In the Red Book of the Corporation of Kilkenny there is an entry at Midsummer, in 1586, which states that one Richard Cogan played the part of Christ. His fee for the performance is not stated, but Henry Moore received eightpence for acting the Devil, while the Kilkenny baker was only rewarded with sixpence for personating the Archangel Michael. Similar observances obtained until recently at other spring festivals, all having, doubtless, a common origin.[19] They evidently refer to the increasing power of the sun, the passing away of the winter storms, and the joy of the people at the prospect of an abundant supply of the products of the earth. Reginald Scot, in his "Discovery of Witchcraft," published in 1584, says:-- "In some countries they run out of the doors in time of tempest, blessing themselves with a cheese" (another sun emblem, owing to its form), "whereupon was a cross made with a rope's end, upon Ascension Day.--Item, to hang an egg, laid on Ascension Day, in the roof of the house, preserveth the same from all hurts." During the last thirty or forty years two Easter customs seem to have declined rapidly in Lancashire and the North of England. Many _troupes_ of boys, and, in some instances, grown-up persons, not very long ago, decorated themselves with ribbons, or party-coloured paper in the most fantastic style, and sallied forth during Easter week "a pace-egging," as it was termed. One of their number rejoiced in the euphonious cognomen of "Tosspot." His face was blacked with soot, and he carried a basket on his arm for the purpose of receiving contributions in the shape of "pace" or "Paschall" eggs. Of course, the sovereign substitute for all commercial articles, current coin of the realm, was equally acceptable to the dingy and somewhat diabolical-looking treasurer; for the said "Tosspot" bore remarkable resemblance, both in complexion and some other characteristics, to the "Old Nick" of the Norsemen. These "pace-egging" gentry generally wore wooden swords, with which rival _troupes_, meeting in the streets, occasionally entered into mimic combat that was not always bloodless in its result. The _troupe_ sometimes played a kind of rude drama, in which I remember a certain knight having mortally wounded an enemy, vociferously called out for a "doctor," offering the sum of ten pounds as a special fee for his immediate appearance. Others sang some barbarous rhymes, evidently modern versions of older strains, in which Lords Nelson and Collingwood figured conspicuously. I remember well, in my younger days, having taken a part in more than one of these performances at Preston. In the neighbourhood of Blackburn, men, with blackened faces, dressed in the skins of animals and otherwise disfigured, paraded the streets and lanes on these occasions, and, I suppose, obtained much "pace-egg" money, from the terror they inspired. It is not very many years ago since I met a