There was one great amphitheatre just before reaching the village of Stow which was peculiarly interesting.

It was a great bowl full of earth's glory up to the very rim.

The circular wall was embossed with the best patterns and colors of vegetation.

The hills of every tournure showed each in a fir setting, looking, with their sloping fields of grain, like inverted goblets of gold vined with emerald leafwork.

In the valley a reaping machine was at work with its peculiar chatter and clatter, and men and women were following in its wake, gathering up and binding the grain as it fell and clearing the way for the next round.