<h2>THE CHRISTMAS DINNER</h2>
<p><big><b>I</b></big> 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<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</SPAN></span> 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.</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/oldchristmas_0152.jpg" width-obs="265" height-obs="300" alt="The Cook with the Rolling-Pin" title="The Cook with the Rolling-Pin" /></div>
<div class='center'>
<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Just in this nick the cook knock'd thrice">
<tr><td align='left'>Just in this nick the cook knock'd thrice,</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>And all the waiters in a trice</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 1em;">His summons did obey;</span></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>Each serving man, with dish in hand,</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>March'd boldly up, like our train-band,</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Presented and away.<SPAN name="FNanchor_H_8" id="FNanchor_H_8"></SPAN><SPAN href="#Footnote_H_8" class="fnanchor">[H]</SPAN></span></td></tr>
</table></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</SPAN></span></p>
<div class="figright"> <ANTIMG src="images/oldchristmas_0153.jpg" width-obs="95" height-obs="350" alt="The Warrior's Arms" title="The Warrior's Arms" /></div>
<div class="figleft"> <ANTIMG src="images/oldchristmas_0154.jpg" width-obs="350" height-obs="249" alt=""Flagons, Cans, Cups, Beakers, Goblets, Basins, and Ewers" " title=""Flagons, Cans, Cups, Beakers, Goblets, Basins, and Ewers" " /></div>
<p>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<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</SPAN></span> more recent days; but I
was told that the painting had been so considered time out of 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 sideboard was set out just under this chivalric trophy,
on which was a display of<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</SPAN></span> plate that might have vied (at least in
variety) with Belshazzar's parade of the vessels of the temple;
"flagons, cans, cups, beakers, goblets, basins, and ewers;" the gorgeous
utensils of good companionship, that had gradually accumulated through
many generations of jovial housekeepers. Before these stood the two Yule
candles beaming like two stars of the first magnitude; other lights were
distributed in branches, and the whole array glittered like a firmament
of silver.</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/oldchristmas_0156.jpg" width-obs="282" height-obs="400" alt=""Never did Christmas board display a more goodly and gracious assemblage of countenances."—page 123." title=""Never did Christmas board display a more goodly and gracious assemblage of countenances."—page 123." /> <span class="caption">"Never did Christmas board display a more goodly and gracious assemblage of countenances."—<span class='smcap'>page</span> 123.</span></div>
<div class="figleft"> <ANTIMG src="images/oldchristmas_0158.jpg" width-obs="150" height-obs="234" alt="A High Roman Nose" title="A High Roman Nose" /></div>
<p>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 more power than melody. Never
did Christmas board display a more goodly and gracious assemblage 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 portraits or Albert Durer's<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</SPAN></span> 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. Something 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 generations; and there was one
little girl, in particular, of staid demeanour, with a high Roman nose,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</SPAN></span>
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.</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/oldchristmas_0159.jpg" width-obs="271" height-obs="300" alt="The Parson said Grace" title="The Parson said Grace" /></div>
<p>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<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</SPAN></span> 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<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</SPAN></span> enormous pig's head decorated with rosemary, 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 an air of the most comic gravity, an
old carol, the first verse of which was as follows:—</p>
<div class='center'>
<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Caput apri defero">
<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Caput apri defero</span></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Reddens laudes Domino.</span></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>The boar's head in hand bring I,</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>With garlands gay and rosemary.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>I pray you all synge merily</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Qui estis in convivio.</span></td></tr>
</table></div>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/oldchristmas_0160.jpg" width-obs="279" height-obs="300" alt="The Boar's Head" title="The Boar's Head" /></div>
<p>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<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</SPAN></span> 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 of Oxford, at which I was
educated. When I hear the old song chanted, it brings to mind the time
when I was young and gamesome—and the noble old college-hall—and my
fellow-students loitering about in their black gowns; many of whom, poor
lads, are now in their graves!"</p>
<p>The parson, however, whose mind was not haunted by such associations,
and who was always more taken up with the text than the sentiment,
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
perseverance of a commentator, to give the college reading, accompanied
by sundry annotations: addressing himself at first to the<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</SPAN></span> 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 discussion of a huge
plateful of turkey.<SPAN name="FNanchor_I_9" id="FNanchor_I_9"></SPAN><SPAN href="#Footnote_I_9" class="fnanchor">[I]</SPAN></p>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/oldchristmas_0163.jpg" width-obs="270" height-obs="210" alt="The Fat-headed Old Gentleman" title="The Fat-headed Old Gentleman" /></div>
<p>The table was literally loaded with good cheer, and presented an epitome
of country abundance, in this season of overflowing larders.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</SPAN></span> 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 expectation." There were
several dishes quaintly decorated, and which had evidently something
traditionary in their embellishments; but about which, as I did not like
to appear over-curious, I asked no questions.</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/oldchristmas_0164.jpg" width-obs="350" height-obs="220" alt="Peacock Pie" title="Peacock Pie" /></div>
<p>I could not, however, but notice a pie, magnificently decorated with
peacocks' feathers, in imitation of the tail of that bird, which
over<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</SPAN></span>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.<SPAN name="FNanchor_J_10" id="FNanchor_J_10"></SPAN><SPAN href="#Footnote_J_10" class="fnanchor">[J]</SPAN></p>
<p>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 little
given, were I to mention the other makeshifts of this worthy old
humorist, by which he was endeavouring to follow up, though at humble
distance, the quaint customs of antiquity. 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<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</SPAN></span> with which
the butler and other servants executed the duties assigned them, however
eccentric. 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 established laws of
honourable housekeeping.</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/oldchristmas_0166.jpg" width-obs="300" height-obs="246" alt="The Wassail Bowl" title="The Wassail Bowl" /></div>
<p>When the cloth was removed, the butler<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</SPAN></span> brought in a huge silver vessel
of rare and curious workmanship, which he placed before the Squire. Its
appearance was hailed with acclamation; being the Wassail Bowl, so
renowned 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 comprehension of an ordinary servant. It was a potation,
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.<SPAN name="FNanchor_K_11" id="FNanchor_K_11"></SPAN><SPAN href="#Footnote_K_11" class="fnanchor">[K]</SPAN></p>
<p>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<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</SPAN></span> the primitive style; pronouncing it "the ancient fountain
of good feeling, where all hearts met together."<SPAN name="FNanchor_L_12" id="FNanchor_L_12"></SPAN><SPAN href="#Footnote_L_12" class="fnanchor">[L]</SPAN></p>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/oldchristmas_0168.jpg" width-obs="244" height-obs="300" alt="The Squire's Toast" title="The Squire's Toast" /></div>
<p>There was much laughing and rallying as the honest emblem of Christmas
joviality circulated, and was kissed rather coyly by the ladies. When<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</SPAN></span>
it reached Master Simon he raised it in both hands, and with the air of
a boon companion struck up an old Wassail chanson:</p>
<div class='center'>
<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="The browne bowle">
<tr><td align='left'>The browne bowle,</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>The merry browne bowle,</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>As it goes round about-a,</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Fill</span></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Still,</span></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>Let the world say what it will,</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>And drink your fill all out-a.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><br/>The deep canne,</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>The merry deep canne,</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>As thou dost freely quaff-a,</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Sing,</span></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Fling,</span></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>Be as merry as a king,</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>And sound a lusty laugh-a.<SPAN name="FNanchor_M_13" id="FNanchor_M_13"></SPAN><SPAN href="#Footnote_M_13" class="fnanchor">[M]</SPAN></td></tr>
</table></div>
<div class="figleft"> <ANTIMG src="images/oldchristmas_0170.jpg" width-obs="159" height-obs="200" alt="The Long-winded Joker" title="The Long-winded Joker" /></div>
<p>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. This attack was commenced by the ladies; but it<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</SPAN></span> 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
unrivalled 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 under-tone, that the lady in question was a
prodigiously fine woman, and drove her own curricle.</p>
<p>The dinner-time passed away in this flow of innocent hilarity; and,
though the old hall may<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</SPAN></span> 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 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.</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/oldchristmas_0172.jpg" width-obs="350" height-obs="154" alt="Long Stories" title="Long Stories" /></div>
<div class="figright"> <ANTIMG src="images/oldchristmas_0173.jpg" width-obs="224" height-obs="350" alt="The Parson and the Pretty Milkmaid" title="The Parson and the Pretty Milkmaid" /></div>
<p>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 contests of rare wit produce much less
laughter. Wit, after all, is a mighty tart, pungent ingredient, and much
too acid for<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</SPAN></span> some stomachs; but honest good humour is the oil and wine
of a merry meeting, and there is no jovial companionship equal to that
where the jokes are rather small, and the laughter abundant. 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 anatomy 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<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</SPAN></span>
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
in<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</SPAN></span>dicative of laughter;—indeed, I have rarely met with an old
gentleman who took absolutely offence at the imputed gallantries of his
youth.</p>
<div class="figleft"> <ANTIMG src="images/oldchristmas_0174.jpg" width-obs="250" height-obs="210" alt="Master Simon grows Maudlin" title="Master Simon grows Maudlin" /></div>
<p>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<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</SPAN></span> an excellent
black-letter work, entitled "Cupid's Solicitor for Love," containing
store of good advice for bachelors, and which he promised to lend me.
The first verse was to this effect:—</p>
<div class='center'>
<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="He that will woo a widow must not dally">
<tr><td align='left'>He that will woo a widow must not dally,</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 1em;">He must make hay while the sun doth shine;</span></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>He must not stand with her, Shall I, Shall I?</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 1em;">But boldly say, Widow, thou must be mine.</span></td></tr>
</table></div>
<p>This song inspired the fat-headed old gentleman, who made several
attempts to tell a 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.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</SPAN></span></p>
<div class="figright"> <ANTIMG src="images/oldchristmas_0177.jpg" width-obs="265" height-obs="325" alt="The Blue-Eyed Romp" title="The Blue-Eyed Romp" /></div>
<p>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 blind-man's buff. Master Simon,
who was the leader of their revels, and seemed on all occasions to
fulfil the office of that ancient potentate, the Lord of Misrule,<SPAN name="FNanchor_N_14" id="FNanchor_N_14"></SPAN><SPAN href="#Footnote_N_14" class="fnanchor">[N]</SPAN> was
blinded in the midst of the hall. The little beings were as busy about
him as the mock fairies about Falstaff; 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 beautiful confusion,
her frolic face in a glow, her frock<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</SPAN></span> 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<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</SPAN></span> of being not a whit more blinded
than was convenient.</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/oldchristmas_0178.jpg" width-obs="350" height-obs="240" alt="The Parson's Tale" title="The Parson's Tale" /></div>
<p>When I returned to the drawing-room, I found the company seated round
the fire, listening to the parson, who was deeply ensconced in a
high-backed oaken chair, the work of some cunning artificer of yore,
which had been brought from the library for his particular
accommodation. From this venerable piece of furniture, with which his
shadowy figure and dark weazen face<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</SPAN></span> so admirably accorded, he was
dealing forth 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 neighbouring 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 up from the tomb and walk the rounds of
the churchyard in stormy nights, particularly when it thundered; and one
old woman, whose cottage<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</SPAN></span> bordered on the churchyard, 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 trouble and restlessness. Some talked of gold and
jewels<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</SPAN></span> buried in the tomb, over which the spectre kept watch; and there
was a story current 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 churchyard.</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/oldchristmas_0180.jpg" width-obs="300" height-obs="276" alt="The Sexton's Rebuff" title="The Sexton's Rebuff" /></div>
<p>From these and other anecdotes that followed, the crusader appeared to
be the favourite hero 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<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</SPAN></span> 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 is well known all kinds of ghosts,
goblins, and fairies become visible and walk abroad, the crusader used
to mount his horse,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</SPAN></span> 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 dairymaids to pass between two bars of the
great park gate, making himself as thin as a sheet of paper.</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/oldchristmas_0182.jpg" width-obs="350" height-obs="374" alt="The Crusader's Night Ride" title="The Crusader's Night Ride" /></div>
<p>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 marvellous. 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 fairyland.</p>
<p>Whilst we were all attention to the parson's<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</SPAN></span> stories, our ears were
suddenly assailed by a burst of heterogeneous sounds from the hall, in
which was 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 misrule, had conceived the idea of a Christmas
mummery, or masquing; 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<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</SPAN></span> parlour and hall, and the
whole had been bedizened out, into a burlesque imitation of an antique
masque.<SPAN name="FNanchor_O_15" id="FNanchor_O_15"></SPAN><SPAN href="#Footnote_O_15" class="fnanchor">[O]</SPAN></p>
<div class="figright"> <ANTIMG src="images/oldchristmas_0185.jpg" width-obs="182" height-obs="375" alt="Ancient Christmas and Dame Mince-Pie" title="Ancient Christmas and Dame Mince-Pie" /></div>
<div class="figleft"> <ANTIMG src="images/oldchristmas_0186.jpg" width-obs="194" height-obs="375" alt="Robin Hood and Maid Marian" title="Robin Hood and Maid Marian" /></div>
<p>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<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</SPAN></span> the
Covenanters. From under this his nose curved boldly forth, flushed with
a frost-bitten bloom, that seemed the very trophy of a December blast.
He was accompanied by the blue-eyed romp, dished up as "Dame Mince-Pie,"
in the venerable magnificence of 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<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</SPAN></span>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
characters of Roast Beef, Plum Pud<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</SPAN></span>ding, and other worthies celebrated
in ancient maskings. The whole was under the control of the Oxonian, in
the appropriate character of Misrule; and I observed that he exercised
rather a mischievous sway with his wand over the smaller personages of
the pageant.</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/oldchristmas_0188.jpg" width-obs="280" height-obs="400" alt=""The rest of the train had been metamorphosed in various ways."—" title=""The rest of the train had been metamorphosed in various ways."—" /> <span class="caption">"The rest of the train had been metamorphosed in various ways."—<span class='smcap'>page</span> 153.</span></div>
<div class="figright"> <ANTIMG src="images/oldchristmas_0189.jpg" width-obs="123" height-obs="400" alt="The Minuet" title="The Minuet" /></div>
<div class="figleft"> <ANTIMG src="images/oldchristmas_0190.jpg" width-obs="155" height-obs="400" alt="The Christmas Dance in Costume" title="The Christmas Dance in Costume" /></div>
<p>The irruption of this motley crew, with beat of drum, according to
ancient custom, was the consummation of uproar and merriment. Master
Simon covered him<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</SPAN></span>self with glory by the stateliness with which, as
Ancient Christmas, he walked a minuet with the peerless, though
giggling, 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.</p>
<p>The worthy Squire contemplated these fantastic sports, and this
resurrection of his old wardrobe, with the simple relish of childish
de<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</SPAN></span>light. He stood chuckling and rubbing his hands, and scarcely hearing
a word the parson said, notwithstanding 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.<SPAN name="FNanchor_P_16" id="FNanchor_P_16"></SPAN><SPAN href="#Footnote_P_16" class="fnanchor">[P]</SPAN> 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 warmhearted hospitality breaking out from among the chills
and glooms of winter, and old age throwing off his apathy, and catching
once more the freshness of youthful enjoyment. I felt also an interest
in the scene, from the consideration that these fleeting customs were
posting fast into oblivion, and that this was, perhaps, the only family
in England in which the whole of them were still punctiliously observed.
There was a quaintness, too, mingled with all this revelry, that gave it
a peculiar zest; it was suited to<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</SPAN></span> 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.</p>
<div class="figright"> <ANTIMG src="images/oldchristmas_0191.jpg" width-obs="144" height-obs="350" alt=""Chuckling and Rubbing his Hands"" title=""Chuckling and Rubbing his Hands"" /></div>
<p>But enough of Christmas and its gambols; it is time for me to pause in
this garrulity. Me<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</SPAN></span>thinks 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?" Alas! 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.</p>
<div class="figleft"> <ANTIMG src="images/oldchristmas_0193.jpg" width-obs="350" height-obs="336" alt=""Echoing back the Joviality of long-departed Years"" title=""Echoing back the Joviality of long-departed Years"" /></div>
<p>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 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 gathering film of misanthropy, prompt a
benevolent view of human nature, and make my reader more in<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</SPAN></span> good humour
with his fellow-beings and himself, surely, surely, I shall not then
have written entirely in vain.</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/oldchristmas_0195.jpg" width-obs="300" height-obs="212" alt="Retrospect" title="Retrospect" /></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</SPAN></span><br/><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</SPAN></span></p>
<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3>
<div class="footnote"><p><SPAN name="Footnote_H_8" id="Footnote_H_8"></SPAN><SPAN href="#FNanchor_H_8"><span class="label">[H]</span></SPAN> Sir John Suckling.</p>
</div>
<div class="footnote"><p><SPAN name="Footnote_I_9" id="Footnote_I_9"></SPAN><SPAN href="#FNanchor_I_9"><span class="label">[I]</span></SPAN> See <SPAN name="E" id="E"></SPAN><SPAN href='#NE'>Note E</SPAN>.</p>
</div>
<div class="footnote"><p><SPAN name="Footnote_J_10" id="Footnote_J_10"></SPAN><SPAN href="#FNanchor_J_10"><span class="label">[J]</span></SPAN> See <SPAN name="F" id="F"></SPAN><SPAN href='#NF'>Note F</SPAN>.</p>
</div>
<div class="footnote"><p><SPAN name="Footnote_K_11" id="Footnote_K_11"></SPAN><SPAN href="#FNanchor_K_11"><span class="label">[K]</span></SPAN> See <SPAN name="G" id="G"></SPAN><SPAN href='#NG'>Note G</SPAN>.</p>
</div>
<div class="footnote"><p><SPAN name="Footnote_L_12" id="Footnote_L_12"></SPAN><SPAN href="#FNanchor_L_12"><span class="label">[L]</span></SPAN> See <SPAN name="H" id="H"></SPAN><SPAN href='#NH'>Note H</SPAN>.</p>
</div>
<div class="footnote"><p><SPAN name="Footnote_M_13" id="Footnote_M_13"></SPAN><SPAN href="#FNanchor_M_13"><span class="label">[M]</span></SPAN> From "Poor Robin's Almanack."</p>
</div>
<div class="footnote"><p><SPAN name="Footnote_N_14" id="Footnote_N_14"></SPAN><SPAN href="#FNanchor_N_14"><span class="label">[N]</span></SPAN> See <SPAN name="I" id="I"></SPAN><SPAN href='#NI'>Note I</SPAN>.</p>
</div>
<div class="footnote"><p><SPAN name="Footnote_O_15" id="Footnote_O_15"></SPAN><SPAN href="#FNanchor_O_15"><span class="label">[O]</span></SPAN> See <SPAN name="J" id="J"></SPAN><SPAN href='#NJ'>Note J</SPAN>.</p>
</div>
<div class="footnote"><p><SPAN name="Footnote_P_16" id="Footnote_P_16"></SPAN><SPAN href="#FNanchor_P_16"><span class="label">[P]</span></SPAN> See <SPAN name="K" id="K"></SPAN><SPAN href='#NK'>Note K</SPAN>.</p>
</div>
</div>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2>NOTES</h2>
<div class='center'><SPAN name="NA" id="NA"></SPAN><SPAN href='#A'><span class="smcap">Note A</span></SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_53'></SPAN>.</div>
<p>The mistletoe is still hung up in farm-houses 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.</p>
<div class='center'><SPAN name="NB" id="NB"></SPAN><SPAN href='#B'><span class="smcap">Note B</span></SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_58'></SPAN>.</div>
<p>The <i>Yule-clog</i> 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
<i>Yule-clog</i> was to burn all night; if it went out, it was considered a
sign of ill luck.</p>
<p>Herrick mentions it in one of his songs:—</p>
<div class='center'>
<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Come, bring with a noise">
<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Come, bring with a noise</span></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">My merrie, merrie boyes,</span></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>The Christmas log to the firing:</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">While my good dame, she</span></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Bids ye all be free,</span></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>And drink to your hearts' desiring."</td></tr>
</table></div>
<p>The <i>Yule-clog</i> is still burnt in many farm-houses and kitchens<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</SPAN></span> 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 <i>Yule-clog</i> is carefully put away
to light the next year's Christmas fire.</p>
<div class='center'><SPAN name="NC" id="NC"></SPAN><SPAN href='#C'><span class="smcap">Note C</span></SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_102'></SPAN>.</div>
<p>From the "Flying Eagle," a small Gazette, published December 24,
1652:—"The House spent much time this day about the business of the
Navy, for settling the affairs at sea; and before they rose, were
presented with a terrible remonstrance against Christmas day, grounded
upon divine Scriptures, 2 Cor. v. 16; 1 Cor. xv. 14, 17; and in honour
of the Lord's Day, grounded upon these Scriptures, John xx. 1; Rev. i.
10; Psalm cxviii. 24; Lev. xxiii. 7, 11; Mark xvi. 8; Psalm lxxxiv. 10,
in which Christmas is called Anti-Christ's masse, and those Mass-mongers
and Papists who observe it, etc. In consequence of which Parliament
spent some time in consultation about the abolition of Christmas day,
passed orders to that effect, and resolved to sit on the following day,
which was commonly called Christmas day."</p>
<div class='center'><SPAN name="ND" id="ND"></SPAN><SPAN href='#D'><span class="smcap">Note D</span></SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_108'></SPAN>.</div>
<p>"An English gentleman at the opening of the great day, <i>i.e.</i> on
Christmas day in the morning, had all his tenants and neighbours enter
his hall by daybreak. The strong beer was broached, and the black jacks
went plentifully about with toast, sugar, nutmeg, and good Cheshire
cheese. The hackin (the great sausage) must<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</SPAN></span> be boiled by daybreak, or
else two young men must take the maiden (<i>i.e.</i> the cook) by the arms
and run her round the marketplace till she is shamed of her
laziness."—<i>Round about our Sea-Coal Fire.</i></p>
<div class='center'><SPAN name="NE" id="NE"></SPAN><SPAN href='#E'><span class="smcap">Note E</span></SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_129'></SPAN>.</div>
<p>The old ceremony of serving up the boar's head on Christmas day is still
observed in the hall of Queen's College, Oxford. I was favoured by the
parson with a copy of the carol as now sung, and as it may be acceptable
to such of my readers as are curious in these grave and learned matters,
I give it entire.</p>
<div class='center'>
<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="The boar's head in hand bear I">
<tr><td align='left'>"The boar's head in hand bear I,</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Bedeck'd with bays and rosemary;</span></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">And I pray you, my masters, be merry,</span></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Quot estis in convivio.</span></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Caput apri defero</span></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Reddens laudes Domino.</span></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><br/><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">The boar's head, as I understand,</span></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Is the rarest dish in all this land,</span></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Which thus bedeck'd with a gay garland</span></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Let us servire cantico.</span></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Caput apri defero, etc.</span></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><br/><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Our steward hath provided this</span></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">In honour of the King of Bliss,</span></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Which on this day to be served is</span></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">In Reginensi Atrio.</span></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Caput apri defero,"</span></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 8.5em;">Etc. etc. etc.</span></td></tr>
</table></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</SPAN></span></p>
<div class='center'><SPAN name="NF" id="NF"></SPAN><SPAN href='#F'><span class="smcap">Note F</span></SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_131'></SPAN>.</div>
<p>The peacock was anciently in great demand for stately entertainments.
Sometimes it was made into a pie, at one end of which the head appeared
above the crust in all its plumage, with the beak richly gilt; at the
other end the tail was displayed. Such pies were served up at the solemn
banquets of chivalry, when Knights-errant pledged themselves to
undertake any perilous enterprise; whence came the ancient oath, used by
Justice Shallow, "by cock and pie."</p>
<p>The peacock was also an important dish for the Christmas feast; and
Massinger, in his City Madam, gives some idea of the extravagance with
which this, as well as other dishes, was prepared for the gorgeous
revels of the olden times:—</p>
<div class='center'>
<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Men may talk of country Christmasses">
<tr><td align='left'>"Men may talk of country Christmasses,</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Their thirty pound butter'd eggs, their pies of carps' tongues:</span></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Their pheasants drench'd with ambergris; <i>the carcases of three fat wethers bruised for gravy, to make sauce for a single peacock!</i>"</span></td></tr>
</table></div>
<div class='center'><SPAN name="NG" id="NG"></SPAN><SPAN href='#G'><span class="smcap">Note G</span></SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_133'></SPAN>.</div>
<p>The Wassail Bowl was sometimes composed of ale instead of wine; with
nutmeg, sugar, toast, ginger, and roasted crabs; in this way the
nut-brown beverage is still prepared in some old families, and round the
hearths of substantial farmers at Christmas. It is also called Lambs'
Wool, and is celebrated by Herrick in his "Twelfth Night:"—</p>
<div class='center'>
<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Next crowne the bowle">
<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Next crowne the bowle full</span></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">With gentle Lambs' Wool,</span></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>Add sugar, nutmeg, and ginger,</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">With store of ale too;</span></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And thus ye must doe</span></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>To make the Wassaile a swinger."</td></tr>
</table></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</SPAN></span></p>
<div class='center'><SPAN name="NH" id="NH"></SPAN><SPAN href='#H'><span class="smcap">Note H</span></SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_134'></SPAN>.</div>
<p>"The custom of drinking out of the same cup gave place to each having
his cup. When the steward came to the doore with the Wassel, he was to
cry three times, <i>Wassel, Wassel, Wassel</i>, and then the chappel
(chaplain) was to answer with a song."—<span class="smcap">Archæologia.</span></p>
<div class='center'><SPAN name="NI" id="NI"></SPAN><SPAN href='#I'><span class="smcap">Note I</span></SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_142'></SPAN>.</div>
<p>"At Christmasse there was in the Kinge's house, wheresoever hee was
lodged, a lorde of misrule, or mayster of merry disportes; and the like
had ye in the house of every nobleman of honor, or good worshippe, were
he spirituall or temporall."—<span class="smcap">Stow.</span></p>
<div class='center'><SPAN name="NJ" id="NJ"></SPAN><SPAN href='#J'><span class="smcap">Note J</span></SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_151'></SPAN>.</div>
<p>Maskings or mummeries were favourite sports at Christmas in old times;
and the wardrobes at halls and manor-houses were often laid under
contribution to furnish dresses and fantastic disguisings. I strongly
suspect Master Simon to have taken the idea of his from Ben Jonson's
Masque of Christmas.</p>
<div class='center'><SPAN name="NK" id="NK"></SPAN><SPAN href='#K'><span class="smcap">Note K</span></SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_156'></SPAN>.</div>
<p>Sir John Hawkins, speaking of the dance called the Pavon, from pavo, a
peacock, says, "It is a grave and majestic dance; the method of dancing
it anciently was by gentlemen dressed with caps and swords, by those of
the long robe in their gowns, by the peers in their mantles, and by the
ladies in gowns with long trains, the motion whereof, in dancing,
resembled that of a peacock."—<i>History of Music.</i><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</SPAN></span></p>
<div class='center'><br/><br/><br/><br/><i>Printed by</i> <span class="smcap">R. & R. Clark</span>, <i>Edinburgh.</i></div>
<hr style='width: 65%;' />
<div class='tnote'><h3>Transcriber's Notes</h3>
<p>Obvious punctuation errors repaired.</p>
<p>Some illustrations were moved from their original locations so as not
to interrupt the flow of the text. While the List of Illustrations matches
the original text, the links have been adjusted where necessary to take the
reader to the page with the illustration.</p>
</div>
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