and their flocks and herds, to dwell in the land of
Goshen.

His mind, too, will revert to the commandment given to Moses, "When ye
reap the harvest of your land, thou shalt not wholly reap the corners
of thy field, neither shalt thou gather the gleanings of thy harvest";
so that he will meet the villagers with a word of welcome, when they
invade his fields for the same time-honoured purpose.

He will remember the story of Ruth and Boaz, told in the exquisite
poetry of the Bible diction, than which nothing in the whole range of
literature can compare in noble simplicity. And the corn fields of the
New Testament, where the disciples plucked the ears of corn, and were
encouraged, and the accusing Pharisees rebuked; with the conclusive
declaration that the Sabbath was made for man and not man for the
Sabbath. And, finally, the familiar chapter in the burial service,
which has brought comfort to thousands of mourners, and will so
continue till the last harvest, which is the end of the world, when
the angels will be the reapers.

The word "gleaning" is never heard in Worcestershire for collecting
the scattered wheat stems and ears; it is invariably "leasing" from
the Old English, _lesan_, to gather or collect anything. When wheat
was fairly high in price the village women and children were in the
field as soon as it was cleared of sheaves, and they made a pretty
picture scattered about the golden stubble, and returning through the
meadows and lanes at twilight with their ample gatherings.

The "leasings" would be thrashed by husband or brother with the old
flail, in one of my barns, to be then ground at the village mill, and
lastly baked into fragrant loaves of home-made bread--the "dusky
loaf," as Tennyson says, "that smelt of home." One good old soul
brought me every week, while the "leased corn" lasted, a small loaf
called "a batch cake," and continued the gift later, made from wheat
grown on the family allotment; her loaves were some of the best and
the sweetest bread I have ever tasted.

"The man who makes two blades of grass grow where one grew before" is
said to be a national benefactor, and, I suppose, the same adage
applies _a fortiori_ to wheat, but I have never seen a monument raised
to his memory or even the circulation of the national hat for his
benefit. Too often the only proof of his neighbour's recognition of
his improved crops is the notification of an increased assessment of
the amount of his liabili