December 18.

[536]Dr. Drake

Oxford Term ends.

The usual fare of country-gentlemen, relates Harrison, was “foure, five, or six dishes, when they have but small resort,” and accordingly, we find that Justice Shallow, when he invites Falstaffe to dinner, issues the following orders: “Some pigeons, Davy; a couple of short-legged hens; a joint of mutton; and any pretty little tiny kickshaws, tell William Cook.” But on feast-days, and particularly on festivals, the profusion and cost of the table were astonishing. Harrison observes, that the country-gentlemen and merchants contemned butcher’s meat on such occasions, and vied with the nobility in the production of rare and delicate viands, of which he gives a long list; and Massinger says,

“Men may talk of country Christmasses,Their thirty-pound butter’d eggs, their pies of carp’s tongues,Their pheasants drench’d with ambergris, the carcassesOf three fat wethers bruised for gravy, toMake sauce for a single peacock; yet their feastsWere fasts, compared with the city’s.”City Madam, act ii. sc. 1.

City Madam, act ii. sc. 1.

It was the custom in the houses of the country-gentlemen to retire after dinner, which generally took place about eleven in the morning, to the garden-bower, or an arbour in the orchard, in order to partake of the banquet or dessert; thus Shallow, addressing Falstaffe after dinner, exclaims, “Nay, you shall see mine orchard: where, in an arbour, we will eat a last year’s pippin of my own graffing, with a dish of carraways, and so forth.” From the banquet it was usual to retire to evening prayer, and thence to supper, between five and six o’clock; for, in Shakspeare’s time, there were seldom more than two meals—dinner and supper; “heretofore,” remarked Harrison, “there hath beene much more time spent in eating and drinking than commonlie is in these daies; for whereas of old we had breakfasts in the forenoone, beverages or nuntions after dinner, and thereto reare suppers generallie when it was time to go to rest. Now these od repasts, thankedbe God, are verie well left, and ech one in manner (except here and there some yoonge hungrie stomach that cannot fast till dinner time) contenteth himselfe with dinner and supper onelie. The nobilitie, gentlemen, and merchantmen, especiallie at great meetings, doo sit commonlie till two or three of the clocke at afternoone, so that with manie it is an hard matter to rise from the table to go to evening praier, and returne from thence to come time enough to supper.”

The supper, which, on days of festivity, was often protracted to a late hour, and often, too, as substantial as the dinner, was succeeded, especially at Christmas, by gambols of various sorts; and sometimes the squire and his family would mingle in the amusements, or, retiring to the tapestried parlour, would leave the hall to the more boisterous mirth of their household; then would the blind harper, who sold his fit of mirth for a groat, be introduced, either to provoke the dance, or to rouse their wonder by his minstrelsy; his “matter being, for the most part, stories of old time,—as the tale of sir Topas, the reportes of Bevis of Southampton, Guy of Warwicke, Adam Bell, and Clymme of the Clough, and such other old romances or historical rimes, made purposely for recreation of the common people, at Christmas dinners and brideales.”

The posset, at bed-time, closed the joyous day—a custom to which Shakspeare has occasionally alluded: thus Lady Macbeth says of the “surfeited grooms,” “I have drugg’d their possets;” Mr. Quickly tells Rugby, “Go; and we’ll have a posset for’t soon at night, in faith, at the latter end of a sea-coal fire;” and Page, cheering Falstaffe, exclaims, “Thou shalt eat a posset to-night at my house.” Thomas Heywood, a contemporary of Shakspeare, has particularly noticed this refection as occurring just before bed-time: “Thou shalt be welcome to beef and bacon, and perhaps a bag-pudding; and my daughter Nell shall pop a posset upon thee when thou goest tobed.”[537]

Mean Temperature 39·35.

[537]Dr. Drake.

Bishop Earle says, “he is a holiday clown, and differs only in the stuff of his clothes, not the stuff of himself; for he bare the king’s sword before he had arms to wield it; yet, being once laid o’er the shoulder with a knighthood, he finds the herald his friend. His father was a man of good stock, though but a tanner or usurer: he purchased the land, and his son the title. He has doffed off the name of a country fellow, but the look not so easy; and his face still bears a relish of churne-milk. He is guarded with more gold lace than all the gentlemen of the country, yet his body makes his clothes still out of fashion. His house-keeping is seen much in the distinct families of dogs, and serving-men attendant on their kennels, and the deepness of their throats is the depth of his discourse. A hawk he esteems the true burden of nobility, and is exceeding ambitious to seem delighted in the sport, and have his fist gloved with his jesses. A justice of peace he is to domineer in his parish, and do his neighbour wrong with more right. He will be drunk with his hunters for company, and stain his gentility with droppings of ale. He is fearful of being sheriff of the shire by instinct, and dreads the assize week as much as the prisoner. In sum, he’s but a clod of his own earth, or his land is the dunghill, and he the cock that crows over it; and commonly his race is quickly run, and his children’s children, though they scape hanging, return to the place from whence they came.”

Mean Temperature 38·40.

Ember Week. See vol. i.

Mr. Hastings, an old gentleman of ancient times in Dorsetshire, was low of stature, but strong and active, of a ruddy complexion, with flaxen hair. His clothes were always of green cloth, his house was of the old fashion; in the midst of a large park, well stocked with deer, rabbits, and fish-ponds. He had a long, narrow bowling-green in it; and used to play with round sand bowls. Here, too, he had a banqueting-room built, like a stand, in a large tree. He kept all sorts of hounds, that ran buck, fox, hare, otter, and badger; and had hawks of all kinds, both long and short winged. His great hall wascommonly strewed with marrow bones; and full of hawk-perches, hounds, spaniels, and terriers. The upper end of it was hung with fox-skins, of this and the last year’s killing. Here and there a pole-cat was intermixed; and hunters’ poles in great abundance. The parlour was a large room, completely furnished in the same style. On a broad hearth, paved with brick, lay some of the choicest terriers, hounds, and spaniels. One or two of the great chairs had litters of cats in them, which were not to be disturbed. Of these, three or four always attended him at dinner; and a little white wand lay by his trencher, to defend it if they were too troublesome. In the windows, which were very large, lay his arrows, cross-bows, and other accoutrements. The corners of the room were filled with his best hunting and hawking poles. His oyster table stood at the lower end of the room, which was in constant use twice a day all the year round; for he never failed to eat oysters both at dinner and supper, with which the neighbouring town of Pool supplied him. At the upper end of the room stood a small table with a double desk; one side of which held a church bible, the other the book of martyrs. On different tables in the room lay hawks’ hoods, bells, old hats, with their crowns thrust in, full of pheasant eggs; tables, dice, cards, and store of tobacco pipes. At one end of this room was a door, which opened into a closet, where stood bottles of strong beer and wine; which never came out but in single glasses, which was the rule of the house; for he never exceeded himself, nor permitted others to exceed. Answering to this closet was a door into an old chapel, which had been long disused for devotion; but in the pulpit, as the safest place, was always to be found a cold chine of beef, a venison pasty, a gammon of bacon, or a great apple-pie, with thick crust well baked. His table cost him not much, though it was good to eat at. His sports supplied all but beef and mutton; except on Fridays, when he had the best of fish. He never wanted a London pudding, and he always sang it in with “My part lies therein-a.” He drank a glass or two of wine at meals; put sirup of gillyflowers into his sack; and had always a tun glass of small beer standing by him, which he often stirred about with rosemary. He lived to be a hundred; and never lost his eye-sight, nor used spectacles. He got on horseback without help; and rode to the death of the stag, till he was pastfour-score.[538]

Anciently it was the custom with many country gentlemen to spend their Christmas in London.

Mean Temperature 38·17.

[538]Dr. Drake; from Hutchins’s Dorsetshire.

Now is a busy day in London, for wardmotes are held in the city by the aldermen of every ward, “for the election of officers for the year ensuing;” and hence, in the social public rooms of the citizens, there is great debate this evening, on the merits of the common-council-men returned without opposition, or on the qualifications of candidates who contest the poll for two days longer. The “Lumber-Troop” muster strong at their head-quarters near Gough-square; the “codgers” enlighten each other and their pipes in Bride-lane; the “Counsellors under the Cauliflower” hold divided council, they know where; and the “free and easy Johns” are to night more free than easy. These societies are under currents that set in strong, and often turn the tide of an election in favour of some “good fellow,” who is good no where but in “sot’s-hole.”

And 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 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, willvociferate—

OnSt. Thomas’sDay.My masters all, this is St.Thomas’ Day,And Christmas now can’t be far off, you’ll say,But when you to the Ward-motes do repair,I hope such good men will be chosen there,Asconstablesfor the ensuing yearAs will not grutch thewatchmengood strongbeer.[539]

OnSt. Thomas’sDay.

My masters all, this is St.Thomas’ Day,And Christmas now can’t be far off, you’ll say,But when you to the Ward-motes do repair,I hope such good men will be chosen there,Asconstablesfor the ensuing yearAs will not grutch thewatchmengood strongbeer.[539]

Or,Upon the Constables first going out.The world by sin is so degenerate grown,Scarce can we strictly call our own,our own;But by the patronage your watch affords,The thief in vain shall ’tempt the tradesman’s hoards:Their nightly ease enjoys each happy pair,Secure as those who first in Eden were:When willing quires of angels, as they slept,O’er their soft slumbers watchful centrykept.[540]

Or,Upon the Constables first going out.

The world by sin is so degenerate grown,Scarce can we strictly call our own,our own;But by the patronage your watch affords,The thief in vain shall ’tempt the tradesman’s hoards:Their nightly ease enjoys each happy pair,Secure as those who first in Eden were:When willing quires of angels, as they slept,O’er their soft slumbers watchful centrykept.[540]

To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.

Maidstone, 20th Dec. 1825.

Sir,—There is a custom prevalent in this neighbourhood, and without doubt at other places, to which I beg to call your attention. The subject to which I allude is the annual solicitation for charity on St. Thomas’s day. It has taken place here from time immemorial; consequently my object in writing is to request you will favour us in your instructive miscellany, with the origin of the custom, if possible. I shall relate a few instances of its prevalency which come within my own knowledge.

At Loose, near Maidstone, Mr. T. Charlton gives the poor of the parish certain quantities of wheat, apportioned to their families, in addition to which, his daughters give the widows a new flannel petticoat each; who, at the same time, go to the other respectable inhabitants of the place to solicit the usual donation, and it is not an uncommon thing for a family to get in this way six or seven shillings.

This custom is also prevalent at Linton, an adjoining parish; and I am informed that lord Cornwallis, who resides there, intends giving to the resident poor something very considerable. At Barming, C. Whittaker, esq. is provided with 100 loaves to distribute to the resident poor on this day, which to my own knowledge is annual on his part; they likewise go to the other respectable inhabitants, who also give their alms in the way they think best.

It may not be amiss to say, that the custom here is known by the name of “Doleing,” and the day is called “Doleing-day.”

If any of your correspondents, or yourself, can throw any light on this very ancient custom, I have no doubt but it will be very acceptable to your readers, and to none more than to

Your obliged friend,W. W.

Mean Temperature 37·17.

[539]Bellman’s Treasury, 1707.[540]Ibid.

[539]Bellman’s Treasury, 1707.

[540]Ibid.

As on this prevalent custom of the season there have been remarks, an anecdote from the Worcester Journal of 1760, before servants’ vails were abolished, and soon after the battle of Minden, may be added.

At a young lady’s rout there appeared a card hung to each of the candlesticks, with these words, “No card money, but you may speak to the drummer.” In a corner of a room stood the figure of a drummer on a box, with a hole in the top to receive money, and the figure held a paper in its hand containing a dialogue between John and Dick, two of the lady’s servants, wherein they mutually agreed, “Their wages being fully sufficient to defray all their reasonable demands, to dispose of the card money as a token of their regard to the Minden heroes; and, with their good young lady’s consent, appointed the drummer to be their receiver.”

Mean Temperature 38·37.

For the Every-Day Book.

Symptoms of the returning season of Christmas and its festivities are approaching; for the rustics are standing at the street-corners with boughs of clustering berry-holly with pointed leaves, glossy laurel, and the pink-eyed lauristina:—the cheesemonger perks a dandy sprig of evergreen in the centre of his half butter tub, and hangs the griskins and chines at his doorposts: the show of over-fed beasts is advertised, and graziers and come-up-to-town farmers, loiter here to see the prize-cattle and prizes adjudged to the best feeders: butchers begin to clear all obstructions, and whiten their shambles, and strew sawdust on the pavement, andin the avenues, to the scales and little countinghouse box in which sits the female accountant, “brisk as a bee” and full of the “Ready-reckoner:” fishmongers are no less active in showing the large eels and dainty fish, that are “fresh as a daisy” and cold as death: sprats arrive in abundance, and are cried up and down alleys and streets with wondrous competition: pew-openers now have leave of their churchwardens to buy quantum sufficit of yew, laurel, holly, and other evergreens to tie in bunches to the sconces and interior parts of churches: idle shopkeepers cannot be persuaded yet to clear the filth from their doors, thinking, perhaps, a temporary obstruction is a permanent attraction: watchmen now veer forth early at noon, with lanterns at their breasts, though it would be difficult to read the secrets deposited within: poulterers are early at market, and their shops are piled with poultry in a state of nudity and death: the undertaker is busy, like the tailor, with his work, and the charms of Christmas give temporary bustle to most classes of tradesmen: the green-grocer is decorating his half-glazed windows with his best fruits and most attractive edibles, which are served as luxuries rather than generous enjoyments; and his sly daughter takes care a certain branch of the business shall not be forgotten—I allude to

The Mistletoe.Sweet emblem of returning peace,The heart’s full gush, and love’s release;Spirits in human fondness flowAnd greet the pearlyMistletoe.Many a maiden’s cheek is redBy lips and laughter thither led;And flutt’ring bosoms come and goUnder the druidMistletoe.Dear is the memory of a theftWhen love and youth and joy are left;—The passion’s blush, the roses glow,Accept the CupidMistletoe.Oh! happy, tricksome time of mirthGiv’n to the stars of sky and earth!May all the best of feeling know,The custom of theMistletoe!Spread out the laurel and the bay,For chimney-piece and window gay:Scour the brass gear—a shining row,And Holly place withMistletoe.Married and single, proud and free,Yield to the season, trim with glee:Time will not stay,—he cheats us, so—A kiss?—’tis gone!—theMistletoe.Dec. 1826.*, *, P.

The Mistletoe.

Sweet emblem of returning peace,The heart’s full gush, and love’s release;Spirits in human fondness flowAnd greet the pearlyMistletoe.Many a maiden’s cheek is redBy lips and laughter thither led;And flutt’ring bosoms come and goUnder the druidMistletoe.Dear is the memory of a theftWhen love and youth and joy are left;—The passion’s blush, the roses glow,Accept the CupidMistletoe.Oh! happy, tricksome time of mirthGiv’n to the stars of sky and earth!May all the best of feeling know,The custom of theMistletoe!Spread out the laurel and the bay,For chimney-piece and window gay:Scour the brass gear—a shining row,And Holly place withMistletoe.Married and single, proud and free,Yield to the season, trim with glee:Time will not stay,—he cheats us, so—A kiss?—’tis gone!—theMistletoe.

Sweet emblem of returning peace,The heart’s full gush, and love’s release;Spirits in human fondness flowAnd greet the pearlyMistletoe.

Many a maiden’s cheek is redBy lips and laughter thither led;And flutt’ring bosoms come and goUnder the druidMistletoe.

Dear is the memory of a theftWhen love and youth and joy are left;—The passion’s blush, the roses glow,Accept the CupidMistletoe.

Oh! happy, tricksome time of mirthGiv’n to the stars of sky and earth!May all the best of feeling know,The custom of theMistletoe!

Spread out the laurel and the bay,For chimney-piece and window gay:Scour the brass gear—a shining row,And Holly place withMistletoe.

Married and single, proud and free,Yield to the season, trim with glee:Time will not stay,—he cheats us, so—A kiss?—’tis gone!—theMistletoe.

Dec. 1826.

*, *, P.

A Gloomy Morning before Christmas.It is methinks a morning full of fate!It riseth slowly, as her sullen carHad all the weights of sleep and death hung at it!She is not rosy-finger’d, but swoln black!Her face is like a water turn’d to blood,And her sick head is bound about with cloudsAs if she threatened night ere noon of day!It does not look as it would have a hailOr health wished in it, as of other morns.Jonson.

A Gloomy Morning before Christmas.

It is methinks a morning full of fate!It riseth slowly, as her sullen carHad all the weights of sleep and death hung at it!She is not rosy-finger’d, but swoln black!Her face is like a water turn’d to blood,And her sick head is bound about with cloudsAs if she threatened night ere noon of day!It does not look as it would have a hailOr health wished in it, as of other morns.

Jonson.

The Wonder of the West.

“And where did she come from? and who can she be?Did she fall from the sky? did she rise from the sea?”

Late one evening in the spring of 1817, the rustic inhabitants of Almondsbury, in Gloucestershire, were surprised by the entrance of a young female in strange attire. She wore leather shoes and black worsted stockings, a black stuff gown with a muslin frill at the neck, and a red and black shawl round her shoulders, and a black cotton shawl on her head. Her height was about five feet two inches, and she carried a small bundle on her arm containing a few necessaries. Her clothes were loosely and tastefully put on in an oriental fashion. Her eyes and hair were black, her forehead was low, her nose short, her mouth wide, her teeth white, her lips large and full, her under lip projected a little, her chin was small and round, her hands were clean and seemed unused to labour. She appeared about twenty-five years of age, was fatigued, walked with difficulty, spoke a language no one could comprehend, and signified by signs her desire to sleep in the village. The cottagerswere afraid to admit her, and sought the decision of Mr. Worrall, a magistrate for the county, at Knole, whose lady caused her own maid to accompany her to a public-house in the village, with a request that she should have a supper, and a comfortable bed.

In the morning Mrs. Worrall found her, with strong traces of sorrow and distress on her countenance, and took her with her to Knole, but she went reluctantly. It was Good Friday, and at the mansion, observing a cross-bun, she cut off the cross, and placed it in her bosom.

Paper and a pen were handed to her to write her name; she shook her head: and when she appeared to comprehend what was meant, pointed to herself, and cried “Caraboo.” The next day she was taken to Bristol, examined before the mayor, at the Council-house, and committed to St. Peter’s Hospital as a vagrant, whither persons of respectability flocked to visit the incomprehensible inmate. From that place Mrs. Worrall removed her once more to Knole. A gentleman, who had made several voyages to the Indies, extracted from her signs, and gestures, and articulation, that she was the daughter of a person of rank, of Chinese origin, at “Javasu,” and that whilst walking in her garden, attended by three women, she had been gagged, and bound, and carried off, by the people of a pirate-prow, and sold to the captain of a brig, from whence she was transferred to another ship, which anchored at a port for two days, where four other females were taken in, who, after a voyage of five weeks, were landed at another port: sailing for eleven more weeks, and being near land, she jumped overboard, in consequence of ill usage, and swimming ashore, found herself on this coast, and had wandered for six weeks, till she found her way to Almondsbury. She described herself at her father’s to have been carried on men’s shoulders, in a kind of palanquin, and to have worn seven peacocks’ feathers on the right side of her head, with open sandals on her feet, having wooden soles; and she made herself a dress from some calico, given her by Mrs. Worrall, in the style of her own which had been embroidered. The late Mr. Bird, the artist, sketched her, according to this account, as in theengraving.

Caraboo.

The particulars connected with these recitals, and her general conduct, were romantic in the extreme. At the end of two months she disappeared; and, to the astonishment of the persons whose sympathies she had excited, the lady Caraboo a native of Javasu, in the east, was discovered to have been born at Witheridge in Devonshire, where her father was a cobbler! A very full account of her singular imposition is given in “A Narrative,” published by Mr. Gutch of Bristol, in 1817, from whence this sketch is taken. After her remarkable adventures, she found it convenient to leave this country. A Bath correspondent writes asfollows:—

To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.

In the year 1824, Caraboo having returned from America, took apartments in New Bond-street, where she made a public exhibition of herself—admittanceone shillingeach person; but it does not appear that any great number went to see her.Z.

Gentle Craftsmen,An opportunity has not occurred, till now, to introduce the following

A Lady’s old Shoe, and Clog.

It was purposed to have been accompanied by others: as it is, indulgence is craved for it as a specimen of the art and dexterity of our ancestors in shoe-making and wearing. It is drawn from the original, purchased by Mr. J. J. A. F., with other curiosities, at the sale of the Leverian Museum.

The shoe is of white kid leather, calashed with black velvet. There are marks of stitches by which ornaments had been affixed to it. Its clog is simply a straight piece of stout leather, inserted in the underleather at the toe, and attached to the heel. That such were walked in is certain; that the fair wearers could have run in them is impossible to imagine. They were in fashion at the Restoration.

Mean Temperature 38·72.

For the Every-Day Book.

The 24th of December, among other causes, is rendered remarkable from its having been the day on which the bold Robin Hood breathed his last, in the year 1247.

The accounts of the life of this extraordinary outlaw are so various, and so much mixed up with fable, that to render a true history of him would be almost impossible.

His real name was Fitz-Ooth, his grandfather, Ralph Fitz-Ooth Earl of Kyme, whose name appears in the Roll of Battle Abbey, came over to England with William Rufus, and was married to a daughter of Gilbert de Gìent earl ofLincoln.[541]

His father, William Fitz-Ooth, in the times of feudal dependancy, was a ward of Robert earl of Oxford, who, by the King’s order, gave him his niece in marriage, the third daughter of lady Roisia de Vere, countess ofEssex.[542]

Having dissipated his fortune, Robin Ooth, or Hood, as he was named, joined a band of depredators, and, as their chief, laid heavy contributions, for his support, on all such as he deemed rich enough to bear the loss.

He was famed for his courage, skill in archery, and kindness to the poor, who often shared with him in the plunder hehad taken. The principal scene of his exploits is said to have been in Sherwood Forest, and the period, that of the reign of Richard I., thus described byStowe:—

“In this time (1190) were many robbers and outlaws; among the which Robin Hood and Little John, renowned thieves, continued in woods, dispoyling and plundering the goods of the rich; they killed none but such as would invade them, or by resistance for their own defence.

“The said Robert entertained an hundred tall men and good archers with such spoiles and thefts as he got, upon whom four hundred (were they ever so strong) durst not give the onset. He suffered no woman to be oppressed, violated, or otherwise molested; poor men’s goods he spared, abundantly relieving them with that which by theft he got from abbeys, and the houses of rich earles: whom Major (the historian) blameth for his rapine and theft, but of all thieves he affirmeth him to be the prince, and the most gentletheefe.”[543]

“It is said,” writes Baker, “that he was of noble blood, at least made noble, no less than an earl, for deserving services, but having wasted his estate in riotous courses, very penury forced him to thiscourse.”[544]

Robin Hood was the hero of many popular songs, several of which are to be found in “Evans’s Collection of Old Ballads,” as early as the reign of Edward III. R. Langlande, a priest, in his “Pierce Plowman’s Visions,” noticeshim:—

“I cannot perfitly my Paternoster, as the priest it singeth,I can rimes of Robenhod and Randal of Chester,But of our Lorde or our Lady I learne nothyng at all.”

He is reported to have lived till the year 1247; but Baker, in his “Chronology,” makes his death, which is said to have been caused by treachery, to have taken place in the reign of Richard I. “The King set forth a Proclamation to have him apprehended; it happened he fell sick, at a certain nunnery in Yorkshire, called Berckleys, and desiring to be let blood, was betrayed, and made to bleed todeath.”[545]

The manner of his death is also recorded in an old ballad, entitled “Robin Hood and the valiant Knight, together with an Account of his Death and Burial.”

*****“And Robin Hood he to the green wood,And there he was taken ill.And he sent for a monk, to let him bloodWho took his life away;Now this being done, his archers did run,It was not time to stay.”

*****

“And Robin Hood he to the green wood,And there he was taken ill.And he sent for a monk, to let him bloodWho took his life away;Now this being done, his archers did run,It was not time to stay.”

At Kirklees, in Yorkshire, formerly a Benedictine nunnery, is a gravestone, near the park, under which it is said Robin Hood lies buried. There is the remains of an inscription on it, but it is quite illegible. Mr. Ralph Thoresby, in his “Ducatus Leodiensis,” gives the following as theepitaph:—

“Hear undernead dis laith steanLaiz Robert Earl of Huntington,Nea arcir ver az hie sa geude:An piple kaud im Robin Heud.Sic utlawz as hi, an iz men,Wil England never sigh agen.Obiit 24 kal. Dekembris, 1247.”

Some of his biographers have noticed him as earl of Huntingdon, but they are not borne out in this by any of the old ballads, this epitaph alone calling him by that title. All the learned antiquarians agree in giving no credence to the genuineness of the above composition, alleging, among other causes, the quaintness of the spelling, and the pace of the metre, as affording them strong grounds for suspicion.

However strongly the name and exploits of Robin Hood may have been impressed on our memories from the “oft told” nursery tales, yet we have lately had it in our power to become more intimately, and, as it were, personally acquainted with this great chieftain of outlaws, through the medium of the author of “Waverley,” who has introduced “friend Locksley” to the readers of his “Ivanhoe,” in such natural and glowing colours, as to render the forgetting him utterly impossible.

Henry Brandon.

Leadenhall-street.

This night (you may my Almanack believe)Is the return of famous Christmas-eve:Ye virgins then your cleanly rooms prepare,And let the windows bays and laurel wear;YourRosemarypreserve to dress yourBeef,Nor forget me, which I advise in chief.

Another on the same.

Now,Mrs. Betty, pray get up and rise,If you intend to make yourChristmaspies:Scow’ring the pewter falls toCisley’sshare;AndMargerymust to clean the house take care:And let Doll’s ingenuity be seen,In decking all the windows up withgreen.[546]

It is scarcely necessary to remind the reader, that several notices of this day have been already presented; yet, many as they are, there are others from whence a few may be gleaned, with the probability of their still being acceptable.

With Mr. Leigh Hunt, who is foremost among modern admirers of the old festivals of the season, Christmas is, as it ought to be, the chief. His papers, in 1817, which occasioned the following letter, are not at hand to cite; and, perhaps if they were, the excellent feelings of his “fair correspondent” might be preferred to some of evenhisdescriptions.

To the Editor of the Examiner.

Sir,—I am of the number of your readers who recollect, with pleasure and gratitude, your papers last year on keeping Christmas, and I looked forward with a hope, which has not been disappointed, that you would take some notice again of its return. I feel unwilling to intrude on your valuable time, yet I cannot refrain from thanking you for your cheering attempts to enforce a due observance of this delightful season. I thank you in my own name, and I thank you in the name of those to whom the spring of life is opening in all its natural and heartfelt enjoyments. I thank you in the name of the more juvenile part of the holyday circle, who, released from the thraldom of school discipline, are comehome, (that expressive word,) to bask awhile in the eyes and the smiles of their fond parents; and, lastly, I thank you on behalf of those who have none to plead for them, and to whom pleasure is but a name—the sick at heart and sick in body, the friendless and the fatherless, the naked and the hungry. To all of these I hope to extend a portion of happiness and of help, with a heart full of gratitude to Him who has “cast my lot in a goodly heritage.” I have, under this feeling, been for some days past busily employed in preparing for passing Christmasworthily. My beef and mince-meat are ready, (of which, with some warm garments, my poor neighbours will partake,) and my holly andmistletoegathered; for I heartily approve of your article, and am of opinion that to the false refinement of modern times may be traced the loss of that primitive and pure simplicity which characterised “other times.” To your list of “authorities” I beg leave to add that learned and truly Christian prelate, Bishop Hall, who, in his “Contemplation on the Marriage of Cana,” so strongly enforces the doctrine, that the Creator is best honoured in a wise andrationalenjoyment of the creature.

Cordially wishing you the chief of sublunary blessings,i. e.health of body and health of mind, I remain, Sir, your obliged and constant reader,

A Wife, a Mother, andAn Englishwoman.

South Lambeth, Dec. 21, 1818.

In Mr. Nichols’s Collection of Poems there are some pleasant verses, which seem to have proceeded from his ownpen:—

ToH——yM——n,Esq.On his refusing aChristmas Dinnerwith a Friend, on pretence of gallanting some Ladies to Leicester.When you talk about LeicesterI hope you’re a jester.Why desert an old friend,For no purpose or end?But to play the gallant,With belles who will flaunt,And who, cruel as vain,Will rejoice in your pain!No—Come to our puddingWe’ll put all things good inGive you beef, the sirloin,If with us you will dine;Perhaps too a capon,With greens and with bacon:Give you port and good sherry,To make your heart merry,Then sit down to a pool,’Stead of playing the fool;Or a rubber at whist,But for this as you list.Next, give muffins and tea,As you sometimes give me.As for supper, you know,A potato, or so;Or a bit of cold ham,As at night we ne’er cram;Or a tart, if you please,With a slice of mild cheese.Then we’ll sing—sing, did I say?Yes: “The Vicar ofBray;”[547]And, what I know you don’t hate“My fond shepherds oflate:”[548]Nor think me a joker,If I add “AllyCroaker.”[549]In fine, we’ll sing and delight ye,Till you say, “Friends, good night t’ ye.”1780.N. J.

ToH——yM——n,Esq.

On his refusing aChristmas Dinnerwith a Friend, on pretence of gallanting some Ladies to Leicester.

When you talk about LeicesterI hope you’re a jester.Why desert an old friend,For no purpose or end?But to play the gallant,With belles who will flaunt,And who, cruel as vain,Will rejoice in your pain!No—Come to our puddingWe’ll put all things good inGive you beef, the sirloin,If with us you will dine;Perhaps too a capon,With greens and with bacon:Give you port and good sherry,To make your heart merry,Then sit down to a pool,’Stead of playing the fool;Or a rubber at whist,But for this as you list.Next, give muffins and tea,As you sometimes give me.As for supper, you know,A potato, or so;Or a bit of cold ham,As at night we ne’er cram;Or a tart, if you please,With a slice of mild cheese.Then we’ll sing—sing, did I say?Yes: “The Vicar ofBray;”[547]And, what I know you don’t hate“My fond shepherds oflate:”[548]Nor think me a joker,If I add “AllyCroaker.”[549]In fine, we’ll sing and delight ye,Till you say, “Friends, good night t’ ye.”

1780.

N. J.

Whether these verses were written by Mr. Nichols or not, the mention of his name occasions it to be observed, that about a week before the present date he died, at the age of eighty-five.

The editor of this humble work, who has derived much assistance in its progress from the “Gentleman’s Magazine,” which Mr. Nichols edited for nearly half a century, would omit to do rightly if he were not thus to acknowledge the obligation. Nor can he recollect without feelings of respectful gratitude, that his name appeared a few years ago in the “Domestic Occurrences” of the “Gentleman’s Magazine” with fidelity to its readers, unaccompanied by remarks which some of its admirers might, perhaps, at that time have admired. Its critical pages subsequently distinguished the volume on “Ancient Mysteries” by approval; and since then they have been pleased to favour, and even praise, the publication of which this is the last sheet. There was no personal intimacy to incline such good-will, and therefore it may be fairly inferred to have resulted from pure feelings and principles of equity. Mr. Nichols’s rank as a literary antiquary is manifested by many able and elaborate works. As he declined in life, his active duties gradually and naturally devolved on his successor: may that gentleman live as long in health and wealth, and be remembered with as high honour, as his revered father.

Dec. 23, 1826.

W. H.

On Christmas-eve, (new style,) 1753, a vast concourse of people attended the noted thorn, but to their great disappointment there was no appearance of its blowing, which made them watch it narrowly the 5th of January, the Christmas-day, (old style,) when it blowed as usual.—London Evening Post.

On the same evening, at Quainton, in Buckinghamshire, above two thousand people went, with lanterns and candles, to view a blackthorn in that neighbourhood, and which was remembered to be a slip from the famous Glastonbury thorn, and that it always budded on the 24th, was full blown the next day, and went all off at night. The people finding no appearance of a bud, it was agreed by all, that December 25 (new style) could not be the right Christmas-day, and accordingly refused going to church, and treating their friends on that day as usual: at length the affair became so serious, that the ministers of the neighbouring villages, in order to appease them, thought it prudent to give notice, that theOldChristmas-day should be kept holy asbefore.[550]

This famous hawthorn, which grew on a hill in the church-yard of Glastonbury-abbey, it has been said, sprung from the staff of St. Joseph of Arimathea, who having fixed it in the ground with his own hand on Christmas-day, the staff took root immediately, put forth leaves, and thenextday was covered with milk-white blossoms. It has been added, that this thorn continued to blow every Christmas-day during a long series of years, and that slips from the original plant are still preserved, and continue to blow every Christmas-day to the present time.

There certainly was in the abbey church-yard a hawthorn-tree, which blossomed in winter, and was cut down in the time of the civil wars: but that it always blossomed on Christmas-day was a mere tale of the monks, calculated to inspire the vulgar with notions of the sanctity of the place. There are several of this species of thorn in England, raised from haws sent from the east, where it is common. One of our countrymen, the ingenious Mr. Millar, raised many plants from haws brought from Aleppo, and all proved to be what are called Glastonbury thorns. This exotic, or eastern thorn, differs from our common hawthorn in putting out its leaves very early in spring, and flowering twice a year; for in mild seasons it often flowers in November or December, and again at the usual time of the common sort; but the stories that are told of its budding, blossoming, and fading on Christmas-day are ridiculous, and only monkishlegends.[551]

At Ramsgate, in Kent, they begin the festivities of Christmas by a curious musicalprocession. A party of young people procure the head of a dead horse, which is affixed to a pole about four feet in length, a string is tied to the lower jaw, a horse cloth is then attached to the whole, under which one of the party gets, and by frequently pulling the string keeps up a loud snapping noise, and is accompanied by the rest of the party grotesquely habited and ringing hand-bells. They thus proceed from house to house, sounding their bells and singing carols and songs. They are commonly gratified with beer and cake, or perhaps with money. This is provincially called ahodening; and the figure above described a “hoden,” or wooden horse.

This curious ceremony is also observed in the Isle of Thanet on Christmas-eve, and is supposed to be an ancient relic of a festival ordained to commemorate our Saxon ancestors’ landing in thatisland.[552]

Amongst the customs observed on Christmas-eve, the Venetians eat a kind of pottage, which they calltorta de lasagne, composed of oil, onions, paste, parsley, pine nuts, raisins, currants, and candied orange peel.

Many festivals, abrogated in France by the revolution, were revived under Buonaparte. Accordingly, at Marseilles on Christmas-eve all the members of any family resident in the same town were invited to supper at the house of the senior of the family, the supper being entirelyau maigre, that is, without meat,—after which they all went together to a solemn mass, which was performed in all the churches at midnight: this ceremony was called in Provencefaire calène. After mass the party dispersed and retired to their respective houses; and the next day, after attending high mass in the morning, they assembled at dinner at the same house where they had supped the night before, a turkey being, as in England, an established part of the dinner. The evening was concluded with cards, dancing, or any other amusement usual on holydays. Formerly there had been the midnight mass, which was often irregularly conducted, and therefore on the revival of the old custom it wasomitted.[553]

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