"The moon shines bright, and the stars give light,A little before the day;"
and wanders on somewhat after the following unconnected fashion:—
"Awake, awake, good people all!Awake, and you shall hearHow Christ our Lord died on the crossFor those he loved so dear."O fair, O fair Jerusalem!When shall I come to thee?When shall my griefs be at an end,That I thy tents may see!"The fields were green as green could beWhen, from his glorious seat,The Lord our God he watered usWith his heavenly good and sweet."And for the saving of our soulsChrist died upon the cross!We never shall do for Jesus ChristWhat he has done for us!"The life of man is but a span,And cut down in its flower;We're here to-day, and gone to-morrow,We're all dead in an hour."Oh, teach well your children, men!The while that you are here,It will be better for your souls,When your corpse lies on the bier."To-day you may be alive, dear man,With many a thousand pound;To-morrow you may be a dead man,And your corpse laid under ground,—"With a turf at your head, dear man,And another at your feet.Your good deeds and your bad onesThey will together meet."My song is done, and I must begone,I can stay no longer here;God bless you all, both great and small,And send you a happy new year."
Our Lancashire readers know that a similar wish to that expressed in the two last lines is generally delivered in recitative at the close of each carol, or before the singers abandon our doors,—which wish, however, we have heard finally changed into a less quotable ejaculation in cases where the carolists had been allowed to sing unregarded.
The gradual decay into which these ancient religious ballads are rapidly falling was in some measure repaired by Mr. Davies Gilbert in 1823, who published a collection containing upwards of twenty carols in a restored state, with the tunes to which it was usual to sing them in the West of England. Of Welsh carols various collections are mentioned both by Hone and by Sandys, and in that country the practice is in better preservation than even in England. In Ireland, too, it exists to the present day, although we have not met with any collection of Irish carols; and in France, where there are numerous collections under the title ofnoëls, the custom is universal. In Scotland, however, it was extinguished, with the other Christmaspractices, by the thunders of John Knox and his precisians, and we believe has never been in any degree restored. We should add that there are numerous carols for the Christmas season scattered through the writings of our old poets, amongst whom Herrick may be mentioned as conspicuous.
But the most ample and curious published collection of Christmas carols with which we have met is that by Mr. Sandys to which we have so often alluded; and from the text of this collection we will give our readers one or two specimens of the quaint beauties which occasionally mingle in the curious texture of these old anthems. Mr. Sandys's collection is divided into two parts, the first of which consists of ancient carols and Christmas songs from the early part of the fifteenth to the end of the seventeenth century. We wish that in cases where the authorship belongs to so conspicuous a name as Herrick,—and indeed in all cases where it is ascertained,—the names of the authors had been prefixed. The second part comprises a selection from carols which the editor states to be still used in the West of England. We can inform him that many of these we have ourselves heard, only some dozen years ago, screamed through the sharp evening air of Lancashire at the top pitch of voices that could clearly never have been given for any such purposes, "making night hideous," or occasionally filling the calm watches with the far-lulling sounds of wild, sweet harmony. The practice,however, is, under any circumstances, full of fine meanings that redeem the rudeness of performance; and for ourselves, we like the music at its best and worst.
Of the festive songs we have already given occasional examples in the progress of this work, and shall just now confine ourselves to extracts from those of a more religious character. From the old part of the collections before us we will give a verse of a short carol which, while it will exhibit in a very modified degree the familiar tone in which the writers of these ancient songs dealt with the incidents of the sacred story, is full of a tenderness arising out of that very manner of treatment. We give it in the literal form in which we find it in this collection, with the exception of extending an occasional cypher. It begins with a burden:—
"A, my dere son, sayd mary, a, my dere,Kys thi moder, Jhesu, with a lawghyng chere;"
and continues:—
"This endnes nyght I sawe a syghtall in my slepe,Mary that may she sang lullayand sore did wepe.To kepe she sawght full fast a bowteher son fro cold;Joseph seyd, wiff, my joy, my leff,say what ye wolde;No thyng my spouse is In this howseunto my pay;My son a kyng that made all thynglyth in hay."A, my dere son."
Some of these ancient carols run over the principal incidents in the scheme of man's fall and redemption; and we are sorry that our limits will not permit us to give such lengthened specimens as we should desire. We will, however, copy a few verses from one of a different kind, in which, beneath its ancient dress, our readers will see that there is much rude beauty. It begins:—
"I come from heuin to tellThe best nowellis that ever be fell."
But we must take it up further on:—
"My saull and lyfe, stand up and seeQuha lyes in ane cribe of tree;Quhat babe is that so gude and faire?It is Christ, God's Sonne and Aire.. . . .O God, that made all creature,How art thou becum so pure,That on the hay and straw will lye,Amang the asses, oxin, and kye?"And were the world ten tymes so wide,Cled ouer with gold and stanes of pride,Unworthy zit it were to thee,Under thy feet ane stule to bee."The sylke and sandell, thee to eis,Are hay and sempill sweiling clais,Quhairin thow gloiris, greitest king,As thow in heuin were in thy ring.. . . ."O my deir hert, zoung Jesus sweit,Prepare thy creddill in my spreit,And I sall rock thee in my hert,And neuer mair from thee depart."
The Star-song in this collection is, if our memory mislead us not, Herrick's, and taken from his "Noble Numbers." It begins:—
"Tell us, thou cleere and heavenly tongue,Where is the babe but lately sprung?Lies he the lillie-banks among?"Or say if this new Birth of our'sSleep, laid within some ark of flowers,Spangled with deaw-light; thou canst cleereAll doubts, and manifest the where."Declare to us, bright star, if we shall seekHim in the morning's blushing cheek,Or search the beds of spices through,To find him out?"
The second part of Sandys's collection contains an imperfect version of a carol of which we find a full and corrected copy in Mr. Hone's "Ancient Mysteries," formed by that author's collation of various copies printed in different places. The beautiful verses which we quote are from Hone's version, and are wanting in that of Sandys. Theballad begins by elevating the Virgin Mary to a temporal rank which must rest upon that particular authority, and is probably a new fact for our readers:
"Joseph was an old man,And an old man was he,And he married Mary,Queen of Galilee,"—
which, for a carpenter, was certainly a distinguished alliance. It goes on to describe Joseph and his bride walking in a garden,—
"Where the cherries they grewUpon every tree;"
and upon Joseph's refusal, in somewhat rude language, to pull some of these cherries for Mary, on the ground of her supposed misconduct,—
"Oh! then bespoke Jesus,All in his mother's womb,'Go to the tree, Mary,And it shall bow down;"'Go to the tree, Mary,And it shall bow to thee,And the highest branch of allShall bow down to Mary's knee.'"
And then, after describing Joseph's conviction and penitence at this testimony to Mary's truth, occur the beautiful verses to which we alluded:
"As Joseph was a walking,He heard an angel sing:'This night shall be bornOur heavenly king."'He neither shall be bornIn housen nor in hall,Nor in the place of Paradise,But in an ox's stall."'He neither shall be clothedIn purple nor in pall,But all in fair linen,As were babies all."'He neither shall be rock'dIn silver nor in gold,But in a wooden cradle,That rocks on the mould."'He neither shall be christen'dIn white wine nor in red,But with the spring waterWith which we were christened.'"
The strange, wild ballad beginning,—
"I saw three ships come sailing in,On Christmas day, on Christmas day;I saw three ships come sailing in,On Christmas day in the morning,"—
and the still stranger one of "The Holy Well," we would have copied at length, as examples of these curious relics, if we could have spared the space. Of the latter, however, we will give our readers some account, to show the singular liberties which were taken with sacred personages and things in these old carols. In the one in question, the boy Jesus, having asked his mother's permission to goand play, receives it, accompanied with the salutary injunction,—
"And let me hear of no complaintAt night when you come home."Sweet Jesus went down to yonder town,As far as the Holy Well,And there did see as fine childrenAs any tongue can tell."
On preferring, however, his petition to these children,—
"Little children, shall I play with you,And you shall play with me?"
he is refused on the ground of his having been "born in an ox's stall," they being "lords' and ladies' sons."
"Sweet Jesus turned him around,And he neither laugh'd nor smil'd,But the tears came trickling from his eyeLike water from the skies."
Whereupon he returns home to report his grievance to his mother, who answers,—
"Though you are but a maiden's child,Born in an ox's stall,Thou art the Christ, the King of Heaven,And the Saviour of them all;"
and then proceeds to give him advice neither consistent with the assertion in the last line, nor becoming her character:—
"Sweet Jesus, go down to yonder town,As far as the Holy Well,And take away those sinful souls,And dip them deep in hell."Nay, nay, sweet Jesus said,Nay, nay, that may not be;For there are too many sinful soulsCrying out for the help of me."
Both these latter carols are given by Sandys as amongst those which are still popular in the West of England; and we remember to have ourselves heard them both many and many a time in its Northern counties.
We must give a single verse of one of the ancient French provincialnoëls, for the purpose of introducing our readers to a strange species of chanted burden; and then we must stop. It is directed to be sungsur un chant joyeux, and begins thus:
"Quand Dieu naquit à Noël,Dedans la Judée,On vit ce jour solemnelLa joie inondée;Il n'étoit ni petit ni grandQui n'apportât son présentEt n'o, n'o, n'o, n'o,Et n'offrit, frit, frit,Et n'o, n'o, et n'offrit,Et n'offrit sans cesse Toute sa richesse."
Our readers are no doubt aware that the carol-sheets still make their annual appearance at this season, not only in the metropolis, but also inManchester, Birmingham, and perhaps other towns. In London they pass into the hands of hawkers, who wander about our streets and suburbs enforcing the sale thereof by—in addition to the irresistible attraction of the wood-cuts with which they are embellished—the further recommendation of their own versions and variations of the original tunes, yelled out in tones which could not be heard without alarm by any animals throughout the entire range of Nature, except the domesticated ones, who are "broken" to it. For ourselves, we confess that we are not thoroughly broken yet, and experience very uneasy sensations at the approach of one of these alarming choirs.
"'T is said that the lion will turn and fleeFrom a maid in the pride of her purity."
We would rather meet him under the protection of a group of London carol-singers. We would undertake to explore the entire of central Africa, well provisioned and in such company, without the slightest apprehension, excepting such as was suggested by the music itself.
By these gentry a very spirited competition is kept up in the article of annoyance with the hurdy-gurdies, and other instruments of that class, which awaken the echoes of all our streets, and furnish a sufficient refutation of the assertion that we are not a musical nation. We have heard it said that the atmosphere of London is highly impregnatedwith coal-smoke and barrel-organs. The breath of ballad-singers should enter into the account at this season. The sketch from life which we have given of one of these groups will convey to our readers a very lively notion of the carol-singers of London, and supply them with a hint as to the condition in this flourishing metropolis of that branch of the fine arts. Our friends will perceive that this is a family of artists, from the oldest to the youngest. The children are born to an inheritance of song, and begin to enter upon its enjoyment in the cradle. That infant in arms made hisdébûtbefore the public a day or two after he was born, and is already an accomplished chorister; and the hopeful boy who is howling by his mother's side acquits himself as becomes the heir-at-law to parents who have sung through the world, and the next in reversion to his father's fiddle.
Very unhappy poor family singingLondon Carol Singers.—Page 215.
A very curious part of the business, however, is, that these people actually expect to get money for what they are doing! With the most perfect good faith, they really calculate upon making a profit by their outrages upon men's feelings! It is for the purpose of "putting bread into their mouths" that those mouths are opened in that portentous manner. For ourselves, we have a strong conviction that the spread of the emigration mania has been greatly promoted by the increase of ballad-singers in the land. We have frequently resolved to emigrate, on that account, ourselves; and if we could beperfectly certified of any desirable colony, to which no removals had taken place from the class in question, we believe we should no longer hesitate. The existence of that class is a grievous public wrong, and calls loudly for legislation. We have frequently thought that playing a hurdy-gurdy in the streets should be treated as a capital crime.
Of the annual sheets and of such other carols as may be recoverable from traditional or other sources, it is to be regretted that more copious collections are not made, by the lovers of old customs, ere it be too late. Brand speaks of an hereditary collection of ballads, almost as numerous as the Pepysian collection at Cambridge, which he saw, at Newcastle-upon-Tyne, in the printing-office of the late Mr. Saint, amongst which were several carols for the Christmas season. Hone, in his "Ancient Mysteries," gives a list of eighty-nine carols in his possession, all in present use (though likely soon to become obsolete), and exclusive of the modern compositions printed by religious societies, under the denomination of carols. He furnishes a curious proof of the attachment which the carol-buyers extend, from the old carols themselves, to the old rude cuts by which they are illustrated. "Some of these," he says, "on a sheet of Christmas carols, in 1820, were so rude in execution that I requested the publisher, Mr. T. Batchelar, of 115, Long Alley, Moorfields, to sell me the original blocks. I was a little surprised byhis telling me that he was afraid it would be impossible to get any of the same kind cut again. When I proffered to get much better engraved, and give them to him in exchange for his old ones, he said, 'Yes, but better are not so good; I can get better myself. Now these are old favorites, and better cuts will not please my customers so well.'" We have before us several of the sheets for the present season, issued from the printing-office and toy warehouse of Mr. Pitts, in the Seven Dials; and we grieve to say that, for the most part, they show a lamentable improvement in the embellishments, and an equally lamentable falling-off in the literary contents. One of these sheets, however, which bears the heading title of "Divine Mirth," contains some of theoldcarols, and is adorned with impressions from cuts, rude enough, we should think, to please even the customers of Mr. Batchelar.
Amongst the musical signs of the season we must not omit to place that once important gentleman, the bellman, who was anciently accustomed, as our excellent friend Mr. Hone says, at this time, "to make frequent nocturnal rambles, and proclaim all tidings which it seemed fitting to him that people should be awakened out of their sleep to hearken to." From that ancient collection, "The Bellman's Treasury," which was once this now decayed officer's vade-mecum, we shall have occasion to extract, here and there, in their proper places, the announcements by which, of old, he broke in uponthe stillness of the several nights of this period. In the mean time our readers may take the following example of bellman verses, written by Herrick, and which we have extracted from his "Hesperides:"
"From noise of scare-fires rest ye free,From murders Benedicitie;From all mischances that may frightYour pleasing slumbers in the night."Mercie secure ye all, and keepThe goblin from ye while ye sleep.Past one aclock, and almost two.My masters all, good day to you!"
The bell of this ancient officer may still be heard, at the midnight hour of Christmas Eve (and perhaps on other nights), in the different parishes of London, performing the overture to a species of recitative, in which he sets forth (amongst other things) the virtues of his patrons (dwelling on their liberality), and offers them all the good wishes of the season. The printed papers containing the matter of these recitations he has been busy circulating amongst the parishioners for some time; and, on the strength thereof, presents himself as a candidate for some expression of their good-will in return, which, however, he expects should be given in a more profitable form. These papers, like the carol-sheets, have their margins adorned with wood-cuts after Scriptural subjects. One of them now lies before us, and we grieve to say that the quaint ancient rhymes are therein substituted by meagremodern inventions, and the wood-cuts exhibit a most ambitious pretension to be considered as specimens of improved art. There is a copy of Carlo Dolce's "Last Supper" at the foot.
The beadle of to-day is in most respects changed, for the worse, from the bellman of old. Still, we are glad to hear his bell—which sounds much as it must have done of yore—lifting up its ancient voice amongst its fellows at this high and general season of bells and bob-majors.
men swinging on bell-cords viewed through arched windowBELL-RINGING.
Lord of Misrule
The High and Mighty Prince, Henry Prince of Purpoole,Archduke of Stapulia and Bernardia, Duke of High andNether Holborn, Marquis of St. Giles and Tottenham, CountPalatine of Bloomsbury and Clerkenwell, Great Lord of theCantons of Islington, Kentish Town Paddington & KnightsbridgeGesta Grayorum.
Havinggiven our readers an historical and general account of this ancient festival, and a particular explanation of some of the principal tokens which, in modern times as of old, bespeak the coming of its more high and ceremonious days, we must now proceed to furnish them with a more peculiar description of those individual days themselves; confining ourselves, as nearly as completeness of view will admit, within the limits which bound what is, in its most especial and emphatic sense, the Christmas season. In order, however, to attain this completeness of view, it has been necessary to allow ourselves certain points lying on both sides,withoutthose strict boundaries; and the selection which we have made includes the two conditions of giving us latitude enough for our purpose, and keeping reasonably close to the heart of the subject at the same time. The reasons for this particular selection will more fully appear in the accounts which we have to give of the individual days on whichthat selection has fallen, and in the further remarks which we have to make, generally on that portion of the year which we place under the presidency of
OUR LORD OF MISRULE.
presents on a tableCHRISTMAS PRESENTS.
21st December.
Thisday, which is dedicated to the apostle St. Thomas, we have chosen as the opening of the Christmas festivities; because it is that on which we first seem to get positive evidence of the presence of the old gentleman, and see the spirit of hospitality and benevolence which his coming creates brought into active operation. Of the manner in which this spirit exhibits itself in the metropolis, we are about presently to speak; but must previously notice that in many of the rural districts of England there are still lingering traces of ancient customs, which meet at this particular point of time and under the sanction of that same spirit. These practices, however various in their kinds, are for the most part relics in different shapes of the old mummeries, which we shall have to discuss at length in the course of the present chapter; and are but so many distinct forms in which the poor man's appeal is made to the rich man's charity, for a share in the good things of this merry festival.
Amongst these ancient customs may be mentioned the practice of "going a gooding," which exists in some parts of Kent, and is performed by women, who present sprigs of evergreens and Christmas flowers, and beg for money in return. We believe the term "going a gooding" scarcely requires illustration. It means, simply, going about to wish "good even,"—as, according to Nares, fully appears from this passage in Romeo and Juliet:—
"Nurse.God ye good morrow, gentlemen.Mercutio.God yegood den, fair gentlewoman."
In this same county, St. Thomas's Day is likewise known by the name of "Doleing Day," on account of the distribution of the bounty of different charitable individuals. This word "dole" is explained by Nares to mean "a share or lot in any thing distributed," and to come from the verbto deal. He quotes Shakspeare for this also:—
"It was your presurmiseThat in thedoleof blows your son might drop."
The musical procession known in the Isle of Thanet and other parts of the same county by the name of "hodening" (supposed by some, to be an ancient relic of a festival ordained to commemorate the landing of our Saxon ancestors in that island, and which, in its form, is neither more nor less than a modification of the old practice of the"hobby horse"), is to this day another of the customs of this particular period.
A custom analogous to these is still to be traced in Warwickshire; throughout which county it seems to have been the practice of the poor to go from door to door of every house "with a bag to beg corn of the farmers, which they call going a corning." And in Herefordshire a similar custom exists, where this day is called "Mumping Day," that is, begging day.
To the same spirit we owe the Hagmena or Hogmanay practice, still in use in Scotland, as well as that of the Wren Boys in Ireland, both of which will be described hereafter, although their observance belongs to later days of the season, and probably many others which will variously suggest themselves to our various readers as existing in their several neighborhoods.
In the great metropolis of England, where poverty and wretchedness exist in masses upon which private benevolence cannot efficiently act, and where imposture assumes their forms in a degree that baffles the charity of individuals, the bequests of our ancestors have been to a great extent placed for distribution in the hands of the various parish authorities. St. Thomas's Day in London therefore is connected with these charities, by its being that on which some of the most important parochial proceedings take place; and amongst these are the wardmotes, held on this dayfor the election, by the freemen inhabitant householders, of the members of the Common Council, and other officers of the respective city wards.
The civil government of the City of London is said to bear a general resemblance to the legislative power of the empire; the Lord Mayor exercising the functions of monarchy, the Aldermen those of the peerage, and the Common Council those of the legislature. The principal difference is, that the Lord Mayor himself has no negative. The laws for the internal regulation of the city are wholly framed by these officers acting in common council. A Common-Councilman is, therefore, a personage of no mean importance.
Loving Christmas and its ceremonies with antiquarian veneration, we must profess likewise our profound respect for wards of such high sounding names as Dowgate, and Candlewick, and Cripplegate, and Vintry, and Portsoken; the last of which, be it spoken with due courtesy, has always reminded us of an alderman's nose; and for such distinguished callings as those of Cordwainers, and Lorimers, and Feltmakers, and Fishmongers, and Plasterers, and Vintners, and Barbers; each of whom we behold in perspective transformed into what Theodore Hook calls "a splendid annual," or in less figurative language, Lord Mayor of London! There is a pantomimic magic in the word since the memorable days of Whittington. But to our theme.—
Pepys, the gossipping secretary of the Admiralty, records in his curious diary his having gone on St. Thomas's Day (21st December), 1663, "to Shoe Lane to see a cocke-fighting at the new pit there, a spot," he adds, "I was never at in my life: but, Lord! to see the strange variety of people, from parliament-man (by name Wildes, that was deputy governor of the Tower when Robinson was Lord Mayor) to the poorest 'prentices, bakers, brewers, butchers, draymen, and what not; and all these fellows one with another cursing and betting. I soon had enough of it. It is strange to see how people of this poor rank, that look as if they had not bread to put into their mouths, shall bet three or four pounds at a time and lose it, and yet as much the next battle, so that one of them will lose £10 or £20 at a meeting."
Now the cock-fighting of our times, under the immediate patronage of Saint Thomas, and those of Pepys's differ little except in the character of the combatants. In his (comparatively speaking) barbarous days, it was sufficient to pit two birds, one against the other, to excite the public or amuse the spectators. But a purer taste prevails among the present citizens of London; for our modern "fighting-cocks," as the candidates for civic honors are called, seem on this day to be fully occupied with the morning exhibition of their own foul tongues,—and bets often run as high as parties, on these occasions.
"Saint Thomas's birds"—another name for these civic fighting-cocks—have been trained in various ale-house associations, such as the "Ancient and honorable Lumber Troop," the venerable "Society of Codgers," "the free and easy Johns," the "Councillors under the Cauliflower," and other well-known clubs,—where politics, foreign and domestic, night after night are discussed, and mingle with the smoke of tobacco, inhaled through respectable clay pipes and washed down with nips of amber ale, or quarts of frothy-headed porter. Indeed the qualification for admission into the Lumber Troop is, we have been told, the power of consuming a quart of porter at a draught, without, once pausing to draw a breath,—which feat must be performed before that august assembly. We once visited the head-quarters of this porter-quaffing troop, and found the house, with some difficulty, near Gough Square,—which lies in that intricate region between Holborn Hill and Fleet Street. It was a corner house, and an inscription upon the wall, in letters of gold, informed the passer-by that this was the place of meeting of the Lumber Troop. The room in which they met is small, dark, and ancient in appearance, with an old-fashioned chimney-piece in the centre, and a dais or raised floor at one end, where, we presume, the officers of the troop take their seats. Above their heads, upon a shelf, some small brass cannon were placed as ornaments, and the walls of the room were decoratedwith the portraits of distinguished troopers,—among whom Mr. Alderman Wood, in a scarlet robe, and Mr. Richard Taylor were pointed out to our notice. Over the fire-place hung the portrait of an old gentleman, in the warlike costume of Cromwell's time, who was, probably,
"Some Fleet Street Hampden."
The obscurity which conceals the origin of many interesting and important institutions hangs over the early history of the Lumber Troop. Tradition asserts that, when Henry VIII. went to the siege of Boulogne, he drained the country of all its soldiers; and the citizens of London who remained behind, inspired with martial ardor, formed themselves into a troop, for the protection of old England. In the grotesque and gouty appearance of these troopers, their name of the Lumber Troop is said to have originated. Their field days, as may be expected, were exhibitions of merriment; and their guards and midnight watches scenes of feasting and revelry. The "Lumber-pye" was formerly a dish in much repute, being composed of high-seasoned meats and savory ingredients, for the preparation of which receipts may be found in the old cookery books. Recently, it has been corrupted into Lombard Pie, on account, as is said, of its Italian origin,—but we profess allegiance to the more ancient name.
Let those who hold lightly the dignity of a Lumber Trooper, and who perhaps have smiled at the details here given, inquire of the representatives of the city of London in the parliament of England, their opinion of the matter. We have been assured that these jolly troopers influence every city election to such an extent that, without an understanding with these worthies, no candidate can have a chance of success. In the same way, the codgers, in Codger's Hall, Bride Lane (said to have been instituted in 1756, by some of the people of the Inner Temple, who imagined their free thoughts and profound cogitations worthy of attention, and charged half-a-crown for theentrée), and other ale-house clubs, exert their more limited power. Hone, in his Every-Day Book, observes that "these societies are under currents that set in strong, and often turn the tide of an election in favor of some 'good fellow,' who is good nowhere but in 'sot's-hole.'" And he adds, commenting upon St. Thomas's Day, "Now the 'gentlemen of the inquest,' chosen 'at the church' in the morning, dine together, as the first important duty of their office; and the re-elected ward-beadles are busy with the fresh chosen constables; and the watchmen [this was before the days of the police] are particularly civil to every 'drunken gentleman' who happens to look like one of the new authorities. And now the bellman, who revives the history and poetry of his predecessors, will vociferate—
"'My masters all, this is St. Thomas'-day,And Christmas now can't be far off, you'll say.And when you to the Ward-motes do repair,I hope such good men will be chosen there,As constables for the ensuing year,As will not grudge the watchmen good strong beer.'"
The illustration of this part of our subject which our artist has given, exhibits the scene of one of these parish elections; and includes, in the distance, a vision of those good things to which all business matters in England—and above all, in its eastern metropolitan city—are but prefaces.
loud crowd of political men some with signsSt. Thomas's Day.—Page 233.
We may observe, here, that St. Thomas's Day is commonly called the shortest of the year, although the difference between its length and that of the twenty-second is not perceptible. The hours of the sun's rising and setting, on each of those days, are marked as the same in our calendars, and the latter is sometimes spoken of as the shortest day.
——————
As the days which intervene between this and the Eve of Christmas are distinguished by no special ceremonial of their own, and as the numerous observances attached to several of the particular days which follow will sufficiently prolong those parts of our subject, we will take this opportunity of alluding to some of the sports and festivities not peculiar to any one day, but extending more or less generally over the entire season.
Burton in his "Anatomy of Melancholy" mentions, as the winter amusements of his day, "Cardes, tables and dice, shovelboard, chesse-play, the philosopher's game, small trunkes, shuttlecocke, billiards, musicke, masks, singing, dancing, ule-games, frolicks, jests, riddles, catches, purposes, questions and commands, merry tales of errant knights, queenes, lovers, lords, ladies, giants, dwarfes, theeves, cheaters, witches, fayries, goblins, friers," &c. Amongst the list of Christmas sports, we elsewhere find mention of "jugglers, and jack-puddings, scrambling for nuts and apples, dancing the hobby-horse, hunting owls and squirrels, the fool-plough, hot-cockles, a stick moving on a pivot with an apple at one end and a candle at the other, so that he who missed his bite burned his nose, blindman's buff, forfeits, interludes and mock plays:" also of "thread my needle, Nan," "he can do little that can't do this," feed the dove, hunt the slipper, shoeing the wild mare, post and pair, snap-dragon, the gathering of omens, and a great variety of others. In this long enumeration, our readers will recognize many which have come down to the present day, and form still the amusement of their winter evenings at the Christmas-tide, or on the merry night of Halloween. For an account of many of those which are no longer to be found in the list of holiday games, we must refer such of our readers as it may interest to Brand's "Popular Antiquities," and Strutt's "EnglishSports." A description of them would be out of place in this volume; and we have mentioned them only as confirming a remark which we have elsewhere made; viz., that in addition to such recreations as arise out of the season or belong to it in a special sense, whatever other games or amusements have at any time been of popular use, have generally inserted themselves into this lengthened and joyous festival; and that all the forms in which mirth or happiness habitually sought expression congregated from all quarters at the ringing of the Christmas bells.
To the Tregetours, or jugglers, who anciently made mirth at the Christmas fireside, there are several allusions in Chaucer's tales; and Aubrey, in reference thereto, mentions some of the tricks by which they contributed to the entertainments of the season. The exhibitions of such gentry in modern times are generally of a more public kind, and it is rarely that they find their way to our firesides. But we have still the galantee-showman wandering up and down our streets and squares, with his musical prelude and tempting announcement sounding through the sharp evening air, and summoned into our warm rooms to display the shadowy marvels of his mysterious box to the young group, who gaze in great wonder and some awe from their inspiring places by the cheerful hearth.
Not that our firesides are altogether without domestic fortune-tellers or amateur practitioners inthe art of sleight-of-hand. But the prophecies of the former are drawn from, and the feats of the other performed with the cards. Indeed we must not omit to particularize cards as furnishing in all their uses one of the great resources at this season of long evenings and in-door amusements, as they appear also to have formed an express feature of the Christmas entertainments of all ranks of people in old times. We are told that the squire of three hundred a-year in Queen Anne's time "never played at cards but at Christmas, when the family pack was produced from the mantel-piece;" and Stevenson, an old writer of Charles the Second's time, in an enumeration of the preparations making for the mirth of the season, tells us that "the country-maid leaves half her market and must be sent again, if she forgets a pack of cards on Christmas Eve." And who of us all has not shared in the uproarious mirth which young and unclouded spirits find, amid the intrigues and speculations of a round game! To the over-scrupulous on religious grounds, who, looking upon cards as the "devil's books," and to the moral alarmist who, considering card-playing to be in itself gaming, would each object to this species of recreation for the young and innocent, it may be interesting to know that the practice has been defended by that bishop of bishops, Jeremy Taylor himself, and that he insists upon no argument against the innocence of a practice being inferred from its abuse.
We have before alluded to the bards and harpers who assembled in ancient days at this time of wassail, making the old halls to echo to the voice of music, and stirring the blood with the legends of chivalry or chilling it with the wizard tale. And the tale and the song are amongst the spirits that wait on Christmas still, and charm the long winter evenings with their yet undiminished spells. Many a Christmas evening has flown over our heads on the wings of music, sweeter, far sweeter, dearer, a thousand times dearer, than ever was played by wandering minstrel or uttered by stipendiary bard; and we have formed a portion of happy groups, when some thrilling story has sent a chain of sympathetic feeling through hearts that shall beat in unison no more, and tales of the grave and its tenants have sent a paleness into cheeks that the grave itself hath since made paler still.
The winter hearth is the very land of gossip-red. There it is that superstition loves to tell her marvels, and curiosity to gather them. The gloom and desolation without, with the wild, unearthly voice of the blast, as it sweeps over a waste of snows and cuts sharp against the leafless branches, or the wan sepulchral light that shows the dreary earth as it were covered with a pall, and the trees like spectres rising from beneath it, alike send men huddling round the blazing fire, and awaken those impressions of the wild and shadowy and unsubstantial, to which tales of marvel or of terrorare such welcome food. But other inspirations are born of the blaze itself; and the jest and the laugh and the merry narration are of the spirits that are raised within the magic circles that surround it.