ay 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
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.)_

Young land of beauty, and divine repose!
Art thou a dream? a vision from on high
Unveiling Paradise? uncurt'ning those
Supernal glories, Eden doth supply
To glad immortals? o'er thee, ev'ning glows,
Brilliant, as seraph's blush--pure as his breath--
Smiling an antidote to tears and death!

Young land of beauty! (fancy could not dwell
In lovelier, albeit her rainbow wings
Fold, but in fairy-spheres) a living well
Of sylvan joy art thou, whose thousand springs
Gush, sinless, gladness, peace ineffable,
And that luxuriousness of being, which
Mocks eloquence: warm, holy, ruby, rich.

Young land of beauty! 'neath thy sun-ting'd shades,
Beside thy lake, crystal in roseate light,
Enam'ring music breathes: there, raptur'd maids
In dances, with adoring youths unite;
There, magic voices sigh in song; and glades
With bird