In Hone’s “Table Book” there is an account of a curious kissing festival held in Ireland. It is stated that on Easter Monday several hundred young persons of the town and neighborhood of Potsferry, County Down, dressed in their best, went to a pleasant walk near the town. “The avowed object of each person is to see the fun, which consists in the men kissing the females, without reserve, whether married or single. This mode of salutation is quite a matter of course; it is never taken amiss, nor with much show of coyness. The female must be ordinary indeed who returns home without having received at least a dozen hearty kisses.” Some writer of the future, in describing the manners and customs of our modern age, will doubtless allude to the “electric kissing parties,” which it is averred exist in New England, and which are thus described: “The ladies and gentlemen range themselves about the room. In leap year the lady selects a partner, and together they shuffle about on the carpet until they are charged with electricity, the lights in the room having first been turned low. Then they kiss in the dark, and make the sparks fly for the amusement of the on-lookers. Oh, the shock is delightful! I have never been but to one electric party, but I understand that after a young lady has played the game for a while it is impossible to give her a shock. Probably the gentleman don’t shuffle his feet hard enough on the carpet. Gracious! I’m afraid I should wear the soles off my shoes.” Kissing under the mistletoe is a custom of very remote origin, and a practice too common to be dealt with here, though it may not, perhaps, be known that, owing to the licentious revelry to which it gave occasion, mistletoe was formerly excluded by ecclesiastical authority from the decoration of the church at Christmas time. Hone tells us that there was an old belief that unless a maiden was kissed under the mistletoe at Christmas time, she would not be married during the ensuing year. The shepherd, now no more afraid, Since custom doth the chance bestow, Starts up to kiss the giggling maid Beneath the branch of mistletoe, That ’neath each cottage beam is seen, With pearl-like berries, shining gay, The shadow still of what hath been, Which fashion yearly fades away. The special custom connected with the mistletoe on Christmas Eve is undoubtedly a relic of the days of Druidism, and is familiar to most readers. A branch of the mystic plant is suspended from the wall or ceiling, and any one of the fair sex who, either from inadvertence or on purpose, passes beneath the plant, incurs the penalty of being then and there kissed by any man who has the courage to avail himself of the privilege.