Ye virgius then your cleanly rooms prepare, And let the windows bays and laurel wear; Your Rosemary preserve to dress your Beef, Nor forget me, which I advise in chief. Another on the same. Now, Mrs. Betty, pray get up and rise, care: And let Doll's ingenuity be seen,、 In decking all the windows up with green.* 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 proba bility 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 even his descriptions. 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 come home, (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 exrend a portion of happiness and of help, Bellman's Treasury, 1707. 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 Christmas worthily. My beef and mince-meat are ready, (of which, with some warm garments, my poor neighbours will partake,) and my holly and mistletoe gathered; 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 beg leave to add that learned and truly times." To your list of "authorities" I 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 and rational enjoyment of the crea In Mr. Nichols's Collection of Poems there are some pleasant verses, which seem to have proceeded from his own pen: To H- Y MN, ESQ. On his refusing a CHRISTMAS Dinner with a Friend, on pretence of gallanting come Ladies to Leicester. When you talk about Leicester 1 Or a bit of cold ham, say As at night we ne'er cram ; If I add "Ally Croaker." In fine, we'll sing and delight ye, or not, the mention of his name occasions it to be 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 publica tion of which this is the last sheet. There was no GLASTONBURY THORN. 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 Christmasday, (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 neighbour hood, and which was remembered to be a slip from the famous Glastonbury thorn, "In good king Charles's golden days." This is said to have been written by an officer in colonel Fuller's regiment, in the reign of king George I. It is founded on an historical fact, and, though it reflects no great honour on the hero of the poem, is humorously expressive of the complexion of the times in the successive reigns from Charles II. to George I. "My fond shepherds of late were so blest A favourite air in Dr. Arne's "Eliza." "There lived a youth in Ballan o Crazy." This song is ascribed to a lady of great quality: it does not, however, abound with the wit which usually flows from female being sung with great humour. pens; but it admits of and that it always budded on the 24th, was full blown the next day, and went all off at night. The people finding no appear ance 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 the Old Christmas-day should be kept holy as before.* This famous hawthorn, which grew on abbey, it has been said, sprung from the a hill in the church-yard of GlastonburyStaff 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 the next day was covered with milk-white blossoms. It has been added, that this thorn continued to blow every Christmasday 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 churchyard 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 the east, where it is common. in England, raised from haws sent from 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 stories that are told of its budding, the usual time of the common sort; but blossoming, and fading on Christmas-day are ridiculous, and only monkish legends.† · HODENING IN KENT. At Ramsgate, in Kent, they begin the festivities of Christmas by a curious mu • Gentleman's Magazine. Communicated by D. B. C. from Boswell's Antiquities of England and Wales sical procession. 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 a hodening; 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 that island.* CHRISTMAS POTTAGE. Amongst the customs observed on Christmas-eve, the Venetians eat a kind of pottage, which they call torta de lasagne, composed of oil, onions, paste, parsley, pine nuts, raisins, currants, and candied orange peel. MARSEILLES' FESTIVAL. 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 entirely au 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 Provence faire 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 irre Miss Plumptre. + Burney's History of Music. ↑ Bellinan's Treasury WHITEHAVEN CUSTOMS. To the Editor of the Every-Day Book. Whitehaven, 4th Sept. 1826. Sır,-You furnished your readers last Christmas with a dish, greatly up-heaped, of information regarding the manner in which it was kept in various parts of the kingdom. I enclose herein a printed copy of the play, which is said, or rather sung, at and about that time, by numbers of boys in this town. The comedians, of which there are many companies, parade the streets, and ask at almost every door if the mummers are wanted. They are dressed in the most grotesque fashion; their heads adorned with high paper caps, gilt and spangled, and their bodies with ribbons of various colours, while St. George and the prince are armed with ten swords. The "mysterie" (query?) ends with a song, and afterwards a collection is made. This is the only relic of ancient times which exists in this town, excepting, indeed, it be the Waites-a few persons who parade the streets for a fortnight or three weeks before Christmas, and play upon violins one or two lively jig tunes, and afterwards call upon the inhabitants for a few pence each. The same persons, when they hear of a marriage, or of the arrival from abroad of a sea-faring man, regularly attend and fiddle away till they raise the person or persons; and for this they expect a trifling remuneration. I am satisfied you will join me, in surprise, that for so great a number of years. such a mass of indecent vulgarity as "Alexander and the king of Egypt," should been used without alteration. Upon the death of any individual, poor or rich, in this town, and the day before the funeral, the parish clerk, or the clerk of the church in whose church-yard the corpse is to be interred, goes round the town, with or without mourning as the case may be, and rings a bell, like a bellman, and thus announces his purpose: "All friends and neighbours are desired to attend the corpse of A. B. from Queenstreet to St. James's church to-morrow afternoon at four o'clock." Some of these hints may be of use to you-if so I shall rejoice; for a kinderhearted publication than yours I never perused. For the present I am, Mr. Hone, Yours, most respectfully, ANADMIRER OF YOUR EVERY-DAY BOOK. We are the merry actors that show pleasant plainly doth appear, And Prince George he is my only son and heir, Step in therefore, my son, and act thy part with me, And show forth thy fame before the company. P. George. I am Prince George, a champion brave and bold, For with my spear I've won three crowns of gold, 'Twas I that brought the dragon to the slaughter, And I that gain'd the Egyptian monarch's daughter. In Egypt's fields I prisoner long was kept, But I up with my sword and cut off his head. Alex. Hold, Slacker, hold, pray do not be so hot, For in this spot thou know'st not who thou'st got, 'Tis I that's to hash thee and smash thee as small as flies, And send thee to Satan to make mince pies. I'll send thee to Satan 'ere thou'rt three days old; But hold, Prince George, before you go away, Either you or I must die this bloody day, Some mortal wounds thou shalt receive by me, So let us fight it out most manfully. son, And has his ruin thoughtlessly begun, That can cure my son of his deadly wound? Oh! what is here? oh! what is to be done? Bouncer Buckler, velvet's dear, But, gentlemen, you see we're but actors four, We've done our best, and the best can do no more. |