"Work's a Mint."
A NUTTING PARTY—BUMPING THE HICKORY-TREE.
POSY PARKER'S HALLOWEEN.
BY MRS. E. W. LATIMER.
Posy and Bob Parker, of Baltimore, went to visit their cousins in England. Posy, who was a little girl, was surprised to see the customs and observances supposed to belong in England to different days. On Michaelmas-day (September 29), for instance, her uncle's family all dined upon roast goose, because Queen Elizabeth, having received at dinner news of the defeat of the Armada on that day, stuck her royal knife into the breast of a fat goose before her, and declared that thenceforward no Englishman should have good luck who did not eat goose upon St. Michael's Day.
When All-hallow Eve came (October 31) the children and their cousins were invited to a beautiful old country place five miles across the Yorkshire moors to keep Halloween.
"But what is Halloween kept for, anyway, uncle?" said little Posy, as they rode over the moors that evening.
"'Really and truly,' Posy, as you would say, the night of October 31 is the vigil of All-saints' Day, one of the four high festivals in the Roman Catholic Church, and a day on which all Christians who hold to ancient forms commemorate the noble doings of the holy dead. But the All-hallow's frolics you will see this evening have nothing whatever to do with Christianity. They are relics of old paganism, of the days when 'millions of spiritual creatures' were supposed to be allowed that night 'to walk the earth'—ghosts, fairy folk, witches, gnomes, and brownies, all creatures of the fancy whose home is fairy-land."
"What is the proper thing to eat on Halloween, uncle?" said Posy.
"To eat, little Posy?"
"Yes, uncle. Every great occasion in England seems to me to have something proper to eat on that day."
"Oh, now I understand you. Apples and nuts, Posy. A vigil was always a fast in the olden time, so those who kept Halloween could have no substantial dainties for their supper."
"Nurse Birkenshaw used to call it Nut-crack Day," cried Posy's eldest cousin. "But here we are!"
They were ushered into a low long room on the ground-floor, paved with flag-stones, having an immense hearth at one end. Inside the chimney, and on each side of the blazing fire built of logs and turf, were two oak benches, so that six guests could literally sit in the chimney-corner. This recess was made beautiful by blue and white Dutch tiles.
About thirty people soon assembled. From the ceiling hung a stick about two feet long, and five feet from the floor. On one end of this stick was stuck an apple, to the other hung a small bag stuffed loosely with white sand. On one side of the room were three great washing tubs filled with water. Three crocks stood on a side table, and baskets filled with apples, walnuts, chestnuts, and fresh filberts were placed about the room.
The performance began by reading "Tam o' Shanter," accompanied by illustrations, made by a magic lantern. When this was over, and lights were again brought into the room, the tubs of water were drawn forward. Twelve apples were set floating in each tub. Three little boys had their arms pinioned, and water-proof capes were put over their clothes. Then each one was led up to a tub, and told to name one of the girls present; if he could catch an apple in his teeth, she would be his next year's valentine. Fun, splashing, and laughter followed for five minutes; then time was up, and three more boys took their turn. After many such trials Posy's big cousin (an old hand, with a big mouth) brought up a little apple, another fellow caught an apple by its stalk, and Bob (good at a dive), after plunging his face to the bottom of the tub, and holding his apple steady between his nose and chin, rose with it in his teeth, triumphant but dripping.
After this had gone on for some time with varying success, the wet boys were sent off to change their clothes, and the girls' turn came. Many more apples were put into the tubs, and each girl in turn was told to hold a fork as high as she could in her right hand over the tub, and drop it on the apples. If she could spear one, she might choose her valentine. The boys joined in this also, but hardly so many apples were speared as had been caught in the boys' teeth, and the victors in the tub fishery set up a shout of triumph.
Next boys and girls had their hands tied behind them, and took turns to run up to the apple on the stick suspended by a string. This string had been twisted by the master of the revels, and the stick turned round rapidly. The fun was to jump up, and with their teeth to seize the apple. If they missed (which, of course, they did nearly every time), the bag of sand swung round and hit them on the face, to the amusement of the company.
Meantime there were many nuts roasting on the hearth, each named for a boy or girl. If one bearing a boy's name swelled up and popped away, his lady-love would lose him; if it flared up and blazed, he was thinking about her tenderly. If two nuts named for two lovers blazed at once, they would soon be a happy couple.
Some of the older boys and girls of the party were then blindfolded, and hand in hand were conducted to the gate of the walled kitchen-garden, where they were told to find their way into the cabbage patch, where each was to pull up a cabbage stump. When they returned with their prizes to the house, great fun and much dirt were the result. Posy's eldest cousin had brought in a big crooked cabbage stalk, with plenty of mould hanging to its roots: he was to marry a tall, stout, misshapen wife with a large fortune. Miss Clara, the young lady of the house, brought in a tall and slender stalk, with little soil adhering to it; so by-and-by, as some one said, she would marry a tall, straight, penniless bridegroom.
Then the table with the three crocks was brought into the middle of the room. Into one crock was poured fresh water, into another soapy water, and the third was empty. Posy, among the rest, was blindfolded, and led up to the table. She was instructed to dip her fingers into one of the crocks. She felt around, and at last dipped into the one that held the soapy water: she was told that she would marry a widower. Miss Clara dipped into clear water, and would marry a bachelor. One of the other girls put her fingers into the empty crock, and would die an old maid.
By this time it was nearly midnight—time for the fairy folk as well as children to be in bed. But Miss Clara first went up stairs to an empty room, and holding a candle in one hand, ate an apple before the looking-glass. Captain Strickland (slender and tall) crept softly up stairs after her, and as she ate her last mouthful, she saw his face over her shoulder. She dropped her candle, with a scream, and they came quietly down after a while in the dark together.
Miss Clara's elder sister had meantime gone out into the flower garden, taking with her a ball of blue yarn. This she flung from her as far as possible, keeping hold, however, of one end, and dragging it after her. As she went back to the house she sang,
"Who holds my thread? who holds my clew?
For he loves me, and I him, too."
Suddenly the ball of yarn refused to follow her. She jerked at it in vain. She dared not let her clew break, because if she should lose the lover supposed to be holding its other end, she would die unmarried. "Let me see you! let me see you!" she cried, eagerly, and a figure drew near her in the darkness. An arm covered with dark cloth was almost round her. She drew away with a scream, and began to run, pursued by Bob, the young American, who had stolen away from the other guests to follow her, and whose appearance produced much laughter; for Bob was twelve, and she was seven-and-twenty.
The children had not cared much for these last two tests. They had been popping nuts and eating apples. They were now called to supper. There was at the end of a long table a great tureen of soured oatmeal porridge. The master of the house, who was of Scotch descent, called it "sowens," and declared that every one present must eat some with butter and salt if he desired to have luck till next All-hallow Eve. There were other good things on the table, however, much better, Posy thought, than sour porridge. And when supper was over the children went off to bed, solemnly assured by their elders that the fairy folk—the witches, ghosts, and so on—had already gone to their beds under the earth, not being permitted, even on such a night as Halloween, to sit up any longer.