[英］查尔斯狄更斯Charles Dickens
一年之中，没有任何一个月的自然风光比得过八月。春天美不胜收，而五月也是—个清新、花开的月份，由于有冬季的对比，所以每年的此刻更显得魅力四射。八月就没有这样的优势。它来的时候，我们只记得明朗的天空，绿绿的田野，还有芳香四溢的花朵——记忆中的冰雪、寒风都已完全消失，仿佛它们在地球上了无踪迹——然而八月是多么愉快的季节啊！果园和麦田到处都充溢着工作的声响，串串硕果压得果树都弯下了腰，枝条低垂到地面，还有玉米，有的一捆捆优雅地堆在一起，有的则迎着微风招展，仿佛等待收割，把景致染上淡淡的金黄色。整个大地似乎笼罩着醇美的柔和。季节 的影响，似乎蔓延至那辆马车，它缓慢地越过收割好的田地，这一切只有用肉眼才觉察得到，耳朵却听不到任何刺耳的声音。
马车摇晃着，轻快地经过路边的田野与果园，一群群的妇女和孩子们，有的正将水果往筛子上堆，有的则在捡散落的谷穗子，他们稍停了会儿手中的活儿，用深褐色的手遮在晒黑的脸上，以好奇的眼神望着乘客。一些结实的小顽童，太小还不能上学，但又不能把他们留在家中胡闹，便出于安全的考虑被安置在篮子里，这时也爬过了篮边，高兴得又踢又叫。收割的人停下了手里的活儿，双臂交叉地站着看马车通过，而拖货车的毛茸茸的马也睡眼惺忪地向那灵巧的马车队看了一眼，它的眼神很明白地表露出：“看看倒是不错，但在崎岖的田地上慢慢走，总比那么辛苦地工作要好，尤其是在尘土飞扬的路上。”当你拐过转角时，回头瞧瞧你的身后吧。妇女和孩子们又开始干活儿了：收割的人又弯下了腰，拖货车的马已继续前进。所有的一切都恢复了工作。
There is no month in the whole year，in which nature wears a more beautiful appearance than in the month of August.Spring has many beauties，and May is a fresh and blooming month，but the charms of this time of year are enhanced by their contrast with the winter season.August has no such advantage.It comes when we remember nothing but clear skies，green fields，and sweet-smelling flowers-when the recollection of snow，and ice，and bleak winds，has faded from our minds as completely as they have disappeared from the earth-and yet what a pleasant time it is！Orchards and cornfields ring with the hum of labour；trees bend beneath the thick clusters of rich fruit which bow their branches to the ground；and the corn，piled in graceful sheaves，or waving in every light breath that sweeps above it，as if it wooed the sickle，tinges the landscape with a golden hue.A mellow softness appears to hang over the whole earth；the influence of the season seems to extend itself to the very waggon，whose slow motion across the wellreaped field，is perceptible only to the eye，but strikes with no harsh sound upon the ear.
As the coach rolls swiftly past the fields and orchards which skirt the road，groups of women and children，piling the fruit in sieves，or gathering the scattered ears of corn，pause for an instant from their labour，and shading the sunburnt face with a still browner hand，gaze upon the passengers with curious eyes，while some stout urchin，too small to work but too mischievous to be left at home，scrambles over the side of the basket in which he has been deposited for security，and kicks and screams with delight.The reaper stops in his work，and stands with folded arms，looking at the vehicle as it whirls past；and the rough cart-horses bestow asleepy glance upon the smart coach team，which says，as plainly as a horse’s glance can，“It’s all very fine to look at，but slow going，over a heavy field，is better than warm work like that，upon a dusty road，after all.”You cast a look behind you，as you turn a corner of the road.The women and children have resumed their labour：the reaper once more stoops to his work：the cart-horses has moved on：and all are again in motion.