<h2>CHRISTMAS DAY</h2>
<div class="figleft"> <ANTIMG src="images/oldchristmas_0105w.jpg" width-obs="162" height-obs="200" alt="W" title="W" /></div>
<div class='div2'><br/><br/>hen I awoke the next morning, it seemed as if all the events of the
preceding evening had been a dream, and nothing but the identity of the
ancient chamber convinced me of their reality. While I lay musing on my
pillow, I heard the sound of little feet<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</SPAN></span> pattering outside of the door,
and a whispering consultation. Presently a choir of small voices chanted
forth an old Christmas carol, the burden of which was,</div>
<div class='center'>
<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Rejoice, our Saviour he was born">
<tr><td align='left'>Rejoice, our Saviour he was born</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>On Christmas Day in the morning.</td></tr>
</table></div>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/oldchristmas_0106.jpg" width-obs="245" height-obs="300" alt="The Children's Carol" title="The Children's Carol" /></div>
<p>I rose softly, slipped on my clothes, opened the<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</SPAN></span> door suddenly, and
beheld one of the most beautiful little fairy groups that a painter
could imagine. It consisted of a boy and two girls, the eldest not more
than six, and lovely as seraphs. They were going the rounds of the
house, and singing at every chamber-door; but my sudden appearance
frightened them into mute bashfulness. They remained for a moment
playing on their lips with their fingers, and now and then stealing a
shy glance, from under their eyebrows, until, as if by one impulse, they
scampered away, and as they turned an angle of the gallery, I heard them
laughing in triumph at their escape.</p>
<div class="figright"> <ANTIMG src="images/oldchristmas_0108.jpg" width-obs="137" height-obs="400" alt="Robin on the Mountain Ash" title="Robin on the Mountain Ash" /></div>
<p>Everything conspired to produce kind and happy feelings in this
stronghold of old-fashioned hospitality. The window of my chamber looked
out upon what in summer would have been a beautiful landscape. There was
a sloping lawn, a fine stream winding at the foot of it, and a tract of
park beyond, with noble clumps of trees, and herds of deer. At a
distance was a neat hamlet,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</SPAN></span> with the smoke from the cottage chimneys
hanging over it; and a church with its dark spire in strong relief
against the clear cold sky. The house was surrounded with evergreens,
according to the English custom, which would have given almost an
appearance of summer; but the morning was extremely frosty; the light
vapour of the preceding evening had been precipitated by the cold, and
covered all the trees and every blade of grass with its fine
crystallisations. The rays of a bright morning sun had a dazzling effect
among the glitter<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</SPAN></span>ing foliage. A robin, perched upon the top of a
mountain-ash that hung its clusters of red berries just before my
window, was basking himself in the sunshine, and piping a few querulous
notes; and a peacock was displaying all the glories of his train, and
strutting with the pride and gravity of a Spanish grandee on the
terrace-walk below.</p>
<div class="figleft"> <ANTIMG src="images/oldchristmas_0109.jpg" width-obs="192" height-obs="250" alt="Master Simon as Clerk" title="Master Simon as Clerk" /></div>
<p>I had scarcely dressed myself, when a servant appeared to invite me to
family prayers. He showed me the way to a small chapel in the old wing
of the house, where I found the principal part of the family already
assembled in a kind of gallery, furnished with cushions, hassocks, and
large prayer-books; the servants were seated on benches below. The old
gentleman read prayers from a desk in front of the gallery, and Master
Simon acted as clerk,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</SPAN></span> and made the responses; and I must do him the
justice to say that he acquitted himself with great gravity and decorum.</p>
<p>The service was followed by a Christmas carol, which Mr. Bracebridge
himself had constructed from a poem of his favourite author, Herrick;
and it had been adapted to an old church melody by Master Simon. As
there were several good voices among the household, the effect was
extremely pleasing; but I was particularly gratified by the exaltation
of heart, and sudden sally of grateful feeling, with which the worthy
Squire delivered one stanza: his eyes glistening, and his voice rambling
out of all the bounds of time and tune:</p>
<div class='center'>
<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Tis Thou that crown'st my glittering hearth">
<tr><td align='left'>"'Tis Thou that crown'st my glittering hearth</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">With guiltlesse mirth,</span></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 1em;">And giv'st me wassaile bowles to drink,</span></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Spiced to the brink:</span></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lord, 'tis Thy plenty-dropping hand</span></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">That soiles my land;</span></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 1em;">And giv'st me for my bushell sowne,</span></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Twice ten for one."</span></td></tr>
</table></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>I afterwards understood that early morning service was read on every
Sunday and saint's day throughout the year, either by Mr. Bracebridge or
by some member of the family. It was once almost universally the case at
the seats of the nobility and gentry of England, and it is much to be
regretted that the custom is fallen into neglect; for the dullest
observer must be sensible of the order and serenity prevalent in those
households, where the occasional exercise of a beautiful form of worship
in the morning gives, as it were, the key-note to every temper for the
day, and attunes every spirit to harmony.</p>
<p>Our breakfast consisted of what the Squire denominated true old English
fare. He indulged in some bitter lamentations over modern breakfasts of
tea-and-toast, which he censured as among the causes of modern
effeminacy and weak nerves, and the decline of old English heartiness;
and though he admitted them to his table to suit the palates of his
guests, yet there was a brave<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</SPAN></span> display of cold meats, wine and ale, on
the sideboard.</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/oldchristmas_0112.jpg" width-obs="350" height-obs="281" alt="Breakfast" title="Breakfast" /></div>
<p>After breakfast I walked about the grounds with Frank Bracebridge and
Master Simon, or Mr. Simon, as he was called by everybody but the
Squire. We were escorted by a number of gentlemen-like dogs, that seemed
loungers about the establishment; from the frisking spaniel to the
steady old stag-hound; the last of which was<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</SPAN></span> of a race that had been in
the family time out of mind: they were all obedient to a dog-whistle
which hung to Master Simon's button-hole, and in the midst of their
gambols would glance an eye occasionally upon a small switch he carried
in his hand.</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/oldchristmas_0113.jpg" width-obs="350" height-obs="339" alt="Viewing the Dogs" title="Viewing the Dogs" /></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>The old mansion had a still more venerable look in the yellow sunshine
than by pale moonlight; and I could not but feel the force of the
Squire's idea, that the formal terraces, heavily moulded balustrades,
and clipped yew-trees, carried with them an air of proud aristocracy.
There appeared to be an unusual number of peacocks about the place, and
I was making some remarks upon what I termed a flock of them, that were
basking under a sunny wall, when I was gently corrected in my
phraseology by Master Simon, who told me that, according to the most
ancient and approved treatise on hunting, I must say a <i>muster</i> of
peacocks. "In the same way," added he, with a slight air of pedantry,
"we say a flight of doves or swallows, a bevy of quails, a herd of deer,
of wrens, or cranes, a skulk of foxes, or a building of rooks." He went
on to inform me that, according to Sir Anthony Fitzherbert, we ought to
ascribe to this bird "both understanding and glory; for being praised,
he will presently set<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</SPAN></span> up his tail chiefly against the sun, to the
intent you may the better behold the beauty thereof. But at the fall of
the leaf, when his tail falleth, he will mourn and hide himself in
corners, till his tail come again as it was."</p>
<p>I could not help smiling at this display of small erudition on so
whimsical a subject; but I found that the peacocks were birds of some
consequence at the hall, for Frank Bracebridge informed me that they
were great favourites with his father, who was extremely careful to keep
up the breed; partly because they belonged to chivalry, and were in
great request at the stately banquets of the olden time; and partly
because they had a pomp and magnificence about them, highly becoming an
old family mansion. Nothing, he was accustomed to say, had an air of
greater state and dignity than a peacock perched upon an antique stone
balustrade.</p>
<div class="figleft"> <ANTIMG src="images/oldchristmas_0116.jpg" width-obs="219" height-obs="350" alt="Master Simon going to Church" title="Master Simon going to Church" /></div>
<p>Master Simon had now to hurry off, having an appointment at the parish
church with the<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</SPAN></span> village choristers, who were to perform some music of
his selection. There was something extremely agreeable in the cheerful
flow of animal spirits of the little man; and I confess I had been
somewhat surprised at his apt quotations from authors who certainly were
not in the range of every-day<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</SPAN></span> reading. I mentioned this last
circumstance to Frank Bracebridge, who told me with a smile that Master
Simon's whole stock of erudition was confined to some half-a-dozen old
authors, which the Squire had put into his hands, and which he read over
and over, whenever he had a studious fit; as he sometimes had on a rainy
day, or a long winter evening. Sir Anthony Fitzherbert's Book of
Husbandry; Markham's Country Contentments; the Tretyse of Hunting, by
Sir Thomas Cockayne, Knight; Izaak Walton's Angler, and two or three
more such ancient worthies of the pen, were his standard authorities;
and, like all men who know but a few books, he looked up to them with a
kind of idolatry, and quoted them on all occasions. As to his songs,
they were chiefly picked out of old books in the Squire's library, and
adapted to tunes that were popular among the choice spirits of the last
century. His practical application of scraps of literature, however, had
caused him to be looked<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</SPAN></span> upon as a prodigy of book-knowledge by all the
grooms, huntsmen, and small sportsmen of the neighbourhood.</p>
<p>While we were talking we heard the distant toll of the village bell, and
I was told that the Squire was a little particular in having his
household at church on a Christmas morning; considering it a day of
pouring out of thanks and rejoicing; for, as old Tusser observed,</p>
<div class='center'>
<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="At Christmas be merry">
<tr><td align='left'>"At Christmas be merry, <i>and thankful withal</i>,</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">And feast thy poor neighbours, the great and the small."</span></td></tr>
</table></div>
<p>"If you are disposed to go to church," said Frank Bracebridge, "I can
promise you a specimen of my cousin Simon's musical achievements. As the
church is destitute of an organ, he has formed a band from the village
amateurs, and established a musical club for their improvement; he has
also sorted a choir, as he sorted my father's pack of hounds, according
to the directions of Jervaise Markham, in his Country Contentments; for
the bass he has sought out all the<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</SPAN></span> 'deep, solemn mouths,' and for the
tenor the 'loud ringing mouths,' among the country bumpkins; and for
'sweet mouths,' he has culled with curious taste among the prettiest
lasses in the neighbourhood; though these last, he affirms, are the most
difficult to keep in tune; your pretty female singer being exceedingly
wayward and capricious, and very liable to accident."</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/oldchristmas_0119.jpg" width-obs="350" height-obs="302" alt="The Village Church" title="The Village Church" /></div>
<p>As the morning, though frosty, was remarkably<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</SPAN></span> fine and clear, the most
of the family walked to the church, which was a very old building of
gray stone, and stood near a village, about half-a-mile from the park
gate. Adjoining it was a low snug parsonage, which seemed coeval with
the church. The front of it was perfectly matted with a yew-tree that
had been trained against its walls, through the dense foliage of which
apertures had been formed to admit light into the small antique
lattices. As we passed this sheltered nest, the parson issued forth and
preceded us.</p>
<div class="figright"> <ANTIMG src="images/oldchristmas_0121.jpg" width-obs="164" height-obs="300" alt="The Parson" title="The Parson" /></div>
<p>I had expected to see a sleek well-conditioned pastor, such as is often
found in a snug living in the vicinity of a rich patron's table; but I
was disappointed. The parson was a little, meagre, black-looking man,
with a grizzled wig that was too wide, and stood off from each ear; so
that his head seemed to have shrunk away within it, like a dried filbert
in its shell. He wore a rusty coat, with great skirts, and pockets that
would<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</SPAN></span> have held the church Bible and prayer-book; and his small legs
seemed still smaller, from being planted in large shoes, decorated with
enormous buckles.</p>
<p>I was informed by Frank Bracebridge that the parson had been a chum of
his father's at<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</SPAN></span> Oxford, and had received this living shortly after the
latter had come to his estate. He was a complete black-letter hunter,
and would scarcely read a work printed in the Roman character. The
editions of Caxton and Wynkin de Worde were his delight; and he was
indefatigable in his researches after such old English writers as have
fallen into oblivion from their worthlessness. In deference, perhaps, to
the notions of Mr. Bracebridge, he had made diligent investigations into
the festive rights and holiday customs of former times; and had been as
zealous in the inquiry, as if he had been a boon companion; but it was
merely with that plodding spirit with which men of adust temperament
follow up any track of study, merely because it is denominated learning;
indifferent to its intrinsic nature, whether it be the illustration of
the wisdom, or of the ribaldry and obscenity of antiquity. He had poured
over these old volumes so intensely, that they seemed to have been
reflected into his countenance indeed;<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</SPAN></span> which, if the face be an index
of the mind, might be compared to a title-page of black-letter.</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/oldchristmas_0124.jpg" width-obs="283" height-obs="400" alt=""On reaching the church-porch, we found the parson rebuking the gray-headed sexton for having used mistletoe."—page 95." title=""On reaching the church-porch, we found the parson rebuking the gray-headed sexton for having used mistletoe."—page 95." /> <span class="caption">"On reaching the church-porch, we found the parson rebuking the gray-headed sexton for having used mistletoe."—<span class="smcap">page</span> 95.</span></div>
<p>On reaching the church-porch, we found the parson rebuking the
gray-headed sexton for having used mistletoe among the greens with which
the church was decorated. It was, he observed, an unholy plant, profaned
by having been used by the Druids in their mystic ceremonies; and though
it might be innocently employed in the festive ornamenting of halls and
kitchens, yet it had been deemed by the Fathers of the Church as
unhallowed, and totally unfit for sacred purposes. So tenacious was he
on this point, that the poor sexton was obliged to strip down a great
part of the humble trophies of his taste, before the parson would
consent to enter upon the service of the day.</p>
<p>The interior of the church was venerable but simple; on the walls were
several mural monuments of the Bracebridges, and just beside the<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</SPAN></span> altar
was a tomb of ancient workmanship, on which lay the effigy of a warrior
in armour, with his legs crossed, a sign of his having been a crusader.
I was told it was one of the family who had signalised himself in the
Holy Land, and the same whose picture hung over the fireplace in the
hall.</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/oldchristmas_0126.jpg" width-obs="350" height-obs="230" alt="Effigy of a Warrior" title="Effigy of a Warrior" /></div>
<p>During service, Master Simon stood up in the pew, and repeated the
responses very audibly; evincing that kind of ceremonious devotion
punctually observed by a gentleman of the old school, and a man of old
family connections. I observed, too, that he turned over the leaves of a
folio prayer-book with something of a flourish; possibly to show off an
enormous seal-ring which<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</SPAN></span> enriched one of his fingers, and which had
the look of a family relic. But he was evidently most solicitous about
the musical part of the service, keeping his eye fixed intently on the
choir, and beating time with much gesticulation and emphasis.</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/oldchristmas_0128.jpg" width-obs="275" height-obs="400" alt=""The orchestra was in a small gallery, and presented a most whimsical grouping of heads."—page 97." title=""The orchestra was in a small gallery, and presented a most whimsical grouping of heads."—page 97." /> <span class="caption">"The orchestra was in a small gallery, and presented a most whimsical grouping of heads."—<span class="smcap">page</span> 97.</span></div>
<div class="figright"> <ANTIMG src="images/oldchristmas_0129.jpg" width-obs="222" height-obs="300" alt="The Village Choir" title="The Village Choir" /></div>
<div class="figleft"> <ANTIMG src="images/oldchristmas_0130.jpg" width-obs="302" height-obs="300" alt="The Village Tailor" title="The Village Tailor" /></div>
<p>The orchestra was in a small gallery, and presented a most whimsical
grouping of heads,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</SPAN></span> piled one above the other, among which I
particularly noticed that of the village tailor, a pale fellow with a
retreating forehead and chin, who played on the clarionet, and seemed to
have blown his face to a point; and there was another, a short pursy
man, stooping and labouring at a bass viol, so as to show nothing but
the top of a round bald head, like the egg of an ostrich. There were two
or three pretty faces among the female<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</SPAN></span> singers, to which the keen air
of a frosty morning had given a bright rosy tint; but the gentlemen
choristers had evidently been chosen, like old Cremona fiddles, more for
tone than looks; and as several had to sing from the same book, there
were clusterings of odd physiognomies, not unlike those groups of
cherubs we sometimes see on country tombstones.</p>
<div class="figright"> <ANTIMG src="images/oldchristmas_0132.jpg" width-obs="300" height-obs="280" alt="An Old Chorister" title="An Old Chorister" /></div>
<p>The usual services of the choir were managed tolerably well, the vocal
parts generally lagging a little behind the instrumental, and some
loitering fiddler now and then making up for lost time by travelling
over a passage with prodigious celerity, and clearing more bars than the
keenest fox-hunter, to be in at the death. But the great trial was an
anthem that had been prepared and arranged by Master Simon, and on which
he had founded great expectation. Unluckily there was a blunder at the
very outset; the musicians became flurried; Master Simon was in a fever,
everything went on lamely and irregularly until<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</SPAN></span> they came to a chorus
beginning "Now let us sing with one accord," which seemed to be a signal
for parting company: all became discord and confusion; each shifted for
himself, and got to the end as well, or rather as soon, as he could,
excepting one old chorister in a pair of horn spectacles bestriding and
pinching a long sonorous nose; who, happening to stand a little apart,
and being wrapped up in his own melody, kept on a<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</SPAN></span> quavering course,
wriggling his head, ogling his book, and winding all up by a nasal solo
of at least three bars' duration.</p>
<div class="figright"> <ANTIMG src="images/oldchristmas_0133.jpg" width-obs="218" height-obs="350" alt="The Sermon" title="The Sermon" /></div>
<p>The parson gave us a most erudite sermon on the rites and ceremonies of
Christmas, and the propriety of observing it not merely as a day of<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</SPAN></span>
thanksgiving, but of rejoicing; supporting the correctness of his
opinions by the earliest usages of the Church, and enforcing them by the
authorities of Theophilus of Cesarea, St. Cyprian, St. Chrysostom, St.
Augustine, and a cloud more of Saints and Fathers, from whom he made
copious quotations. I was a little at a loss to perceive the necessity
of such a mighty array of forces to maintain a point which no one
present seemed inclined to dispute; but I soon found that the good man
had a legion of ideal adversaries to contend with; having in the course
of his researches on the subject of Christmas, got completely embroiled
in the sectarian controversies of the Revolution, when the Puritans made
such a fierce assault upon the ceremonies of the Church, and poor old
Christmas was driven out of the land by proclamation of parliament.<SPAN name="FNanchor_E_5" id="FNanchor_E_5"></SPAN><SPAN href="#Footnote_E_5" class="fnanchor">[E]</SPAN>
The worthy parson lived but with times past, and knew but a little of
the present. <span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>Shut up among worm-eaten tomes in the retirement of his antiquated
little study, the pages of old times were to him as the gazettes of the
day; while the era of the Revolution was mere modern history. He forgot
that nearly two centuries had elapsed since the fiery persecution of
poor mince-pie throughout the land; when plum-porridge was denounced as
"mere popery," and roast beef as antichristian; and that Christmas had
been brought in again triumphantly with the merry court of King Charles
at the Restoration. He kindled into warmth with the ardour of his
contest, and the host of imaginary foes with whom he had to combat; had
a stubborn conflict with old Prynne and two or three other forgotten
champions of the Roundheads, on the subject of Christmas festivity; and
concluded by urging his hearers, in the most solemn and affecting
manner, to stand to the traditionary customs of their fathers, and feast
and make merry on this joyful anniversary of the Church.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</SPAN></span></p>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/oldchristmas_0136.jpg" width-obs="350" height-obs="300" alt="Churchyard Greetings" title="Churchyard Greetings" /></div>
<p>I have seldom known a sermon attended apparently with more immediate
effects; for on leaving the church the congregation seemed one and all
possessed with the gaiety of spirit so earnestly enjoined by their
pastor. The elder folks gathered in knots in the churchyard, greeting
and shaking hands; and the children ran about crying, Ule! Ule! and
repeating some uncouth<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</SPAN></span> rhymes,<SPAN name="FNanchor_F_6" id="FNanchor_F_6"></SPAN><SPAN href="#Footnote_F_6" class="fnanchor">[F]</SPAN> which the parson, who had joined us,
informed me had been handed down from days of yore. The villagers doffed
their hats to the Squire as he passed, giving him the good wishes of the
season with every appearance of heartfelt sincerity, and were invited by
him to the hall, to take something to keep out the cold of the weather;
and I heard blessings uttered by several of the poor, which convinced me
that, in the midst of his enjoyments, the worthy old cavalier had not
forgotten the true Christmas virtue of charity.</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/oldchristmas_0138.jpg" width-obs="300" height-obs="278" alt="Frosty Thraldom of Winter" title="Frosty Thraldom of Winter" /></div>
<p>On our way homeward his heart seemed overflowing with generous and happy
feelings. As we passed over a rising ground which commanded something of
a prospect, the sounds of rustic merriment now and then reached our
ears; the Squire paused for a few moments, and looked around with an air
of inexpressible benignity. The beauty of the day was of itself
sufficient to<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</SPAN></span> inspire philanthropy. Notwithstanding the frostiness of
the morning, the sun in his cloudless journey had acquired sufficient
power to melt away the thin covering of snow from every southern
declivity, and to bring out the living green which adorns an English
landscape even in mid-winter. Large tracts of smiling verdure contrasted
with the dazzling whiteness of the shaded slopes and hollows. Every
sheltered bank, on<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</SPAN></span> which the broad rays rested, yielded its silver rill
of cold and limpid water, glittering through the dripping grass; and
sent up slight exhalations to contribute to the thin haze that hung just
above the surface of the earth. There was something truly cheering in
this triumph of warmth and verdure over the frosty thraldom of winter;
it was, as the Squire observed, an emblem of Christmas hospitality,
breaking through the chills of ceremony and selfishness, and thawing
every heart into a flow. He pointed with pleasure to the indications of
good cheer reeking from the chimneys of the comfortable farm-houses and
low thatched cottages. "I love," said he, "to see this day well kept by
rich and poor; it is a great thing to have one day in the year, at
least, when you are sure of being welcome wherever you go, and of
having, as it were, the world all thrown open to you; and I am almost
disposed to join with Poor Robin, in his malediction of every churlish
enemy to this honest festival:<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</SPAN></span>—</p>
<div class='center'>
<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Those who at Christmas do repine">
<tr><td align='left'>"Those who at Christmas do repine,</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And would fain hence despatch him,</span></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">May they with old Duke Humphry dine,</span></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Or else may Squire Ketch catch 'em."</span></td></tr>
</table></div>
<p>The Squire went on to lament the deplorable decay of the games and
amusements which were once prevalent at this season among the lower
orders, and countenanced by the higher: when the old halls of castles
and manor-houses were thrown open at daylight; when the tables were
covered with brawn, and beef, and humming ale; when the harp and the
carol resounded all day long, and when rich and poor were alike welcome
to enter and make merry.<SPAN name="FNanchor_G_7" id="FNanchor_G_7"></SPAN><SPAN href="#Footnote_G_7" class="fnanchor">[G]</SPAN> "Our old games and local customs," said he,
"had a great effect in making the peasant fond of his home, and the
promotion of them by the gentry made him fond of his lord. They made the
times merrier, and kinder, and better; and I can truly say, with one of
our old poets,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</SPAN></span>—</p>
<div class='center'>
<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="I like them well—the curious preciseness">
<tr><td align='left'>"I like them well—the curious preciseness</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And all-pretended gravity of those</span></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">That seek to banish hence these harmless sports,</span></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Have thrust away much ancient honesty.</span></td></tr>
</table></div>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/oldchristmas_0141.jpg" width-obs="350" height-obs="186" alt="Merry Old English Games" title="Merry Old English Games" /></div>
<p>"The nation," continued he, "is altered; we have almost lost our simple
true-hearted peasantry. They have broken asunder from the higher
classes, and seem to think their interests are separate. They have
become too knowing, and begin to read newspapers, listen to alehouse
politicians, and talk of reform. I think one mode to keep them in good
humour in these hard times<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</SPAN></span> would be for the nobility and gentry to pass
more time on their estates, mingle more among the country people, and
set the merry old English games going again."</p>
<div class="figleft"> <ANTIMG src="images/oldchristmas_0142.jpg" width-obs="300" height-obs="306" alt="The Poor at Home" title="The Poor at Home" /></div>
<p>Such was the good Squire's project for mitigating public discontent;
and, indeed, he had once attempted to put his doctrine in practice, and
a few years before had kept open house during the holidays in the old
style. The country people, however, did not understand how to play their
parts in the scene of hospitality; many uncouth circumstances occurred;
the manor was overrun by all the vagrants of the country, and more
beggars drawn into the neighbourhood in one week than the parish
officers could get rid of in a year. Since then he had contented himself
with inviting the decent part of the neighbouring peasantry to call at
the hall on Christmas day, and distributing beef, and bread, and ale,
among the poor, that they might make merry in their own dwellings.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>We had not been long home when the sound of music was heard from a
distance. A band of country lads without coats, their shirt-sleeves
fancifully tied with ribands, their hats decorated with greens, and
clubs in their hands, were seen advancing up the avenue, followed by a
large number of villagers and peasantry. They stopped before the hall
door, where the music struck up a peculiar air, and the lads performed a
curious and intricate dance, advancing, retreating, and striking their
clubs together, keeping exact time<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</SPAN></span> to the music; while one, whimsically
crowned with a fox's skin, the tail of which flaunted down his back,
kept capering round the skirts of the dance, and rattling a
Christmas-box with many antic gesticulations.</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/oldchristmas_0144.jpg" width-obs="350" height-obs="214" alt="Village Antics" title="Village Antics" /></div>
<p>The Squire eyed this fanciful exhibition with great interest and
delight, and gave me a full account of its origin, which he traced to
the times when the Romans held possession of the island; plainly proving
that this was a lineal descendant of the sword-dance of the ancients.
"It was now," he said, "nearly extinct, but he had<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</SPAN></span> accidentally met
with traces of it in the neighbourhood, and had encouraged its revival;
though, to tell the truth, it was too apt to be followed up by rough
cudgel-play and broken heads in the evening."</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/oldchristmas_0145.jpg" width-obs="281" height-obs="200" alt="Tasting the Squire's Ale" title="Tasting the Squire's Ale" /></div>
<p>After the dance was concluded, the whole party was entertained with
brawn and beef, and stout home-brewed. The Squire himself mingled among
the rustics, and was received with awkward demonstrations of deference
and regard. It is true I perceived two or three of the younger peasants,
as they were raising their tankards to<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</SPAN></span> their mouths when the Squire's
back was turned, making something of a grimace, and giving each other
the wink; but the moment they caught my eye they pulled grave faces, and
were exceedingly demure. With Master Simon, however, they all seemed
more at their ease. His varied occupations and amusements had made him
well known throughout the neighbourhood. He was a visitor at every
farm-house and cottage; gossiped with the farmers and their wives;
romped with their daughters; and, like that type of a vagrant bachelor,
the humble bee, tolled the sweets from all the rosy lips of the country
round.</p>
<div class="figright"> <ANTIMG src="images/oldchristmas_0147.jpg" width-obs="164" height-obs="200" alt="The Wit of the Village" title="The Wit of the Village" /></div>
<p>The bashfulness of the guests soon gave way before good cheer and
affability. There is something genuine and affectionate in the gaiety of
the lower orders, when it is excited by the bounty and familiarity of
those above them; the warm glow of gratitude enters into their mirth,
and a kind word or a small pleasantry, frankly uttered by a patron,
gladdens the heart of the dependant more<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</SPAN></span> than oil and wine. When the
Squire had retired the merriment increased, and there was much joking
and laughter, particularly between Master Simon and a hale, ruddy-faced,
white-headed farmer, who appeared to be the wit of the village; for I
observed all his companions to wait with open mouths for his retorts,
and burst into a gratuitous laugh before they could well understand
them.</p>
<p>The whole house indeed seemed abandoned to merriment. As I passed to my
room to dress for dinner, I heard the sound of music in a small court,
and, looking through a window that commanded it, I perceived a band of
wandering musicians, with pandean pipes and tambourine; a pretty
coquettish housemaid was dancing a jig<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</SPAN></span> with a smart country lad, while
several of the other servants were looking on. In the midst of her sport
the girl caught a glimpse of my face at the window, and, colouring up,
ran off with an air of roguish affected confusion.</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/oldchristmas_0148.jpg" width-obs="179" height-obs="250" alt="Coquettish Housemaid" title="Coquettish Housemaid" /></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</SPAN></span></p>
<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3>
<div class="footnote"><p><SPAN name="Footnote_E_5" id="Footnote_E_5"></SPAN><SPAN href="#FNanchor_E_5"><span class="label">[E]</span></SPAN> See <SPAN name="C" id="C"></SPAN><SPAN href='#NC'>Note C</SPAN>.</p>
</div>
<div class="footnote"><p><SPAN name="Footnote_F_6" id="Footnote_F_6"></SPAN><SPAN href="#FNanchor_F_6"><span class="label">[F]</span></SPAN></p>
<br/>
<div class='center'>
<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Ule! Ule!">
<tr><td align='left'>"Ule! Ule!</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Three puddings in a pule;</span></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Crack nuts and cry ule!"</span></td></tr>
</table></div>
</div>
<div class="footnote"><p><SPAN name="Footnote_G_7" id="Footnote_G_7"></SPAN><SPAN href="#FNanchor_G_7"><span class="label">[G]</span></SPAN> See <SPAN name="D" id="D"></SPAN><SPAN href='#ND'>Note D</SPAN>.</p>
</div>
</div>
<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</SPAN></span></p>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/christmasdinnertitle.png" width-obs="261" height-obs="65" alt="The Christmas Dinner" title="The Christmas Dinner" /></div>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/oldchristmas_0150frame.jpg" width-obs="398" height-obs="400" alt="Poem" title="Poem" /></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</SPAN></span></p>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/oldchristmas_0151top.jpg" width-obs="258" height-obs="400" alt="Antique Sideboard" title="Antique Sideboard" /></div>
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