359 



Returning again to the history of the mistletoe in past times, I am 

 inclined to think that a little too much romance has been mixed up 

 with its connexion with the Druids. They doubtless gathered it at 

 particular times ; but there is but slender authority for the arch- 

 Druid's golden hook, white bulls, and other amplifications dilated 

 upon by Stukely and other fanciful antiquaries. Indeed, considering 

 the destruction of the Druidical system by the Romans while they 

 occupied the southern part of Britain, it is probable that our popular 

 appreciation of the mistletoe is derived from another source. The 

 plant, it appears, was dedicated to Friga, the Scandinavian Venus, as 

 an emblem of fertility, from its numerous berries ; and thus the my- 

 thology of the north, brought in by numerous invaders, has left a tra- 

 ditional memory behind of old observances, that in quiet rustic haunts 

 may still smilingly prepare the way for future connubial rites. 



Independently of legend and superstition, however, obvious facts in 

 nature make an impression on the popular mind, long retain their 

 hold, and become associated with thought, sentiment, and proverbial 

 lore. The willow, from producing no apparent fruit, became the 

 emblem of barrenness, and elicited only mournful images ; while the 

 berry-bearing mistletoe, so obvious, with its white fruit, among the 

 bare boughs of December, was seized upon as denoting abundant fer- 

 tility in its clusters, even at a denuded season, smilingly honoured 

 accordingly, and made a domestic decoration of the season. In 

 many farm-houses the old mistletoe-bush is carefully retained in its 

 place till the period recurs for its renewal. 



Edwin Lees. 



Cedar Terrace, Henwick, Worcester, 

 October 4, 1851. 



P.S. — I ought to remark, that it is of course clear to myself that the 

 ironical suggestion of the acute editor of the ' Phytologist,' as to the 

 use of Mr. Mcintosh's MSS. by me, only implied that there had been 

 copying in some quarter, without the acknowledgment that every 

 honourable writer usually makes. My own friends are not likely to 

 suspect me, — 



" Thou canst not say I did it," — 



and I only notice the circumstance lest there should seem any ambi 

 guity from my silence. 



Writers who, like Mr. Mcintosh, come "last in the train" on any 

 old beaten subject, would do well to remember that the mention of 



