Chapter VI: Part 6

That this plant was held in veneration by the pagans, has been inferred from a passage in Virgil's description of the descent into the infernal regions. That passage is considered to have an allegorical reference to some of the religious ceremonies practised amongst the Greeks and Romans, and a comparison is therein drawn between the golden bough of the infernal regions, and what is obviously the misletoe:--

"Quale solet silvis brumali frigore _viscum_
Fronde virere nova, quod non sua seminat arbos,
Et croceo fetu teretis circumdare truncos," etc.

The reference is given by Mr. Christie in his "Enquiry into the Ancient Greek Game" of Palamedes; and he mentions likewise the respect in which this plant was held by the Gothic as well as the Celtic nations. Sandys furnishes a legend from the Edda in proof of the extraordinary qualities ascribed to it by the former. Amongst the Celtic nations it is well known to have been an object of great veneration, and the ceremony of collecting it by the Druids against the festival of the winter solstice was one of high solemnity. It was cut by the prince of the Druids himself, and with a golden sickle. It was said that those only of the oaks were sacred to the Druids which had the mistletoe upon them, and that the reverence of the people towards the priests, as well as their estimation of the mistletoe, proceeded in a great measure from the cures which the former effected by means of that plant. Medicinal properties, we believe, are still ascribed to it, and it was not very long ago deemed efficacious in the subduing of convulsive disorders. Sir John Colbatch, in his dissertation concerning it, observes that this beautiful plant must have been designed by the Almighty "for further and more noble purposes than barely to feed thrushes, or to be hung up surreptitiously in houses to drive away evil spirits." Against the latter it appears to have been used as a charm up to the last century.

Its introduction into the Christian festival might therefore be considered appropriate as emblematic of the conquest obtained over the spirits of darkness by the event of the Nativity; and perhaps its supposed healing properties might be deemed to recommend it further, as a symbol of the moral health to which man was restored from the original corruption of his nature, and a fitting demonstration of the joy which hailed the "Sun of Righteousness" that had arisen, "with _healing_ in his wings."

Notwithstanding all this, however, Brand is of opinion that its heathen origin should exclude it at all events from the decorations of our churches, and quotes a story told him by an old sexton at Teddington, in Middlesex, of the clergyman of that place having observed this profane plant intermingled with the holly and ivy which adorned the church, and ordered its immediate removal. Washington Irving, who has studied old English customs and manners with sincere regard, introduces a similar rebuke from the learned parson to his unlearned clerk, in his account of the Christmas spent by him at Bracebridge Hall.

The reverence of the mistletoe among the Ancient Britons appears, however, to have been limited to that which grew upon the oak; whereas the _Viscum album_, or common mistletoe,--the sight of whose pearly berries brings the flush into the cheek of the maiden of modern days,--may be gathered besides from the old apple-tree, the hawthorn, the lime-tree, and the Scotch or the silver fir. Whether there remain any traces of the old superstitions which elevated it into a moral or a medical amulet,--beyond that which is connected with the custom alluded to in the opening of our remarks upon this plant, and represented, by our artist here,--we know not. We should, however, be very sorry to see any light let in amongst us which should fairly rout a belief connected with so agreeable a privilege as this. That privilege, as all our readers know, consists in the right to kiss any female who may be caught under the mistletoe-bough,--and, we may hope, will continue, for its own pleasantness, even if the superstition from which it springs should be finally lost. This superstition arose, clearly enough, out of the old mystic character of the plant in question, and erects it into a charm, the neglect of which exposes to the imminent danger of all the evils of old-maidenism. For, according to Archdeacon Nares, the tradition is, "that the maid who was not kissed under it, at Christmas, would not be married in that year,"--by which, we presume, the Archdeacon means in the following year. Accordingly, a branch of this parasitical plant was hung (formerly with great state, but now it is generally suspended with much secrecy) either from the centre of the roof, or over the door,--and we recommend this latter situation to our readers, both as less exposed to untimely observation, and because every maiden who joins the party must of necessity do so by passing under it. We learn from Brand that the ceremony was not duly performed unless a berry was plucked off with each kiss. This berry, it is stated by other authorities, was to be presented for good luck to the maiden kissed; and Washington Irving adds that "when the berries are all plucked, the privilege ceases." If this be so, it behooves the maidens of a household to take good care that the branch provided for the occasion shall be as well furnished with these pearly tokens as the feast is likely to be with candidates for the holy state of matrimony. The practice is still of very common observance in kitchens and servants' halls, particularly in the country. But, as we have hinted, we have met with it (and so, we dare say, have most of our readers) in higher scenes; and many a merry laugh have we heard ring from beneath the mistletoe-bough. There are lips in the world that we would gladly meet there in this coming season.

Another of the symptoms of the approaching season which has, at least to us, a very pleasing effect, consists in the bursts of solemn minstrelsy by which we are aroused from our slumbers in the still hour of the winter nights, or which, failing to break our sleep, mingle with our dreams, leading us into scenes of enchantment, and filling them with unearthly music. This midnight minstrelsy, whether it comes in the shape of human voices, hallowing the night by the chanting of the Christmas carol, or breaks upon the silence of the mid-watches from the mingling instruments of those wandering spirits of harmony, the waits, has in each case its origin in the _Gloria in Excelsis_,--the song with which the angels hailed the birth of the Redeemer in the fields near Bethlehem. "As soon," says Jeremy Taylor, "as these blessed choristers had sung their Christmas carol, and taught the Church a hymn to put into her offices forever on the anniversary of this festivity, the angels returned into heaven." Accordingly, these nocturnal hymns, although they spread over the entire period of Advent, grow more and more fervent and frequent as the season approaches, and the night which ushers in the great day itself is filled throughout all its watches with the continued sounds of sacred harmony. How beautiful is the effect given to this music by this consideration of its meaning and its cause! Many and many a time have we been awakened by the melody of the waits when

"The floor of heaven
_Was_ thick inlaid with patines of bright gold,"--

and have lain and listened to their wild minstrelsy, its solemn swells and "dying falls" kept musical by the distance and made holy by the time, till we have felt amid all those influences as if it were

"No mortal business, nor no sound
That the earth owes,"

and could have fancied that the "morning stars" were again singing, as of old they "sang together for joy," and that the sounds of their far anthem came floating to the earth. This sort of fancy has occurred over and over again to him who has looked out from his bed upon a sky full of stars, and listened at the same time to invisible and distant music, under the holy impressions of the season. Shakspeare has helped us to this feeling, perhaps, as we can trace his influence upon _all_ our feelings, and upon none more than the most sacred or the most solemn:--

"There's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st,
But in his motion like an angel sings,
Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubims;
Such harmony is in immortal souls."

To the rudest carol that ever flung its notes upon the still air of these solemn hours we have hearkened with a hush of pleasure which recognized how well--

"Soft stillness, and the night,
Become the touches of sweet harmony!"

And the wildest music that ever broke upon that solemn calm from the instruments of the most unskilful waits,--if it were but remote enough to keep its asperities out of the ear, and send us only its floating tones,--has brought Shakspeare into our hearts again:--

"_Portia._ Methinks it sounds much sweeter than by day.
_Nerissa._ Silence bestows that virtue on it, madam."

The waits of to-day are the remote and degenerated successors of those ancient bards who filled an important place in the establishments of princes and nobles, as also of those wandering members of the fraternity who, having no fixed position, carried their gift of music from place to place as the tournament or the festival invited. Those of our readers who have much acquaintance with the old chroniclers have not to be told by us that these latter were frequently drawn together in considerable numbers by the Christmas celebrations. The name "wait," or "wayte," itself is of great antiquity amongst us, and appears to have been the title given to some member of the band of minstrels who either replaced the ancient minstrel-chronicler in the royal establishments, or was probably under his direction, the duty of which particular member it was to pass at night from door to door of the chambers and pipe the watches upon some species of instrument. As early as the reign of Edward III. we have mention of this individual minstrel by his title of "wayte," and in the subsequent ordinances for royal households the name frequently occurs. Dr. Burney, in his "History of Music," quotes from the "Liber niger domus regis," of Edward IV.'s time, a full description of the duties, privileges, and perquisites of this ancient officer. It is probably from this member of the royal household and his office that the corporations for towns borrowed their earliest appointment of watchmen; and the ancestors of those ancient gentlemen whose most sweet voices are amongst the lost sounds of the metropolis, and whose mysterious cries will soon, we fear, be a dead language, were no doubt in their original institution minstrels or waits. The sworn waits are, we believe, still attached to many corporations (although some of their duties have been alienated, and some of their prerogatives usurped), and amongst others to that of the City of London. The bellman and those "wandering voices," the watchmen, where they still exist, have, however, a title to the same high and far descent, and have succeeded to most of the offices of the ancient waits. It would seem, too, that both these latter important personages have at all times had it in view to assert their claim to a minstrel origin, their announcements being generally chanted in a species of music quite peculiar to themselves, and such as the world can never hope to hear again when these gentry shall be extinct. "Oh, what a voice is silent!" wrote Barry Cornwall long before the introduction of the new police into our streets; and the passionate exclamation must surely have originated in a prophetic vision of the extinction of the Dogberry who piped the night-watches in Bedford Square. As for those wandering musicians who charm the long nights of the Christmas time with _unofficial_ music, and are waits by courtesy, they bear the same relation to the corporation minstrels of modern times as did the travelling bards of former days to the ancient minstrels who were established in the households of nobles or of kings. The waits still on some occasions close their performance by calling the hour, and by certain other announcements descriptive of the weather or characteristic of the season.

The sacred origin and meaning of this practice have, however, in modern days been a good deal lost sight of by these uncertificated harmonists in their selection of tunes. In London, particularly, the appropriate music of religious celebration, which in awaking the sleeper should bring the lessons of the season directly to his heart, are (excepting perhaps on the eve of the Nativity itself) most frequently supplanted by the airs of the theatre; and the waits for the most part favor us by night with repetitions of the melodies with which the barrel-organists have labored to make us familiarly acquainted during the day. It is with some such strain that the group of instrumentalists, by whom our artist has here represented these peripatetic musicians, appear to be regaling their neighborhood, in so far as we may venture to judge of the character of the music, by the accompaniment which it is receiving from the lady in the distance. Not that we could by any means have conjectured from the appearance of the performers themselves that the air, however profane, had been at all of the lively, unless what poor Matthews called the "deadly lively," kind,--and, in fact, the vicinity in which the lady appears may perhaps suggest that her joyous inspiration is not derived wholly from the music. She appears to be dancing "unto her own heart's song." If we may presume to argue from the aspects and attitudes of the gentlemen of the bass-viol and flute, he of the trombone (who is evidently performing with considerable energy) appears to have got a good way before his companions without being at all conscious of it; and indeed there is something about his accoutrements, if carefully inspected, which seems to hint that the source of his vigor, and perhaps of his unconsciousness, is of the same kind with that of the lady's liveliness. We have in the case of each a sort of insinuation as to the cause of the _spirited_ character of the performances, and in that of our friend with the trombone it seems a good deal more clear that his pocket has contributed to the supply of his instrument than that his instrument will ever do much for the supply of his pocket. As for the violin, it is clearly in the enjoyment of a sinecure at this late hour, the sensitive performer having apparently lulled himself to sleep with his own music. "Poor knave, I blame thee not; thou art o'er watched!"

"O murd'rous slumber,
Lay'st thou thy leaden mace upon my boy
That plays thee music? Gentle knave, good night;
I will not do thee so much wrong to wake thee."

But we will not answer for the old gentleman with the water-jug, who looks down so benignantly from that window overhead. He seems about to furnish an illustration of the assertion that--

"The heart that music cannot melt,
Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils;"

and appears to have conceived a stratagem against the group below which, if carried into successful execution on this winter night, will probably _spoil_ more than the music. It bids fair at once to waken the violin-player and to silence the trombone.

The practice of hailing the Nativity with music, in commemoration of the song of the angels, is in full observance in Roman Catholic countries as well as in our own. There are, we fancy, few of our readers who have not had opportunities of listening to the divine strains which mingle in the Roman services that usher in the blessed morning itself. The _noëls_ of France are of the same character as the Christmas carols of England; and the visits of our street musicians at this season are closely resembled by the wanderings of the Italian _pifferari_. These _pifferari_ are Calabrian shepherds who come down from the mountains at the season of Advent, and enter the Italian cities, saluting with their hill music the shrines of the Virgin and Child which adorn the streets. Of these rude minstrels Lady Morgan, in her "Italy," gives some account, and states that having frequently observed them stopping to play before the shop of a carpenter in Rome, her inquiries on the subject were answered by the information that the intention of this part of their performance, was to give his due share of honor to Saint Joseph. Our friend Mr. Hone, in his "Every-Day Book," has given, from an old print in his possession, a representation of this practice, in which two of these mountaineers are playing before the shrine of the Virgin. The practice is continued till the anniversary day of the Nativity.

With modern carol-singing there are few of our readers, in town or in country (for the practice, like that of which we have just spoken, is still very general), who are not well acquainted. For some curious antiquarian information on the subject we must refer them to Mr. Sandys's Introduction, and to a paper in Mr. Hone's book of "Ancient Mysteries." The word itself is derived by Brand, after Bourne, from _cantare_, to sing, and _rola_, an interjection of joy; and although in vulgar acceptance it has come to be understood as implying particularly those anthems by which the Christmas-tide is distinguished, it has at all times been properly applied to all songs which are sung upon any occasion of festival or rejoicing. In strictness, therefore, even in its application to the musical celebrations of Advent, a distinction should be drawn between those carols which are of a joyous or festive character, and those more solemn ones which would be better described by the title of Christmas hymns.

The practice itself, as applied to religious commemoration, is drawn from the very first ages of the Church. It is frequently referred to in the Apostolic writings, and the celebrated letter of the younger Pliny to the Emperor Trajan, in the seventh year of the second Christian century, mentions, amongst the habits of the primitive Christians, their assembling at stated times "to sing among themselves alternately a hymn to Christ, as to God." Such a practice, however, constitutes no peculiarity of the new worship, hymns of praise to their deities having made a portion of the rites of most religions. Indeed, in the more severe times of the Early Church there are prohibitions against this form of worship, as against several other practices to which we have alluded, on the express ground of its resemblance to one of the customs of the pagan celebration.

The custom of celebrating the festivities of the season by the singing of carols in these islands, appears to have mingled with the Christmas observances from the earliest period. We have specimens of the carols themselves of a remote date, and have already given an extract from one, the manuscript of which, in the British Museum, is dated as far back as the thirteenth century. There are evidences of the universality of the practice in the fifteenth century; and the great popularity of these songs about this time is proved by the fact of a collection thereof having been printed in the early part of the following century by Wynkyn de Worde. It is to the Puritans that we appear to have been indebted for the introduction of the religious carol. Those enemies of all mirth, even in its most innocent or valuable forms, finding the practice of carol-singing at this festive time too general and rooted to be dealt with by interdiction, appear to have endeavored to effect their objects by directing it into a channel of their own, and probably retaining the ancient airs, to have adapted them to the strange religious ballads, of which we must give our readers a few specimens. The entire version of the Psalms of David made by Sternhold and Hopkins was published about the middle of the sixteenth century; and some time before the middle of the seventeenth a duodecimo volume appeared, under the title of "Psalmes or Songs of Zion, turned into the language and set to the tunes of a strange land, by W. S. [William Slatyr], intended for Christmas Carols and fitted to divers of the most noted and common but solemne tunes everywhere in this land familiarly used and knowne."

Of these old ballads of both kinds, many (and snatches of more) have survived to the present day, and may be heard, particularly in the Northern counties of England, ringing through the frosty air of the long winter nights, in the shrill voices of children, for several weeks before Christmas, probably, too, to the old traditional tunes. They are, however, as might be expected of compositions which have no more substantial depositary than the memories of the humble classes of the young, full of corruptions, which render some of them nearly unintelligible. The difficulty of restoring these old carols in their original forms is becoming yearly greater, in consequence of the modern carols, which are fast replacing them by a sort of authority. In country places many of the more polished carols, of modern composition, find their way into the Church services of this season; and amongst the singers who practise this manner of appealing to the charities of the season with most success are the children of the Sunday-schools and the choristers of the village church. These, with their often sweet voices, bring to our doors the more select hymns and the musical training which they have gathered for more sacred places; and from a group like that which stands at the parsonage door in our plate, we are more likely to hear some carol of Heber's, some such beautiful anthem as that beginning, "Hark! the herald angels sing," than the strange, rambling old Christmas songs which we well remember when we were boys. These latter, however, occasionally are not without a wild beauty of their own. We quote a fragment of one of them from memory. We think it begins:--

"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 hear
How Christ our Lord died on the cross
For 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 be
When, from his glorious seat,
The Lord our God he watered us
With his heavenly good and sweet.

"And for the saving of our souls
Christ died upon the cross!
We never shall do for Jesus Christ
What 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 ones
They 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 of _noëls_, the custom is universal. In Scotland, however, it was extinguished, with the other Christmas practices, 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 syght
all in my slepe,
Mary that may she sang lullay
and sore did wepe.
To kepe she sawght full fast a bowte
her son fro cold;
Joseph seyd, wiff, my joy, my leff,
say what ye wolde;
No thyng my spouse is In this howse
unto my pay;
My son a kyng that made all thyng
lyth 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 tell
The best nowellis that ever be fell."

But we must take it up further on:--

"My saull and lyfe, stand up and see
Quha 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's
Sleep, laid within some ark of flowers,
Spangled with deaw-light; thou canst cleere
All doubts, and manifest the where.

"Declare to us, bright star, if we shall seek
Him 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. The ballad 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 grew
Upon 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 all
Shall 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 born
Our heavenly king.

"'He neither shall be born
In housen nor in hall,
Nor in the place of Paradise,
But in an ox's stall.

"'He neither shall be clothed
In purple nor in pall,
But all in fair linen,
As were babies all.

"'He neither shall be rock'd
In silver nor in gold,
But in a wooden cradle,
That rocks on the mould.

"'He neither shall be christen'd
In white wine nor in red,
But with the spring water
With 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 go and play, receives it, accompanied with the salutary injunction,--

"And let me hear of no complaint
At night when you come home.

"Sweet Jesus went down to yonder town,
As far as the Holy Well,
And there did see as fine children
As 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 eye
Like 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 souls
Crying 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 provincial _noëls_, for the purpose of introducing our readers to a strange species of chanted burden; and then we must stop. It is directed to be sung _sur un chant joyeux_, and begins thus:

"Quand Dieu naquit à Noël,
Dedans la Judée,
On vit ce jour solemnel
La joie inondée;
Il n'étoit ni petit ni grand
Qui n'apportât son présent
Et 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 in Manchester, 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 flee
From 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 impregnated with 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 his _débût_ before 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.

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 be perfectly 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 by his 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 the _old_ carols, 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 upon the 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 fright
Your pleasing slumbers in the night.

"Mercie secure ye all, and keep
The 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 meagre modern 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.

Part Second.

THE CHRISTMAS DAYS.

The High and Mighty Prince, Henry Prince of Purpoole,
Archduke of Stapulia and Bernardia, Duke of High and
Nether Holborn, Marquis of St. Giles and Tottenham, Count
Palatine of Bloomsbury and Clerkenwell, Great Lord of the
Cantons of Islington, Kentish Town Paddington & Knightsbridge
_Gesta Grayorum._
]

THE CHRISTMAS DAYS.

HAVING given 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, _without_ those 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 which that 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.

ST. THOMAS'S DAY.

21ST DECEMBER.

THIS day, 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 ye _good 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 verb _to deal_. He quotes Shakspeare for this also:--

"It was your presurmise
That in the _dole_ of 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 day for 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 decorated with 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.