A COUNTRY DIARY.

Press, Volume LIV, Issue 16168, 23 March 1918, Page 7

A COUNTRY DIARY.

(SPECIAI.LT WRITTEN" FOR "THE SUESS. '1 (By Canterbury.) February 25tli.—A sunny morning, after a showery, misty nighty and 6t> midday a hardish north-west wind, sweeping over the corn fields, and helping swiftly to dry the sodden stooks. A bright moment in an evil hour, for this time the harvest month of February has failed us badly, and made the gathering of tho crops a lingering business; a make-the-best-of-it affair at that, and one which unfortunately is not yet finished. .. Acres of grain still waiting for the reapers, field after field of wotted, unstacked wheat; a damaged harvest is not a pleasing spectaclc, but it is an occasion when all must help wherever they are able; so presently, a messenger from James ia utmost hurry, and a speedy departure in answer to his call.

Items of the journey, three miles of newly-mended-for-the-worse road; tho •mooting of several friends of tho sort „ that always has most to say when one is in special hast<?, and tho breaking of that strap* of harness which I havo heard politely styled an abdominal belt. Anyway, if that strap smashes a wide field is opened for general mischief, which, in this case, took form in a souring of our borrowed steed, ■who, by tho time we had repaired tho damage with some string and a bit of wire wo found in the roadside fence; had firmly established himself in a stubborn jib. The moments passed, and people, one informing us credibly, if not creditably, of a man who cured a fibbing horse by putting a piece of dead gorse under its tail, and then setting fire to the gorse; a truly frightful remedy, which seemed most worthy of a Hun. , Luckily, our own cross animal cam© unjibbed more easily; if it was tho clay we put in his mouth, according to advice, or the backing, or the turning round and round, or all three together, j I could not say, but it happened sud-i denly. and soon we were at the appointed place. J 1 note this particular harvest field ' for the reason that it is a type of many in the present year, when the wheatgrowers in a great part of $outh Can-, terbury havo been robbed of the sue-] cess which seemed almost within their i" grasp. Here was a paddock of Tuscan ' wheat, where the closeness of thei stooks gave gladdening promise, but ■ examination soon showed a state of; affairs most disappointing after months! of hope. Said the owner: "Thisi looked like being at least a fifty bushel! crop, but the 'blackhead blight spoilt* somo of it, and then each different rain, spoilt more, and now I am afraid it is good for fowl wheat and not much( else." Certainly it was not encour- < a ging to see that the outer sheaves! on the weather side of tie stooks • had sprouted freely, and a few which' were lying flat near a high gorse fence, i were almost rooted to the ground, but J ■ all day long the sheaves went into the ] > drays and the drays went lmrrying, ' and for better or worse we put tho I T corn .in stack. t [

March Stli.—A welcome change in I ■ thei weather apparently has led us into! SMI the generally . well-marked period ( :' <Pi known as our "Indian Summer, when? [quiet, bright, sunny days are ed by starlit, nearly-frosty you get the;first real autumn, and people begin saying "that evenings are drawing in." To-day .l>y,.Jsst train _for a short journey, > and watching a passing scene of clear aimm stubbles and occasional yellow colour we conjured up remembrances of- the old Home Country, at season of the year-j- , "When the pods go pop,on the broonp, And the coverta begin to be gold and I do not know who jte lines, but iff you" once fit in f/acuyfrpjlM rhyme or rhytnm fit in with, tac b<*\ma£||BW of the eri£ine«while going at a uii it is even betting that aa hour pass before you can forget tham. ' , . I never tell stories myself—' hardly ever—but passengers in a do, and in the course of our jonrneyfgijjgffl. I heard a couple, one concemmg 1 man who entered a carriage on a. ■ Xio7|4fplßM don underground railway, theroS: find a lady who certainly was pittmjrcx&ift a'nd well-lining, but at tne same sadly tearful, and she besought help thus: "Oh, sir, would me.-' 1 <am unfortunately 'so . stontp||»m thfft I have to get out of. n.- raitWawygW carriage backwards, and I get out at Baker street, but a saw me 'and thought I was trying get in; so he gave me a„ push ■' slammed. the carriage door,- and train went on. 1 have now twice past my 'station;" . Quit© rbmantic, wasn't it?' tiftl The other story takes us again -to ||j| England on one of thw hot summer mornings which Ave believe .to- ;be so nice and rare in those parts, when a visitor was motoring in the country"' " ><s with his sister —I think it ; was his 'fj -sister, if not, th&i it' should have a been —and by a stream they stopped 1 ;' to gather some wild flowers. Very soon a bo> appeared from theisheltec' 'j of a'clump of bushes. "Hey, V is'that your girl over there?" . . . / _"Yes, 1 suppose so," answered the man. "Well, you tell her to go „ p home," said the boy, "us fellers wantsto start in swimming. ' The visitor ■ told the young lady of this odd i»j-x / quest, but she had. not yet finished heiuMM :bouquet, and replied laughingly that lie must go and say to the boys that t' she would not look, that she would " J "-j shut her eyes tightly. This theyv >.] were duly told, and they over it long and seriously; then J-l again came the spokesboy, and deliv-"- . *\1 ered their youthful judgment. "It'si. no good, sir, the fellers says dassent trust her."