THE FARM-YARD IN HARVEST.

Has it ever been your happiness, dear reader, to visit a farm-yard in harvest-time, one of the true old English kind, such as are often to be seen in the Midland Counties? Then bear with us while we attempt to give our less favoured readers a brief sketch of the various objects of interest in it, which have been to us in bye-gone days the source of repeated joy.

We will enter that farm-yard at the bottom of this lane, where you see the folding-doors: and as we go over the yard, we will point out to you what is most interesting. Hark! the watchful dog is already aware of our approach, and with what a volley of abuse does he defend the entrance. We need not fear him, however, as I can just see his old master's face peering over the gate to welcome us. "How dost do, my friends? Come to see the old "Yes; and I've brought a young Always glad to see young folks. come in." So saying, he pushed back one of the doors, and we marched in.

spot again, eh ?" friend with me." Come in, my lad,

How shall I describe the effect produced on my youthful companion by the delightful scene which was then exposed to his view? On the one hand there was a long range of buildings, crowded with cattle-the stable, with its fine healthy team; and the cow-house, with its many coloured inhabitants--the open windows of the latter being ornamented with the milking-stools! On the other stood the barn, with its queer-looking loop-holes and ponderous doors, and on the end wall sundry un. fortunate bats were nailed, who seemed to tell a tale of woe to their more fortunate kindred. A little farther down was the rick-yard, nearly full of that year's hay, and surrounded by half a dozen waggons and carts waiting to be unloaded of their precious treasures. Some of the powerful horses, too, were

enjoying a fork-full of grass in the centre of the yard. At a still greater distance could be seen the comfortable old farm house, with the little pump-yard, hemmed round with rails, on which every morning and evening shone the polished milk-pans. Then, too, there were the rakes, great and small; the hoes, the scythes, the sickles, the harrows, the forks, the roller, and the plough, all snugly sheltered from the weather, which we saw by peeping through a window into one of the out-houses. But I had almost forgotten to say that in going up the yard we passed the hovel where the waggons, carts, and wheel-barrows are kept, but which looked odd enough now that it was empty. And besides, there was the dove-cot, whose inmates from early dawn till evening, sent out an incessant cooing. In a little pond, too, near at hand, we saw the quackling ducks, paddling about with their webbed-feet-the strutting cock, with lordly step, pacing along its banks, and the chuckling hens scattered up and down, busily seeking their food. On every side of this yard grew many delightful trees. Here and there was the thorny bush, where the linnet had built its nest; or the sweet-scented elders, with its uncouth branches. Behind the hovel and the cow-house, the feathered larch and the mast-like poplar waved their heads; then appeared the leafy sycamore, and gnarled oak with its mantle of ivy.

My thoughts seem to run back with ease to the time when, either alone or in company with a friend, I visited my now sainted grandmother, and still living grandfather, at their old farm-house. My dear old grandmother was a very angel of mercy in the quiet village where she lived. Oh, how many a poor soul has she relieved-how many, almost naked, has she clothed! No way-worn beggar was ever known, during her life-time, to be turned empty away from their door. Many a time have the widow and fatherless blessed her memory. What made me think of her

THE FARM-YARD IN HARVEST.

just now, was the glimpse of the orchard and croft which I got while going up the yard mentioned above. How many a tender lamb have I seen her feed with the most anxious care! And my grandfather too, was a good kind-hearted old man, although he sometimes gave strange names to the youths who crowded round him as he passed over the village green. One, I remember, was "Councillor;" then there was "Idle Jack," "Tinker," and "Young Bunyan."

Did it ever cross your mind, young reader, what toil and trouble are connected with the simple growing of wheat? The ground has first to be prepared for the sowing of the seed, which requires more or less attention, according to its state, and often taxes the farmer's knowledge. This is generally done during the early part of the winter. The seed being sown, receives protection from the frost and snow, and in the genial spring rises from its dark, silent tomb-a beautiful type of the resurrection of the dead. During the first months of the spring, how beautiful the long green lines of a drilled corn-field appear! In the summer, when the rippening sun smiles cheerfully upon them, these drilled lines shoot gracefully upward. At length autumn arrives. The full-grown stems wave gently to and fro in the breeze. sickle comes into active use, and one acre after another is quickly cut down by the sun-burnt reapers. The wheat is shocked for a time, after which, in homeward march, waggon follows waggon with the precious grain. And oh, through what shady grove-like lanes does it pass!-lanes which at every season of the year contain some delightful objects. There the hawthorn fills the atmosphere with fragrance; there the wildrose scents the breeze; and there the woodbine breathes out its sweetest odours. Its banks, too, afford ever and anon the primrose, or the modest violet, growing

-"rear a mossy stone Half-hidden to the eye!"

Then the

And what a gentle rippling brook, with snowy pebbles bright, runs along its side! But to return.

As the last load jolts heavily home, with a toilworn reaper seated on the top, waving a verdant bough with an air of triumph-what smacking of whips-what shouting of men - what rejoicing of women-what noisy mirth of boys--what songs of gladness are heard on every side! "Harvest home!" rolls merrily from hill to hill, and travellers pause to catch the flying joy. When this waggon, like the car of an ancient conqueror, rolls proudly into the yard, the whole company join with one accord in a deafening shout of glee, which causes the very brutes to prick up their ears in silent wonder.

Having looked, in company with the worthy old farmer, over all his premises, he invited us to join their harvest-supper, which was to be held that night. If I could tell you only of the numerous guests you would be astonished. All the great men of the village were there the blacksmith, the wheelwright, the farrier, and the schoolmaster, besides a great number of the farmer's neighbours. After supper, the utmost sociality prevailed: tales of wonder or mirth fixed the attention of the company till an early hour. The next morning we were permitted to return home, but not without first receiving, both from the farmer and his wife, a pressing invitation to visit them again.

Can you tell me who it was that said "the harvest is the end of the world, and the reapers are the angels ?" The same blessed lips also declared that there should be a dividing of the tares from the wheat. Be it ever, therefore, your constant care to sow here what in the great day of the Lord will be gathered into the heavenly garner. The joy in harvest now bears no comparison with the songs and rejoicings which shall be heard hereafter, when the redeemed of the Lord shall enter the great banqueting-house above. LONGFELLOW.

Leicester.