Religion without bigotry, and politics without party.
May the priest’s welcome never be repaid by rapacity.
May a quarrelsome toper be compelled to be a teetotaler.
May the beam in the glass never destroy the ray in the mind.
When we are tempted to lave the clay may we never deprive it of consistency.
A jolly nose, when it is the sign of good fellow, but not of a sot.
May we never colour the nose by emptying the pocket.
May the bloom of the face never extend to the nose.
May our glass be broken rather than we should allow merriment to be succeeded by madness.
May the toils of the day be forgotten in the welcome of night.
May-games; may modern refinements never banish them.
May the spring-time of gladness be succeeded by the winter-time of repose.
Mirth and music uninterrupted by folly or discord.
When our hearts are merry may our heads be active.
May he who would have two loves be punished with double contempt.
May riotous monks have a double Lent.
Merry monks, but not mad ones.
May monastic rule be firm without severity, and mild without weakness.
May we wear our own clothes, but adopt any person’s virtues.
May pride never intrude on a wedding day, nor passion interrupt its harmony.
May a bridal promise never be repented, nor the matrimonial bond regretted.
Merry hearts to village maidens.
Harmless joys, with spirits to enjoy them.
May the merry day actions never be succeeded by the next day's regret.
Our country, our Constitution, and our Queen.
Let the lass be good, if even the glass is filled badly.
May a toast to the fair never prove an apology for the conduct of a Satyr.
May woman’s charm be dependent on neither eyes, hair, nor complexion, but on heart.
May the gentleman that is be as true-hearted as the gentleman that was.
Old English faces, old English hearts, and old English customs.
May modern landlords by their conduct deserve the tears that watered the biers of their progenitors.
England, the Ocean Queen.
May the Ocean Queen never oppress old ocean sisters.
May Britain ever retain the character of “the home of the friendless.”
English liberty without French ribaldry.
A thousand years to our friends, with thousands to assist their enjoyments.
May the cold of Christmas be forgotten in the comfort of its cheer.
May all hearts be merry at Christmas, even when all hands are cold.
May the frosts which bind old Christmas open all hearts to the poor.
Sir John Barleycorn, may he soon be relieved from his fetters.
The times when each village home was never without good beer.
Sir John Barleycorn, may the time soon come when each peasant may have him for a lodger.
Merrie England, may her peasant sons resume their ancient independence.
Old sports and village pastimes as they were.
Merrie Christmas, may we always have good cheer to welcome it.
The peasantry of England, may they resume their ancient spirit.
May God speed the plough, and reward the men who drive it.
May they who raise the wheat be well rewarded with plenty.
The sports of former and the science of present days.
The golden days of Queen Bess, but may their despotism never be revived.
Our Father Land, its Queen and Constitution.
The merry days of England; may her merriest be yet to come.
May the wassail bowl never be the burial-place of our reason.
May the pastimes of the present generation never disgrace the pleasures of the past.
The golden days of Queen Bess.
May the poor never want relief while the rich have power to administer it.
Country sports and light-hearted players.
May those who put spirits into their mouths never forget that they will ascend to their brains.
May we see so far before we commence drinking as to prevent our being blind when we have finished.
May we never put an enemy into our mouths to steal away our brains.
May all Millwoods share the fate of Barnwell.
May we never forget that the first step into vice is never the last.
May virtuous love be our shield from the harlot’s smiles when principle is not.
If the village bells sadden the mind, may the simplicity of their sounds tend to purify the heart.
The village bells, may their sounds awaken the memories of the past and open the heart to reflection.
The English belles, may their society animate virtue and stimulate to glorious enterprise.
The true heart, may it never be despised.
May man’s passions never make him forget the brute has feelings.
May man’s gratitude never fail to recompense a brute’s kindness.
May the words of the absent be more fondly cherished than if spoken when they were present.
W. T. Marchant.
(To be continued.)
THE TERCENTENARY OF MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS: HER HAIR AND PERUKES.
(See 7th S. iv. 81, 121, 281, 361, 381, 441.)
Perhaps it may prove of additional interest to note a few engravings which have been made from portraits of this unfortunate queen, concerning whom so much information has appeared in ‘N. & Q.’ of the past year, the tercentenary of her execution. No doubt there are many more in existence.
1. In Lodge’s ‘Portraits,’ vol. ii., cabinet edition, 1846, is a portrait of Mary, Queen of Scots, said to be from the picture “in the collection of the Right Honourable the Earl of Morton, at Dalmahoy.” This, a half-length, portrays a rather pretty woman with a demure aspect. The account which accompanies it, curiously enough, does not contain any notices of either Mary’s life or death,
