |
since then, but Nature is now repeating
that sweet old syllable of recorded time
the Summer-day in Haying. What blessed
thing it is, that heaveh is rich enough to
portion off the years with "bran new" sum-
mers; that we have no old, dilapidated
months at all. Here is the old picture:
Five o'clock and q summer morning A
silver mist hangs along the streams, few
downy clouds are afoat, and the landscape
is heavy with dew. The COWS, turned out
from the milking, are tinkling their way
along the winding path to the woods; the
robins are calling to each other in the or
chard, and an enterprising hen in the barn
is giving othe world assurance of an egg.
Somehow, earth, in such morning, looks
as if it were just finished, the coloring not
dry, the holdings not "set" without grave
o: grief in it.
Noting "the way of the wind" and re-
membering that the sun "eame OUT as it
set last night, it is pronounced as a good
day for haying. So, forth to the meadow
they go, the farmers, the neighbors and the
boys EARNED and equipped; young bare
footed commissary bringing up the rear
with earthen jng and bright tin pail. Much
talk of "wide swaths" and "mowings
round" with laugh and jest, beguiles the
journey through the pasture to the field of
battle. Coats and jackets fly like leaves In
winter weather, and on moves the phalanx
with the steady step and sweep, amid the
tall, damp grass. One bends to the scythe
as if it were an our, and pants on in the
rear of his fellows. Another walks erect
and boldly up to the grass, the glittering
blade the while curving freely and easily
about his feet. The fellow in Kentucky
Jean expanded his strength in boasting on
the way, and labors like n ship in heavy
sea, while the quiet chap in tow, that never
said word, is the pioneer of the field.
On they move, toward the tremulous woods
in the distance. One pauses, brings the
snath to "order arms" and you can hear
the tiak-a-tink of "the rife" as it sharpens
the edge of Times symbol. Another wipes
the beaded drops from his brow, and then
the swath-notes blend again, in full orches-
ira. Onward still; they are hidden in the
waving grass-all but broken line of
broad brimmed hats, that, rising and fall
ing, seem float slowly over the top of the
meadow.
Ten o'clock, and cloudless sky The
birds and the naples are silent and still
low. Far up in the blue, a solitary hawk
is slowly swinging in airy circles over the
farm Far down in the breathless lake
sweeps his shadowy fellow. The long, yell
low ribbon of road leading to town, is
culver with heat. "Brindle and Red
stand doing in the marsh; the sheep are
painting in the angles of the fences; the
horses are grouped beneath the old oaks;
''Pedro" the faithful guardian of the night,
has crawled under the wagon for its shadow,
now and then swapping in his sleep at the
flies that hum around his pendant ears; the
cat has crept up into the leafy butternut,
and stretched herself at length, upon limb,
to sleep; the canary is dreaming on his
drowsy perch and even the butterflies,
weary of fickering in the sunshine, rest,
like full blown exotics, on the reeds. The
children of the neighboring school, all
flushed and glowing come bounding down
the slope in couples, the old red pail swung
up between; and the clatter Of the wind
lass betokens the old oaken bucket" al
ready dripping up into the sun, with its
brimming wealth of water.
Twelve o'clock, and breathless noon.
The corn fairly "curls" in the steady blaze.
The sun has driven the shadows around
under the west and north walls; it has
reached the noon mark on the Threshold,
and pours the broad beams into the hall !;
the Morning Glories have struck" their
colers, and q little vine, trailed up the wall
by a string of shroud, shows decided symr-
toms of letting CO." The horn winds for
dinner, but its welcome note surprises the
mowers in the midst of the meadow, and
they'll cut their way out like good soldiers,
despite the signal.
Back we are again to the field; aye and
back, too, upon the Threshold of childhood.
A chance breath watts to US the sweet, old
fashioned fragrance Of the new-mown hay,
and we are younger in memory than we'll
ever be again. The angry hum of the bees
just thrown out of house and home; and
the whistling quail, as she whirled timidly
away before the steady sweep of the whet-
ted scythes; and the shout of the children,
as the next stroke laid open her summer
hopes to the day; and the bell-tones of the
bob-O-links, swinging upon the willows in
the "hollow." Can't you hear-don't you
remember them all2
And have you forgotten the green knoll
under the wide-spreading beech-or was it
maple ?-aud how hungry you were, at
the morning lunch, just from sympathy,
though you hadn't "earned your salt" for a
week? And the brown jug, filled with
pure cold water, and-in those old times,
you know the little black bottle, with
something stronger just ITO qualify" it, as
they said, that nestled lovingly together,
amid the cool and dewy grass in the fence
cornerP We are sure you remember how
the magnificent loads went trembling into
the barn, you upon the top and how they
heOped the new hay into the empty "mow,"
till it was half as high as the ladder-up
to the "big boam"-up to the swalloW-hole;
and how you crept up with young troop,
and hid away in dark corner festooned
with cObwebs, and "played you were q
'paintern or q "cGtamountain,n and groWled
terrifcally, to the unspeakable dread of
your little brother, or cousin, or somebody.
Or, how, Wearied of the frolic, you lay upon
the hay, and counted the dusty sunbeams,
as they streamed through the crevices in
the loose sliding, and wondered how they
got out again, and how many it took to
make day, and passed your fingers
through them, To and fro, and marvelei that
you felt nothing.
Many time, you know, you orept through
that same meadow with Mary Gray-dont
you remember Mary 2-she lived in the
house just over the hill -strawberrying.
You picked in her basket--don't deny it
and you always felt happier than when you
filled your own, though you never knew
why. You have found it oil out since, nc