CHRISTMAS IS A COMING.

[WE are indebted to a quaint little volume of popular superstition and folk-lore, entitled, " Round About our CoalFire," (1734,) for the following Carol, abounding in allusions to old Christmas customs and merry-makings. The mirth of those times appears to have been more boisterous, but was doubtless quite as harmless as that indulged in at the present prude period.]

OU merry, merry souls,
Christmas is a coming;

We shall have flowing bowls,
Dancing, piping, drumming.

Delicate minced pies,

To feast every virgin,

Capon and goose likewise,

Brawn, and dish of sturgeon.

Then for

your Christmas-box

Sweet plum cakes and money,

Delicate Holland smocks,

Kisses sweet as honey.

Hey for the Christmas ball,

Where we shall be jolly; Coupling short and tall,

Kate, Dick, Ralph, and Molly.

THE WASSAILERS' CAROL.

[A RUDELY printed paper of Carols affords us the following little piece. As it does not bear any evidence of a distinguished origin, no attempt has been made to discover the author. Its allusions to customs gone by, however, and a certain quaint simplicity, which we may seek for in vain in the compositions of the educated, will, perhaps, be deemed sufficient apologies for its insertion. The date is apparently some time in the beginning of the last century, although the last verse but one may be observed in the little Carol entitled "God bless the master of this house," given at page 174, and which, Ritson says, is as old as the time of James I. Many of these broadside Carols, doubtless, contain scraps of still earlier compositions.]

ERE we come a wassailing

Among the leaves so green,

Here we come a wandering

So fair to be seen.

Chorus.

Love and joy come to you,

And to your wassail too,

And God send you a happy new year,

A new year;

And God send you a happy new year.

Our wassail cup is made of the rosemary tree, So is your beer of the best barley.

We are not the daily beggars,
That beg from door to door,
But we are neighbours' children,
Whom you have seen before.

Call up the butler of this house,
Put on his golden ring,

Bid him bring up a glass of beer,
The better that we may sing.

We have got a little purse

Made of stretching leather skin,

We want a little of your money
To line it well within.

Bring us out a table,

And spread it with a cloth,

Bring us out a mouldy chee,

And some of

God bless the master of this house,

Likewise the mistress too;

And all the little children,

That around the table go.

Good master and mistress,

While you're sitting by the fire, Pray think of us poor children,

Who are wandering in the mire.