This saint, whose name is in the church of England calendar and the almanacs, was pope Sylvester I. “He is said to have been the author of several rites and ceremonies of the Romish church, as asylums, unctions, palls, corporals, &c. He died in 334.”[438]
New Year’s Eve.
To end the old year merrily, and begin the new one well, and in friendship, were popular objects in the celebration of this festival. It was spent among our labouring ancestors in festivity and frolic by the men; and the young women of the village carried from door to door, a bowl of spiced ale, the wassail bowl, which they offered to the inhabitants of every house they stopped at, singing rude congratulatory verses, and hoping for small presents. Young men and women also exchanged clothes, which was termed Mumming, or Disguising; and when thus dressed in each other’s garments, they went from one neighbour’s cottage to another, singing, dancing, and partaking of good cheer.[439]
The anticipated pleasure of the coming year, accompanied by regret at parting with the present old year, is naturally expressed by a writer already cited. “After Christmas-day comes the last day of the year; and I confess I wish the bells would not ring so merrily on the next. I have not become used enough to the loss of the old year to like so triumphant a welcome to the new. I am certain of the pleasures I have had during the twelvemonth: I have become used to the pains. In a few days, especially by the help of Twelfth-night, I shall become reconciled to the writing 6 instead of 5 in the date of the year. Then welcome new hopes and new endeavours. But at the moment—at the turn—I hate to bid adieu to my old acquaintance.”[440]
Elia, in a delightful paper on the “Eve of New Year’s-day,” 1821, among the other delightful essays of his volume, entitled “Elia”—a little book, whereof to say that it is of more gracious feeling and truer beauty than any of our century, is poor praise—Elia says, “while that turncoat bell, that just now mournfully chanted the obsequies of the year departed, with changed notes lustily rings in a successor, let us attune to its peal the song made on a like occasion, by hearty, cheerful Mr. Cotton.” Turn, gentle reader, to the first page of the first sheet, which this hand presented to you, and you will find the first two and twenty lines of Elia’s “song.” They tell us, that, of the two faces of Janus,
—— that which this way looks is clear,
And smiles upon the New-born year.
These are the remaining verses.
He[441] looks too from a place so high,
The year lies open to his eye;
And all the moments open are
To the exact discoverer;
Yet more and more he smiles upon
The happy revolution.
Why should we then suspect or fear
The influences of a year,
So smiles upon us the first morn,
And speaks us good so soon as born?
Plague on’t! the last was ill enough,
This cannot but make better proof;
Or, at the worst, as we brush’d through
The last, why so we may this too;
And then the next in reason shou’d
Be superexcellently good;
For the worst ills (we daily see)
Have no more perpetuity,
Than the best fortunes that do fall;
Which also bring us wherewithal
Longer their being to support,
Than those do of the other sort;
And who has one good year in three,
And yet repines at destiny,
Appears ungrateful in the case,
And merits not the good he has.
Then let us welcome the new guest
With lusty brimmers of the best;
Mirth always should good fortune meet,
And render e’en disaster sweet:
And though the princess turn her back,
Let us but line ourselves with sack,
We better shall by far hold out,
Till the next year she face about.