weakly plant of English wheat, that called by farmers ‘beared/ (which be it noted, I have since learned is 
sometimes known by the name of Egyptian,) still I have no hesitation in expressing my own certainty, that 
it is the product of the identical corns given to me by Mr. Pettigrew. A second ear has made its appearance 
since this was written, and both have assumed a character, somewhat different from all our known varieties. 
After all, why should not common wheat, claim as ancient ancestry as any other kind ; and why should not 
the banks of the Nile have teemed, though perhaps, more luxuriantly, with a harvest similar to those we 
now see waving on the bank of hoary Father Thames ? Moreover, what else, let me ask, could have been 
expected, than that a seed should produce its like ? for I have until now, omitted to state what may easily 
be verified on inspection of the remaining quantities of ancient seed, now in the possession of others, that 
the grains in question, only differ from modem wheat, in their brown and shrunk appearance, (the seeming 
result of high antiquity, and now exposure to the air,) the slight difference, nevertheless observable, is that 
the ears are less compact, the grains rather plumper, and the beard more thorn-like than happens in common 
cases. It would, perhaps, be puerile, were I to explain the various methods taken by me to protect the 
plant ; let it suffice to know, that all proper care, excluding that worst of cares, over-care, was given to it. 
The small size and weakness of the plant, may in one light, be regarded as collateral evidence of so great 
an age, for assuredly, the energies of life would be sluggish after having slept so long ; however, the season 
of its sowing, spring instead of autumn, will furnish another sufficient cause, but after making all due allowance 
for this drawback, I still think it very improbable, that supposing the plant a modern one, our rich soil of 
Albury should have produced so lightly. There are two ears on separate stalks ; they are respectively 2£ 
and 3 inches long, the former being much blighted, and the stalk is about 3 feet in height. In conclusion, 
I take occasion to remark, that homely as the theme may in itself be, the growing of a grain of corn, small 
as may be accounted the glory of a success in which man’s mind can have had almost nothing to effect, and 
little as I can have to communicate, still the subject will be admitted by all, to be one of no common interest. 
If, and 1 see no reason to disbelieve it, if this plant of wheat, now fully developed, be indeed, the product 
of a grain preserved since the time of the Pharoahs, we moderns, may, within a little year, eat bread made 
of com which Joseph might have reasonably thought to store in his granaries, and almost literally snatch a 
meal from the kneading troughs of departing Israel. Time, which has been no element to the mummied 
seed, is conquered by so weak a weapon as a straw, and its infancy and dotage meet in friendly astonishment 
at a humble banquet of Pharaonic bread.” 
The great Author of our religion continually exemplified the important truths which he delivered, by a 
reference to natural objects ; those especially of pasturage and husbandry, as peculiarly calculated to make 
an impression on the mind. A harvest-field was by him compared to the world, in which both bad and good 
are permitted, under the similitude of tares and wheat, to grow together : angels are the reapers ; and the 
solemn day of final retribution is the gathering of the wheat into the garner. Even the solitary blade, which 
springs by the way-side, or grows upon a rock, or brings forth abundantly in rich and cultivated soil, though 
unnoticed by the casual observer, speaks in forcible language to the ear of the Christian. It also tells of 
the resurrection and the life : ‘For verily, except a corn of wheat fall into the ground, and die , it abideth alone ; 
but if it' die, it bringelh forth much fruit.’ 
a “The grand feature of this month is Corn-harvest. It is a time for universal gladness of heart. Nature 
has completed her most important operations. She has ripened her best fruits, and a thousand hands are 
ready to reap her with joy. It is a gladdening sight to stand upon some eminence and behold the yellow 
hues of harvest amid the dark relief of hedges and trees, to see the shocks standing thickly in a land of 
peace, the partly reaped fields — and the clear, cloudless sky, shedding over all its lustre. There is a solemn 
splendour, a mellowness and maturity of beauty thrown over the landscape. The wheat crops shine on the 
hills and slopes, as Wordsworth expresses it, ‘like golden shields cast down from the sun.’ For the lovers 
of solitary rambles, for all who desire to feel the pleasures of a thankful heart, and to participate in the 
happiness of the simple and the lowly, now is the time to stroll abroad. They will find beauty and enjoy- 
ment spread abundantly before them. They will find, the mowers sweeping down the crops of pale barley, 
every spiked ear of which so lately looking up bravely at the sun, is now bent downward in a modest and 
graceful curve, as if abashed at its ardent and incessant gaze. They will find them cutting down the rustling 
oats, each followed by an attendant rustic who gathers the swath into sheaves from the tender green of the 
young clover, which, commonly sown with oats, to constitute the future crop, is now shewing itself luxu- 
riantly. But it is in the wheat field that all the jollity, and gladness, and picturesqueness of harvest are 
concentrated. Wheat is more particularly the food of man. Barley affords him a wholesome, but much 
abused potation ; the oat is welcome to the homely board of the hardy mountaineers ; but wheat is especially, 
and every where, the ‘staff of life.’ To reap and gather it in, every creature of the hamlet is assembled. 
The farmer is in the field, like a rural king amid his people — the labourer, old or young, is there to collect 
what he has sown with toil, and watched in its growth with pride; the dame has left her wheel and her 
shady cottage, and with sleeve-defended arms, scorns to do less than the best of them ; — the blooming 
damsel is there, adding her sunny beauty to that of universal nature ; the boy cuts down the stalks which 
3 For this interesting account of the Com Harvest, we are indebted to Mr. Howitt’s Book of the Seasons. 
