olence. The lazy Stour
sleeps beneath his fringes of elm and willow: a deep-laden barge comes
leisurely along, as if anxious not to disturb his slumbers: the horse has
plainly enough to do to make out his four miles an hour; and there is a
dog on deck who seems nervous about hydrophobia. The man at the bow,
depressing his head and elevating the lower part of his person to an
American angle of elevation, has thrown his sturdy limbs across yon
well-stuffed sacks of wheat, on their way to Flatford mill. Mercy on us!
what can that fellow in the stern be about, pretending to steer? Just as
we suspected--fast asleep, with his hand on the helm.

Another change--from the building-yard to the corn-field. The wind has
risen as the day advanced, and driven off to the west the veil of vapour
which had concealed the sun. The clouds ride high in heaven; and we see by
their roll and motion that there is a refreshing air astir;--and there is
need of it in this field of golden grain, framed, as it were, in the solid
green of those groves, and over which the gray tower of Dedham church
(which somehow or other finds its way into all these combinations of
scenery) rises straight and motionless against the rounded forms of the
ever-shifting sky. All here speaks of bustle and cheerful activity, peace
and plenty. It is impossible to look at the scene, and think for a moment
of the repeal of the corn-laws. Behind the stalwart band of reapers lie
the heaps of sheaves that have already fallen beneath their sickle; the
tall grain, swept by the wind, waves firm before them like a hostile rank
yet unbroken; while the _lord_, as he is called in Suffolk, or leading man
among the reapers and mowers, stands in advance of the rest, as if urging
a final charge. In truth, there has been rather a lull among the workmen;
for, breezy as the day is, still it is hot--the dinner-hour is nigh, and
there is a visible anxiety evinced for the arrival of the commissariat. At
last it is seen in the offing: the reapers, "sagacious of their quarry
from afar," gather new vigour from the sight; and yonder tall fellow--an
Irishman, we are positive even at this distance--seizing his sickle like
one inspired, is actually working double tides.

But stay, we have got into wilder quarters, and here has been a storm. Ay,
we thought the clouds, after such a sultry morning, were not rolling
themselves into those ominous grey volumes for nothing. Broken ground lies
before us in fr