MODERN APPLE LORE. 
55 
Archaeological Association (1850) ends : 
“ We hope you'll prove kind. , with your apples and strong beer, 
For we’ll come no more a-souling, until another year.” 
(Dyer. “ British Popular Customs ,” 405.) 
And another version of the song, too long to quote, ends, with admirable candour : 
“ We are a pack of merry boys, all in a mind 
We have come a-souling for what we can find • 
Sole, sole, sole of my shoe, 
If you’ve no apples, money will do ,” 
and no doubt it would. 
Two other holidays in the same month, St. Clement’s (Nov. 23) and St. Catherine’s (Nov. 25) 
were observed much in the same manner. In Worcestershire, children from the cottages used 
to go round from house to house “ Catterning,” as it was called, singing : 
“ Catt’n and Clement comes year by year, 
Some of your apples, and some of your beer,” &c. 
Always concluding with the burden : 
“ Up with the ladder, and down with the can, 
Give me red apples, and I’ll be gone.’’ 
The ladder alluding to the store of apples in the loft, and the can for going to the cellar where 
the beer was kept. In Staffordshire, the verses run variously : 
“ Clemany, Clemany, Clemany mine 
A good red apple, and a pint of wine, &c., &c.” 
The apples were stuck thickly over with cloves, roasted on a string, and allowed to fall in hot beer, 
or cider. 
“ Our bowl is made of the ashen tree, 
Pray good butler drink to we.” 
ending as usual with begging “ a few red apples.” Mr. Allies , Athenceum , 1847. 
Christmastide, as a matter of course, came in for its full share of apple customs. At 
Harvington, in Worcestershire (N. and Q., 1st Series VIII., 617) the children used to go round on 
St. Thomas’s Day (December 21) singing : 
“ Wissal, Wassal, through the town : 
If you’ve got any apples throw them down,” 
and there was also a permissable alternative, (doubtless often preferred :) 
“ If you’ve got no apples money will do.” 
This is shown by a passage at the end of George Withers “ Juvenalia,” in an old “ Christmas Carroll,” 
to be a very ancient custom : 
“ Hark ! how the wagges abrode doe call 
Each other foorth to rambling; 
Anon, you’ll see them in the hall, 
For nuts and apples scrambling. 
The wenches with their wassell-bowles, 
About the streets are singing ; 
The boyes are come to catch the owles, 
The wild mare in is bringing.” 
