Morning journal and courier., 1891-12-26
mE. wAKEMAN,s JoUKNEY1NGs.
Christmas in Great Misunderstanding the Wren-The Daft Days-HandscI Monday - Hogmanay Day s'Gui- zers'' and s'Peerie GuIzers,,-The Yule-Loo,

|
 LONDON, Dec. 10.
 To the Editor of the JOURNAL AND COURIER: Ireland in the Christmas holiday time
 IS scenically perhaps in its least pleasing | aspect. But natures hand is & loving one
 even in the Irish winter, and the blessed hold that Christmas time has taken upon the universal Christian world heart, blend | ed with that marvellous compensatiye DOW
 CT of utilizing the most trifing possibili-
 ties for human joy which the Irish nature possesses, permits and provides a quality of Christmas time cheer which is often surprising to those whose lives are meas urably filled with bounteousness and con tent Of the Irish Christmas-tide itself
 there is little in the life and customs of the
 great and powerful better than an echo of
 English Christmas cheer. At the country
 manor houses and castles there are the
 same feasting and aims giving as in Eng
 land. In the cities throngs surge and
 crowd with elation and despair in their faces as with us. But nowhere else on
 this earth does Christmas time bring such shuddering, pallid, piteous poverty to stand, stare and hunger for the glories of home windows open, or the wonders of shop windows ablaze with what these des- perately forsaken humans have never owned or known.
 While there is undoubtedly an almost universal reverence for the more sacred side of the Christmas -tide-and I truly know that at least the Irish pessantry have an innate reverence for all that is sacred and good-Christmas is not generally ob- served in its high and holy sense in Ire land. It is a time for much that is tender and worthy, but also one for deplorable excess. In decoration the ivy and holly are everywhere seen and procurable, and a tiny sprig of mistletoe conspicuously sp- pears in all the homes of the more favored
 classes. Rich or poor, Catholic or Protes- tant, every family will possess a "Christ- mas block" of ash, which is the favorite, or of ''bog deal" found in the Irish peat banks or bogs. This is to Ireland as the yule log to England, and it burns brightly for the home coming of every heart the home may own.
 Passing Christmas at home is a senti- ment and determination more impressive and unvarying, save with the Irish nobili- ty, than in any other land I know. And on Christmas eve itself there cannot be found among the lowly classes a human soul not a lost one, that is not there or sometime there within the glow and warmth. With the humber villagers eve rywhere, and always with the peassntry of the south and west, the Christmas mold" or huge, long candle, weighing from one to two pounds, if its price needs be begged or stolen, is an inyaluable requisite for Christmas eve. It will simply irrevocably be had. The bog deal block is fired; the doors are flung wide open for friend. men dicant or enemy to enter with cead mille failte Ia thousand times welcome) the mammoth condle is lighted to burn out, but never be extinguished; and while there is constant going and coming, it is softly done, as if the nativity were still universal presence.
 There is always a circle of eager faces about the fireplace. where strange, weird, ever old and ever new tales, abounding in religious sentiment, are told, while the half lights dance fairylike among the blackened, century old thatch rafters above. To midnight mass nearly all re- those who have saved enough brew great | bowls of punch; those who have not get | along quite as we'll upon the stirring po- | teen, and as the day comes in Irish roys- | tering with all its liberality begins.
 But Christmas time in Ireland is one of | unspeakable loss to the bird families of | tiny wrens. This tragedy of the wren should have luminous place in Htera- tuee. Half million of Irish children with kippens and clubs are beating about the hedges for victims. Saoredly protect ed during every other day of the year, the wren is now sought with ferocious yelling of
 Come hantin' the wren, says Robin to Bobbn; Come huntin' the wren, says Richard to Robin; Come huntin' the wren, says Jack Tlaone; Come huntin' the wren, says every oneI
 The wren is hunted, for, according to the superstition it must be found; its little body is be-ribboned and dangled in rush-cage, or hung from holly branch; and with this strange hint to alms-giying swaying aloft, hordes of youngsters shrieking-
 We hunted the wren through frost and snow; We hunted the wren seven miles or more; We knocked him down and he could not see; And we brought him home in a holly treei- crowd the streets in Irish Christmas days;