REPORTS. 



265 



of their own. From time immemorial it had been customary 

 on the night of the 31st of December for the boys and young 

 men of the Island to have in their several parishes a kind of 

 funeral procession, in which they carried a log of wood down 

 to one of the sea-beaches and there solemnly buried it. Yet 

 this customary visit to a cold and gloomy sea-beach, on a 

 bleak December night, could hardly have been regarded as a 

 very gay or festive occasion ; while the name of Budloe or 

 Boodloe which was given to this wooden log, probably did 

 not then suggest to many of the participants the real origin 

 of the custom, which was the ceremonial interring of the 

 old Bout-de-T An, or the Old Year's End. Altogether it must 

 have been a very lugubrious sort of affair. Hence Avhen the 

 new arrival appeared, with its accessories of a warm and 

 cheerful bonfire, &c, instead of the dark, damp and depressing 

 sea-beach of the older dispensation, it is perhaps not surprising 

 that the change was heartily welcomed and soon grew into 

 popular favour. The average boy dearly loves a bonfire, and 

 that for many reasons, one of which is that he can roast 

 potatoes in it ; and anyone who remembers how good those 

 potatoes used to taste, will need no further arguments to 

 convince him of its merits. 



The change once effected, the new celebration rapidly 

 developed. After burning the Guy on the Fifth of November, 

 some of the more adventurous spirits proceeded also to burn 

 the Budloe at the end of December. This innovation proved 

 much more cheerful. Then the old term Budloe was gradually 

 grafted on to the newer Guy, and the older ceremony dwin- 

 dled, while the newer one survived. So matters went on, 

 processions were started, fancy costumes were adopted by the 

 processionists, the lieges were loyally enjoined to " Remember, 

 Remember, the Fifth of November," and they cordially 

 responded to the invitation. Thus matters progressed 

 vigorously for about a century. 



Between forty and fifty years ago, when I first spent a 

 winter in the Island, I recollect that the St. Martin's Caval- 

 cade — which always seems to have been the chief procession 

 in the Island, though other parishes also had them — used to 

 come through the town, call on the Lieutenant-Governor, the 

 Bailiff and several other loading residents, while one of the 

 processionists, at each stoppage, would fire off the doggrel 

 verses given below or some other very similar loyal effusion. 

 This generally elicited congratulations and refreshments from 

 those visited, and ultimately the procession reached St. 

 Martin's by a somewhat round-about route. And there the 



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