The musical procession known in the Isle of Thanet and other parts of the same county by the name of "hodening" (supposed by some, to be an ancient relic of a festival ordained to commemorate the landing of our Saxon ancestors in that island, and which, in its form, is neither more nor less than a modification of the old practice of the "hobby horse"), is to this day another of the customs of this particular period.
A custom analogous to these is still to be traced in Warwickshire; throughout which county it seems to have been the practice of the poor to go from door to door of every house "with a bag to beg corn of the farmers, which they call going a corning." And in Herefordshire a similar custom exists, where this day is called "Mumping Day," that is, begging day.
To the same spirit we owe the Hagmena or Hogmanay practice, still in use in Scotland, as well as that of the Wren Boys in Ireland, both of which will be described hereafter, although their observance belongs to later days of the season, and probably many others which will variously suggest themselves to our various readers as existing in their several neighborhoods.
In the great metropolis of England, where poverty and wretchedness exist in masses upon which private benevolence cannot efficiently act, and where imposture assumes their forms in a degree that baffles the charity of individuals, the bequests of our ancestors have been to a great extent placed for distribution in the hands of the various parish authorities. St. Thomas's Day in London therefore is connected with these charities, by its being that on which some of the most important parochial proceedings take place; and amongst these are the wardmotes, held on this day for the election, by the freemen inhabitant householders, of the members of the Common Council, and other officers of the respective city wards.
The civil government of the City of London is said to bear a general resemblance to the legislative power of the empire; the Lord Mayor exercising the functions of monarchy, the Aldermen those of the peerage, and the Common Council those of the legislature. The principal difference is, that the Lord Mayor himself has no negative. The laws for the internal regulation of the city are wholly framed by these officers acting in common council. A Common-Councilman is, therefore, a personage of no mean importance.
Loving Christmas and its ceremonies with antiquarian veneration, we must profess likewise our profound respect for wards of such high sounding names as Dowgate, and Candlewick, and Cripplegate, and Vintry, and Portsoken; the last of which, be it spoken with due courtesy, has always reminded us of an alderman's nose; and for such distinguished callings as those of Cordwainers, and Lorimers, and Feltmakers, and Fishmongers, and Plasterers, and Vintners, and Barbers; each of whom we behold in perspective transformed into what Theodore Hook calls "a splendid annual," or in less figurative language, Lord Mayor of London! There is a pantomimic magic in the word since the memorable days of Whittington. But to our theme.—
Pepys, the gossipping secretary of the Admiralty, records in his curious diary his having gone on St. Thomas's Day (21st December), 1663, "to Shoe Lane to see a cocke-fighting at the new pit there, a spot," he adds, "I was never at in my life: but, Lord! to see the strange variety of people, from parliament-man (by name Wildes, that was deputy governor of the Tower when Robinson was Lord Mayor) to the poorest 'prentices, bakers, brewers, butchers, draymen, and what not; and all these fellows one with another cursing and betting. I soon had enough of it. It is strange to see how people of this poor rank, that look as if they had not bread to put into their mouths, shall bet three or four pounds at a time and lose it, and yet as much the next battle, so that one of them will lose £10 or £20 at a meeting."
Now the cock-fighting of our times, under the immediate patronage of Saint Thomas, and those of Pepys's differ little except in the character of the combatants. In his (comparatively speaking) barbarous days, it was sufficient to pit two birds, one against the other, to excite the public or amuse the spectators. But a purer taste prevails among the present citizens of London; for our modern "fighting-cocks," as the candidates for civic honors are called, seem on this day to be fully occupied with the morning exhibition of their own foul tongues,—and bets often run as high as parties, on these occasions.
"Saint Thomas's birds"—another name for these civic fighting-cocks—have been trained in various ale-house associations, such as the "Ancient and honorable Lumber Troop," the venerable "Society of Codgers," "the free and easy Johns," the "Councillors under the Cauliflower," and other well-known clubs,—where politics, foreign and domestic, night after night are discussed, and mingle with the smoke of tobacco, inhaled through respectable clay pipes and washed down with nips of amber ale, or quarts of frothy-headed porter. Indeed the qualification for admission into the Lumber Troop is, we have been told, the power of consuming a quart of porter at a draught, without, once pausing to draw a breath,—which feat must be performed before that august assembly. We once visited the head-quarters of this porter-quaffing troop, and found the house, with some difficulty, near Gough Square,—which lies in that intricate region between Holborn Hill and Fleet Street. It was a corner house, and an inscription upon the wall, in letters of gold, informed the passer-by that this was the place of meeting of the Lumber Troop. The room in which they met is small, dark, and ancient in appearance, with an old-fashioned chimney-piece in the centre, and a dais or raised floor at one end, where, we presume, the officers of the troop take their seats. Above their heads, upon a shelf, some small brass cannon were placed as ornaments, and the walls of the room were decorated with the portraits of distinguished troopers,—among whom Mr. Alderman Wood, in a scarlet robe, and Mr. Richard Taylor were pointed out to our notice. Over the fire-place hung the portrait of an old gentleman, in the warlike costume of Cromwell's time, who was, probably,