But the days speed on, until there comes a night when the charred remains of last year’s yule log glow with heat intense beneath the one of that year’s cutting; for the new log must always rest upon and be lighted by the old one, which has been carefully stored away for this, the night of nights—Christmas Eve. The lads have kissed the lasses under the mistletoe, fashioned out of two hoops bedecked with holly, oranges, and apples, and with a bunch of the mystic white berries glistening beneath. Every picture-frame, ornament, and everywhere, where a sprig of holly would remain, has had the dark green leaves and red berries thrust into or behind it. The old folk clasp each other’s hands, knowingly nodding their heads the while, ‘for they remember,’ and, remembering, note the flashing eyes and whispered nothings, sweet and low, of those whose horizon for the present is illumined with love, with never a cloud in sight. Shrieks of laughter loud and hilarious from the younger branches ring from basement to roof, almost deafening the ’au’d fau’k,’ but a smile lights up their wrinkled faces as they remember. By-and-by, the magic words uttered by the maid, ‘T’ frummety’s riddy,’ results in a rush for the dining-room or kitchen, as the case may be. But first the yule candle must be lighted by the master of the house. This must be done from a piece of the candle saved from the year previous; it too must be lighted from the blaze of the yule log, and on no account must anything be lighted from it. That would be as unlucky as giving or receiving a light on Christmas Day. Next, a cross must be scraped on the top of the uncut cheese, and then, after having wished the guests assembled ‘A merry Christmas,’ the frumenty may be attacked. And very palatable is the creed-wheat when boiled in milk, thickened with ’lithing,’ seasoned with nutmeg and cloves, and sweetened with treacle. After this there are the yule-cakes, one for each person, with a dice of cheese and a glass of mulled ale or hot elder-berry wine.
By-and-by the younger ones are packed off to bed, and with us, as the world over, their stockings are hung at the bed-foot to await the mysterious visit of Santa Claus. It may be the sword-dancers are announced; if so, their quaint performance is gone through, they are served with ’summat to keep ’em warm’ and a few coppers, and they depart for pastures new[3]. Some maiden mayhap has retired to her chamber with a leaf and a berry plucked from the mistletoe under which she has been saluted. Having locked her door, the berry must be swallowed, whilst on the leaf she will prick the initials of him her heart loves best; this she will stitch in the inside of her corset, so that it rest near her heart, and thus bind his love to her so long as there it remains.
In the early hours of the morning the waits will arrive, and tunefully or otherwise sing ‘Christians, awake,’ and, unless precautions are taken to stuff the bell with paper and fasten down the knocker, there will be no sleep after five o’clock; for the children, in their eagerness to catch the early worm, follow one another without a moment’s rest, singing loudly through your key-hole one or other of their Christmas greetings, as—
I wish ya a merry Kessamas
An’ a happy New ‘Ear,
A poss (purse) full o’ money
An’ a barrel full o’ beer,
A good fat pig
‘At’ll sarve ya thruff t’ year,
An’ pleease will ya gi’e ma