with ears of corn and flowers and ribands; and then the lasses' straw-
bonnets, who, in return, perform the same compliments on them. Thus they
move on through the lanes and roads, till they reach the farm-yard,
shouting, "Harvest Home," and singing songs in their way. When they reach
the farm-yard, they set up an exulting shout, and ale is distributed to
them by their master. About nine o'clock, a supper is prepared for them in
their master's house. A wheat-sheaf is brought, and placed in the middle of
the room, decorated with ribands and flowers, and corn is hung in various
parts of the room. The supper mostly consists of some good old English
dish, (of which there is plenty,) and the jolly farmer presides at the
head of the table. After the cloth is cleared, liquor in abundance is
brought forward, and the "president" sings, (not a _Non Nobis Domine_,)
but a good, true, mirth-stirring song, and then the _fun_ commences;
singing and dancing alternately occupy the evening, and the bottle
circulates speedily, and the festival generally breaks up about midnight.

Thus, Mr. Editor, is harvest home spent in that county, and I send you the
only account I can furnish of the harvest merriments, hoping some of your
correspondents will add to my little mite.

W.H.H.


* * * * *

STANZAS TO, AND IN ILLUSTRATION OF, A LANDSCAPE BY CLAUDE.

_(For the Mirror.)_