Then dashing in the water's swell,
She vanishes in air.

No trace remains in Sol's bright ray,
Of boat or awful spright;
For grief--or guilt conceived by day,
Conspicuous is at night.
Thus Isabel's unearthly woe,
Remain'd for many years;
But as our superstitions go,
So go unfounded fears

CAROLINE MAXWELL.


* * * * *

HARVEST HOME.

_(To the Editor of the Mirror.)_


Sir,--Wishing to add to your numerous accounts of our local customs, I
send you a description of the manner of celebrating harvest home in
Westmoreland.

The farmers of Appleby, Kirby, Thore, and many of the neighbouring and low
towns thereabout, devote the last day of the harvest to mirth and
festivity. The men generally endeavour to get the corn all in pretty early
in the day; and at the last cart-load the horses are decked by the men