A correspondent of the _Book of Days_, vol. i. p. 94, giving the following interesting account as to how Plough Monday was, in days gone by, celebrated in the county, says:--Rude though it was, the Plough procession threw a life into the dreary scenery of winter, as it came winding along the quiet rutted lanes, on its way from one village to another; for the ploughmen from many a surrounding hamlet and lonely farmhouse united in the celebration of Plough Monday. It was nothing unusual for at least a score of the “sons of the soil” to yoke themselves with ropes to the plough, having put on clean smock frocks in honour of the day. There was no limit to the number who joined in the morris-dance, and were partners with “Bessy,” who carried the money-box; and all these had ribbons in their hats, and pinned about them wherever there was room to display a bunch. Many a hardworking country Molly lent a helping hand in decorating out her Johnny for Plough Monday, and finished him with an admiring exclamation of “Lawks, John! thou does look smart, surely.” Some also wore small bunches of corn in their hats, from which the wheat was soon shaken out by the ungainly jumping which they called dancing. Occasionally, if the winter was severe, the procession was joined by threshers carrying their flails, reapers bearing their sickles, and carters with their long whips, which they were cracking to add to the noise, while even the smith and the miller were among the number, for the one sharpened the ploughshares and the other ground the corn; and Bessy rattled his box, and danced so high that he showed his worsted stockings and corduroy breeches; and very often, if there was a thaw, tucked up his gown skirts under his waistcoat, and shook the bonnet off his head, and disarranged the long ringlets that ought to have concealed his whiskers. For Bessy is to the procession of Plough Monday what the leading _figurante_ is to an opera or ballet, and dances about as gracefully as the hippopotami described by Dr. Livingstone. But their rough antics were the cause of much laughter, and rarely do we ever remember hearing any coarse jest that would call up the angry blush to a modest cheek. No doubt they were called “plough-bullocks,” through drawing the plough, as bullocks were formerly used, and are still yoked to the plough in some parts of the country. The rubbishing verses they recited are not worth preserving, beyond the line, which graces many a public-house sign, “God speed the plough.” At the large farmhouse, besides money they obtained refreshment, and through the quantity of ale they thus drank during the day managed to get what they called “their load by night.” Even the poorest cottagers dropped a few pence into Bessy’s box.