_To the Editor._
My dear sir,--Nothing could possibly exceed the heartfelt pleasure I
enjoyed when the last load was drawn into the farm-yard; and the farmer,
and his men and women, witnessed the completion of the “Barley-mow.”
Their huzzas filled the scenery, and the barns and church replied. The
carters and horses were trimmed with boughs and wild flowers. The hedges
siding the lanes, and the patriarch elms and walnut-trees, as the
survivors of templar consecrations to the demesne, took their tithes, to
the joy of birds; and the fields had still a generous strewing of ears
for the peasant-gleaners, who, like ants, collected a small store for
the days of frost and adversity. The farmer’s heart gladdened with the
reward of his labours. The ale-bottle, when held upward, gurgled its
choice liquid into many thirsty throats. Every thing and every body
showed satisfaction. The housewife came forth with a rake in her hand,
in her sun-shielding gloves and broad flat bonnet, and she sung the
rejoicings of her peace in a minor key, suitable to her taste of
harmony. Her daughter too came tripping in a lightsome gait and charming
advance, towards her sire and myself, with cake and cider, dimpling and
exhilarating.
By this time the “Barley-mow” was coning to a point, and the stray ears
were plucked out of its bulging sides.
The evening closing into eternity, the peaceful aspect of nature sweetly
accorded with the quiet sensations of thankfulness, glowing in the
grateful breasts of the persons cast in this out-of-town spot. The
increasing pall of dusk, when the work was ended, drew the labourers
into a circle within their master’s welcome domicile. Here the farmer
and his wife and family were assembled, and, without pride’s
distinction, regaled the sharers of their summer-toil with that beverage
that warms the feelings of hope into real joy. This was the triumph of
the “Barley-mow.” Every tongue praised, as every energy assisted it. It
was a heartfelt celebration. Songs were sung, and they danced down the
midnight. The foot of Time stepped lightly, till the weather-featured
clock toll’d the end of the joyful recreation. Sincerity, unity, and
hospitality were blended: the master was satisfied with his
servants--the servants were thankful with their means of support. My
thoughts rebounded high, as my sympathies awakened to so much happiness
in so small a compass. Ere satiety arrived the companions separated. My
candle was ready; I shook hands with my friends; and, after penning you
this outline, retired with benevolent impressions and aspirations in
behalf of a cheerful country life, arising from contented habits and
industrious courses.
The two following stanzas were audible for a long time in the
neighbouring ruralries:
Let the scythe and sickle lie
Undisturb’d for many a day
Labour stoops without a sigh,
And grisly care is gay
Bless the harrow and the plough.
Bless the glorious _Barley-mow!_
Now the miller’s hoppers play;
Now the maltster’s kiln is dry
Empty casks prepare the way,
And mirth is in the eye:
Praise the sun and trim the bough,--
Hail the golden _Barley-mow!_