By continuing the “wassail” of our ancestors, we attempt to cultivate the body as they did; but we are other beings, cultivated in other ways, with faculties and powers of mind that would have astonished their generations, more than their robust frames, if they could appear, would astonish ours. Their employment was in hunting their forests for food, or battling in armour with risk of life and limb. They had no counting-houses, no ledgers, no commerce, no Christmas bills, no letter-writing, no printing, no engraving, no bending over the desk, no “wasting of the midnight oil” and the brain together, no financing, not a hundredth part of the relationships in society, nor of the cares that _we_ have, who “wassail” as they did, and wonder we are not so strong as they were. There were no Popes nor Addisons in the days of Nimrod. The most perfect fragment of the “wassail” exists in the usage of certain corporation festivals. The person presiding stands up at the close of dinner, and drinks from a flaggon usually of silver having a handle on each side, by which he holds it with each hand, and the toast-master announces him as drinking “the health of his brethren out of the ‘_loving cup_.’” The _loving cup_, which is the ancient _wassail-bowl_, is then passed to the guest on his left hand, and by him to _his_ left-hand neighbour, and as it finds its way round the room to each guest in his turn, so each stands up and drinks to the president “out of the _loving cup_.” The subsequent song is sung in Gloucestershire on New-year’s eve:-- Wassail! Wassail! over the town, Our toast it is white, our ale it is brown: Our bowl it is made of a maplin tree, We be good fellows all; I drink to thee. Here’s to * * * *[9], and to his right ear, God send our maister a happy New Year; A happy New Year as e’er he did see-- With my Wassailing bowl I drink to thee. Here’s to * * * *[10], and to his right eye, God send our mistress a good Christmas pie: A good Christmas pie as e’er I did see-- With my Wassailing bowl I drink to thee. Here’s to Filpail,[11] and her long tail, God send our measter us never may fail Of a cup of good beer; I pray you draw near, And then you shall hear our jolly wassail. Be here any maids, I suppose here be some; Sure they will not let young men stand on the cold stone; Sing hey O maids, come trole back the pin, And the fairest maid in the house, let us all in. Come, butler, come bring us a bowl of the best: I hope your soul in Heaven may rest: But if you do bring us a bowl of the small, Then down fall butler, bowl, and all. ~Hogmany.~ Of this usage in Scotland, commencing on New-year’s eve, there was not room in the last sheet of the former volume, to include the following interesting communication. It is, here, not out of place, because, in fact, the usage runs into the morning of the New Year. DAFT DAYS--HOGMANY.