,
the heat of the summer day defrauds its increased length for feeding.
For instance, to cite a very trifling point--at least in some
opinions--August has banished that bright content and most devout
resignation which ensue the removal of a petted pig from this troublous
world of grunt. The fat pig rolls in wallowing rapture, defying his
friends to make pork of him yet, and hugs with complacence unpickleable
hams. The partridge among the pillared wheat, tenderly footing the way
for his chicks, and teaching little balls of down to hop, knows how
sacred are their lives to others as well as to himself; and the less
paternal cock-pheasant scratches the ridge of green-shouldered potatoes,
without fear of keeping them company at table.

But though the bright glory of the griddle remains in suspense for the
hoary mornings, and hooks that carried woodcocks once, and hope to do
so yet again, are primed with dust instead of lard, and the frying-pan
hangs on the cellar nail with a holiday gloss of raw mutton suet, yet
is there still some comfort left, yet dappled brawn, and bacon streaked,
yet golden-hearted eggs, and mushrooms quilted with pink satin, spiced
beef carded with pellucid fat, buckstone cake, and brown bread scented
with the ash of gorse bloom--of these, and more that pave the way into
the good-will of mankind, what lack have fine farm-houses?

And then, again, for the liquid duct, the softer and more sensitive,
the one that is never out of season, but perennially clear--here we have
advantage of the gentle time that mellows thirst. The long ride of the
summer sun makes men who are in feeling with him, and like him go up and
down, not forego the moral of his labor, which is work and rest. Work
all day, and light the rounded land with fruit and nurture, and rest at
evening, looking through bright fluid, as the sun goes down.

But times there are when sun and man, by stress of work, or clouds, or
light, or it may be some Process of the Equinox, make draughts upon the
untilted day, and solace themselves in the morning. For lack of dew the
sun draws lengthy sucks of cloud quite early, and men who have labored
far and dry, and scattered the rime of the night with dust, find
themselves ready about 8 A.M. for the golden encouragement of gentle
ale.

The farm-house had an old porch of stone, with a bench of stone on
either side, and pointed windows trying to look out under brows of
ivy; and this porch led into the long lo