86 Collectanea.
potatoes, all baked in the brick-oven, and an unlimited supply of beer. When dinner was over, the company all stood up, and sang the following song, —
" Here's a health unto our master, The founder of the feast. I pray to God with all my heart His soul in heaven may rest ; And that ev'rythink may prosper, 5
Whatever he takes in hand ; For we are all his servants, And all at his command.
Then drink, boys, drink,
And see that you do not spill ; lo
For if you do, you shall drink two, For "tis our master's will.
Here's a health unto our misleris.
The best in one and twenty. Heigho ! is it so, is it so, is it so ! 15
Fill him up a little fuller, For methinks he seems but empty. And down let him go, let him go, let him go.
And if he drinks too deep
He can go to bed and sleep, 20
And drive away dull sorrow, care, and woe."
At line 10 one or two would purposely spill a little, and have to drink another glass, and at line 16 all the glasses would be filled up. The "harvest home" has been discontinued for the last forty or fifty years.
Of course we had the mummers at Christmas. Some little time before, they would come and ask for newspapers or coloured paper, with which to deck themselves out, and when we saw them perform, it was a great part of the fun to guess who they v.-ere, for they were literally covered from head to foot with narrow strips of paper. I had forgotten part of the words said by them, so I obtained this from a native of to-day. It is much altered from what I remember, and several lines are omitted. It is still acted in the different villages.
The mummers would come to the back-door, and say, — "Please to let the mummers act," and, upon our complying, they all walked into the room, and the first performer, who carried a
