31st October

Born: John Evelyn, author of Sylva, Memoirs, &c., 1620, Wotton, Surrey; Pope Clement XIV, 1705; Christopher Anstey, author of The New Bath Guide, 1724.

Died: John Palaeologus, Greek emperor, 1448; John Bradshaw, presiding judge at trial of Charles I, 1659; Victor Amadeus, first king of Sardinia, 1732; William Augustus, Duke of Cumberland, 1765; Jacques Pierre Brissot, distinguished Girondist, guillotined, 1793.

Feast Day: St Quintin, martyr, 287. St. Foillan, martyr, 655. St. Wolfgang, bishop of Ratisbon, 994.

Halloween

There is perhaps no night in the year which the popular imagination has stamped with a more peculiar character than the evening of the 31st of October, known as All Hallow's Eve, or Halloween. It is clearly a relic of pagan times, for there is nothing in the church observance of the ensuing day of All Saints to have originated such extra ordinary notions as are connected with this celebrated festival, or such remarkable practices as those by which it is distinguished.

The leading idea respecting Halloween is that it is the time, of all others, when supernatural influences prevail. It is the night set apart for a universal walking abroad of spirits, both of the visible and invisible world; for, as will be afterwards seen, one of the special characteristics attributed to this mystic evening, is the faculty conferred on the immaterial principle in humanity to detach itself from its corporeal tenement anal wander abroad through the realms of space. Divination is then believed to attain its highest power, and the gift asserted by Glendower of calling spirits 'from the vasty deep,' becomes available to all who choose to avail themselves of the privileges of the occasion.

There is a remarkable uniformity in the fireside customs of this night all over the United Kingdom. Nuts and apples are everywhere in requisition, and consumed in immense numbers. Indeed the name of Nutcrack Night, by which Halloween is known in the north of England, indicates the predominance of the former of these articles in making up the entertainments of the evening. They are not only cracked and eaten, but made the means of vaticination in love affairs. And here we quote from Burns's poem of Halloween:

Brand, in his Popular Antiquities, is more explicit:

As to apples, there is an old custom, perhaps still observed in some localities on this merry night, of hanging up a stick horizontally by a string from the ceiling, and putting a candle on the one end, and an apple on the other. The stick being made to twirl rapidly, the merry makers in succession leap up and snatch at the apple with their teeth (no use of the hands being allowed), but it very frequently happens that the candle comes round before they are aware, and scorches them in the face, or anoints them with grease. The disappointments and misadventures occasion, of course, abundance of laughter. But the grand sport with apples on Halloween, is to set them afloat in a tub of water, into which the juveniles, by turns, duck their heads with the view of catching an apple. Great fun goes on in watching the attempts of the youngster in the pursuit of the swimming fruit, which wriggles from side to side of the tub, and evades all attempts to capture it; whilst the disappointed aspirant is obliged to abandon the chase in favour of another whose turn has now arrived.

The apples provided with stalks are generally caught first, and then comes the tug of war to win those which possess no such append-ages. Some competitors will deftly suck up the apple, if a small one, into their mouths. Others plunge manfully overhead in pursuit of a particular apple, and having forced it to the bottom of the tub, seize it firmly with their teeth, and emerge, dripping and triumphant, with their prize. This venturous procedure is generally rewarded with a hurrah! by the lookers on, and is recommended, by those versed in Halloween aquatics, as the only sure method of attaining success. In recent years, a practice has been introduced, probably by some tender mammas, timorous on the subject of their offspring catching cold, of dropping a fork from a height into the tub among the apples, and thus turning the sport into a display of marksmanship. It forms, however, but a very indifferent substitute for the joyous merriment of ducking and diving.

It is somewhat remarkable, that the sport of ducking for apples is not mentioned by Burns, whose celebrated poem of Halloween presents so graphic a picture of the ceremonies practised on that evening in the west of Scotland, in the poet's day. Many of the rites there described are now obsolete or nearly so, but two or three still retain place in various parts of the country. Among these is the custom still prevalent in Scotland, as the initiatory Halloween ceremony, of pulling kailstocks or stalks of colewort. The young people go out hand in hand, blindfolded, into the kailyard or garden, and each pulls the first stalk which he meets with. They then return to the fireside to inspect their prizes. According as the stalk is big or little, straight or crooked, so shall the future wife or husband be of the party by whom it is pulled. The quantity of earth sticking to the root denotes the amount of fortune or dowry; and the taste of the pith or custoc indicates the temper. Finally, the stalks are placed, one after another, over the door, and the Christian names of the persons who chance thereafter to enter the house are held in the same succession to indicate those of the individuals whom the parties are to marry.

Another ceremony much practised on Halloween, is that of the Three Dishes or Luggies. Two of these are respectively filled with clean and foul water, and one is empty. They are ranged on the hearth, when the parties, blindfolded, advance in succession, and dip their fingers into one. If they dip into the clean water, they are to marry a maiden; if into the foul water, a widow; if into the empty dish, the party so dipping is destined to be either a bachelor or an old maid. As each person takes his turn, the position of the dishes is changed. Burns thus describes the custom:

The ceremonies above described are all of a light sportive description, but there are others of a more weird like and fearful character, which in this enlightened incredulous age have fallen very much into desuetude. One of these is the celebrated spell of eating an apple before a looking glass, with the view of discovering the inquirer's future husband, who it is believed will be seen peeping over her shoulder. A curious, and withal, cautious, little maiden, who desires to try this spell, is thus represented by Burns:

A request which rouses the indignation of the old lady:

Granny's warning was by no means a needless one, as several well authenticated instances are related of persons who, either from the effects of their own imagination, or some thoughtless practical joke, sustained such severe nervous shocks, while essaying these Halloween spells, as seriously to imperil their health.

Another of these, what may perhaps be termed unhallowed, rites of All Hallows' Eve, is to wet a shirt sleeve, hang it up to the fire to dry, and lie in bed watching it till midnight, when the apparition of the individual's future partner for life will come in and turn the sleeve. Bums thus alludes to the practice in one of his songs:

Other rites for the invocation of spirits might be referred to, such as the sowing of hemp seed, and the winnowing of three wechts of nothing, i. e., repeating three times the action of exposing corn to the wind. In all of these the effect sought to be produced is the same the appearance of the future husband or wife of the experimenter. A full description of them will be found in the poem of Burns, from which we have already so largely quoted. It may here be remarked, that popular belief ascribes to children born on Halloween, the possession of certain mysterious faculties, such as that of perceiving and holding converse with supernatural beings. Sir Walter Scott, it will be recollected, makes use of this circumstance in his romance of The Monastery.

In conclusion, we shall introduce an interesting story, with which we have been favoured by a lady. The leading incidents of the narrative may be relied on as correct, and the whole affair forms matter of curious thought on the subject of Halloween divination:

THE LUCK OF EDENHALL

At Edenhall, the seat of the ancient family of Musgrave, near Penrith, in Cumberland, the curious drinking cup, figured below, is preserved as one of the most cherished heirlooms. It is composed of very thin glass, ornamented on the outside with a variety of coloured devices, and will hold about an English pint. The legend regarding it is, that the butler of the family having gone one night to draw water at the well of St. Cuthbert, a copious spring in the garden of the mansion of Edenhall, surprised a group of fairies disporting themselves beside the well, at the margin of which stood the drinking-glass under notice. He seized hold of it, and a struggle for its recovery ensued between him and the fairies. The elves were worsted, and, there-upon took to flight, exclaiming:

The extreme thinness of the glass rendering it very liable to breakage, was probably the origin of the legend, which has been related of this goblet from time immemorial. Its real history cannot now be ascertained, but from the letters I.H.S. inscribed on the top of the case containing it, it has been surmised to have been originally used as a chalice.

In the drawing, fig. 1 represents the glass, fig. 2 its leathern case, and fig. 3 the inscription on the top of the latter.

The wild and hair brained Duke of Wharton is said, on one occasion, to have nearly destroyed the Luck of Edenhall, by letting it drop from his hands; but the precious vessel was saved by the presence of mind of the butler, who caught it in a napkin. The same nobleman enjoys the credit of having composed a burlesque poem in reference to it, written as a parody on Chevy Chase, and which commences thus:

The real author, however, was Lloyd, a boon companion of the duke. Uhland, the German poet, has also a ballad, Des Glück von Edenhall, based on this celebrated legend.

VISIT OF MARIE DE MEDICI TO ENGLAND

On the 31st of October 1638, Marie de Medici arrived in the city of London, on a visit to the English court. Though she was received with all the honours due to the queen dowager of France, and the mother of Henrietta, queen of England, yet both court and people considered the visit ill timed, and the guest unwelcome. Bishop Laud, in his private diary, noticing her arrival, says that he has 'great apprehensions on this business. For indeed,' he continues, 'the English people hate or suspect her, for the sake of her church, her country, and her daughter; and having shifted her residence in other countries, upon calamities and troubles which still pursue her, they think it her fate to carry misfortunes with her, and so dread her as an ill boding meteor.'

Daughter of the Grand Duke of Tuscany, Marie de Medici, for mere reasons of state, was married to Henry IV, king of France. Henry gained by her the heir he desired, but her unsociable, haughty, and intractable disposition, rendered his life miserable, and it is still considered a doubtful question, whether she were not privy to the plot which caused his death by assassination in 1610.

On this event taking place, she attained the height of her power, in acquiring the regency of France; but fully as feeble-minded as she was ambitious, she suffered herself to be ruled by the most unworthy favourites, and the inevitable results quickly followed. She secured, however, for her service, one person of conduct and abilities, who cannot be passed over without notice. Attracted by the eloquent sermons of a young Parisian ecclesiastic, named Armand de Plessis, Marie appointed him to be her almoner, and afterwards made him principal secretary of state; but this man, better known by his later title of Cardinal Richelieu, was fated to become her evil genius and bitterest enemy. During the seven years in which the regency of Marie de Medici lasted, France was convulsed with broils, cabals, and intrigues. At length her son, Louis XIII, assuming the government, caused his mother's unworthy favourite, the Marshal d'Ancre, to be murdered, and his wife to be tried and executed for the alleged crime of sorcery; the wretched woman to the last asserting, that the influence of a strong mind over a weak one was the only witchcraft she had used.

Marie would have contended against her son in open war, but Richelieu joining the king, and threatening to imprison her for life, she was forced, in 1631, to take refuge at Brussels, where she lived for seven years, supported by a pension from the Spanish court, her daughter Elizabeth being wife of Philip IV of Spain. Restlessly intriguing, but ever foiled by the superior diplomacy of Richelieu, she fled from Brussels to Holland, greatly to the indignation of Philip, who at once stopped her allowance, refusing even to pay the arrears then due to her. It seems as if the fates had combined to punish this miserable old woman, for, besides the popular commotions excited by her intrigues, disasters not attributable to her presence namely, pestilence, famine, and war ever dogged her foot steps. Richelieu would have allowed her a liberal annuity, if she would only return to Italy; but this her pride would not permit her to do; moreover, it would be giving up the field to an enemy and rival, whom she still hoped to overcome. So she begged her son-in-law, Charles I, to receive her in England, a request he, with his usual imprudence, generously granted; for he had been forced, by repeated remonstrances of parliament, a few years previous, to dismiss his own queen's foreign chaplains and servants; and it was not likely that her mother, who brought over a new train, should escape unnoticed. There were, indeed, strong reasons for Laud's forebodings and the people's fears. She had a grand reception, however. Waller, the court poet, dedicated a poem to her, commencing thus:

St. James's Palace was given to her as a residence, where she kept a petty court of her own, Charles, it is said, allowing her the large sum of £40,000 per annum. But evil days were at hand. The populace ever regarded her as an enemy, and in the excitement caused by Strafford's trial, she was mobbed and insulted, even in the palace of St. James's. She applied to the king for protection, but he, being then nearly powerless, could do no more than refer her to parliament. The Commons allowed her a temporary guard of one hundred men, petitioning the king to send her out of the country; and not ungenerously offering, if she went at once, to vote her £10,000, with an intimation that they might send more to her, if she were well out of England The question was, where could she go? seeing that no country would receive her. At last having secured a refuge in the free city of Cologne, she left England in August 1641, the Earl of Arundel, at the king's request, accompanying her, Lilly, with a feeling one would scarcely have expected, thus notices her departure.

The misfortunes of this woman attended her to the last. Her friends, under the circumstances, thought it most advisable to invest the £10,000 given her by parliament in an English estate, and as the civil war broke out immediately after, she never received the slightest benefit from it. She died the year following at Cologne, in a garret, destitute of the common necessaries of life. Chigi, the pope's legate, attended her when dying, and induced her to express forgiveness of Richelieu's ingratitude. But when further pressed to send the cardinal, as a token of complete forgiveness, a valued bracelet, that never was allowed to leave her arm, she muttered: 'It is too much!' turned her face to the wall, and expired.

The illustration representing Marie's public entrance into London is considered peculiarly interesting; the engraving from which it is taken being one of the only two street views extant of the city previous to the great fire. The scene depicted is about the middle of Cheapside; the cross, which stood near the end of Wood Street, forming a conspicuous feature. This was one of the crosses erected by Edward I, in memory of his beloved queen, Eleanor of Castile. It had been frequently repaired and furbished up for various public occasions. Towards the end of Elizabeth's reign, it received some injuries from the ultra Protestant party; but these were repaired, the iron railing put round the base (as seen in the engraving) and the upper part gilded, in honour of James I's first visit to the city. Those were the last repairs it ever received. After sustaining several petty injuries from the Puritans, the House of Commons decreed that it should be destroyed; and in May 1643, the order was carried into effect amid the shouts of the populace.

The building to the right, eastward of the Cross, represents the Standard, which, with a conduit attached, stood nearly opposite the end of Milk Street. Stow describes it exactly as represented in the engraving a square pillar, faced with statues, the upper part surrounded by a balcony, and the top crowned with an angel or a figure of Fame, blowing a trumpet. The numerous signs seen in the illustration, exhibit a curious feature of old London. The sign on the right is still a not uncommon one, ' the Nag's Head,' and the bush or garland suspended by it, shew that it was the sign of a tavern. When every house had a sign, and the shop windows were too small to afford any index of the trade carried on within, publicans found it convenient to exhibit the bush. But when a tavern was well established, and had acquired a name for the quality of its liquors, the garland might be laid aside; for, as the old proverb said, 'Good wine needs no bush.'