The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 10, No. 290, December 29, 1827

Round about our Coal Fire.—Formerly fires were in the middle of the room, and the company sat in a ring round about it, hence the proverb, "round about our coal fire," which is as great a comfort as any at Christmas.

In the north they have their Yule log, or Yuletide log, which is a huge log burning in the chimney corner, whilst the Yule cakes are baked on a "girdle," (a kind of frying pan) over the fire; little lads and maidens assemble nightly at some neighbouring friend's to hear the goblin story, and join in "fortune telling," or some game. There is a part of an old song which runs thus: and with which I shall conclude this custom

"Now all our neighbours chimnies smoke,
And Christmas logs are burning,
Their ovens they with baked meate choke,
And all their spits are turning."

And in another place we hear that

"The wenches with their wassell bowles
About the streete are singing."

Wassail-bowl.—Formerly it was customary to wassail on Christmas Eve, or drink health to the apple trees.

"Wassaile the trees that they may beare
You many a plum and many a peare,
For more or lesse fruits they will bringe,
And do you give them wassailing."

    HERRICK.
Sir Thomas Acland informed Mr. Brand, in 1790, that at Werington, on Christmas Eve, "it was then customary for the country people to sing a wassail or drinking song, and throw the toast from the wassail-bowl to the apple-trees, in order to have a fruitful tree."

In many towns in Cumberland it is the practice on Christmas Eve to roast apples before the fire on a string, and hold under them a bowl of spiced ale (called there mulled ale) and let them roast on until they drop into the ale.

We have the following picture of a country squire from Grose:—"His chief drink the year round was generally ale, except at this season, the fifth of November, or some other gala days, when he would make a bowl of strong brandy punch, garnished with a toast and nutmeg. In the corner of his hall by the fire-side stood a large wooden two-armed chair, and within the chimney corner were a couple of seats. Here at Christmas he entertained his tenants assembled round a globing fire made of the roots of trees and other great logs, and told and heard the traditionary tales of the village, respecting ghosts and witches, till fear made them afraid to move. In the mean time the jorum of ale was in continual circulation."

Christmas Presents.—A friend of mine at Appleby, in Westmoreland, who is aware of my writing this article, says, "Pray recollect the old custom we have here of making little presents one to another. You know it is the practice here for little girls to send numerous presents to their sweethearts, secured as tightly with wax and brown paper as can be, that they may be some time guessing what it is before they open it. And if it is worth remarking, I would further remind you of the sending of shrid pies (which you know are very excellent) as presents to neighbours."

In London enough is seen of the presents at Christmas, without describing them; and after a "day spent merrily," they in the evening commence card playing, which is kept up till morning, generally speaking, and from thenceforth a whole run of merry days, till and beyond Twelfth Day.

Soon after Christmas Day we are apprized of Twelfth Day (which keeps us from dulness) by the icy cakes which everywhere appear in the pastrycook's windows. And now I think I have as far as I am able fulfilled my promise, and I may perhaps conclude this article with wishing you and all your readers and correspondents a merry Christmas and a happy new year.

W.H.H

RECOLLECTIONS OF MELROSE ABBEY

(For the Mirror.)

"I do love these ancient ruins;
We never tread upon them, but we set
Our foot upon some reverend history."

This fine ruin has a double interest attached to it, for, independent of that which is created by the antiquity and splendour of the edifice, the visiter should bear in mind that it is the Kennaquhair of the northern magician; and here the scenes so finely depicted in the Monastery are vividly brought to our recollection; it gives a "local habitation and a name" to some of the most interesting creations of Sir Walter Scott's genius. The abbey is situated in a valley, surrounded by the Eildon hills. Some ruins of the abbey mill, with the dam belonging to "Hob Miller," the father of the "lovely Mysinda," are still to be seen; and the ford across the Tweed, where the worthy Sacristan was played so scurvy a trick by the White Lady, is also pointed out. Some miles off, on a wild and romantic spot on the course of the river, Elwin, or Allan, is Fairy Dean, or Nameless Dean, which is at once identified to be that place above the tower and vale of Glendearg, which was the favourite haunt of the White Lady, and the spot where Sir Piercie Shafton's stoccatas, embroccatas, and passados first failed him, when opposed to the less polished and rustic skill of Halbert Glendinning, assisted by the machinations of the queen of the elfin tribe. On this place are found a number of small stones, of a singular shape and appearance, resembling guns, cradles with children in them, bonnets, &c., several of which I obtained in a tour to Scotland. They are called elf-stones by the neighbouring peasantry.

Many parts of the abbey are still in a state of tolerable preservation; the marks of cannon-shot and fire are visible on the walls in some places, the abbey having been bombarded by Oliver Cromwell, with his usual zeal against every thing that adorned the country. Many Roman medals of Vespasian, Adrian, &c. have been found about it. I hardly know a more interesting place to visit than Melrose and its neighbourhood; while the abbey affords a fine moral lesson on the instability and perishableness of even the most magnificent works raised by human skill and industry.

"Here naked stand the melancholy walls,
Lash'd by the wint'ry tempests, cold and bleak,
That whistle mournful through the empty aisles,
And piece-meal crumble down the towers to dust,"

When viewed by moonlight, the solemnity and grandeur of the effect is charming. An enthusiastic friend of mine, on paying the abbey a visit a year or two ago, had it lighted up with tapers. I subjoin a few passages from a letter I received at the time from him;—"Yesterday, being Valentine's day, in the evening I went to vespers, and had six tapers burning at the high altar in the abbey; also several in each of the (eight) confessionals, holy water, fonts, shrines, and altars.—The church-yard, the abbey, were silent as the grave; you might have heard a pin drop; there was not a breath of air stirring, so the tapers burnt, beautifully." This must have strongly reminded the spectator of the introduction to the Monastery, and the visit of the worthy benedictine, accompanied by Captain Clutterbuck, for the purpose of taking up his patron's heart. My friend adds, "not a taper has been burnt in St. Mary's of Melrose since the days of Knox.—On Monday I went to the tower of Glendearg; at the fountain, where Sir Piercie Shafton and Halbert Glendinning fought, I got, with the help of my guide, some curious stones, said to be the work of the White Lady." The scenery is picturesque in the highest degree. "Yesterday I went to Old Melrose. The windings of the Tweed there are beautiful; but the tolling the abbey bell recalls me from my wanderings."

The impression made on Sir Walter Scott by the ruins may be inferred from the following lines:—

"If thou would'st view fair Melrose aright,
Go visit it by the pale moonlight;
For the gay beams of lightsome day
Gild but to flout the ruins grey.
When the broken arches are black in night,
And each shafted oriel glimmers white;
When the cold light's uncertain shower
Streams on the ruin'd central tower,
When buttress and buttress, alternately,
Seem framed of ebon and ivory;
When silver edges the imagery,
And the scrolls that teach thee to live and die;
When distant Tweed is heard to rave,
And the owlet to hoot o'er the dead man's grave;
Then go—but go alone the while—
Then view St. David's ruin'd pile;
And home returning, soothly swear,
Was never scene so sad and fair!"

One of your correspondents (with whom I had once a disputation on the weighty subject of ghosts) sent you a version of the subjoined epitaph, with a trifling alteration in the spelling, (which is copied from a very ancient tomb-stone in Melrose Abbey,) with these remarks, (see MIRROR, vol. 4, p. 392):—"The following beautiful lines were written by a cow-boy [!] in Sussex on a wall, with a piece of red chalk, [mark the precision.] They have only been inserted in a Sussex paper, and may be quite unknown to many London readers," &c. &c. &c. This is a regular hoax.

EPITAPH

The earth goeth on the earth,
Glist'ring like Gold;
The earth goes to the earth sooner than it wold.
The earth builds on the earth castles and towers;
The earth says to the earth, all shall be ours.

Here the contemplative wanderer may pass many an hour, with profit and pleasure,

"Mid epitaphs and tombs,
Wrapt in the dreams of other days."

HISTORY OF THE ABBEY

I have arranged a few particulars of the history, &c. of this relic of monkish times, which will form an appropriate conclusion to these desultory remarks.

"Hail! ye bold turrets, and thou rev'rend pile,
That seem in age's hoary rest to smile!
All trail! for here creative fancy reads
Of ages past the long-forgotten deeds.