September.
Right glad to meet the evening's dewy veil
And see the light fade into glooms around. Clare.
The Harvest Home Suppers are now almost a thing of the past. I went to one about eight years ago and suppose it will be the last. It is held when the last load of corn is taken home. This load used to be decorated with boughs and flowers and the youngest boy employed used to ride on it singing:—
Harvest Home! Harvest Home;
Two plum puddings are better than one,
We've plowed, we've sowed,
We've reaped, we've mowed,
We've got our harvest home.
They also used to shout Largess! Largess! but seldom got anything given them. It was merely an old custom.
In the evening the supper was held, and after supper songs were sung. The oldest labourer used to propose the health of the Master and Mistress and all would sing:—