CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 FROM 
 
 John Stambaiagh 
 
Cornell University Library 
 PS 2069.C4 1916 
 
 Old Chrlstnias, 
 
% Cornell University 
 y Library 
 
 The original of this book is in 
 the Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924022259687 
 
" The horn, sounded at the entrance of a village, produces a general bustle " 
 
(?)!& iEhrfetmae 
 
 By 
 
 Washington Jrving 
 
 Illustrated by Frank Dadd 
 
 r/f//ff ^^^^V^ 
 
 G. P. Putnam's Sons 
 
 0\(e\v lork and londm 
 
 0£TRnick£rbocli£rPrE86 
 
 V 
 
Copyright, 1916 
 
 BY 
 
 G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS 
 
 ■ilbc Isnlclicrtocliev prcaa, Hew JBorft 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Christmas 
 
 Christmas Day . 
 The Christmas Dinner 
 
 m 
 
 PAGE 
 
 3 
 
 The Stage Coach . . , . . .17 
 Christmas Eve .... 
 
 33 
 
 59 
 89 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 FACE 
 
 "The Horn, Sounded at the Entrance of a 
 Village, Produces a General Bustle " {In 
 colors) ...... Frontispiece 
 
 "A Choir of Small Voices Chanted forth an 
 Old Christmas Carol" . . . . i 
 
 "The Gossip Knot Huddled round the 
 Hearth" 8 
 
 "Many of the Games and Ceremonials of 
 Christmas" lo 
 
 "The Choir" 15 
 
 "The Coach was Crowded, both Inside and 
 Out" . . 18 
 
 "The Coachman Having so Many Commissions 
 to Execute" 20 
 
 V 
 
vi Ullustratlone 
 
 PAGE 
 
 "The Christmas Dinner: A Goodly and 
 Gracious Assemblage of Countenances" 
 {In colors) ....... 22 
 
 "The Sagest Knot is generally at the Black- 
 smith's" 24 
 
 "Now Capons AND Hens MUST All Die" . 26 
 
 "John Arranged that they should Ride by 
 Turns " 28 
 
 "The Mistletoe, Hung up to the Imminent 
 Peril of All the Pretty Housemaids" . . 31 
 
 "A Troop of Dogs of All Sorts and Sizes Came 
 Bounding, Open-Mouthed, across the Lawn " 38 
 
 "The Dance, like Most Dances after Supper, 
 WAS A Merry One " 50 
 
 "Master Simon evidently Piqued himself on 
 HIS Dancing" 57 
 
 "We Found the Parson Rebuking the Grey- 
 headed Sexton " ...... 70 
 
 "The Villagers Doffed their Hats to the 
 Squire AS he Passed " 76 
 
 "The Orchestra" 85 
 
miustratlone vii 
 
 FACE 
 
 " Blindman's Buff. Master Simon was Blinded 
 IN THE Midst of the Hall" . . . .104 
 
 "He was Dealing forth Strange Accounts of 
 the Popular Superstitions and Legends of 
 THE Surrounding Country". . . .106 
 
 "Rode through Closed Gates and even Stone 
 Walls" 108 
 
 "The Door sltjdenly Flew open, and a Train 
 Came Trooping INTO THE Room" . . .110 
 
 "Good Night" .... At the end 
 
CHRISTMAS 
 
 " A choir of small voices clianted foitli an 
 old Cbiistmas carol " 
 
CHRISTMAS 
 
 But is old, old Christmas gone? Nothing but the hair of his good, 
 grey, old head and beard left? Well, I will have that, seeing I cannot 
 have more of him. — Hue and Cry after Christmas. 
 
 A man might then behold 
 
 At Christmas, in each hall 
 Good fires to curb the cold, 
 
 And meat for great and small. 
 The neighbours were friendly bidden, 
 
 And all had welcome true, 
 The poor from the gates were not chidden 
 
 When this old cap was new. 
 
 Old Song. 
 
 NOTHING in England exercises a more 
 delightful spell over my imagina- 
 tion than the lingerings of the holi- 
 day customs and rural games of former times. 
 They recall the pictures my fancy used to draw 
 in the May morning of life, when as yet I only 
 knew the world through books, and believed it to 
 be all that poets had painted it; and they bring 
 with them the flavour of those honest days of 
 
4 Cbrlstmas 
 
 yore, in which, perhaps, with equal fallacy, I 
 am apt to think the world was more homebred, 
 social, and joyous than at present. I regret to 
 say that they are daily growing more and more 
 faint, being gradually worn away by time, but 
 still more obliterated by modern fashion. They 
 resemble those picturesque morsels of Gothic 
 architecture which we see crumbling in various 
 parts of the country, partly dilapidated by the 
 waste of ages, and partly lost in the additions 
 and alterations of later days. Poetry, however, 
 clings with cherishing fondness about the rural 
 game and holiday revel, from which it has de- 
 rived so many of its themes — as the ivy winds 
 its rich foliage about the Gothic arch and 
 mouldering tower, gratefully repaying their 
 support, by clasping together their tottering 
 remains, and, as it were, embalming them in 
 verdure. 
 
 Of all the old festivals, however, that of 
 Christmas awakens the strongest and most 
 heartfelt associations. There is a tone of solemn 
 and sacred feeling that blends with our convivi- 
 
(Ebrl0tma0 5 
 
 ality and lifts the spirit to a state of hallowed 
 and elevated enjoyment. The services of the 
 Church about this season are extremely tender 
 and inspiring. They dwell on the beautiful story 
 of the origin of our faith, and the pastoral scenes 
 that accompanied its announcement. They 
 gradually increase in fervour and pathos during 
 the season of Advent, until they break forth in 
 full jubilee on the morning that brought peace 
 and good-will to men. I do not know a grander 
 effect of music on the moral feelings, than to hear 
 the full choir and the pealing organ performing 
 a Christmas anthem in a cathedral, and filling 
 every part of the vast pile with triumphant 
 harmony. 
 
 It is a beautiful arrangement, also, derived 
 from days of yore, that this festival, which 
 commemorates the announcement of the religion 
 of peace and love, has been made the season for 
 gathering together of family connections, and 
 drawing closer again those bands of kindred 
 hearts, which the cares and pleasures and 
 sorrows of the world are continually operating 
 
6 Cbrlstmas 
 
 to cast loose; of calling back the children of a 
 family, who have launched forth in life, and 
 wandered widely asunder, once more to assemble 
 about the paternal hearth, that rallying place 
 of the affections, there to grow young and 
 loving again among the endearing mementos 
 of childhood. 
 
 There is something in the very season of 
 the year that gives a charm to the festivity of 
 Christmas. At other times we derive a great 
 portion of our pleasures from the mere beauties 
 of nature. Our feelings sally forth and dissi- 
 pate themselves over the sunny landscape, and 
 we "live abroad and everywhere." The song 
 of the bird, the murmur of the stream, the 
 breathing fragrance of spring, the soft voluptu- 
 ousness of summer, the golden pomp of autumn ; 
 earth with its mantle of refreshing green, and 
 heaven with its deep, delicious blue and its 
 cloudy magnificence, all fill us with mute but 
 exquisite delight, and we revel in the luxury of 
 mere sensation. But in the depth of winter, 
 when nature lies despoiled of every charm, and 
 
Cbrlstmas 7 
 
 wrapped in her shroud of sheeted snow, we turn 
 for our gratifications to moral sources. The 
 dreariness and desolation of the landscape, the 
 short, gloomy days and darksome nights, while 
 they circumscribe our wanderings, shut in our 
 feelings also from rambling abroad, and make 
 us more keenly disposed for the pleasure of the 
 social circle. Our thoughts are more concen- 
 trated; our friendly sympathies more aroused. 
 We feel more sensibly the charm of each other's 
 society, and are brought more closely together 
 by dependence on each other for enjoyment. 
 Heart calleth unto heart; and we draw our 
 pleasures from the deep wells of loving-kindness, 
 which lie in the quiet recesses of our bosoms; 
 and which, when resorted to, furnish forth the 
 pure element of domestic felicity. 
 
 The pitchy gloom without makes the heart 
 dilate on entering the room filled with the glow 
 and warmth of the evening fire. The ruddy blaze 
 diffuses an artificial summer and sunshine through 
 the room, and lights up each countenance in a 
 kindlier welcome. Where does the honest face 
 
8 Cbri0tma0 
 
 of hospitality expand into a broader and more 
 cordial smile — ^where is the shy glance of love 
 more sweetly eloquent — than by the winter 
 fireside ? and as the hollow blast of wintry wind 
 rushes through the hall, claps the distant door, 
 whistles about the casement, and rumbles 
 down the chimney, what can be more grateful 
 than that feeling of sober and sheltered security, 
 with which we look round upon the comfortable 
 chamber and the scene of domestic hilarity ? 
 
 The English, from the great prevalence of 
 rural habit throughout every class of society, 
 have always been fond of those festivals and 
 holidays which agreeably interrupt the stillness 
 of country life ; and they were, in former days, 
 particularly observant of the religious and 
 social rites of Christmas. It is inspiring to 
 read even the dry details which some antiquaries 
 have given of the quaint humour, the burlesque 
 pageants, the complete abandonment to mirth 
 and good-fellowship, with which this festival 
 was celebrated. It seemed to throw open 
 every door, and unlock every heart. It brought 
 
Cbristmas 9 
 
 the peasant and the peer together, and blended 
 all ranks in one warm, generous flow of joy 
 and kindness. The old halls of castles and 
 manor-houses resounded with the harp and the 
 Christmas carol, and their ample boards groaned 
 under the weight of hospitality. Even the poor- 
 est cottage . welcomed the festive season with 
 green decorations of bay and holly — the cheerful 
 fire glanced its rays through the lattice, invit- 
 ing the passengers to raise the latch, and join 
 the gossip knot huddled round the hearth, be- 
 guiling the long evening with legendary jokes 
 and oft-told Christmas tales. 
 
 One of the least pleasing effects of modern 
 refinement is the havoc it has made among the 
 hearty old holiday customs. It has completely 
 taken off the sharp touchings and spirited reliefs 
 of these embellishments of life, and has worn 
 down society into a more smooth and pol- 
 ished, but certainly a less characteristic surface. 
 Many of the games and ceremonials of Christmas 
 have entirely disappeared, and, like the sherris 
 sack of old Falstaff, are become matters of specu- 
 
lo Cbrlstmas 
 
 lation and dispute among commentators. They 
 flourished in times full of spirit and lustihood, 
 when men enjoyed Ufe roughly, but heartily 
 and vigorously; times wild and picturesque, 
 which have furnished poetry with its richest 
 materials, and the drama with its most attract- 
 ive variety of characters and manners. The 
 world has become more worldly. There is more 
 of dissipation, and less of enjoyment. Pleasure 
 has expanded into a broader, but a shallower 
 stream; and has forsaken many of those deep 
 and quiet channels where it flowed sweetly 
 through the calm bosom of domestic life. So- 
 ciety has acquired a more enlightened and ele- 
 gant tone; but it has lost many of its strong 
 local peculiarities, its homebred feelings, its hon- 
 est fireside delights. The traditionary customs 
 of golden-hearted antiquity, its feudal hospi- 
 talities, and lordly wassailings, have passed 
 away with the baronial castles and stately manor- 
 houses in which they were celebrated. They 
 comported with the shadowy hall, the great 
 oaken gallery, and the tapestried parlour, but 
 
C<1 
 
 a 
 
 ■a 
 o 
 
 ■a 
 a 
 
 a 
 
 a 
 
CbriBtmas n 
 
 are unfitted to the light, showy saloons and gay 
 drawing-rooms of the modern villa. 
 
 Shorn, however, as it is, of its ancient and 
 festive honours, Christmas is still a period of 
 delightful excitement in England. It is grati- 
 fying to see that home feeling completely aroused 
 which holds so powerful a place in every English 
 bosom. The preparations making on every side 
 for the social board that is again to unite friends 
 and kindred ; the presents of good cheer passing 
 and repassing, those tokens of regard, and quick- 
 eners of kind feelings ; the evergreens distributed 
 about houses and churches, emblems of peace 
 and gladness; all these have the most pleasing 
 effect in producing fond associations, and kin- 
 dling benevolent sympathies. Even the sound 
 of the Waits, rude as may be their minstrelsy, 
 breaks upon the midwatches of a winter night 
 with the effect of perfect harmony. As I have 
 been awakened by them in that still and solemn 
 hour, "when deep sleep falleth upon men, " I have 
 listened with a hushed delight, and, connect- 
 ing them with the sacred and joyous occasion, 
 
12 Cbrlstmaa 
 
 have almost fancied them into another celestial 
 choir, announcing peace and good-will to man- 
 kind. 
 
 How delightfully the imagination, when 
 wrought upon by these moral influences, turns 
 everything to melody and beauty! The very 
 crowing of the cock, heard sometimes in the 
 profound repose of the country, "telling the 
 night watches to his feathery dames," was 
 thought by the common people to announce the 
 approach of this sacred festival. 
 
 "Some say that ever 'gainst that season comes 
 Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated, 
 This bird of dawning singeth all night long ; 
 And then, they say, no spirit dares stir abroad; 
 The nights are wholesome — then no planets strike, 
 No fairy takes, no witch hath power to charm, 
 So hallow'd and so gracious is the time." 
 
 Amidst the general call to happiness, the bustle 
 of the spirits and stir of the affections, which 
 prevail at this period, what bosom can remain 
 insensible ? It is, indeed, the season of regener- 
 ated feeling — the season for kindling, not merely 
 
Cbristmaa 13 
 
 the fire of hospitality in the hall, but the genial 
 flame of charity in the heart. 
 
 The scene of early love again rises green to 
 memory, beyond the sterile waste of years ; and 
 the idea of home, fraught with the fragrance of 
 home-dwelling joys, reanimates the drooping 
 spirit ; as the Arabian breeze will sometimes waft 
 the freshness of the distant fields to the weary 
 pilgrim of the desert. 
 
 Stranger and sojourner as I am in the land — 
 though for me no social hearth may blaze, no 
 hospitable roof throw open its doors, nor the 
 warm grasp of friendship welcome me at the 
 threshold — yet I feel the influence of the season 
 beaming into my soul from the happy looks of 
 those around me. Surely happiness is reflective, 
 like the light of heaven ; and every countenance 
 bright with smiles, and glowing with innocent en- 
 joyment, is a mirror transmitting to others the 
 rays of a supreme and ever-shining benevolence. 
 He who can turn churlishly away from contem- 
 plating the felicity of his fellow-beings, and can 
 sit down darkling and repining in his loneliness 
 
14 Cbristmaa 
 
 when all around is joyful, may have his mo- 
 ments of strong excitement and selfish grati- 
 fication, but he wants the genial and social 
 sympathies which constitute the charm of a 
 merry Christmas. 
 
THE STAGE COACH 
 
 The Choir 
 
THE STAGE COACH 
 
 Onme bene 
 
 Sine pcEna 
 Tempus est ludendi. 
 
 Venit hora 
 
 Absque mor4 
 Libros deponendi. 
 
 Old Holiday School Song. 
 
 IN the preceding paper I have made some 
 general observations on the Christmas 
 festivities of England, and am tempted to 
 illustrate them by some anecdotes of a Christmas 
 passed in the country; in perusing which I would 
 most courteously invite my reader to lay aside 
 the austerity of wisdom, and to put on that 
 genuine holiday spirit which is tolerant of folly, 
 and anxious only for amusement. 
 
 In the course of a December tour in York- 
 shire, I rode for a long distance in one of the 
 public coaches, on the day preceding Christmas. 
 
 3 17 
 
1 8 JLbc stage Coacb 
 
 The coach was crowded, both inside and out, 
 with passengers, who, by their talk, seemed prin- 
 cipally bound to the mansions of relations or 
 friends, to eat the Christmas dinner. It was 
 loaded also with hampers of game, and baskets 
 and boxes of delicacies; and hares hung dangling 
 their long ears about the coachman's box, pres- 
 ents from distant friends for the impending 
 feast. I had three fine rosy-cheeked boys for 
 my fellow-passengers inside, full of the buxom 
 health and manly spirit which I have observed 
 in the children of this country. They were 
 returning home for the holidays in high glee, and 
 promising themselves a world of enjoyment. 
 It was delightful to hear the gigantic plans of 
 the little rogues, and the impracticable feats 
 they were to perform during their six weeks' 
 emancipation from the abhorred thraldom of 
 book, birch, and pedagogue. They were full 
 of anticipations of the meeting with the family 
 and household, down to the very cat and dog; 
 and of the joy they were to give their little 
 sisters by the presents with which their pockets 
 
k. 
 
 •o 
 
 S 
 
 o 
 
 •a 
 o 
 
 J3 
 
 S 
 
JLl)c Stage Coacb 19 
 
 were crammed; but the meeting to which they 
 seemed to look forward with the greatest impa- 
 tience was with Bantam, which I found to be a 
 pony, and, according to their talk, possessed of 
 more virtues than any steed since the days of 
 Bucephalus. How he could trot! how he could 
 run! and then such leaps as he would take — there 
 was not a hedge in the whole country that he 
 could not clear. 
 
 They were under the particular guardianship 
 of the coachman, to whom, whenever an oppor- 
 tunity presented, they addressed a host of 
 questions, and pronounced him one of the best 
 fellows in the world. Indeed, I could not but 
 notice the more than ordinary air of bustle and 
 importance of the coachman, who wore his hat 
 a little on one side, and had a large bunch of 
 Christmas greens stuck in the button-hole of his 
 coat. He is always a personage full of mighty 
 care and business, but he is particularly so dur- 
 ing this season, having so many commissions to 
 execute in consequence of the great interchange 
 of presents. And here, perhaps, it may not be 
 
20 Zl)c Stage Coacb 
 
 unacceptable to my untravelled readers, to have 
 a sketch that may serve as a general represen- 
 tation of this very numerous and important 
 class of functionaries, who have a dress, a man- 
 ner, a language, an air, peculiar to themselves, 
 and prevalent throughout the fraternity ; so that, 
 wherever an English stage coachman may be 
 seen, he cannot be mistaken for one of any other 
 craft or mystery. 
 
 He has commonly a broad, full face, curiously 
 mottled with red, as if the blood had been forced 
 by hard feeding into every vessel of the skin ; he 
 is swelled into jolly dimensions by frequent pota- 
 tions of malt liquors, and his bulk is still further 
 increased by a multiplicity of coats, in which he 
 is buried like a cauliflower, the upper one reach- 
 ing to his heels. He wears a broad-brimmed, 
 low-crowned hat; a huge roll of coloured hand- 
 kerchief about his neck, knowingly knotted and 
 tucked in at the bosom ; and has in summer time 
 a large bouquet of flowers in his button-hole; 
 the present, most probably, of some enamoured 
 country lass. His waistcoat is commonly of 
 
"The coachman having so many commissions to execute" 
 
^be Stage Coacb 21 
 
 some bright colour, striped, and his small clothes 
 extend far below the knees, to meet a pair of 
 jockey boots which reach about half way up his 
 legs. 
 
 All this costume is maintained with much 
 precision; he has a pride in having his clothes 
 of excellent materials ; and, notwithstanding the 
 seeming grossness of his appearance, there is still 
 discernible that neatness and propriety of per- 
 son which is almost inherent in an Englishman. 
 He enjoys great consequence and consideration 
 along the road ; has frequent conferences with the 
 village housewives, who look upon him as a man 
 of great trust and dependence ; and he seems to 
 have a good understanding with every bright- 
 eyed country lass. The moment he arrives 
 where the horses are to be changed he throws 
 down the reins with something of an air, and 
 abandons the cattle to the care of the hostler; 
 his duty being merely to drive from one stage to 
 another. When off the box, his hands are thrust 
 into the pockets of his great coat, and he rolls 
 about the inn yard with an air of the most 
 
22 Zhe Stage (Eoacb 
 
 absolute lordliness. Here he is generally sur- 
 rounded by an admiring throng of hostlers, 
 stable-boys, shoeblacks, and those nameless 
 hangers-on that infest inns and taverns, and run 
 errands, and do all kinds of odd jobs, for the privi- 
 lege of battening on the drippings of the kitchen 
 and the leakage of the taproom. These all look 
 up to him as to an oracle ; treasure up his cant 
 phrases ; echo his opinions about horses and other 
 topics of jockey lore; and, above all, endeavour 
 to imitate his air and carriage. Every raga- 
 muffin that has a coat to his back thrusts his 
 hands in the pockets, rolls in his gait, talks slang, 
 and is an embryo Coachey. 
 
 Perhaps it might be owing to the pleasing 
 serenity that reigned in my own mind, that I 
 fancied I saw cheerfulness in every countenance 
 throughout the journey. A stage coach, how- 
 ever, carries animation always with it, and puts 
 the world in motion as it whirls along. The 
 horn, sounded at the entrance of a village, pro- 
 duces a general bustle. Some hasten forth to 
 meet friends; some with bundles and bandboxes 
 
" The Christmas Dinner: A Goodly and Gracious Assemblage of Countenances" 
 
 (See page pa) 
 
^be Stage Coacb 23 
 
 to secure places, and in the hurry of the moment 
 can hardly take leave of the group that accom- 
 panies them. In the meantime, the coachman has 
 a world of small commissions to execute. Some- 
 times he delivers a hare or pheasant ; sometimes 
 jerks a small parcel or newspaper to the door of 
 a public house; and sometimes, with knowing 
 leer and words of sly import, hands to some 
 half-blushing, half-laughing housemaid an odd- 
 shaped billet-doux from some rustic admirer. 
 As the coach rattles through the village, every 
 one runs to the window, and you have glances 
 on every side of fresh country faces and bloom- 
 ing giggling girls. At the corners are assembled 
 juntos of village idlers and wise men, who take 
 their stations there for the important purpose 
 of seeing company pass; but the sagest knot 
 is generally at the blacksmith's, to whom the . 
 passing of the coach is an event fruitful of 
 much speculation. The smith, with the horse's 
 heel in his lap, pauses as the vehicle whirls by; 
 the Cyclops round the anvil suspend their 
 ringing hammers, and suffer the iron to grow 
 
24 Hbe Stage Coacb 
 
 cool ; and the sooty spectre, in brown paper cap, 
 labouring at the bellows, leans on the handle for 
 a moment, and permits the asthmatic engine 
 to heave a long-drawn sigh, while he glares 
 through the murky smoke and sulphureous 
 gleams of the smithy. 
 
 Perhaps the impending holiday might have 
 given a more than usual animation to the coun- 
 try, for it seemed to me as if everybody was in 
 good looks and good spirits. Game, poultry, 
 and other luxuries of the table, were in brisk 
 circulation in the villages ; the grocers', butchers', 
 and fruiterers' shops were thronged with cus- 
 tomers. The housewives were stirring briskly 
 about, putting their dwellings in order; and 
 the glossy branches of holly, with their bright 
 red berries, began to appear at the windows. 
 The scene brought to mind an old writer's 
 account of Christmas preparations: — "Now 
 capons and hens, beside turkeys, geese, and 
 ducks, with beef and mutton — must all die — for 
 in twelve days a multitude of people will not be 
 fed with a little. Now plums and spice, sugar and 
 
■B 
 2 
 
 ■3 
 a 
 
 a 
 
 & 
 
^be Stage Coacb 25 
 
 honey, square It among pies and broth. Now 
 or never must music be in tune, for the youth 
 must dance and sing to get them a heat, while 
 the aged sit by the fire. The country maid 
 leaves half her market, and must be sent again, 
 if she forgets a pack of cards oh Christmas eve. 
 Great is the contention of holly and ivy, whether 
 master or dame wears the breeches. Dice and 
 cards benefit the butler; and if the cook do not 
 lack wit, he will sweetly lick his fing^ers. " 
 
 I was roused from this fit of luxurious medi- 
 tation, by a shout" from my little travelling com- 
 panions. They had been looking out of the 
 coach windows for the last few miles, recognising 
 every tree and cottage as they approached home, 
 and now there was a general burst of joy — 
 "There's John! and there's old Carlo! and 
 there's Bantam!" cried the happy little rogues, 
 clapping their hands. 
 
 At the end of a lane there was an old sober- , 
 looking servant in livery, waiting for them; he 
 was accompanied by a superannuated pointer, 
 and by the redoubtable Bantam, a little old rat 
 
26 ^be Stage Coacb 
 
 of a pony, with a shaggy mane and long, rusty 
 tail, who stood dozing quietly by the roadside, 
 little dreaming of the bustling times that awaited 
 him. 
 
 I was pleased to see the fondness with which 
 the little fellows leaped about the steady old 
 footman, and hugged the pointer; who wriggled 
 his whole body for joy. But Bantam was the 
 great object of interest; all wanted to mount at 
 once, and it was with some difficulty that John 
 arranged that they should ride by turns, and 
 the eldest should ride first. 
 
 Off they set at last; one on the pony, with the 
 dog bounding and barking before him, and the 
 others holding John's hands; both talking at 
 once, and overpowering him with questions 
 about home, and with school anecdotes. I 
 looked after them with a feeling in which I do 
 not know whether pleasure or melancholy pre- 
 dominated; for I was reminded of those days 
 when, like them, I had neither known care nor 
 sorrow, and a holiday was the summit of earthly 
 felicity. We stopped a few moments afterwards 
 

Zbe Staac Coacb 27 
 
 to water the horses, and on resuming our route, a 
 turn of the road brought us in sight of a neat 
 country seat. I could just distinguish the forms 
 of a lady and two young girls in the portico, and 
 I saw my little comrades, with Bantam, Carlo, 
 and old John, trooping along the carriage road. 
 I leaned out of the coach window, in hopes of 
 witnessing the happy meeting, but a grove of 
 trees shut it from my sight. 
 
 In the evening we reached a village where I 
 had determined to pass the night. As we drove 
 into the great gateway of the inn, I saw on one 
 side the light of a rousing kitchen fire beaming 
 through a window. I entered, and admired, for 
 the hundredth time, that picture of convenience, 
 neatness, and broad honest enjoyment, the 
 kitchen of an English inn. It was of spacious 
 dimensions, hung round with copper and tin 
 vessels highly polished, and decorated here 
 and there with a Christmas green. Hams, 
 tongues, and flitches of bacon, were suspended 
 from the ceiling; a smoke-jack made its cease- 
 less clanking beside the fireplace, and a clock 
 
28 (Tbe Stage Coacb 
 
 ticked in one corner. A well-scoured deal table 
 extended along one side of the kitchen, with 
 a cold round of beef, and other hearty viands 
 upon it, over which two foaming tankards of 
 ale seemed mounting guard. Travellers of in- 
 ferior order were preparing to attack this stout 
 repast, while others sat smoking and gossiping 
 over their ale on two high-backed oaken settles 
 beside the fire. Trim housemaids were hurrying 
 backwards and forwards under the directions 
 of a fresh, busthng landlady; but still seizing 
 an occasional moment to exchange a flippant 
 word, and have a rallying laugh, with the 
 group round the fire. The scene completely 
 realised Poor Robin's humble idea of the com- 
 forts of midwinter: 
 
 Now trees their leafy hats do bare 
 To reverence Winter's silver hair; 
 A handsome hostess, merry host, 
 A pot of ale now and a toast, 
 Tobacco and a good coal fire, 
 Are things this season doth require.* 
 
 ' Poor Robin's Almanac, 1684. 
 

 2 
 
 o 
 
 •a 
 
 I 
 
^be Stage (Eoacb 29 
 
 I had not been long at the inn when a post- 
 chaise drove up to the door, A young gentle- 
 man stept out, and by the light of the lamps 
 I caught a glimpse of a countenance which I 
 thought I knew. I moved forward to get a 
 nearer view, when his eye caught mine. I was 
 not mistaken; it was Frank Bracebridge, a 
 sprightly, good-humoured young fellow, with 
 whom I had once travelled on the continent. 
 Our meeting was extremely cordial, for the coun- 
 tenance of an old fellow-traveller always brings 
 up the recollection of a thousand pleasant scenes, 
 odd adventures, and excellent jokes. To dis- 
 cuss all these in a transient interview at an inn 
 was impossible ; and finding that I was not pressed 
 for time, and was merely making a tour of ob- 
 servation, he insisted that I should give him a 
 day or two at his father's country seat, to which 
 he was going to pass the holidays, and which lay 
 at a few miles distance. "It is better than eat- 
 ing a solitary Christmas dinner at an inn," said 
 he, " and I can assure you of a hearty welcome 
 in something of the old-fashioned style." His 
 
30 ^be Stage Coacb 
 
 reasoning was cogent, and I must confess the 
 preparation I had seen for universal festivity 
 and social enjoyment had made me feel a little 
 impatient of my loneliness. I closed, therefore, 
 at once, with his invitation : the chaise drove up 
 to the door, and in a few moments I was on my 
 way to the family mansion of the Bracebridges. 
 
CHRISTMAS EVE 
 
 31 
 
 "Tbe mistletoe, hung up to the imminent 
 peril of all the pretty housemaids " 
 
CHRISTMAS EVE 
 
 Saint Francis and Saint Benedight 
 Blesse this house from wicked wight; 
 From the night-mare and the goblin, 
 That is hight good fellow Robin; 
 Keep it from all evil spirits, 
 Fairies, weezels, rats, and ferrets: 
 
 From curfew time 
 
 To the next prime. 
 
 Cartwright. 
 
 IT was a brilliant moonlight night, but ex- 
 tremely cold; our chaise whirled rapidly^ 
 over the frozen ground; the postboy 
 smacked his whip incessantly, and a part of the 
 time his horses were on a gallop. "He knows 
 where he is going, " said my companion, laughing, 
 "and^s eager to arrive in time for some of the 
 merriment and good cheer of the servants' hall. 
 My father, you must know, is a bigoted devotee 
 of the old school, and prides himself upon keep- 
 ing up something of old English hospitality. 
 
 3 33 
 
34 Cbristmas five 
 
 He is a tolerable specimen of what you will 
 rarely meet with nowadays in its purity, the 
 old English country gentleman ; for our men of 
 fortune spend so much of their time in town, and 
 fashion is carried so much into the country, 
 that the strong, rich peculiarities of ancient 
 rural life are almost polished away. My father, 
 however, from early years, took honest Peacham' 
 for his text-book, instead of Chesterfield; he 
 determined in his own mind, that there was no 
 condition more truly honourable and enviable 
 than that of a country gentleman on his paternal 
 lands, and therefore passes the whole time on 
 his estate. He is a strenuous advocate for the 
 revival of the old rural games and holiday 
 observances, and is deeply read in the writers, 
 ancient and modern, who have treated on the 
 subject. Indeed his favourite range of reading 
 is among the authors who flourished at least 
 two centuries since; who, he insists, wrote and 
 thought more like true Englishmen than any 
 of their successors. He even regrets sometimes 
 
 ■ Peacham's Complete Gentleman, 1622. 
 
Cbrlstmas J£vc 35 
 
 that he had not been born a few centuries earlier, 
 when England was itself, and had its peculiar 
 manners and customs. As he lives at some 
 distance from the main road, in rather a lonely 
 part of the country, without any rival gentry 
 near him, he has that most enviable of all bless- 
 ings to an Englishman, an opportunity of in- 
 dulging the bent of his own humour without 
 molestation. Being representative of the old- 
 est family in the neighbourhood, and a great 
 part of the peasantry being his tenants, he is 
 much looked up to, and, in general, is known 
 simply by the appellation of 'The Squire'; 
 a title which has been accorded to the head 
 of the family since time immemorial. I think 
 it best to give you these hints about my worthy 
 old father, to prepare you for any eccentricities 
 that might otherwise appear absurd." 
 
 We had passed for some time along the wall 
 of a park, and at length the chaise stopped at the 
 gate. It was in a heavy magnificent old style, 
 of iron bars, fancifully wrought at top into 
 flourishes and flowers. The huge square columns 
 
36 Cbrlstmas lEve 
 
 that supported the gate were surmounted by 
 the family crest. Close adjoining was the porter's 
 lodge, sheltered under dark fir-trees, and almost 
 buried in shrubbery. 
 
 Th€ postboy rang a large porter's bell, which 
 resounded through the still, frosty air, and was 
 answered by the distant barking of dogs, with 
 which the mansion-house seemed garrisoned. 
 An old woman immediately appeared at the 
 gate. As the moonlight fell strongly upon her, 
 I had a full view of a little primitive dame, 
 dressed very much in the antique taste, with a 
 neat kerchief and stomacher, and her silver hair 
 peeping from under a cap of snowy whiteness. 
 She came courtesying forth, with many expres- 
 sions of simple joy at seeing her young master. 
 Her husband, it seemed, was up at the house 
 keeping Christmas eve in the servants' hall; 
 they could not do without him, as he was the 
 best hand at a song and story in the household. 
 ' My friend proposed that we should alight 
 and walk through the park to the hall, which 
 was at no great distance, while the chaise should 
 
Cbrlstmas five 37 
 
 follow on. Our road wound through a noble 
 avenue of trees, among the naked branches of 
 which the moon glittered, as she rolled through 
 the deep vault of a cloudless sky. The lawn 
 beyond was sheeted with a slight covering of 
 snow, which here and there sparkled as the 
 moonbeams caught a frosty crystal; and at a 
 distance might be seen a thin transparent va- 
 pour, stealing up from the low grounds and 
 threatening gradually to shroud the landscape. 
 
 My companion looked around him with 
 transport: — "How often," said he, "have I 
 scampered up this avenue, on returning home 
 on school vacations! How often have I played 
 under these trees when a boy! I feel a degree 
 of filial reverence for them, as we look up to 
 those who have cherished us in childhood. My 
 father was always scrupulous in exacting our 
 holidays, and having us around him on family 
 festivals. He used to direct and superintend 
 our games with the strictness that some parents 
 do the studies of their children. He was very 
 particular that we should play the old English 
 
38 Cbristmae J6ve 
 
 games according to their original form; and 
 consulted old books for precedent and authority 
 for every 'merrie disport'; yet I assure you there 
 never was pedantry so delightful. It was the 
 policy of the good old gentleman to make his 
 children feel that home was the happiest place 
 in the world; and I value this delicious home- 
 feeling as one of the choicest gifts a parent 
 could bestow." 
 
 We were interrupted by the clamour of 
 a troop of dogs of all sorts and sizes, "mongrel, 
 puppy, whelp, and hound, and curs of low 
 degree," that, disturbed by the ring of the 
 porter's bell and the rattling of the chaise, came 
 bounding, open-mouthed, across the lawn. 
 
 " The little dogs and all, 
 
 Tray, Blanch, and Sweetheart, see, they bark at me I " 
 
 cried Bracebridge, laughing. At the sound of 
 his voice, the bark was changed into a yelp 
 of delight, and in a moment he was surrounded 
 and almost overpowered by the caresses of the 
 faithful animals. 
 
" A troop of dogs of all sorts and sizes came bounding, open-mouthed, 
 across the lawn ' 
 
Cbristmas five 39 
 
 We had now come in full view of the old 
 family mansion, partly thrown in deep shadow, 
 and partly lit up by the cold moonshine. It 
 was an irregular building, of some magnitude, 
 and seemed to be of the architecture of different 
 periods. One wing was evidently very ancient, 
 with heavy stone-shafted bow windows, jutting 
 out and overrun with ivy, from among the foliage 
 of which the small diamond-shaped panes of 
 glass glittered with the moonbeams. The rest 
 of the house was in the French taste of Charles 
 the Second's time, having been repaired and 
 altered, as my friend told me, by one of his 
 ancestors, who returned with that monarch at 
 the Restoration. The grounds about the house 
 were laid out in the old formal manner of artificial 
 flower-beds, clipped shrubberies, raised terraces, 
 and heavy stone balustrades, ornamented with 
 urns, a leaden statue or two, and a jet of water. 
 The old gentleman, I was told, was extremely 
 careful to preserve this obsolete finery in all 
 its original state. He admired this fashion in 
 gardening; it had an air of magnificence, was 
 
40 Cbrlstmas Eve 
 
 courtly and noble, and befitting good old fam- 
 ily style. The boasted imitation of nature in 
 modern gardening had sprung up with modern 
 republican notions, but did not suit a mon- 
 archical government ; it smacked of the levelling 
 system — I could not help smiling at this introduc- 
 tion of politics into gardening, though I expressed 
 some apprehension that I should find the old 
 gentleman rather intolerant in his creed. — 
 Frank assured me, however, that it was almost 
 the only instance in which he had ever heard his 
 father meddle with politics; and he believed 
 that he had got this notion from a member of 
 parliament who once passed a few weeks with 
 him. The squire was glad of any argument to 
 defend his clipped yew-trees and formal terraces, 
 which had been occasionally attacked by modern 
 landscape gardeners. 
 
 As we approached the house, we heard the 
 sound of music, and now and then a burst of 
 laughter, from one end of the building. This, 
 Bracebridge said, must proceed from the ser- 
 vants' hall, where a great deal of revelry was 
 
Cbrlstmas five 41 
 
 permitted, and even encouraged by the squire, 
 throughout the twelve days of Christmas, pro- 
 vided everything was done conformably to 
 ancient usage. Here were kept up the old 
 games of hoodman blind, shoe the wild mare, 
 hot cockles, steal the white loaf, bob apple, 
 and snap dragon : the Yule clog and Christmas 
 candle were regularly burnt, and the mistle- 
 toe, with its white berries, hung up, to the 
 imminent peril of all the pretty housemaids.' 
 
 So intent were the servants upon their sports 
 that we had to ring repeatedly before we could 
 make ourselves heard. On our arrival being 
 announced, the squire came out to receive us, 
 accompanied by his two other sons ; one a young 
 officer in the army, home on leave of absence ; 
 the other an Oxonian, just from the university. 
 The squire was a fine, healthy-looking old 
 gentleman, with silver hair curling lightly 
 round an open florid countenance; in which the 
 
 " The mistletoe is still htmg up in farmhouses and kitchens at 
 Christmas; and the young men have the privilege of kissing the girls 
 under it, plucking each time a berry from the bush. When the 
 berries are all plucked, the privilege ceases. 
 
42 Cbrlstmas five 
 
 physiognomist, with the advantage, like myself, 
 of a previous hint or two, might discover a 
 singular mixture of whim and benevolence. 
 
 The family meeting was warm and affection- 
 ate : as the evening was far advanced, the squire 
 would not permit us to change our travelling 
 dresses, but ushered us at once to the company, 
 which was assembled in a large old-fashioned 
 hall. It was composed of different branches 
 of a numerous family connection, where there 
 were the usual proportion of old uncles and aunts, 
 comfortable married dames, superannuated 
 spinsters, blooming country cousins, half- 
 fledged striplings, and bright-eyed boarding- 
 school hoydens. They were variously occupied ; 
 some at a round game of cards ; others conversing 
 around the fireplace; at one end of the hall 
 was a group of the young folks, some nearly 
 grown up, others of a more tender and budding 
 age, fully engrossed by a merry game; and a 
 profusion of wooden horses, penny trumpets, 
 and tattered dolls, about the floor, showed traces 
 of a troop of little fairy beings, who, hav- 
 
Cbrlatmas j£vc 43 
 
 ing frolicked through a happy day, had been 
 carried off to slumber through a peaceful night. 
 While the mutual greetings were going on 
 between young Bracebridge and his relatives, 
 I had time to scan the apartment. I have 
 called it a hall, for so it had certainly been in 
 old times, and the squire had evidently en- 
 deavoured to restore it to something of its 
 primitive state. Over the heavy projecting 
 fireplace was suspended a picture of a warrior 
 in armour, standing by a white horse, and on 
 the opposite wall hung a helmet, buckler, and 
 lance. At one end an enormous pair of antlers 
 were inserted in the wall, the branches serving 
 as hooks on which to suspend hats, whips, and 
 spurs; and in the corners of the apartment 
 were fowling-pieces, fishing-rods, and other 
 sporting implements. The furniture was of the 
 cumbrous workmanship of former days, though 
 some articles of modern convenience had been 
 added, and the oaken floor had been carpeted; 
 so that the whole presented an odd mixture 
 of parlour and hall. 
 
44 Cbrlstmas £ve 
 
 The grate had been removed from the wide 
 overwhelming fireplace, to make way for a 
 fire of wood, in the midst of which was an 
 enormous log glowing and blazing, and sending 
 forth a vast volume of light and heat: this I 
 understood was the Yule clog, which the squire 
 was particular in having brought in and illu- 
 mined on a Christmas eve, according to ancient 
 custom/ 
 
 It was really delightful to see the old squire 
 seated in his hereditary elbow chair, by the 
 
 ' The Ytde clog is a great log of wood, sometimes the root of a 
 tree, brought into the house with great ceremony, on Christmas eve, 
 laid in the fireplace, and lighted with the brand of last year's clog. 
 While it lasted, there was great drinking, singing, and telling of 
 tales. Sometimes it was accompanied by Christmas candles; but 
 in the cottages the only light was from the ruddy blaze of the 
 great wood fire. The Yule clog was to bum all night; it it went 
 out, it was considered a sign of ill luck. 
 Herrick mentions it in one of his songs: 
 
 " Come, bring with a noise, 
 My merrie, merrie boyes, 
 The Christmas log to the firing; 
 While my good dame, she 
 Bids ye all be free, 
 And drink to your heart's desiring." 
 The Yule clog is still burnt in many farmhouses and kitchens in 
 England, particularly in the north, and there are several superstitions 
 connected with it among the peasantry. If a squinting person come 
 to the house while it is burning, or a person barefooted, it is considered 
 an ill omen. The brand remaining from the Yule clog is carefully 
 put away to light the next year's Christmas fire. 
 
Cbrlstma0 j£vc 45 
 
 hospitable fireside of his ancestors, and looking 
 around him like the sun of a system, beaming 
 warmth and gladness to every heart. Even 
 the very dog that lay stretched at his feet, 
 as he lazily shifted his position and yawned, 
 would look fondly up in his master's face, wag 
 his tail against the floor, and stretch himself 
 again to sleep, confident of kindness and pro- 
 tection. There is an emanation from the heart 
 in genuine hospitality which cannot be described, 
 b^t is immediately felt, and puts the stranger 
 at once at his ease. I had not been seated 
 many minutes by the comfortable hearth of 
 the worthy old cavalier, before I found myself 
 as much at home as if I had been one of the 
 family. 
 
 Supper was announced shortly after our ar- 
 rival. It was served up in a spacious oaken 
 chamber, the panels of which shone with wax, 
 and around which were several family portraits 
 decorated with holly and ivy. Besides the 
 accustomed lights, two great wax tapers, called 
 Christmas candles, wreathed with greens, were 
 
46 <Ebrl0tmas jBx>c 
 
 placed on a highly-polished beaufet among the 
 family plate. The table was abundantly spread 
 with substantial fare; but the squire made his 
 supper of frumenty, a dish made of wheat cakes 
 boiled in milk, with rich spices, being a standing 
 dish in old times for Christmas eve. 
 
 I was happy to find my old friend, mince pie, 
 in the retinue of the feast; and finding him to 
 be perfectly orthodox, and that I need not be 
 ashamed of my predilection, I greeted him with 
 all the warmth wherewith we usually greet an 
 old and very genteel acquaintance. 
 
 The mirth of the company was greatly pro- 
 moted by the humours of an eccentric personage 
 whom Mr. Bracebridge always addressed with 
 the quaint appellation of Master Simon. He was 
 a tight brisk little man, with the air of an arrant 
 old bachelor. His nose was shaped like the bill 
 of a parrot; his face slightly pitted with the 
 small-pox, with a dry perpetual bloom on 
 it, like a frost-bitten leaf in autumn. He 
 had an eye of great quickness and vivacity, 
 with a drollery and lurking waggery of expres- 
 
(Ebrt5tma0 t£vc 47 
 
 sion that was irresistible. He was evidently 
 the wit of the family, dealing very much in sly 
 jokes and innuendoes with the ladies, and making 
 infinite merriment by harping upon old themes; 
 which, unfortunately, my ignorance of the 
 family chronicles did not permit me to enjoy. 
 It seemed to be his great delight during supper 
 to keep a young girl next him in a continual 
 agony of stifled laughter, in spite of her awe 
 of the reproving looks of her mother, who sat 
 opposite. Indeed, he was the idol of the younger 
 part of the company, who laughed at everything 
 he said or did, and at every turn of his counte- 
 nance; I could not wonder at it, for he must 
 have been a miracle of accomplishments in their 
 eyes. He could imitate Punch and Judy; make 
 an old woman of his hand, with the assistance 
 of a burnt cork and pocket-handkerchief; and 
 cut an orange into such a ludicrous caricature, 
 that the young folks were ready to die with 
 laughing. 
 
 I was let briefly into his history by Frank 
 Bracebridge. He was an old bachelor, of a 
 
48 Cbrlatmae leve 
 
 small independent income, which, by careful 
 management, was sufficient for all his wants. 
 He revolved through the family system like a 
 vagrant comet in its orbit; sometimes visiting 
 one branch, and sometimes another quite remote ; 
 as is often the case with gentlemen of extensive 
 connections and small fortunes in England. 
 He had a chirping buoyant disposition, always 
 enjoying the present moment; and his frequent 
 change of scene and company prevented his ac- 
 quiring those rusty unaccommodating habits, 
 with which old bachelors are so uncharitably 
 charged. He was a complete family chronicle, 
 being versed in the genealogy, history, and 
 intermarriages of the whole house of Bracebridge, 
 which made him a great favourite with the old 
 folks; he was a beau of all the elder ladies and 
 superannuated spinsters, among whom he was 
 habitually considered rather a young fellow, 
 and he was master of the revels among the 
 children; so that there was not a more popular 
 being in the sphere in which he moved than 
 Mr. Simon Bracebridge. Of late years, he had 
 
Cbrlstmas t£vc 49 
 
 resided almost entirely with the squire, to 
 whom he had become a factotum, and whom 
 he particularly delighted by jumping with his 
 humour in respect to old times, and by having a 
 scrap of an old song to suit every occasion. We 
 had presently a specimen of his last-mentioned 
 talent, for no sooner was supper removed, and 
 spiced wines and other beverages peculiar to 
 the season introduced, than Master Simon was 
 called on for a good old Christmas song. He 
 bethought himself for a moment, and then, with 
 a sparkle of the eye, and a voice that was by 
 no means bad, excepting that it ran occasionally 
 into a falsetto, like the notes of a split reed, he 
 quavered forth a quaint old ditty. 
 
 Now Christmas is come, 
 
 Let us beat up the drum, 
 And call all oiir neighbours together, 
 
 And when they appear. 
 
 Let us make them such cheer. 
 As will keep out the wind and the weather, etc. 
 
 The supper had disposed every one to gaiety, 
 and an old harper was summoned from the 
 
50 Cbristmas Eve 
 
 servants' hall, where he had been strumming all 
 the evening, and to all- appearance comforting 
 himself with some of the squire's home-brewed. 
 He was a kind of hanger-on, I was told, of the 
 establishment, and, though ostensibly a resident 
 of the village, was oftener to be found in the 
 squire's kitchen than his own home, the old gen- 
 tleman being fond of the sound of " harp in hall." 
 The dance, like most dances after supper, 
 was a merry one ; some of the older folks joined 
 in it, and the squire himself figured down several 
 couple with a partner, with whom he affirmed 
 he had danced at every Christmas for nearly 
 half a century. Master Simon, who seemed to be 
 a kind of connecting link between the old times 
 and the new, and to be withal a little antiquated 
 in the taste of his accomplishments, evidently 
 piqued himself on his dancing, and was endeav- 
 ouring to gain credit by the heel and toe, riga- 
 doon, and other graces of the ancient school ; but 
 he had unluckily assorted himself with a little 
 romping girl from boarding-school, who, by her 
 wild vivacity, kept him continually on the 
 
" The dance like most dances after supper was a merry one ' 
 
Cbrietmas £pc 51 
 
 stretch, and defeated all his sober attempts at ele- 
 gance : — such are the ill-assorted matches to which 
 antique gentlemen are unfortunately prone ! 
 
 The young Oxonian, on the contrary, had 
 led out one of his maiden aunts, on whom the 
 rogue played a thousand little knaveries with 
 impunity: he was full of practical jokes, and his 
 delight was to tease his aunts and cousins ; yet, 
 like all madcap youngsters, he was a universal 
 favourite among the women. The most interest- 
 ing couple in the dance was ,the young officer 
 and a ward of the squire's, a beautiful blushing 
 girl of seventeen. From several shy glances 
 which I had noticed in the course of the evening, 
 I suspected there was a little kindness grow- 
 ing up between them; and, indeed, the young 
 soldier was just the hero to captivate a romantic 
 girl. He was tall, slender, and handsome, and, 
 like most young British officers of late years, had 
 picked up various small accomplishments on 
 the continent — he could talk French and Itahan 
 — draw landscapes, sing very tolerably — dance 
 divinely; but, above all, he had been wounded 
 
52 Cbrl0tma0 five 
 
 at Waterloo: — what girl of seventeen, well 
 read in poetry and romance, could resist such a 
 mirror of chivalry and perfection ! 
 
 The moment the dance was over, he caught 
 up a guitar, and, lolling against the old marble 
 fireplace, in an attitude which I am half inclined 
 to suspect was studied, began the little French 
 air of the Troubadour. The squire, however, 
 exclaimed against having anything on Christmas 
 eve but good old English; upon which the 
 young minstrel, casting up his eye for a moment 
 as if in an effort of memory, struck into another 
 strain, and, with a charming air of gallantry, 
 gave Herrick's NighP-Piece to Julia. 
 
 Her eyes the glow-worm lend thee, 
 The shooting stars attend thee, 
 
 And the elves also, 
 
 Whose little eyes glow 
 Like the sparks of fire, befriend thee. 
 
 No Will o' the Wisp mislight thee; 
 Nor snake nor slow-worm bite thee; 
 
 But on, on thy way, 
 
 Not making a stay. 
 Since ghost there is none to affright thee. 
 
Cbrlstmae i£vc 53 
 
 Then let not the dark thee cumber; 
 What though the moon does slumber, 
 
 The stars of the night 
 
 Will lend thee their light, 
 Like tapers clear without number. 
 
 Then, Julia, let me woo thee. 
 Thus, thus to come unto me, 
 
 And when I shall meet 
 
 Thy silvery feet. 
 My soul I'll pour into thee. 
 
 The song might or might not have been 
 intended in compliment to the fair Julia, for 
 so I found his partner was called ; she, however, 
 was certainly unconscious of any such applica- 
 tion, for she never looked at the singer, but 
 kept her eyes cast upon the floor. Her face 
 was suffused, it is true, with a beautiful blush, 
 and there was a gentle heaving of the bosom, but 
 all that was doubtless caused by the exercise 
 of the dance; indeed, so great was her indiffer- 
 ence, that she amused herself with plucking to 
 pieces a choice bouquet of hot-house flowers, 
 and by the time the song was concluded the 
 nosegay lay in ruins on the floor. 
 
54 Cbrlstmae J6ve 
 
 The party now broke up for the night with 
 the kind-hearted old custom of shaking hands. 
 As I passed through the hall, on my way to my 
 chamber, the dying embers of the Yule clog 
 still sent forth a dusky glow, and had it not been 
 the season when "no spirit dares stir abroad," I 
 should have been half tempted to steal from my 
 room at midnight, and peep whether the fairies 
 might not be at their revels about the hearth. 
 
 My chamber was in the old part of the man- 
 sion, the ponderous furniture of which might 
 have been fabricated in the days of the giants. 
 The room was panelled with cornices of heavy 
 carved work, in which flowers and grotesque 
 faces were strangely intermingled; and a row of 
 black-looking portraits stared mournfully at me 
 from the walls. The bed was of rich, though 
 faded damask, with a lofty tester, and stood in a 
 niche opposite a bow window. I had scarcely 
 got into bed when a strain of music seemed 
 to break forth in the air just below the window. 
 I listened, and found it proceeded from a band, 
 which I concluded to be the waits from some 
 
Cbrtetmas five 55 
 
 neighbouring village. They went round the 
 house, playing under the windows. I drew 
 aside the curtains to hear them more distinctly. 
 The moonbeams fell through the upper part of 
 the casement, partially lighting up the anti- 
 quated apartment. The sounds, as they re- 
 ceded, became more soft and aerial, and seemed 
 to accord with the quiet and moonlight. I 
 listened and listened — they became more and 
 more tender and remote, and, as they gradually 
 died away, my head sunk upon the pillow, and 
 I fell asleep. 
 
CHRISTMAS DAY 
 
 57 
 
 "Evidently piqued himself on his 
 dancing" 
 
CHRISTMAS DAY 
 
 Dark and dull night, flie hence away, 
 And give the honour to this day 
 That sees December turn'd to May. 
 
 Why does the chilling winter's mome 
 Smile like a field beset with corn? 
 Or smell like to a meade new-shorne. 
 Thus on the sudden? — Come and see 
 The cause why things thus fragrant be. 
 
 Herrice. 
 
 WHEN I woke 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 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 — 
 
 59 
 
60 Cbrlstmas 2)ai2 
 
 Rejoice, our Saviour he was bom 
 On Christmas day in the morning. 
 
 I rose softly, slipt on my clothes, opened 
 the 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 mo- 
 ment 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. 
 
 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 
 
Cbrlstmas Dai^ 6i 
 
 track of park beyond, with noble clumps of 
 trees, and herds of deer. At a distance was a 
 neat hamlet, 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 ever- 
 greens, 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 glittering 
 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. 
 
 I had scarcely dressed myself, when a servant 
 
62 Cbrlstmae Wwq 
 
 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, and made the responses ; 
 and I must do him the justice to say that he ac- 
 quitted himself with great gravity and decorum. 
 The service was followed by a Christmas 
 carol, which Mr. Bracebridge himself had con- 
 structed 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 eye 
 glistening, and his voice rambling out of all the 
 bounds of time and tune : 
 
Cbristmas 2)a^ 63 
 
 'Tis thou that crown'st my glittering hearth 
 
 With guiltlesse mirth, 
 And giv'st me Wassaile bowles to drink 
 
 Spiced to the brink: 
 Lord, 'tis thy plenty-dropping hand 
 
 That soiles my land : 
 And giv'st me for my bushell sowne, 
 
 Twice ten for one. 
 
 I afterwards understood that early morning 
 service was read on every Sunday and saint's 
 day throughout the year, either by Mr. Brace- 
 bridge 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 
 falling into neglect; for the dullest observer 
 must be sensible of the order and serenity preva- 
 lent 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. 
 
 Our breakfast consisted of what the squire 
 denominated true old English fare. He indulged 
 
64 Cbristmae Daij 
 
 in some bitter lamentations over modern break- 
 fasts 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 display of cold meats, wine, and ale, 
 on the sideboard. 
 
 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 gentlemanlike dogs, that seemed loungers 
 about the establishment; from the frisking 
 spaniel to the steady old stag-hound ; the last of 
 which was 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. 
 
 The old mansion had a still more venerable 
 look in the yellow sunshine than by pale moon- 
 
Cbrlstmas 2)ai2 65 
 
 light; 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 phraseo- 
 logy by Master Simon^ who told me that, accord- 
 ing to the most ancient and approved treatise 
 on hunting, I must say a muster 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 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 
 
66 Cbristmas 2)a^ 
 
 mourn and hide himself in corners, till his tail 
 come again as it was." 
 
 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 Braceb ridge 
 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. 
 
 Master Simon had now to hurry oflf, having 
 an appointment at the parish church with the 
 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 
 
Cbrletmas 2)a^ 67 
 
 had been somewhat surprised at his apt quota- 
 tions from authors who certainly were not in 
 the range of every-day 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 some- 
 times 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; Izaac 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, 
 
68 Cbrlstmas Dai? 
 
 however, had caused him to be looked upon as a 
 prodigy of book knowledge by all the grooms, 
 huntsmen, and small sportsmen of the neigh- 
 bourhood. 
 
 While we were talking we heard the distant 
 tolling 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. 
 
 At Christmas be merry, and thankful withal, 
 And feast thy poor neighbours, the great with the 
 small. 
 
 "If you are disposed to go to church," said 
 Frank Bracebridge, " I can promise you a speci- 
 men 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 improve- 
 ment; 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 
 
Cbrlstmae Da^ 69 
 
 Contentments; for the bass he has sought out all 
 the '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 affirnls, are the most difficult to keep in tune ; 
 your pretty female singer being exceedingly 
 wayward and capricious, and very liable to 
 accident." 
 
 As the morning, though frosty, was remark- 
 ably fine and clear, the most of the family 
 walked to the church, which was a very old 
 building of grey stone, and stood near a village, 
 about half a mile from the park gate. Adjoin- 
 ing 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. 
 
70 Cbrl0tma0 2)a\> 
 
 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 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. 
 
 I was informed by Frank Bracebridge, that 
 the parson had been a chum of his father's at 
 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 worth- 
 
"We found the parson rebuking^ the grey-headed sexton' 
 
Cbristmae Bai? 71 
 
 lessness. In deference, perhaps, to the notions 
 of Mr. Bracebridge, he had made dihgent inves- 
 tigations into the festive rites and holiday cus- 
 toms of former times; and had been as zealous 
 in the inquiry as if he had been a boon com- 
 panion; 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 pored over these old 
 volumes so intensely, that they seemed to 
 have been reflected in his countenance; which, 
 -if the face be indeed an index of the mind, might 
 be compared to a title-page of black-letter. 
 
 On reaching the church porch, we found the 
 parson rebuking the grey-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 cere- 
 monies; and though it might be innocently 
 
72 Cbristmas Da^ 
 
 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. 
 
 The interior of the church was venerable 
 but simple; on the walls were several mural 
 monuments of the Bracebridges, and just beside 
 the 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. 
 
 During service. Master Simon stood up in 
 the pew, and repeated the responses very audi- 
 bly; evincing that kind of ceremonious devotion 
 punctually observed by a gentleman of the old 
 school, and a man of old family connections. I 
 
(tbrlstmas Bai? 73 
 
 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 
 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 
 chqn, and beating time with much gesticulation 
 and emphasis. 
 
 The orchestra was in a small gallery, and 
 presented a most whimsical grouping of heads, 
 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 singers, to which the keen air of a frosty 
 morning had given a bright rosy tint; but the 
 gentlemen choristers had evidently been chosen. 
 
74 Cbrietmas Dai? 
 
 like old Cremona fiddles, more for tone than 
 looks; and as several had to sing from the same 
 book, there were clusterings of odd physiogno- 
 mies, not unlike those groups of cherubs we 
 sometimes see on country tombstones. 
 
 The usual services of the choir were managed 
 tolerably well, the vocal parts generally lagging 
 a little behind the instrumental, and some loiter- 
 ing 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 
 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 happened to stand a little 
 apart, and, being wrapped up in his own melody, 
 kept on a quavering course, wriggling his head, 
 ogling his book, and winding all up by a nasal 
 solo of at least three bars' duration. 
 
 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 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 Christ- 
 
76 Cbrl0tma0 'Bwq 
 
 mas, got completely embroiled in the sectarian 
 controversies of the Revolution, when the Puri- 
 tans made such a fierce assault upon the cere- 
 monies of the Church, and poor old Christmas 
 was driven out of the land by proclamation 
 of Parliament. The worthy parson lived but 
 with times past, and knew but little of the 
 present. 
 
 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 elasped since the fiery persecu- 
 tion of poor mince-pie throughout the land; 
 when plum porridge was denounced as "mere 
 popery," and roast-beef as anti-christian ; 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; he had a stubborn conflict with old 
 
" The villagers doffed their hats to the Squire as he passed " 
 
Cbrtetmas 2)ai? 77 
 
 Prynne and two or three other forgotten cham- 
 pions of the Round Heads, on the subject of 
 Christmas festivity; and concluded by urging 
 his hearers, in the most solemn and affecting 
 manner, to stand to the traditional customs of 
 their fathers, and feast and make merry on this 
 joyful anniversary of the Church. 
 
 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 church-yard, 
 greeting and shaking hands; and the children 
 ran about crying Ule! Ule! and repeating some 
 uncouth rhymes," 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 
 
 'Ule! Ule! 
 Three puddings in a pule, 
 Crack nuts and cry ule! 
 
78 Cbrl6tmas 2)a^ 
 
 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. 
 
 On our way homeward his heart seemed 
 overflowed 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 inspire 
 philanthropy. Notwithstanding the frosti- 
 ness 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 midwinter. Large tracts of smiling verdure 
 contrasted with the dazzling whiteness of the 
 
Cbrlstmae Dai? 79 
 
 shaded slopes and hollows. Every sheltered 
 bank, on 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 thral- 
 dom 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 
 farmhouses 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 yoli are sure of being welcome 
 wherever you go, and of having, as it were, the 
 world thrown all open to you; and I am almost 
 disposed to join with Poor Robin, in his male- 
 diction on every churlish enemy to this honest 
 festival — 
 
8o Cbristmas 2>ai? 
 
 'Those who at Christmas do repine 
 
 And would fain hence dispatch him, 
 May they with old Duke Humphrey dine, 
 Or else may Squire Ketch catch 'em.' " 
 
 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 the castles and manor-houses 
 were thrown open at daylight; when the tables 
 were covered with brawn, and beef, and hum- 
 ming ale ; when the harp and the carol resounded 
 all day long, and when rich and poor were alike 
 welcome to enter and make merry. "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 : 
 
 I like them well — the curious preciseness 
 And all-pretended gravity of those 
 That seek to banish hence these harmless sports, 
 Have thrust away much ancient honesty. 
 
Cbristmas 2)ai2 8i 
 
 "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 ale-house politicians, and talk of reform. 
 I think one mode to keep them in good humour 
 in these hard times 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." 
 
 Such was the good squire's project for miti- 
 gating 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 coun- 
 try 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 
 
 6 
 
82 Cbrl0tmas Da^ 
 
 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 with distributing beef, 
 and bread, and ale, among the poor, that they 
 might make merry in their own dwellings. 
 
 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 ribbons, their hats deco- 
 rated with greens, and clubs in their hands, was 
 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, retreat- 
 ing, and striking their clubs together, keeping 
 exact time 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. 
 
 The squire eyed this fanciful exhibition with 
 
Cbrietmae 2)a^ 83 
 
 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 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 the rough cudgel play, and 
 broken heads in the evening." 
 
 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 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 
 
84 Cbrletmas 2)ai5 
 
 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 
 farmhouse and cottage; gossiped with the 
 farmers and their wives; romped with their 
 daughters; and, like that type of a vagrant 
 bachelor, the bumblebee, tolled the sweets 
 from all the rosy lips of the country round. -- 
 
 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 dependent more 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 ap- 
 peared to be the wit of the village ; for I observed 
 
Cbrl0tma0 3Da^ 85 
 
 all his companions to wait with open mOuths 
 for his retorts, and burst into a gratuitous laugh 
 before they could well understand them. 
 
 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 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. 
 
THE CHRISTMAS DINNER 
 
 87 
 
 The Orchestra 
 
THE CHRISTMAS DINNER 
 
 Lo, now is come our joyful'st feast! 
 
 Let every man be jolly, 
 Eache roome with yvie leaves is drest. 
 
 And every post with holly. 
 Now all our neighbours' chimneys smoke, 
 
 And Christmas blocks are burning; 
 Their ovens they with bak't meats choke 
 And all their spits are turning. 
 Without the door let sorrow lie, 
 And if, for cold, it hap to die, 
 Wee'le bury't in a Christmas pye. 
 And evermore be merry. 
 
 WiTHERs's Juvenilia. 
 
 I HAD finished my toilet, and was loitering 
 with Frank Bracebridge in the library, 
 when we heard a distant thwacking sound, 
 which he informed me was a signal for the 
 serving up of the dinner. The squire kept up 
 old customs in kitchen as well as hall; and the 
 rolling-pin, struck upon the dresser by the 
 cook, summoned the servants to carry in 
 
 the meats. 
 
 89 
 
90 Zbc Cbristmas ©inner 
 
 Just in this nick the cook knock'd thrice, 
 And all the waiters in a trice 
 
 His summons did obey ; 
 Each serving man, with dish in hand, 
 March'd boldly up, Hke our train band. 
 
 Presented, and away.' 
 
 The dinner was served up in the great hall, 
 where the squire always held his Christmas 
 banquet. A blazing crackling fire of logs had 
 been heaped on to warm the spacious apartment, 
 and the flame went sparkling and wreathing up 
 the wide-mouthed chimney. The great picture 
 of the Crusader and his white horse had been 
 profusely decorated with greens for the occasion ; 
 and holly and ivy had likewise been wreathed 
 round the helmet and weapons on the opposite 
 wall, which I understood were the arms of the 
 same warrior. I must own, by the by, I had 
 strong doubts about the authenticity of the 
 painting and armour as having belonged to 
 the Crusader, they certainly having the stamp 
 of more recent days; but I was told that the 
 painting had been so considered time out of 
 
 I Sir John Suckling. 
 
ttbe Cbrlstmas Dinner 91 
 
 mind; and that, as to the armour, it had been 
 found in a lumber-room, and elevated to its 
 present situation by the squire, who at once 
 determined it to be the armour of the family 
 hero; and as he was absolute authority on all 
 such subjects in his own household, the matter 
 had passed into current acceptation. A side- 
 board was set out just under this chivalric 
 trophy, on which was a display of plate that 
 might have vied (at least in variety) with Bel- 
 shazzar's parade of the vessels of the temple: 
 "flagons, cans, cups, beakers, goblets, basins, and 
 ewers " ; the gorgeous utensils of good com- 
 panionship that had gradually accumulated 
 through many generations of jovial housekeepers. 
 Before these stood the two Yule candles, beam- 
 ing like two stars of the first magnitude; other 
 lights were distributed in branches, and the 
 whole array glittered like a firmament of silver. 
 We were ushered into this banqueting scene 
 with the sound of minstrelsy, the old harper 
 being seated on a stool beside the fireplace, 
 and twanging his instrument with a vast deal 
 
92 tEbe (Ebrlstmas Dinner 
 
 more power than melody. Never did Christmas 
 board display a more goodly and gracious assem- 
 blage of countenances; those who were not 
 handsome were, at least, happy; and happiness 
 is a rare improver of your hard-favoured visage. 
 I always consider an old English family as well 
 worth studying as a collection of Holbein's por- 
 traits or Albert Diirer's prints. There is much 
 antiquarian lore to be acquired ; much knowledge 
 of the physiognomies of former times. Perhaps 
 it may be from having continually before their 
 eyes those rows of old family portraits, with 
 which the mansions of this country are stocked ; 
 certain it is, that the quaint features of antiquity 
 are often most faithfully perpetuated in these 
 ancient lines; and I have traced an old family 
 nose through a whole picture gallery, legitimately 
 handed down from generation to generation, 
 almost from the time of the Conquest. Some- 
 thing of the kind was to be observed in the 
 worthy company around me. Many of their 
 faces had evidently originated in a Gothic age, 
 and been merely copied by succeeding genera- 
 
^be Cbrlstmas Sinner 93 
 
 tions; and there was one little girl in particular, 
 of staid demeanour, with a high Roman nose, 
 and an antique vinegar aspect, who was a great 
 favourite of the squire's, being, as he said, a 
 Bracebridge all over, and the very counterpart 
 of one of his ancestors who figured in the Court 
 of Henry VIII. 
 
 The parson said grace, which was not a short 
 familiar one, such as is commonly addressed to 
 the Deity in these unceremonious days ; but a 
 long, courtly, well-worded one of the ancient 
 school. There was now a pause, as if something 
 was expected ; when suddenly the butler entered 
 the hall with some degree of bustle: he was 
 attended by a servant on each side with a large 
 wax-light, and bore a silver dish, on which was 
 an enormous pig's head, decorated with rose- 
 mary, with a lemon in its mouth, which was 
 placed with great formality at the head of the 
 table. The moment this pageant made its 
 appearance, the harper struck up a flourish; 
 at the conclusion of which the young Oxonian, 
 on receiving a hint from the squire, gave, with 
 
94 ^be Cbrlstmae Dinner 
 
 an air of the most comic gravity, an old carol, 
 the first verse of which was as follows : 
 
 Caput apri defero 
 
 Reddens laudes Domino. 
 The boar's head in hand bring I, 
 With garlands gay and rosemary. 
 I pray you all sjmge merrily 
 
 Qui estis in convivio. 
 
 Though prepared to witness many of these 
 little eccentricities, from being apprised of the 
 peculiar hobby of mine host; yet, I confess, the 
 parade with which so odd a dish was introduced 
 somewhat perplexed me, until I gathered from 
 the conversation of the squire and the parson, 
 that it was meant to represent the bringing in 
 of the boar's head; a dish formerly served up 
 with much ceremony and the sound of minstrelsy 
 and song, at great tables, on Christmas day. 
 " I like the old custom, " said the squire, " not 
 merely because it is stately and pleasing in 
 itself, but because it was observed at the college 
 at Oxford at which I was educated. When I 
 hear the old song chanted, it brings to mind the 
 
Z\)c Cbrl6tma0 Dinner 95 
 
 time when I was young and gamesome — and 
 the noble old college hall — and my fellow-stu- 
 dents loitering about in their black gowns; 
 many of whom, poor lads, are now in their 
 graves!" 
 
 The parson, however, whose mind was not 
 haunted by such associations, and who was al- 
 ways more taken up with the text than the senti- 
 ment, objected to the Oxonian's version of the 
 carol ; which he affirmed was different from that 
 sung at college. He went on, with the dry per- 
 severance of a commentator, to give the college 
 reading, accompanied by sundry annotations; 
 addressing himself at first to the company at 
 large; but finding their attention gradually 
 diverted to other talk and other objects, he 
 lowered his tone as his number of auditors 
 diminished, until he concluded his remarks in 
 an under voice, to a fat-headed old gentleman 
 next him, who was silently engaged in the dis- 
 cussion of a huge plateful of turkey. 
 
 The table was literally loaded with good 
 cheer, and presented an epitome of country 
 
96 ^be Cbrietmag ©Inner 
 
 abundance, in this season of overflowing larders. 
 A distinguished post was allotted to "ancient 
 sirloin," as mine host termed it; being, as he 
 added, " the standard of old English hospitality, 
 and a joint of goodly presence, and full of ex- 
 pectation." There were several dishes quaintly 
 decorated, and which had evidently something 
 traditional in their embellishments; but about 
 which, as I did not like to appear over-curious, 
 I asked no questions. 
 
 I could not, however, but notice a pie, magnifi- 
 cently decorated with peacock's feathers, in 
 imitation of the tail of that bird, which over- 
 shadowed a considerable tract of the table. 
 This, the squire confessed, with some little 
 hesitation, was a pheasant pie, though a peacock 
 pie was certainly the most authentical ; but there 
 had been such a mortality among the peacocks 
 this season, that he could not prevail upon 
 himself to have one killed. 
 
 It would be tedious, perhaps, to my wiser 
 readers, who may not have that foolish fondness 
 for odd and obsolete things, to which I am a 
 
ttbe Cbrlstmae Dinner 97 
 
 little given, were I to mention the other make- 
 shifts of this worthy old humourist, by which he 
 was endeavouring to follow up, though at hum- 
 ble distance, the quaint customs of antiqui- 
 ty. I was pleased, however, to see the respect 
 shown to his whims by his children and relatives ; 
 who, indeed, entered readily into the full spirit 
 of them, and seemed all well versed in their 
 parts; having doubtless been present at many a 
 rehearsal. I was amused, too, at the air of 
 profound gravity with which the butler and 
 other servants executed the duties assigned 
 them, however eccentdc. They had an old- 
 fashioned look; having, for the most part, been 
 brought up in the household, and grown into 
 keeping with the antiquated mansion, and the 
 humours of its lord; and most probably looked 
 upon all his whimsical regulations as the estab- 
 lished laws of honourable housekeeping. 
 
 When the cloth was removed, -the butler 
 brought in a huge silver vessel of rare and 
 curious workmanship, which he placed before 
 the squire. Its appearance was hailed with 
 
98 Zbe Cbrlstmae ©inner 
 
 acclamation; being the Wassail Bowl, so re- 
 nowned in Christmas festivity. The contents 
 had been prepared by the squire himself; for it 
 was a beverage in the skilful mixture of which 
 he particularly prided himself: alleging that it 
 was too abstruse and complex for the compre- 
 hension of an ordinary servant. It was a pota- 
 tion, indeed, that might well make the heart of 
 a toper leap within him ; being composed of the 
 richest and raciest wines, highly spiced and 
 sweetened, with roasted apples bobbing about 
 the surface. 
 
 The old gentleman's whole countenance 
 beamed with a serene look of indwelling delight, 
 as he stirred this mighty bowl. Having raised 
 it to his lips, with a hearty wish of a merry 
 Christmas to all present, he sent it brimming 
 round the board, for every one to follow his 
 example, according to the primitive style; pro- 
 nouncing it "the ancient fountain of good feeling, 
 where all hearts met together." 
 
 There was much laughing and rallying as 
 the honest emblem of Christmas joviality 
 
Z\ic Cbrlstmas Dinner 99 
 
 circulated, and was kissed rather coyly by the 
 ladies. When it reached Master Simon, he 
 raised it in both hands, and with the air of a 
 boon companion struck up an old Wassail 
 chanson. 
 
 The brown bowle, 
 
 The merry brown bowle, 
 
 As it goes round about-a, 
 
 Fill 
 
 Still, 
 Let the world say what it will, 
 And drink your fill all out-a. 
 
 The deep canne, 
 
 The merry deep canne, " 
 
 As thou dost freely quafif-a, 
 
 Sing 
 
 FHng, 
 Be as merry as a king. 
 And sound a lusty laugh-a. ' 
 
 Much of the conversation during dinner 
 turned upon family topics, to which I was a 
 stranger. There was, however, a great deal of 
 rallying of Master Simon about some gay widow, 
 with whom he was accused of having a flirtation. 
 
 - From Poor Robin's Almanac. 
 
100 Zl)e Cbristmae ©inner 
 
 This attack was commenced by the ladies ; but 
 it was "continued throughout the dinner by the 
 fat-headed old gentleman next the parson, 
 with the persevering assiduity of a slow hound; 
 being one of those long-winded jokers, who, 
 though rather dull at starting game, are un- 
 rivalled for their talents in hunting it down. At 
 every pause in the general conversation, he 
 renewed his bantering in pretty much the 
 same terms; winking hard at me with both 
 eyes, whenever he gave Master Simon what he 
 considered a home thrust. The latter, indeed, 
 seemed fond of being teased on the subject, as 
 old bachelors are apt to be; and he took occasion 
 to inform me, in an undertone, that the lady in 
 question was a prodigiously fine woman, and 
 drove her own curricle. 
 
 The dinner-time passed away in this flow 
 of innocent hilarity, and, though the old hall 
 may have resounded in its time with many a 
 scene of broader rout and revel, yet I doubt 
 whether it ever witnessed more honest and 
 genuine enjoyment. How easy it is for one 
 
Zbc Cbrtstmas ©Inner loi 
 
 benevolent being to diffuse pleasure around 
 him ; and how truly is a kind heart a fountain of 
 gladness, making everything in its vicinity to 
 freshen into smiles! the joyous disposition of 
 the worthy squire was perfectly contagious; 
 he was happy himself, and disposed to make all 
 the world happy; and the little eccentricities 
 of his humour did but season, in a manner, 
 the sweetness of his philanthropy. 
 
 When the ladies had retired, the conversation, 
 as usual, became still more animated; many 
 good things were broached which had been 
 thought of during dinner, but which would not 
 exactly do for a lady's ear; and though I cannot 
 positively affirm that there was much wit 
 uttered, yet I have certainly heard many con- 
 tests of rare wit produce much less laughter. 
 Wit, after all, is a mighty tart, pungent ingredi- 
 ent, and much too acid for some stomachs; 
 but honest good humour is the oil and wine of a 
 merry meeting, and there is no jovial companion- 
 ship equal to that where the jokes are rather 
 small, and the laughter abundant. 
 
102 ZTbe Cbristmas Dinner 
 
 The squire told several long stories of early 
 college pranks and adventures, in some of 
 which the parson had been a sharer; though in 
 looking at the latter, it required some effort of 
 imagination to figure such a little dark an- 
 atomy of a man into the perpetrator of a 
 madcap gambol. Indeed, the two college chums 
 presented pictures of what men may be made 
 by their different lots in life. The squire had 
 left the university to live lustily on his paternal 
 domains, in the vigorous enjoyment of prosperity 
 and sunshine, and had flourished on to a hearty 
 and florid old age ; whilst the poor parson, on the 
 contrary, had dried and withered away, among 
 dusty tomes, in the silence and shadows of his 
 study. Still there seemed to be a spark of 
 almost extinguished fire, feebly glimmering 
 in the bottom of his soul; and as the squire 
 hinted at a sly story of the parson and a pretty 
 milkmaid, whom they once met on the banks 
 of the Isis, the old gentleman made an " alphabet 
 of faces, " which, as far as I could decipher his 
 .physiognomy, I verily believe was indicative 
 
^be Cbrietmas 2)lnncr 103 
 
 of laughter; — indeed, I have rarely met with an 
 old gentleman that took absolute offence at the 
 imputed gallantries of his youth. 
 
 I found the tide of wine and wassail fast 
 gaining on the dry land of sober judgment. 
 The company grew merrier and louder as their 
 jokes grew duller. Master Simon was in as 
 chirping a humour as a grasshopper filled with 
 dew; his old songs grew of a warmer complexion, 
 and he began to talk maudlin about the widow. 
 He even gave a long song about the wooing of 
 a widow, which he informed me he had gathered 
 from an excellent black-letter work, entitled 
 Cupid's Solicitor for Love, containing store of 
 good advice for bachelors, and which he pro- 
 mised to lend me: the first verse was to this 
 effect: 
 
 He that will woo a widow must not dally, 
 He must make hay while the sun doth shine; 
 
 He must not stand with her, shall I, shall I, 
 But boldly say, Widow, thou must be mine. 
 
 This song inspired the fat-headed old gentle- 
 man, who made several attempts to tell a 
 
104 Q^be Cbrlstmae 2)lnner 
 
 rather broad story out of Joe Miller, that was 
 pat to the purpose; but he always stuck in the 
 middle, everybody recollecting the latter part 
 excepting himself. The parson, too, began to 
 show the effects of good cheer, having gradually 
 settled down into a doze, and his wig sitting 
 most suspiciously on one side. Just at this 
 juncture we were summoned to the drawing- 
 room, and, I suspect, at the private instigation 
 of mine host, whose joviality seemed always 
 tempered with a proper love of decorum. 
 
 After the dinner table was removed, the 
 hall was given up to the younger members 
 of the family, who, prompted to all kind of 
 noisy mirth by the Oxonian and Master Simon, 
 made its old walls ring with their merriment, 
 as they played at romping games. I delight 
 in witnessing the gambols of children, and 
 particularly at this happy holiday season, and 
 could not help stealing out of the drawing-room 
 on hearing one of their peals of laughter. I 
 found them at the game of blindman's-buff. 
 Master Simon, who was the leader of their 
 
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Zl3C Cbrlstmas Dinner 105 
 
 revels, and seemed on all occasions to fulfil the 
 office of that ancient potentate, the Lord of 
 Misrule,^ was blinded in the midst of the hall. 
 The little beings were as busy about him as 
 the mock fairies about Falstafi^; pinching him, 
 plucking at the skirts of his coat, and tickling 
 him with straws. One fine blue-eyed girl of 
 about thirteen, with her flaxen hair all in beauti- 
 ful confusion, her frolic face in a glow, her frock 
 half torn off her shoulders, a complete picture of a 
 romp, was the chief tormentor; and, from the 
 slyness with which Master Simon avoided the 
 smaller game, and hemmed this wild little 
 nymph in corners, and obliged her to jump 
 shrieking over chairs, I suspected the rogue 
 of being not a whit more blinded than was 
 convenient. 
 
 When I returned to the drawing-room, I 
 found the company seated round the fire, lis- 
 tening to the parson, who was deeply ensconced 
 
 ' At Christmasse there was in the Kinge's house, wheresoever hee 
 was lodged, a lorde of misrule, or mayster of merie disportes, and the 
 like had ye in the house of every nobleman of honour, or good wor- 
 shippe, were he spirituall or temporall. — Stowe. 
 
io6 Zhc Cbrlstmas Blnner 
 
 in a high-backed oaiien chair, the work of some 
 cunning artificer of yore, which had been brought 
 from the library for his particular accommoda- 
 tion. From this venerable piece of furniture, 
 with which his shadowy figure and dark weazen 
 face so admirably accorded, he was deahng out 
 strange accounts of the popular superstitions 
 and legends of the surrounding country, with 
 which he had become acquainted in the course of 
 his antiquarian researches. I am half inclined 
 to think that the old gentleman was himself 
 somewhat tinctured with superstition, as men 
 are very apt to be who live a recluse and studious 
 life in a sequestered part of the country, and 
 pore over black-letter tracts, so often filled with 
 the marvellous and supernatural. He gave us 
 several anecdotes of the fancies of the neigh- 
 bouring peasantry, concerning the effigy of the 
 Crusader, which lay on the tomb by the church 
 altar. As it was the only monument of the kind 
 in that part of the country, it had always been 
 regarded with feelings of superstition by the 
 good wives of the village. It was said to get 
 
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Zlbe C[)d0tma0 2)lnner 107 
 
 up from the tomb and walk the rounds of the 
 church-yard in stormy nights, particularly when 
 it thundered ; and one old woman, whose cottage 
 bordered on the church-yard, had seen it through 
 the windows of the church, when the moon 
 shone, slowly pacing up and down the aisles. 
 It was the belief that some wrong had been 
 left unredressed by the deceased, or some treasure 
 hidden, which kept the spirit in a state of trou- 
 ble and restlessness. Some talked of gold and 
 jewels buried in the tomb, over which the 
 spectre kept watch ; and there was a story cur- 
 rent of a sexton in old times, who endeavoured 
 to break his way to the coffin at night, but, just 
 as he reached it, received a violent blow from the 
 marble hand of the effigy, which stretched him 
 senseless on the pavement. These tales were 
 often laughed at by some of the sturdier among 
 the rustics, yet, when night came on, there were 
 many of the stoutest unbelievers that were shy 
 of venturing alone in the footpath that led 
 across the church-yard. 
 From these and other anecdotes that followed. 
 
io8 Zhc Cbrlstmae "Dinner 
 
 the Crusader appeared to be the favourite herd 
 of ghost stories throughout the vicinity. His 
 picture, which hung up in the hall, was thought 
 by the servants to have something supernatural 
 about it; for they remarked that, in whatever 
 part of the hall you went, the eyes of the warrior 
 were still fixed on you. The old porter's wife, 
 too, at the lodge, who had been born and brought 
 up in the family, and was a great gossip among 
 the maid servants, affirmed that in her young 
 days she had often heard say that on Midsummer 
 eve, when it was well known all kinds of ghosts, 
 goblins, and fairies become visible and walk 
 abroad, the Crusader used to mount his horse, 
 come down from his picture, ride about the house, 
 down the avenue, and so to the church to visit 
 the tomb ; on which occasion the church , door 
 most civilly swung open of itself; not that he 
 needed it ; for he rode through closed gates and 
 even stone walls, and had been seen by one of 
 the dairy maids to pass between two bars of the 
 great park gate, making himself as thin as a 
 sheet of paper. 
 
"Rode through closed gates and even stone walls" 
 
Zbc Cbrlstmas Dinner 109 
 
 All these superstitions I found had been 
 very much countenanced by the squire, who, 
 though not superstitious himself, was very fond 
 of seeing others so. He listened to every goblin 
 tale of the neighbouring gossips with infinite 
 gravity, and held the porter's wife in high 
 favour on account of her talent for the marvel- 
 lous. He was himself a great reader of old 
 legends and romances, and often lamented that 
 he could not believe in them; for a superstitious 
 person, he thought, must live in a kind of fairy 
 land. 
 
 Whilst we were all attention to the parson's 
 storiesi our ears were suddenly assailed by a 
 burst of heterogeneous sounds from the hall, 
 in which were mingled something like the clang 
 of rude minstrelsy, with the uproar of many 
 small voices and girlish laughter. The door 
 suddenly flew open, and a train came trooping 
 into the room, that might almost have been 
 mistaken for the breaking up of the court of 
 Fairy. That indefatigable spirit, Master Simon, 
 in the faithful discharge of his duties as Lord of 
 
no Z\)e Cbrletmag Dinner 
 
 Misrule, had conceived the idea of a Christmas 
 mummery or masking; and having called in 
 to his assistance the Oxonian and the young 
 officer, who were equally ripe for anything that 
 should occasion romping and merriment, they 
 had carried it into instant effect. The old 
 housekeeper had been consulted; the antique 
 clothes-presses and wardrobes rummaged, and 
 made to yield up the relics of finery that had 
 not seen the light for several generations; the 
 younger part of the company had been privately 
 convened from the parlour and hall, and the 
 whole had been bedizened out into a burlesque 
 imitation of an antique mask. 
 
 Master Simon led the van, as "Ancient 
 Christmas," quaintly apparelled in a ruff, 
 a short cloak, which had very much the aspect 
 of one of the old housekeeper's petticoats, and a 
 hat that might have served for a village steeple, 
 and must indubitably have figured in the days 
 of the Covenanters. From under this his nose 
 curved boldly forth, flushed with a frost-bitten 
 bloom, that seemed the very trophy of a Decern- 
 
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^be Cbrl0tma0 Dinner m 
 
 ber blast. He was accompanied by the blue- 
 eyed romp, dished up as "Dame Mince Pie," 
 in the venerable magnificence of a faded brocade, 
 long stomacher, peaked hat, and high-heeled 
 shoes. The young officer appeared as Robin 
 Hood, in a sporting dress of Kendal green, and 
 a foraging cap with a gold tassel. 
 
 The costume, to be sure, did not bear testi- 
 mony to deep research, and there was an evident 
 eye to the picturesque, natural to a young gallant 
 in the presence of his mistress. The fair Julia 
 hung on his arm in a pretty rustic dress, as 
 "Maid Marian." The rest of the train had 
 been metamorphosed in various ways; the girls 
 trussed up in the finery of the ancient belles 
 of the Bracebridge line, and the striplings be- 
 whiskered with burnt cork, and gravely clad in 
 broad skirts, hanging sleeves, and full-bottomed 
 wigs, to represent the character of Roast Beef, 
 Plum Pudding, and other worthies celebrated 
 in ancient maskings. The whole was under 
 the control of the Oxonian, in the appropri- 
 ate character of Misrule; and I observed that 
 
112 JLiic Cbrlstmas Dinner 
 
 he exercised rather a mischievous sway with 
 his wand over the smaller personages of the 
 pageant. 
 
 The irruption of this motley crew, with 
 beat of drum, according to ancient custom, 
 was the consummation of uproar and merriment. 
 Master Simon covered himself with glory by the 
 stateliness with which, as Ancient Christmas, he 
 walked a minuet with the peerless, though gig- 
 gling. Dame Mince Pie. It was followed by 
 a dance of all the characters, which from its, 
 medley of costumes, seemed as though the old 
 family portraits had skipped down from their 
 frames to join in the sport. Different centuries 
 were figuring at cross hands and right and left; 
 the dark ages were cutting pirouettes and 
 rigadoons; and the days of Queen Bess jigging 
 merrily down the middle, through a line of 
 succeeding generations. 
 
 The worthy squire contemplated these fantas- 
 tic sports, and this resurrection of his old ward- 
 robe, with the simple relish of childish delight. 
 He stood chuckling and rubbing his hands, and 
 
Zbc Chvlstmns Binner 113 
 
 scarcely hearing a word the parson said, not- 
 withstanding that the latter was discoursing 
 most authentically on the ancient and stately 
 dance at the Paon, or peacock, from which he 
 conceived the minuet to be derived. For my 
 part, I was in a continual excitement from the 
 varied scenes of whim and innocent gaiety 
 passing before me. It was inspiring to see wild- 
 eyed frolic and warm-hearted hospitality break- 
 ing out from among the chills and glooms 
 of winter, and old age throwing off its apathy, 
 and catching once more the freshness of youthful 
 enjoyment. I felt also an interest in the scene, 
 from the consideration that these fleeting cus- 
 toms were posting fast into oblivion, and that 
 this was, perhaps, the only family in England 
 in which the whole of them was still punctiliously 
 observed. There was a quaintness, too, mingled 
 with all this revelry, that gave it a peculiar zest: 
 it was suited to the time and place; and as 
 the old manor-house almost reeled with mirth 
 and wassail, it seemed echoing back the joviality 
 of long departed years. 
 
114 ^be Cbrl6tma0 2)lnner 
 
 But enough of Christmas and its gambols; 
 it is time for me to pause in this garrulity. 
 Methinks I hear the questions asked by my 
 graver readers, "To what purpose is all 
 this — how is the world to be made wiser 
 by this talk?" Ala's! is there not wisdom 
 enough extant for the instruction of the world ? 
 And if not, are there not thousands of abler 
 pens labouring for its improvement? — It 
 is so much pleasanter to please than to 
 instruct — to play the companion rather than 
 the preceptor. 
 
 What, after all, is the mite of wisdom that I 
 could throw into the mass of knowledge; or 
 how am I sure that my sagest deductions may be 
 safe guides for the opinions of others ? But in 
 writing to amuse, if I fail, the only evil is in my 
 own disappointment. If, however, I can by 
 any lucky chance, in these days of evil, rub out 
 one wrinkle from the brow of care, or beguile 
 the heavy heart of one moment of sorrow; if 
 I can now and then penetrate through the gath- 
 ering film of misanthropy, prompt a benevolent 
 
^be Cbrletmas Binncr 115 
 
 view of human nature, and make my reader 
 more in good humour with his fellow beings and 
 himself, surely, surely, I shall not then have 
 written entirely in vain.