this mysterious and solemn time of natural transition. Some ancient superstitions are likewise alluded to in the old dialogue of Dives and Pauper, as being in force at the beginning of the year, and which appear to have had a like origin with the Highland ones above described. As an example, mention may be made of the practice of "setting of mete or drynke by nighte on the benche, to fede Alholde or Gobelyn." We must not forget to observe that Brand speaks of an ancient custom, which he says is still retained in some parts of England, in which young women go about on this eve carrying a wassail-bowl, and singing certain verses from door to door, which custom has certainly some analogy with the hogmanay practice in Scotland. And we may further state, while we are in the way of tracing resemblances, that the _het pint_, which, in Scotland, was formerly carried about the streets at the midnight of the New Year's coming in, and which was composed of ale, spirits, sugar, and nutmeg or cinnamon, is neither more nor less, though it was borne about in a kettle, than a Scottish version of the wassail-bowl. In Ritson's collection of ancient songs, there is a very spirited carol given at length, which appears to have been sung by these English wassail mummers, in honor of their bowl; but which some of its verses prove to be a Twelfth-night song, and show, therefore, that a similar practice marked the night of the Epiphany. It begins right heartily:-- "A jolly wassel-bowl, A wassel of good ale, Well fare the butler's soul That setteth this to sale; Our jolly wassel;" but is too long for insertion in our pages. We should mention here, however, that ale in all its forms, whether in that of wassail composition or in its own simple dignity, "prince of liquors, old or new!" was ever the most cherished beverage of our ancestors, and many and enthusiastic are the songs in its praise. Our readers may take the following verse from a very pleasant example of these carols:-- "I love no rost, but a nut brown toste, And a crab layde in the fyre, A little bread shall do me stead, Much breade I not desyre: No froste nor snow, no winde, I trowe, Can hurt mee if I wolde; I am so wrapt, and throwly lapt Of jolly good ale and olde. Back and syde go bare, go bare, Both foote and hand, go colde; But belly God send thee good ale inoughe, Whether it be new or olde."