{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_42622/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_42622","id":"gutenberg_42622","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/42622","summary":null,"tags":["Category: History - Modern (1750+)","Category: History - Religious","Category: Religion/Spirituality","Christmas"],"text":"[Transcriber's Note: superscripted letters are preceded by a caret and\nsurrounded by curly braces: w^{th}. Bold text is surrounded by =equal\nsigns= and italic text by _underscores_.]\n\n\n[Illustration: CHRISTMAS AND HIS CHILDREN.]\n\n\n\n\nTHE BOOK of CHRISTMAS.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n Some say, that ever 'gainst that season comes\n Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated,\n This bird of dawning singeth allnight long.\n _Shakspeare._\n\n BOSTON:\n ROBERTS BROTHERS.\n 1888.\n\n\n\n\nTHE\n\nBOOK OF CHRISTMAS;\n\nDESCRIPTIVE OF THE\n\nCUSTOMS, CEREMONIES, TRADITIONS, SUPERSTITIONS, FUN, FEELING, AND\nFESTIVITIES OF\n\nThe Christmas Season.\n\nBY THOMAS K. HERVEY.\n\nWITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY R. SEYMOUR.\n\n[Illustration: _Galantee Show._]\n\n\n BOSTON:\n ROBERTS BROTHERS.\n 1888.\n\n\n\n\n University Press:\n JOHN WILSON AND SON, CAMBRIDGE.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n\n PAGE\n\n INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER 7\n\n\n Part First.\n\n THE CHRISTMAS SEASON 29\n\n Mingled Origin of the Christmas Festival; Good Cheer\n of the Ancient Festival; Court Celebrations of\n Christmas; Celebrations at the Inns of Court; Lord of\n Misrule and Christmas Prince; Abbot of Unreason;\n Influence of the Festival on the Social Relations; Ben\n Jonson's Masque of Christmas; Father Christmas\n summoning his Spirits; Extinction of the Ancient\n Festival; Partial Revival; Summary of the Causes of\n its final Decline.\n\n\n FEELINGS OF THE SEASON 134\n\n Religious Influences; Assembling of Friends; Church\n Services of the Season; lengthened Duration of the\n Festival; Memories of the Season; Natural Aspects of\n the Season.\n\n\n SIGNS OF THE SEASON 157\n\n Domestic Preparations; Mince Pie; Travellers on the\n Highways; coming Home from School; Norfolk Coach;\n Evergreens for Christmas Decoration; Kissing under the\n Mistletoe; Christmas Minstrelsy; Waits; Carol Singing;\n Christmas Carols; Annual Carol Sheets; London Carol\n Singers; Bellman.\n\n\n\nPart Second.\n\n\n THE CHRISTMAS DAYS 223\n\n\n ST. THOMAS'S DAY 225\n\n Various Country Customs on this day; St. Thomas's Day\n in London; City Parochial Elections; Lumber Troop and\n other City Associations.\n\n\n SPORTS OF THIS SEASON 233\n\n Ancient Jugglers; Galantee Show; Card Playing; Ancient\n Bards and Harpers; Modern Story-telling and Music;\n out-door Sports of the Season; Theatre and Pantomime;\n Mummers; Play of St. George.\n\n\n CHRISTMAS EVE 267\n\n London Markets on Christmas Eve; the Yule-clog;\n Christmas Candles; Wassail Bowl; Omens and\n Superstitions; Old Christmas Eve; Midnight Mass.\n\n\n CHRISTMAS DAY 285\n\n Religious Services; Plum Pudding; Charities of the\n Season; Old English Gentleman; Ancient Baronial Hall;\n Bringing in the Boar's Head; Modern Christmas Dinner.\n\n\n ST. STEPHEN'S DAY 302\n\n Boxing Day (origin of the name); Christmas-boxes;\n Christmas Pieces; Hunting the Wren (Isle of Man);\n Droleens, or Wren Boys (Ireland); Greek Songs of the\n Crow and Swallow.\n\n\n NEW YEAR'S EVE 315\n\n Scottish Observances; Night of Omens; Hogmanay;\n Seeing-in the New Year.\n\n\n NEW YEAR'S DAY 335\n\n Morning Congratulations; New-Year's Gifts.\n\n\n TWELFTH DAY AND TWELFTH NIGHT 339\n\n Observances on the Virgil of the Epiphany; Humors of\n the Street; Twelfth Night Party; Twelfth Cake; Drawing\n for Characters; Three Kings of Cologne.\n\n\n SAINT DISTAFF'S DAY 351\n\n Rustic Sports.\n\n\n\n\nLIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.\n\n\n PAGE\n CHRISTMAS AND HIS CHILDREN _Frontispiece_\n THE BOOK OF CHRISTMAS _Titlepage_\n \"MERRY CHRISTMAS TO YOU\" 29\n SNAP-DRAGON 31\n BARONIAL HALL 42\n ENJOYING CHRISTMAS 46\n MUMMERS 65\n GATE OF THE \"OLD ENGLISH GENTLEMAN\" 109\n FAMILY CONGRATULATION 134\n COUNTRY CAROL SINGERS 157\n COMING HOME FROM SCHOOL 163\n NORFOLK COACH AT CHRISTMAS 170\n TOO LATE FOR THE COACH 172\n BRINGING HOME CHRISTMAS 173\n THE MISTLETOE BOUGH 191\n WAITS 197\n LONDON CAROL SINGERS 215\n BELL-RINGING 219\n THE LORD OF MISRULE 223\n CHRISTMAS PRESENTS 224\n ST. THOMAS'S DAY 233\n STORY TELLING 239\n CHRISTMAS PANTOMIME 249\n GALANTEE SHOW 266\n MARKET--CHRISTMAS EVE 267\n WASSAIL BOWL 275\n OLD CHRISTMAS 285\n CHRISTMAS PUDDING 286\n COUNTRY CHURCH, CHRISTMAS MORNING 290\n BRINGING IN THE BOAR'S HEAD 295\n CHRISTMAS DINNER 300\n BOXING DAY 302\n SEEING-IN THE NEW YEAR 331\n TWELFTH NIGHT KING 339\n TWELFTH NIGHT IN LONDON STREETS 343\n TWELFTH NIGHT 347\n RETURNING TO SCHOOL 355\n\n\n\n\nTHE BOOK OF CHRISTMAS.\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTORY CHAPTER.\n\n We take no note of time\n But from its loss; to give it, then, a tongue\n Is wise in man.\n DR. YOUNG.\n\n\nTO give a language to time, for the preservation of its records and the\nutterance of its lessons, has been amongst the occupations of man from\nthe day when first he found himself in its mysterious presence down to\nthese latter ages of the world; and yet, all the resources of his\ningenuity, impelled by all the aspirations of his heart, have only\nsucceeded in supplying it with an imperfect series of hieroglyphics,\ndifficult in their acquirement and uncertain in their use. Ages upon\nages of the young world have passed away, of which the old hath no\nchronicle. Generations after generations of men have \"made their bed in\nthe darkness,\" and left no monuments. Of the crowded memorials reared by\nothers along the stream of time, many (and those the mightiest) are\nwritten in a cipher of which the key is lost. The wrappings of the mummy\nare letters of a dead language; and no man can translate the ancient\nstory of the pyramid!\n\nWe have learnt to speak of time, because it is that portion of eternity\nwith which we have _presently_ to do,--as if it were a whit more\nintelligible (less vague, abstract, and unimaginable) than that eternity\nof which it is a part. He who can conceive of the one, must be able to\nembrace the awful image of the other. We think of time as of a section\nof eternity, separated and intrenched by absolute _limits_; and thus we\nseem to have arrived at a definite idea, surrounded by points on which\nthe mind can rest. But when the imagination sets out upon the actual\nexperiment, and discovers that those limits are not assignable, save on\none only side, and finds but a single point on which to rest its failing\nwing, and looks from thence along an expanse whose boundaries are\nnowhere else within the range of its restricted vision,--then does the\nmortal bird return into its mortal nest, wearied with its ineffectual\nflight, and convinced that a shoreless ocean and one whose shores it\ncannot see are alike formless and mysterious to its dim and feeble gaze.\n\nAnd yet notwithstanding the connection of these two ideas,--of time and\nof eternity,--(the notion of the former being only reached through the\nlatter) we deal familiarly, and even jestingly, with the one, while the\nmind approaches the other with reverential awe. Types, and symbols, and\nemblems--and those ever of a grave meaning--are the most palpable\nexpressions which we venture to give to our conceptions of the one;\nwhilst the other we figure and personify,--and that, too often, after a\nfashion in which the better part of the moral is left unrepresented. Yet\nwho shall personify time? And who that has ever tried it, in the silence\nof his chamber and the stillness of his heart, hath not bowed down in\nbreathless awe before the solemn visions which his conjuration has\nawakened? Oh, the mysterious shapes which Time takes, when it rises up\ninto the mind as an image, at those hours of lonely inquisition!--\"And\nhe said unto her, 'What form is he of?' And she said, 'An _old man_\ncometh up; and he is _covered with a mantle_.'\"--The mysterious presence\nwhich it assumes \"in thoughts from the visions of the night, when deep\nsleep falleth on men\"! Who, as he strove to collect the mournful\nattributes about which his fancy had been busy into an impersonation,\nhath not suddenly felt as if \"a spirit passed before _his_ face! . . .\nIt stood still, but _he_ could not discern the form thereof; an image\nwas before his eyes, there was silence;\" and out of that silence hath\nseemed to come a voice like that which whispered to Job, \"They that\ndwell in houses of clay, whose foundation is in the dust, which are\ncrushed before the moth, they are destroyed from morning to evening;\nthey perish for ever, without any regarding it.\"\n\nTime, abstractedly considered as what in truth it is,--a portion of the\nvast ocean of eternity, a river flowing from the sea and flowing to the\nsea, a channel leading from deep to deep, through shores on which the\nraces of the world are permitted to build for awhile, until the great\nwaters shall once more cover all, and time, _as_ time, \"shall be no\nmore,\"--must long have defied the skill of man to map out its surface,\nand write his memorials upon its impalpable bosom. The thousand keels\nthat sweep over the visible waters of the world leave on their face\ntraces of their passage more legible and enduring than do the\ngenerations of men as they come and go on that viewless and voiceless\nstream. The ingenuity which has taught man to lay down the plan of the\nmaterial ocean, to assign to each spot on its uniform surface its\npositive whereabout and actual relation, and by a series of imaginary\nlines and figures to steer his way across its pathless solitudes with a\nknowledge as certain as that which guides him amidst the substantive and\ndistinctive features of the solid earth, is scarcely more admirable than\nthat which, by a similar device, has enabled him to measure out the\nexpanse of the silent river, to cover, as it were, its surface with a\ncrowd of imaginary latitudes and longitudes intersecting each other at\nall points, and to ascertain at any moment, by observation, his relative\nposition on the great stream of time.\n\nHow long the unaided genius of man might have been ere it could have\nfallen upon a scheme for the one achievement or the other, if left to\nstruggle with its own resources and unassisted by hints from without, we\nneed not conjecture. But in each case the solution of the problem was\nsuggested to him, as the materials for working it are still furnished,\nby the finger of God himself. The great architect of the universe hath\nplanted in its frame all necessary models and materials for the guidance\nand use of its human inhabitants, leaving them to the exercise of those\npowers and capacities with which they have been furnished to improve the\nlessons and apply the examples thus conveyed. In each of the cases of\nwhich we have spoken, the constellations which surround the world and\n\"are the poetry of heaven\" have been the sources of the inspiration, as\nthey are still the lights by which that inspiration works. The hand that\nfashioned the \"two great lights,\" and appointed to them their courses,\nand gave them to be \"for signs and for seasons and for days and years,\"\npointed out to man how he might, by the observation of their\nrevolutions, direct his course along the unbroken stream of time or\ncount its waves as they flowed silently and ceaselessly away. The sun\nand moon were the ancient and at first the only measures of time, as\nthey are the essential foundations of all the modes by which man\nmeasures it now; and in the order of the world's architecture, the\n\"watches of the element\" which guide us yet were framed and \"set in the\nfirmament of heaven\" at that distant and uncertain period whose\n\"evening and morning were the fourth day.\"\n\nNor did the beneficent power which erected these great meters of time in\nthe constitution of the universe leave the world without suggestions how\ntheir use might be improved in the business of more minute subdivision.\nThe thousand natural inequalities of the earth's surface, and the\nvegetable columns which spring from its bosom, furnish--as do the spires\nand towers and columns which man rears thereon--so many gnomons of the\nvast dial, on which are unerringly written with the finger of shadow the\nshining records of the sky. There is something unutterably solemn in\nwatching the shade creep, day by day, round a circle whose diameter man\nmight measure with his grave or even cover with his hand, and\ncontrasting the limits within which it acts with the spaces of time\nwhich its stealing tread measures out, and feeling that it is the\nfaithful index of a progress before which the individual being and the\nuniversal frame of things are alike hastening to rapid and inevitable\ndecay. There are few types more awfully representative of that which\nthey typify than is the shadow. It is Time almost made visible. Through\nit the mind reaches the most vivid impersonation of that mysterious idea\nwhich it is capable of containing. It seems as if flung directly from\nhis present and passing wing. The silent and ceaseless motion--gliding\nfor ever on and on, coming round again and again, but reverting never\nand tarrying never, blotting out the sunshine as it passes and leaving\nno trace where it has passed--make it the true and solemn symbol of him\n(the old unresting and unreturning one) who receded not, even when that\nsame shadow went back on the dial of the king of Judah, nor paused when\nthe sun stood still in the midst of heaven and the moon lingered over\nthe valley of Ajalon! Of that mysterious type and its awful morals a\nlost friend of ours[1] has already spoken better than we can hope to\nspeak; and as he is (\"alas, that _he_ is so!\") already one whose \"sun\nshall no more go down, neither shall _his_ moon withdraw itself,\" we\nwill avail ourselves of a language which deserves to be better known,\nand sounds all the more solemnly that he who uttered it hath since\nfurnished in his own person a fresh verification of the solemn truths\nwhich he sung so well.\n\n \"Upon a dial-stone,\n Behold the shade of Time,\n For ever circling on and on\n In silence more sublime\n Than if the thunders of the spheres\n Pealed forth its march to mortal ears!\n\n \"It meets us hour by hour,\n Doles out our little span,\n Reveals a presence and a power\n Felt and confessed by man:\n The drop of moments, day by day,\n That rocks of ages wears away.\n\n \"Woven by a hand unseen\n Upon that stone, survey\n A robe of dark sepulchral green,\n The mantle of decay,\n The fold of chill oblivion's pall,\n That falleth with yon shadow's fall!\n\n \"Day is the time for toil,\n Night balms the weary breast,\n Stars have their vigils, seas awhile\n Will sink to peaceful rest;\n But round and round the shadow creeps\n Of that which slumbers not, nor sleeps!\n\n \"Effacing all that's fair,\n Hushing the voice of mirth\n Into the silence of despair,\n Around the lonesome hearth,\n And training ivy-garlands green\n O'er the once gay and social scene.\n\n \"In beauty fading fast\n Its silent trace appears,\n And where--a phantom of the past,\n Dim in the mist of years--\n Gleams Tadmor o'er oblivion's waves,\n Like wrecks above their ocean-graves.\n\n \"Before the ceaseless shade\n That round the world doth sail\n Its towers and temples bow the head,\n The pyramids look pale,\n The festal halls grow hushed and cold,\n The everlasting hills wax old!\n\n \"Coeval with the sun\n Its silent course began,\n And still its phantom-race shall run,\n Till worlds with age grow wan,\n Till darkness spread her funeral pall,\n And one vast shadow circle all!\"\n\nTo the great natural divisions of time (with their aid, and guided by\nthese hints) the ingenuity of man, under the direction of his wants, has\nbeen busy since the world began in adding artificial ones, while his\nheart has been active in supplying impulses and furnishing devices to\nthat end. Years, and months, and days--the periods marked out by the\nrevolutions of our celestial guides--have been aggregated and divided\nafter methods almost as various as the nations of the earth. Years have\nbeen composed into cycles and olympiads and generations and reigns, and\nmonths resolved into decades and weeks, days into hours, and hours into\nsubdivisions which have been again subdivided almost to the confines of\nthought. Yet it is only in these latter ages of the world that a\nmeasurement has been attained, at once so minute and so closely\nharmonizing with the motions and regulated by the revolutions of the\ndials of the sky, that, had the same machinery existed from the\ncommencement of time,--with the art of printing to preserve its\nresults,--the history of the past might be perused, with its\ndiscrepancies reconciled and many of its blanks supplied. And could the\nworld agree upon its uniform adoption now, together with that of a\ncommon epoch to reckon from, comparative chronology would be no longer a\nscience applicable to the future; and history, for the time to come (in\nso far as it is a mere record of facts), would present few problems but\nsuch as \"he who runs may read.\"\n\nBut out of these conventional and multiplied divisions of time, these\nwheels within the great wheel, arise results far more important than the\nverification of a chronological series or the establishment of the\nharmonies of history. Through them not only may the ages of the world be\nsaid to intercommunicate, and the ends of the earth in a sense to meet,\nbut by their aid the whole business of the life of nations and of\nindividuals is regulated, and a set of mnemonics established upon which\nhinges the history of the human heart. By the multiplied but regular\nsystem of recurrences thus obtained, order is made to arise out of the\nweb of duties and the chaos of events; and at each of the thousand\npoints marked out on these concentric circles are written their\nappropriate duties and recorded their special memories. The calendar of\nevery country is thus covered over with a series of events whose\nrecollection is recalled and influence kept alive by the return of the\ncycles, in their ceaseless revolution, to those spots at which the\nrecord of each has been written; and acts of fasting or of festival, of\nsocial obligation or of moral observance,--many of which would be surely\nlost or overlooked, amidst the inextricable confusion in which, without\nthis systematic arrangement, they must be mingled,--are severally\npointed out by the moving finger of Time as he periodically reaches the\nplace of each on his concentric dials.\n\nBut besides the calendar of general direction and national observance,\nwhere is the heart that has not a private calendar of its own? Long ere\nthe meridian of life has been attained, the individual man has made many\na memorandum of joy or pain for his periodical perusal, and established\nmany a private celebration, pleasant or mournful, of his own. How many a\nlost hope and blighted feeling which the heart is the better for\nrecalling, and would not willingly forget, would pass from the mind amid\nthe crowd and noise and bustle of the world, but for these tablets on\nwhich it is ineffaceably written and yearly read! How many an act of\nmemory, with its store of consolations and its treasure of warnings,\nwould remain postponed, amid the interests of the present, till it came\nto be forgotten altogether, but for that system which has marked its\npositive place upon the wheels of time, and brings the record certainly\nbefore the mental eye, in their unvarying revolution! Many are the uses\nof these diaries of the heart. By their aid something is saved from the\nwrecks of the past for the service of the present; the lights of former\ndays are made to throw pleasant reflections upon many an after period of\nlife; the weeds which the world and its cares had fostered are again and\nagain cleared away from the sweet and wholesome fountain of tears; the\nfading inscriptions of other years are renewed, to yield their morals to\nthe future; and the dead are restored, for a fleeting hour of sweet\ncommunion, or hold high and solemn converse with us from the graves in\nwhich we laid them years ago.\n\nAnd this result of the minute and accurate partitions of time, which\nconsists in the establishment of a series of points for periodic\ncelebration, is, as regards its public and social operation, more\nimportant than may at first sight appear. The calendar of almost every\ncountry is, as we have observed, filled with a series of anniversaries,\nreligious or secular, of festival or abstinence, or instituted for the\nregulation of business or the operations of the law. In England,\nindependently of those periods of observance which are common to the\nrealm and written in her calendar, there are few districts which are\nwithout some festival peculiar to themselves, originating in the grant\nof some local charter or privilege, the establishment of some local\nfair, the influence of some ancient local superstition, or some other\ncause, of which, in many cases, the sole remaining trace is the\nobservance to which it has given rise,--and which observance does not\nalways speak in language sufficiently clear to give any account of its\nparent. Around each of these celebrations has grown up a set of customs\nand traditions and habits, the examination into which has led to many a\nuseful result, and which are for the most part worth preserving, as well\nfor their picturesque aspect and social character as for the sake of the\nhistoric chambers which they may yet help us to explore. Their close\nresemblance, as existing amongst different nations, has formed an\nelement in the solution of more than one problem which had for its\nobject a chapter of the history of the world; and they may be said, in\nmany cases, to furnish an apparent link of connection between\ngenerations of men long divided and dwelling far apart. They form, too,\namid the changes which time is perpetually effecting in the structure of\nsociety, a chain of connection between the present and former times of\nthe same land, and prevent the national individuality from being wholly\ndestroyed. They tend to preserve some similarity in the moral aspect of\na country from epoch to epoch, and, without having force enough to act\nas drags on the progress of society towards improvement, they serve for\na feature of identification amid all its forms. Curious illustrations\nthey are, too, of national history; and we learn to have confidence in\nits records when we find in some obscure nook the peasant of to-day, who\ntroubles himself little with the lore of events and their succession,\ndoing that which some ancient chronicler tells us his ancestors did a\nthousand years ago, and keeping in all simplicity some festival, the\nstory of whose origin we find upon its written page.\n\nTo the philosophic inquirer, few things are more important in the annals\nof nations than their festivals, their anniversaries, and their public\ncelebrations of all kinds. In nothing is their peculiar character more\nstrikingly exhibited. They show a people in its undress, acting upon\nits impulses, and separated from the conventions and formalities of its\nevery-day existence. We may venture to say that could we, in the absence\nof every other record, be furnished with a complete account of the\nfestivals, traditions, and anniversaries of any given nation now\nextinct, not only might a correct estimate be therefrom made of their\nprogress in morals and civilization, but a conjectural history of their\ndoings be hazarded, which should bear a closer resemblance to the facts\nthan many an existing history constructed from more varied materials.\n\nFor these reasons--and some others, which are more personal and less\nphilosophical--we love all old traditions and holiday customs. Like\nhonest Sir Andrew Aguecheek, we \"delight in masques and revels,\nsometimes altogether.\" Many a happy chance has conducted us\nunpremeditatedly into the midst of some rustic festival, whose\nrecollection is amongst our pleasant memories yet,--and many a one have\nwe gone venturously forth to seek,--when we dwelt in the more immediate\nneighborhood of the haunts to which, one by one, these traditionary\nobservances are retiring before the face of civilization! The natural\ntendency of time to obliterate ancient customs and silence ancient\nsports, is too much promoted by the utilitarian spirit of the day; and\nthey who would have no man enjoy without being able to give a reason for\nthe enjoyment which is in him, are robbing life of half its beauty and\nsome of its virtues. If the old festivals and hearty commemorations in\nwhich our land was once so abundant--and which obtained for her, many a\nlong day since, the name of \"merrie England\"--had no other\nrecommendation than their _convivial_ character, the community of\nenjoyment which they imply, they would on that account alone be worthy\nof all promotion, as an antidote to the cold and selfish spirit which is\ntainting the life-blood and freezing the pulses of society. \"'Tis good\nto be merry and wise;\" but the wisdom which eschews mirth, and holds the\ntime devoted to it as so much wasted by being taken from the\nschoolmaster, is very questionable wisdom in itself, and assuredly not\nmade to promote the happiness of nations. We love all commemorations. We\nlove these anniversaries, for their own sakes, and for their uses. We\nlove those Lethes of an hour which have a virtue beyond their gift of\noblivion, and while they furnish a temporary forgetfulness of many of\nthe ills of life, revive the memory of many a past enjoyment, and\nreawaken many a slumbering affection. We love those milestones on the\njourney of life beside which man is called upon to pause, and take a\nreckoning of the distance he has passed, and of that which he may have\nyet to go. We love to reach those free, open spaces at which the\ncross-roads of the world converge, and where we are sure to meet, as at\na common rendezvous, with travellers from its many paths. We love to\nenter those houses of refreshment by the way-side of existence, where we\nknow we shall encounter with other wayfarers like ourselves,--perchance\nwith friends long separated, and whom the chances of the world keep far\napart,--and whence, after a sweet communion and lusty festival and\nneedful rest, we may go forth upon our journey new fortified against its\naccidents, and strengthened for its toils. We love those festivals which\nhave been made, as Washington Irving says, \"the season for gathering\ntogether of family connections, and drawing closer again those bonds of\nkindred hearts which the cares and pleasures and sorrows of the world\nare continually operating to cast loose; of calling back the children of\na family who have launched forth in life and wandered widely asunder,\nonce more to assemble about the paternal hearth, that rallying place of\nthe affections, there to grow young and loving again among the endearing\nmementos of childhood.\" Above all, we love those seasons (\"for pity is\nnot common!\" says the old ballad) which call for the exercise of a\ngeneral hospitality, and give the poor man his few and precious glimpses\nof a plenty which, as the world is managed, his toil cannot buy; which\nshelter the houseless wanderer, and feed the starving child, and clothe\nthe naked mother, and spread a festival for all,--those seasons which in\ntheir observance by our ancestors, kept alive, by periodical\nreawakenings, that flame of charity which thus had scarcely time wholly\nto expire during all the year. We love all which tends to call man from\nthe solitary and chilling pursuit of his own separate and selfish views\ninto the warmth of a common sympathy, and within the bands of a common\nbrotherhood. We love these commemorations, as we have said, for\nthemselves; we love them for their uses; and still more we love them for\nthe memories of our boyhood! Many a bright picture do they call up in\nour minds, and in the minds of most who have been amongst their\nobservers; for with these festivals of the heart are inalienably\nconnected many a memory for sorrow or for joy, many a scene of early\nlove, many a merry meeting which was yet the last, many a parting of\nthose who shall part no more, many a joyous group composed of materials\nwhich separated only too soon and shall never be put together again on\nearth, many a lost treasure and many a perished hope,--\n\n \"Hopes that were angels in their birth,\n But perished young, like things of earth.\"\n\nHappy, happy days were they!--\"Oh, their record is lively in my\nsoul!\"--and there is a happiness, still, in looking back to them:--\n\n \"Ye are dwelling with the faded flowers\n Ye are with the suns long set,\n But oh, your memory, gentle hours,\n Is a living vision yet!\"\n\nYet are they, for the most part, eras to count our losses by. Beside\nthem, in the calendar of the heart, is written many a private note, not\nto be read without bitter tears:--\n\n \"There's many a lad I loved is gone,\n And many a lass grown old;\n And when, at times, I think thereon,\n My weary heart grows cold.\"\n\n\"Oh, the mad days that I have spent,\" says old Justice Shallow, \"and to\nsee how many of mine old acquaintance are dead!\" Yet still we love these\ncommemorations and hail them, each and all, as the year restores them to\nus, shorn and scarred as they are. And though many and many a time the\nwelcome has faltered on our lips as we \"turned from all they brought to\nall they could not bring,\" still by God's help we will enjoy them, as\nyet we may,--drawing closer to us, and with the more reason, the friends\nthat still remain, and draining to the last--\n\n \"One draught, in memory of many\n A joyous banquet past.\"\n\nThe revels of merry England are fast subsiding into silence, and her\nmany customs wearing gradually away. The affectations and frivolities of\nsociety, as well as its more grave and solemn pursuits,--the exigences\nof fashion, and the tongue of the pedagogue,--are alike arrayed against\nthem; and, one by one, they are retreating from the great assemblies\nwhere mankind \"most do congregate,\" to hide themselves in remote\nsolitudes and rural nooks. In fact, that social change which has\nenlarged and filled the towns at the expense of the country, which has\nannihilated the yeomanry of England, and drawn the estated gentleman\nfrom the shelter of his ancestral oaks, to live upon their produce in\nthe haunts of dissipation, has been, in itself, the circumstance most\nunfavorable to the existence of many of them, which delight in bye-ways\nand sheltered places, which had their appropriate homes in the old manor\nhouse or the baronial hall. Yet do they pass lingeringly away. Traces of\nmost of them still exist, and from time to time reappear even in our\ncities and towns; and there are probably scarcely any which have not\nfound some remote district or other of these islands in which their\ninfluence is still acknowledged, and their rites duly performed. There\nis something in the mind of man which attaches him to ancient\nsuperstitions even for the sake of their antiquity, and endears to him\nold traditions even because they are old. We cannot readily shake off\nour reverence for that which our fathers have reverenced so long, even\nwhere the causes in which that reverence originated are not very obvious\nor not very satisfactory. We believe that he who shall aid in preserving\nthe records of these vanishing observances, ere it be too late, will do\ngood and acceptable service in his generation; and such contribution to\nthat end as we have in our power it is the purpose of these volumes to\nbestow. Of that taste for hunting out the obsolete which originates in\nthe mere dry spirit of antiquarianism, or is pursued as a display of\ngladiatorial skill in the use of the intellectual weapons, we profess\nourselves no admirers. But he who pursues in the track of a receding\ncustom,--which is valuable either as an historical illustration or\nbecause of its intrinsic beauty, moral or picturesque,--is an antiquary\nof the beneficent kind; and he who assists in restoring observances\nwhich had a direct tendency to propagate a feeling of brotherhood and a\nspirit of benevolence, is a higher benefactor still. Right joyous\nfestivals there have been amongst us, which England will be none the\nmerrier--and kindly ones which she will be none the better--for losing.\nThe following pages will give some account of that season which has, at\nall times since the establishment of Christianity, been most crowded\nwith observances, and whose celebration is still the most conspicuous\nand universal with us, as well as throughout the whole of Christendom.\n\nFOOTNOTE:\n\n[1] The late John Malcolm, of Edinburgh.\n\n\n\n\nPart First.\n\nTHE CHRISTMAS SEASON.\n\n[Illustration: \"MERRY CHRISTMAS TO YOU!\"--_Page 29._]\n\n\n\n\nTHE CHRISTMAS SEASON.\n\n\n This Book of Christmas is a sound and good persuasion\n for gentlemen, and all wealthy men, to keep a good\n Christmas.\n\n A HA! CHRISTMAS! BY T. H. LONDON, 1647.\n\n Any man or woman . . . that can give any knowledge, or\n tell any tidings, of an old, old, very old\n gray-bearded gentleman, called Christmas, who was wont\n to be a verie familiar ghest, and visite all sorts of\n people both pore and rich, and used to appeare in\n glittering gold, silk, and silver, in the Court, and\n in all shapes in the Theater in Whitehall, and had\n ringing, feasts, and jollitie in all places, both in\n the citie and countrie, for his comming: . . . whosoever\n can tel what is become of him, or where he may be\n found, let them bring him back againe into England.\n\n AN HUE AND CRY AFTER CHRISTMAS.\n\n\nIN Ben Jonson's \"Mask of Christmas,\" presented before the court in\n1616,--wherein the ancient gentleman so earnestly inquired after in one\nof the quotations which heads this chapter, and a number of his\nchildren, compose the _dramatis person\u00e6_,--that venerable personage (who\ndescribes himself as \"Christmas, Old Christmas, Christmas of London,\nand Captain Christmas\") is made to give a very significant hint to some\nparties who fail to receive him with due ceremony, which hint we will,\nin all courtesy, bestow upon our readers. \"I have seen the time you have\nwished for me,\" says he; . . . \"and now you have me, they would not let\nme in. I must come another time!--a good jest! _As if I could come more\nthan once a year!_\" Over and over again, too, has this same very\npregnant argument been enforced in the words of the old ballad, quoted\nin the \"Vindication of Christmas,\"--\n\n \"Let's dance and sing, and make good cheer,\n For _Christmas comes but once a year_!\"\n\nNow if this suggestion was full of grave meaning in the days of\nJonson,--when the respectable old man was for the most part well\nreceived and liberally feasted, when he fed with his laughing children\nat the tables of princes, and took tribute at the hands of kings, when\nhe showed beneath the snows of his reverend head a portly countenance\n(the result of much revelling), an eye in which the fire was unquenched,\nand a frame from which little of the lustihood had yet departed,--we\nconfess that we feel its import to be greatly heightened in these our\ndays, when the patriarch himself exhibits undeniable signs of a failing\nnature, and many of his once rosy sons are evidently in the different\nstages of a common decline. A fine and a cheerful family the old man\nhad; and never came they within any man's door without well repaying\nthe outlay incurred on their account. To us, at all times, their \"coming\nwas a gladness;\" and we feel that we could not, without a pang, see\ntheir honest and familiar faces rejected from our threshold, with the\nknowledge that the course of their wanderings could not return them to\nus under a period so protracted as that of twelve whole months.\n\n[Illustration: SNAP-DRAGON.--_Page 31._]\n\nIn that long space of time, besides the uncertainty of what may happen\nto ourselves, there is but too much reason to fear that, unless a change\nfor the better should take place, some one or more of the neglected\nchildren may be dead. We could not but have apprehensions that the group\nmight never return to us entire. Death has already made much havoc\namongst them, since the days of Ben Jonson. Alas for Baby-cocke! and woe\nis me for Post-and-paire! And although Carol, and Minced-pie, and\nNew-year's Gift, and Wassail, and Twelfth-cake, and some others of the\nchildren, appear still to be in the enjoyment of a tolerably vigorous\nhealth, yet we are not a little anxious about Snap-dragon, and our mind\nis far from being easy on the subject of Hot-cockles. It is but too\nobvious that, one by one, this once numerous and pleasant family are\nfalling away; and as the old man will assuredly not survive his\nchildren, we may yet, in our day, have to join in the heavy lamentation\nof the lady at the sad result of the above \"Hue and Cry.\" \"But is old,\nold, good old Christmas gone?--nothing but the hair of his good, grave\nold head and beard left!\" For these reasons, he and his train shall be\nwelcome to us as often as they come. It shall be a heavy dispensation\nunder which we will suffer them to pass by our door unhailed; and if we\ncan prevail upon our neighbors to adopt our example, the veteran and his\noffspring may yet be restored. They are dying for lack of nourishment.\nThey have been used to live on most bountiful fare,--to feed on chines\nand turkeys and drink of the wassail-bowl. The rich juices of their\nconstitution are not to be maintained, far less re-established, at a\nless generous rate; and though we will, for our parts, do what lies in\nour power, yet it is not within the reach of any private gentleman's\nexertions or finances to set them on their legs again. It should be made\na national matter of; and as the old gentleman, with his family, will be\ncoming our way soon after the publication of the present volume, we\ntrust we may be the means of inducing some to receive them with the\nancient welcome and feast them after the ancient fashion.\n\nTo enable our readers to do this with due effect, we will endeavor to\nfurnish them with a programme of some of the more important ceremonies\nobserved by our hearty ancestors on the occasion, and to give them some\nexplanation of those observances which linger still, although the causes\nin which their institution originated are becoming gradually\nobliterated, and although they themselves are falling into a neglect\nwhich augurs too plainly of their final and speedy extinction.\n\nIt is, alas! but too true that the spirit of hearty festivity in which\nour ancestors met this season has been long on the decline; and much of\nthe joyous pomp with which it was once received has long since passed\naway. Those \"divers plente of plesaunces,\" in which the genius of mirth\nexhibited himself,--\n\n \"About yule, when the wind blew cule,\n And the round tables began,\"--\n\nhave sent forward to these dull times of ours but few, and those sadly\ndegenerated, representatives. The wild, barbaric splendor; the unbridled\n\"mirth and princely cheare\" with which, upon the faith of ancient\nballads, we learn that \"ages long ago\" King Arthur kept Christmas \"in\nmerry Carleile\" with Queen Guenever, \"that bride soe bright of blee;\"\nthe wholesale hospitality; the royal stores of \"pigs' heads and gammons\nof bacon\" for a Christmas largesse to the poor, at which we get glimpses\nin the existing records of the not over-hospitable reign of King John;\nthe profuse expenditure and stately ceremonial by which the season was\nillustrated in the reign of the vain and selfish Elizabeth; and the\nlordly wassailings and antic mummings, whose universal prevalence, at\nthis period of the year, furnished subjects of such holy horror to the\nPuritans in the time of the first Charles,--have gradually disappeared\nbefore the philosophic pretensions and chilling pedantry of these sage\nand self-seeking days. The picturesque effects of society--its strong\nlights and deep shadows--are rapidly passing away; as the inequalities\nof surface from which they were projected are smoothed and polished\ndown. From a period of high ceremonial and public celebration, which it\nlong continued to be in England, the Christmas-tide has tamed away into\na period of domestic union and social festivity; and the ancient\nobservances which covered it all over with sparkling points are now\nrather perceived--faintly and distantly and imperfectly--by the light of\nthe still surviving spirit of the season than contribute anything to\nthat spirit, or throw as of old any light over that season from\nthemselves.\n\nOf the various causes which contribute to the mingled festival of the\nChristmas-tide, there are some which have their origin in feelings, and\nare the remains of observances that existed previously to that event\nfrom which the season now derives its name. After the establishment of\nChristianity, its earliest teachers, feeling the impossibility of\nreplacing at once those pagan commemorations which had taken long and\ndeep root in the constitution of society and become identified with the\nfeelings of nations, endeavored rather to purify them from their\nuncleanness, and adapt them to the uses of the new religion. By this\narrangement, many an object of pagan veneration became an object of\nveneration to the early Christians; and the polytheism of papal Rome\n(promoted, in part, by this very compromise, working in the stronghold\nof the ancient superstition) became engrafted upon the polytheism of the\nheathen. At a later period, too, the Protestant reformers of that\ncorrupted worship found themselves, from a similar impossibility, under\na similar necessity of retaining a variety of Catholic observances; and\nthus it is that festival customs still exist amongst us which are the\ndirect descendants of customs connected with the classic or druidical\nsuperstitions, and sports which may be traced to the celebrations\nobserved of old in honor of Saturn or of Bacchus.\n\nAmongst those celebrations which have thus survived the decay of the\nreligions with which they were connected, by being made subservient to\nthe new faith (or purified forms) which replaced them, that which takes\nplace at the period of the new year--placed as that epoch is in the\nneighborhood of the winter solstice--stands conspicuous. Bequeathed as\nthis ancient commemoration has been, with many of its forms of\nrejoicing, by the pagan to the Christian world, it has been by the\nlatter thrown into close association with their own festival observances\nin honor of the first great event in the history of their revelation;\nand while the old observances and the feelings in which they originated\nhave thus been preserved to swell the tide of Christian triumph, their\npedigree has been overlooked amid the far higher interest of the\nobservances by whose side they stand, and their ancient titles merged in\nthat of the high family into which they have been adopted.\n\nIn most nations of ancient or modern times, the period of what is\npopularly called the winter solstice appears to have been recognized as\na season of rejoicing. The deepening gloom and increasing sterility\nwhich have followed the downward progress of the sun's place in heaven\nwould generally dispose the minds of men to congratulation at the\narrival of that period when, as experience had taught them, he had\nreached his lowest point of influence with reference to _them_; and the\nprospects of renewed light, and warmth, and vegetation offered by what\nwas considered as his returning march, would naturally be hailed by the\nsigns of thanksgiving and the voice of mirth. The Roman Saturnalia,\nwhich fell at this period, were accordingly a season of high festivity,\nhonored by many privileges and many exemptions from ill. The spirit of\nuniversal mirth and unbounded license was abroad, and had a free\ncharter. Friends feasted together, and the quarrels of foes were\nsuspended. No war was declared and no capital executions were permitted\nto take place during this season of general good-will; and the very\nslave, beneath its genial influence, regained for a moment the moral\nattitude of a man, and had a right to use the tongue which God had\ngiven him, for its original purpose of expressing his thoughts. Not only\nin the spirit of the time but in many of the forms which it took, may a\nresemblance be traced to the Christmas rejoicings of later days. The\nhymns in honor of Saturn were the Roman representatives of the modern\ncarol; and presents passed from friend to friend, as Christmas gifts do\nin our day. (It may be observed here that the interchange of gifts and\nthe offering of donations to the poor appear to have been, at all\nperiods of rejoicing or delivery, from the earliest times, one of the\nmodes by which the heart manifested its thankfulness; and our readers\nmay be referred for a single example, where examples abound, to the\ndirections recorded in the Book of Esther, as given by Mordecai to the\nJews in Shushan, for celebrating their escape from the conspiracy of\nHaman: that on the anniversaries of \"the days wherein the Jews rested\nfrom their enemies, and the month which was turned unto them from sorrow\nto joy and from mourning into a good day, they should make them days of\nfeasting and joy, and of sending portions one to another and gifts to\nthe poor.\") But a more striking resemblance still between the forms\nobserved during the days of the Saturnalia and those by which the\nChristmas festival was long illustrated may be noticed in the ruler, or\nking, who was appointed, with considerable prerogatives, to preside over\nthe sports of the former. He is the probable ancestor of that high\npotentate who, under the title of Christmas Prince, Lord of Misrule, or\nAbbot of Unreason, exercised a similar sway over the Christmas games of\nmore recent times, and whose last descendant--the Twelfth-night\nKing--still rules with a diminished glory over the lingering revelries\nof a single night.\n\nIn the Northern nations of ancient Europe the same period of the year\nwas celebrated by a festival in honor of the God Thor, which, like the\nRoman Saturnalia and the festival of our own times, was illustrated by\nthe song, the dance, and the feast, executed after their barbarous\nfashion, and mingled with the savage rites of their own religion. The\nname of this celebration--Yule, Jule, Iul, or Iol--has given rise to\nmany disputes amongst antiquaries as to its derivation, whose arguments,\nhowever, we need not report for the benefit of our readers till judgment\nshall have been finally pronounced. When that time shall arrive, we\nundertake to publish a new edition of the present work, for the purpose\nof giving our readers an abstract of the pleadings and acquainting them\nwith the ultimate decision. In the mean time, we will let Sir Walter\nScott inform them how--\n\n \"The savage Dane,\n At Iol, more deep the mead did drain;\n High on the beach his galleys drew,\n And feasted all his pirate-crew;\n Then, in his low and pine-built hall,\n Where shields and axes decked the wall,\n They gorged upon the half-dressed steer,\n Caroused in sea of sable beer,--\n While round, in brutal jest, were thrown\n The half-gnawed rib and marrow-bone;\n Or listened all, in grim delight,\n While Scalds yelled out the joys of fight.\n Then forth in frenzy would they hie,\n While wildly loose their red locks fly,\n And, dancing round the blazing pile,\n They made such barbarous mirth the while,\n As best might to the mind recall\n The boisterous joys of Odin's hall.\"\n\nAmongst other traces of the northern observances which have descended to\nour times, and of which we shall have occasion hereafter to speak, the\nname of the festival itself has come down, and is still retained by our\nScottish brethren, as well as in some parts of England.\n\nThe Christian festival of the Nativity, with which these ancient\ncelebrations have been incorporated, appears to have been appointed at a\nvery early period after the establishment of the new religion. Its first\npositive footsteps are met with in the second century, during the reign\nof the Emperor Concordius; but the decretal epistles furnish us with\ntraces of it more remote. At whatever period, however, its formal\ninstitution is to be placed, there can be no doubt that an event so\nstriking in its manner and so important in itself would be annually\ncommemorated amongst Christians from the days of the first apostles, who\nsurvived our Lord's resurrection. As to the actual year of the birth of\nChrist, as well as the _period_ of the year at which it took place,\ngreat uncertainty seems to exist, and many controversies have been\nmaintained. One of the theories on the subject, held to be amongst the\nmost probable, places that event upwards of five years earlier than the\nvulgar era, which latter, however, both as regards the year and _season_\nof the year, was a tradition of the primitive Church. In the first ages\nof that Church, and up till the Council of Nice, the celebration of the\nNativity and that of the Epiphany were united on the 25th of December,\nfrom a belief that the birth of Christ was simultaneous with the\nappearance of the star in the East which revealed it to the Gentiles.\nThe time of the year at which the Nativity fell has been placed, by\ncontending opinions, at the period of the Jewish Feast of Tabernacles,\nat that of the Passover, and again at that of the Feast of the\nExpiation, whose date corresponds with the close of our September.\nClemens Alexandrinus informs us that it was kept by many Christians in\nApril, and by others in the Egyptian month Pachon, which answers to our\nMay. Amongst the arguments which have been produced against the theory\nthat places its occurrence in the depth of winter, one has been gathered\nfrom that passage in the sacred history of the event which states that\n\"there were shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their\nflocks by night.\" It is an argument, however, which does not seem very\nconclusive in a pastoral country and Eastern climate. Besides the\nemployment which this question has afforded to the learned, it has, in\ntimes of religious excitement, been debated with much Puritanical\nvirulence and sectarian rancor. For the purposes of commemoration,\nhowever, it is unimportant whether the celebration shall fall or not at\nthe precise anniversary period of the event commemorated; and the\narrangement which assigns to it its place in our calendar fixes it at a\nseason when men have leisure for a lengthened festivity, and when their\nminds are otherwise wholesomely acted upon by many touching thoughts and\nsolemn considerations.\n\nFrom the first introduction of Christianity into these islands, the\nperiod of the Nativity seems to have been kept as a season of festival,\nand its observance recognized as a matter of state. The Wittenagemots of\nour Saxon ancestors were held under the solemn sanctions and beneficent\ninfluences of the time; and the series of high festivities established\nby the Anglo-Saxon kings appear to have been continued, with yearly\nincreasing splendor and multiplied ceremonies, under the monarchs of the\nNorman race. From the court the spirit of revelry descended by all its\nthousand arteries throughout the universal frame of society, visiting\nits furthest extremities and most obscure recesses, and everywhere\nexhibiting its action, as by so many pulses, upon the traditions and\nsuperstitions and customs which were common to all or peculiar to each.\nThe pomp and ceremonial of the royal observance were imitated in the\nsplendid establishments of the more wealthy nobles, and more faintly\nreflected from the diminished state of the petty baron. The revelries of\nthe baronial castle found echoes in the hall of the old manor-house; and\nthese were, again, repeated in the tapestried chamber of the country\nmagistrate or from the sanded parlor of the village inn. Merriment was\neverywhere a matter of public concernment; and the spirit which\nassembles men in families now congregated them by districts then.\n\n[Illustration: BARONIAL HALL.--_Page 42._]\n\nNeither, however, were the feelings wanting which connected the\nsuperstitions of the season with the tutelage of the roof-tree, and\nmingled its ceremonies with the sanctities of home. Men might meet in\ncrowds to feast beneath the banner of the baron, but the mistletoe hung\nover each man's own door. The black-jacks might go round in the hall of\nthe lord of the manor; but they who could had a wassail-bowl of their\nown. The pageantries and high observances of the time might draw men to\ncommon centres or be performed on a common account, but the flame of the\nYule-log roared up all the individual chimneys of the land. Old Father\nChristmas, at the head of his numerous and uproarious family, might ride\nhis goat through the streets of the city and the lanes of the village,\nbut he dismounted to sit for some few moments by each man's hearth;\nwhile some one or another of his merry sons would break away, to\nvisit the remote farm-houses or show their laughing faces at many a poor\nman's door. For be it observed, this worthy old gentleman and his\nkind-hearted children were no respecters of persons. Though trained to\ncourts, they had ever a taste for a country life. Though accustomed in\nthose days to the tables of princes, they sat freely down at the poor\nman's board. Though welcomed by the peer, they showed no signs of\nsuperciliousness when they found themselves cheek-by-jowl with the\npauper. Nay, they appear even to have preferred the less exalted\nsociety, and to have felt themselves more at ease in the country mansion\nof the private gentleman than in the halls of kings. Their reception in\nthose high places was accompanied, as royal receptions are apt to be, by\na degree of state repugnant to their frank natures; and they seem never\nto have been so happy as when they found themselves amongst a set of\nfree and easy spirits,--whether in town or country,--unrestrained by the\npunctilios of etiquette, who had the privilege of laughing just when it\nstruck them to do so, without inquiring wherefore, or caring how loud.\n\nThen, what a festival they created! The land rang with their joyous\nvoices, and the frosty air steamed with the incense of the good things\nprovided for their entertainment. Everybody kept holiday but the cooks;\nand all sounds known to the human ear seemed mingled in the merry p\u00e6an,\nsave the gobble of the turkeys. _There were no turkeys_,--at least they\nhad lost their \"most sweet voices.\" The turnspits had a hard time of it,\ntoo. That quaint little book which bears the warm and promising title of\n\"Round about our Coal Fire\" tells us that \"by the time dinner was over\nthey would look as black and as greasy as a Welsh porridge-pot.\" Indeed,\nthe accounts of that time dwell with great and savory emphasis upon the\nprominent share which eating and drinking had in the festivities of the\nseason. There must have been sad havoc made amongst the live-stock. That\nthere are turkeys at all in our days is only to be accounted for upon\nthe supposition of England having been occasionally replenished with\nthat article from the East; and our present possession of geese must be\nexplained by the well-known impossibility of extinguishing the race of\nthe goose. It is difficult to imagine a consumption equal to the\nrecorded provision. Men's gastronomic capacities appear to have been\nenlarged for the occasion, as the energies expand to meet great\nemergencies. \"The tables,\" says the same racy authority above quoted,\n\"were all spread from the first to the last; the sirloyns of beef, the\nminc'd-pies, the plumb-porridge, the capons, turkeys, geese, and\nplumb-puddings were all brought upon the board; and all those who had\nsharp stomachs and sharp knives eat heartily and were welcome, which\ngave rise to the proverb,--\n\n \"'Merry in the hall, when beards wag all!'\"\n\nNow, _all_ men in those days appear to have had good stomachs, and, we\npresume, took care to provide themselves with sharp knives. The only\nrecorded instance in which we find a failure of the latter is that\nportentous one which occurred, many a long day since, in the court of\nKing Arthur, when the Christmas mirth was so strangely disturbed by the\nmischievous interference of the Boy with the Mantle. Under the test\nintroduced by that imp of discord and which appears to have \"taken the\nshine out of\" the monarch's own good sword Excalibur itself, there was\nfound but one knight, of all the hungry knights who sat at that Round\nTable, whose weapon was sharp enough to carve the boar's head or hand\nsteady enough to carry the cup to his lip without spilling the lamb's\nwool; and even he had a very narrow escape from the same incapacities.\nBut then, as we have said, this was at court, and under the influence of\na spell (with whose nature we take it for granted that our readers are\nacquainted,--and, if not, we refer them to the Percy Ballads); and it is\nprobable that, in those early as in later days, tests of such extreme\ndelicacy were of far more dangerous introduction in the courts of kings\nthan amongst assemblies of more mirth and less pretension. We could by\nno means feel sure that the intrusion, in our own times, of a similar\ntest into a similar scene might not spoil the revels.\n\n[Illustration: ENJOYING CHRISTMAS.--_Page 46._]\n\nBut to return. The old ballads which relate to this period of the year\nare redolent of good things, and not to be read by a hungry man with any\ndegree of equanimity. Of course they are _ex post facto_ ballads, and\ncould only have been written under the inspiration of memory, at a time\nwhen men were at leisure to devote their hands to some other occupation\nthan that of cooking or carving. But it is very difficult to understand\nhow they ever found--as it appears they did--their mouths in a condition\nto sing them at the season itself. There is one amongst those ballads,\nof a comparatively modern date, printed in Evans's collection, which we\nadvise no man to read fasting. It is directed to be sung to the tune of\n\"The Delights of the Bottle,\" and contains in every verse a vision of\ngood things, summed up by the perpetually recurring burthen of\n\n \"Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minc'd-pies, and roast beef.\"\n\nOur readers had better take a biscuit and a glass of sherry before they\nventure upon the glimpses into those regions of banqueting which we are\ntempted to lay before them. The ballad opens like the ringing of a\ndinner-bell, and, we conceive, should be sung to some such\naccompaniment:--\n\n \"All you that to feasting and mirth are inclin'd,\n Come here is good news for to pleasure your mind,--\n Old Christmas is come for to keep open house,\n _He scorns to be guilty of starving a mouse_:\n Then come, boys, and welcome for diet the chief,\n Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minc'd-pies, and roast beef.\"\n\n\"Diet _the chief_!\"--by which we are to understand that this promising\nmuster-roll merely includes the names of some of the principal\nviands,--the high-commissioned dishes of the feast,--leaving the\nsubalterns, and the entire rank and file which complete the goodly\narray, unmentioned. It must have been a very ingenious or a very\nstrong-minded mouse which could contrive to be starved under such\ncircumstances. The ballad is long, and we can only afford to give our\nreaders \"tastings\" of its good things. It is everywhere full of most\ngracious promise:--\n\n \"The cooks shall be busied, by day and by night,\n In roasting and boiling, for taste and delight,\n Their senses in liquor that's nappy they'll steep,\n Though they be afforded to have little sleep;\n They still are employed for to dress us, in brief,\n Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minc'd-pies, and roast beef.\n\n \"Although the cold weather doth hunger provoke,\n 'T is a comfort to see how the chimneys do smoke;\n Provision is making for beer, ale, and wine,\n For _all that are willing or ready to dine_:\n Then haste to the kitchen for diet the chief,\n Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minc'd-pies, and roast beef.\n\n \"All travellers, as they do pass on their way,\n At gentlemen's halls are invited to stay,\n Themselves to refresh and their horses to rest,\n Since that he must be old Christmas's guest;\n Nay, the poor shall not want, but have for relief\n Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minc'd-pies, and roast beef.\"\n\nAnd so on, through a variety of joyous and substantial anticipations,\nfrom which the writer draws an inference, which we think is most\nsatisfactorily made out:--\n\n \"Then _well may we welcome_ old Christmas to town,\n Who brings us good cheer, and good liquor so brown;\n To pass the cold winter away with delight,\n We feast it all day, and we frolick all night.\"\n\nIn Ellis's edition of Brand's \"Popular Antiquities\" an old Christmas\nsong is quoted from \"Poor Robin's Almanack\" for 1695, which gives a\nsimilar enumeration of Christmas dainties, but throws them into a form\ncalculated for more rapid enunciation, as if with a due regard to the\nvalue of those moments at which it was probably usual to sing it. The\nmeasure is not such a mouthful as that of the former one which we have\nquoted. It comes trippingly off the tongue; and it is not impossible\nthat, in those days of skilful gastronomy, it might have been sung\neating. We will quote a couple of the verses, though they include the\nsame commissariat truths as that from which we have already extracted;\nand our readers will observe, from the ill-omened wish which concludes\nthe second of these stanzas, in what horror the mere idea of _fasting_\nhad come to be held, since it is the heaviest curse which suggested\nitself to be launched against those who refused to do homage to the\nspirit of the times:--\n\n \"Now thrice welcome Christmas,\n Which brings us good cheer,\n Minc'd pies and plumb-porridge,\n Good ale and strong beer;\n With pig, goose, and capon,\n The best that may be,\n So well doth the weather\n And our stomachs agree.\n\n \"Observe how the chimneys\n Do smoak all about,\n The cooks are providing\n For dinner no doubt;\n But those on whose tables\n No victuals appear,\n _O may they keep Lent\n All the rest of the year_!\"\n\nThe same author quotes, from a manuscript in the British Museum, an\nAnglo-Norman carol of the early date of the thirteenth century, and\nappends to it a translation by the late Mr. Douce, the following verse\nof which translation informs us (what, at any rate, might well be\nsupposed, namely) that so much good eating on the part of the ancient\ngentleman, Christmas, would naturally suggest the propriety of good\ndrinking, too:--\n\n \"Lordings, Christmas loves good drinking,\n Wines of Gascoigne, France, Anjou,\n English ale, that drives out thinking,\n Prince of liquors old or new.\n Every neighbor shares the bowl,\n Drinks of the spicy liquor deep,\n Drinks his fill without controul,\n Till he drowns his care in sleep.\"\n\nIn a \"Christmas Carroll,\" printed at the end of Wither's \"Juvenilia,\" a\ngraphic account is given of some of the humors of Christmas, among which\nthe labors of the kitchen are introduced in the _first_ verse, with a\ndue regard to their right of precedency, and in words which, if few, are\nfull of suggestion:--\n\n \"Lo, now is come our joyful'st feast!\n Let every man be jolly.\n Each roome with yvie leaves is drest,\n And every post with holly.\n Now, all our neighbour's chimneys smoke,\n And Christmas Blocks are burning;\n Their ovens they with bak't-meats choke,\n And all their spits are turning.\"\n\nWe must present our readers with another quotation from an old ballad,\nentitled \"Time's Alteration; or, The Old Man's Rehearsal, what brave\ndayes he knew a great while agone, when his old cap was new,\" which\nappears to have been written after the times of the Commonwealth. And\nthis extract we are induced to add to those which have gone before,\nbecause, though it deals with precisely the same subjects, it speaks of\nthem as of things gone by, and is written in a tone of lamentation, in\nwhich it is one of the purposes of this chapter to call upon our readers\nto join. We are sorry we cannot give them directions as to the tune to\nwhich it should be sung,--further than that it is obviously unsuited to\nthat of the \"Delights of the Bottle,\" prescribed for the joyous ballad\nfrom which we first quoted on this subject; and that, whatever may be\nthe _tune_, we are clear that the direction as to _time_ should be the\nsame as that which Mr. Hood prefixes to his song of the Guildhall\nGiants; namely, \"Dinner-time and mournful\":--\n\n \"A man might then behold,\n At Christmas in each hall,\n Good fires to curb the cold,\n And meat for great and small;\n The neighbours were friendly bidden,\n And all had welcome true,\n The poor from the gates were not chidden,\n When this old cap was new.\n\n \"Black-jacks to every man\n Were fill'd with wine and beer;\n No pewter pot nor can\n In those days did appear;\n Good cheer in a nobleman's house\n Was counted a seemly shew;\n We wanted no brawn nor souse,\n When this old cap was new.\"\n\nCan our readers bear, after this sad ditty, to listen to the enumeration\nof good things described by Whistlecraft to have been served up at King\nArthur's table on Christmas day? If the list be authentic, there is the\nless reason to wonder at the feats of courage and strength performed by\nthe Knights of the Round Table.\n\n \"They served up salmon, venison, and wild boars,\n By hundreds, and by dozens, and by scores.\n\n \"Hogsheads of honey, kilderkins of mustard,\n Muttons, and fatted beeves, and bacon swine;\n Herons and bitterns, peacocks, swan, and bustard,\n Teal, mallard, pigeons, widgeons, and, in fine,\n Plum-puddings, pancakes, apple-pies, and custard.\n And therewithal they drank good Gascon wine,\n With mead, and ale, and cider of our own;\n For porter, punch, and negus were not known.\"\n\nBut we cannot pursue this matter further. It is not to be treated with\nany degree of calmness before dinner, and we have not dined. We must\nproceed to less trying parts of our subject.\n\nOf the earnest manner in which our ancestors set about the celebration\nof this festival, the mock ceremonial with which they illustrated it,\nthe quaint humors which they let loose under its inspiration, and the\nspirit of fellowship which brought all classes of men within the range\nof its beneficent provisions, we have a large body of scattered\nevidence, to be gleaned out of almost every species of existing record,\nfrom the early days of the Norman dynasty down to the times of the\nCommonwealth. The tales of chroniclers, the olden ballads, the rolls of\ncourts, and the statute-book of the land, all contribute to furnish the\nmaterials from which a revival of the old pageantry must be derived, if\nmen should ever again find time to be as merry as their fathers were.\n\nThe numberless _local_ customs of which the still remaining tradition is\nalmost the sole record, and which added each its small contingent to the\naggregate of commemoration, would certainly render it a somewhat\ndifficult matter to restore the festival in its integrity; and, to be\nvery candid with our readers, we believe we may as well confess, at the\nonset, what will be very apparent to them before we have done, that many\nof the Christmas observances (whether general or local) are to be\nrecommended to their notice rather as curious pictures of ancient\nmanners than as being at all worthy of imitation by us who \"are wiser in\nour generation.\" Sooth to say, we dare not let our zeal for our subject\nlead us into an unqualified approbation of all the doings which it will\nbe our business to record in these pages, though they seem to have made\nall ranks of people very happy in other days;--and that is no mean test\nof the value of any institution. Really earnest as we are in the wish\nthat the _sentiment_ of the season could be restored in its amplitude,\nwe fear that many of the fooleries by which it exhibited itself could\nnot be gravely proposed as worthy amusements for a nation of\nphilosophers.\n\nStill these very absurdities furnish the strongest evidences of the\nright good-will with which men--ay, grave and learned men--surrendered\nthemselves to the merry spirit of the time, of that entire abandonment\nwhich forgot to make a reservation of their outward dignities and gave\nthem courage to \"play the fool.\" Our readers need scarcely be told that\nit must be a man of a very strong mind, or a man who could not help it,\nwho should dare to make a jack-pudding of himself in these days, when\nall his fellows are walking about the world with telescopes in their\nhands and quadrants in their pockets. No doubt it would have a somewhat\nridiculous effect to-day to see the members of the bar dancing a\ngalliard or a coranto, in full costume, before the Benchers,\nnotwithstanding that certain ancient forms are still retained in their\nhalls which have all the absurdity of the exploded ones without any of\ntheir fun; and unquestionably we should think it rather strange to see a\nrespectable gentleman capering through the streets on a pasteboard\nhobby-horse,--in lieu of the figurative hobby-horses on which most men\nstill exhibit,--although even that, we think, would offer an object less\nungracious than a child with an anxious brow and \"spectacles on nose.\"\nThe great wisdom of the world is, we presume, one of the natural\nconsequences of its advancing age; and though we are quite conscious\nthat some of its former pranks would be very unbecoming, now that it is\ngetting into years, and \"knows so much as it does,\" yet we are by no\nmeans sure that we should not have been well content to have our lot\ncast in the days when it was somewhat younger. They must have been very\npleasant times! Certain it is that the laugh of the humbler classes, and\nof the younger classes, would be all the heartier, that it was echoed by\nthe powerful and the aged; the mirth of the ignorant more free and\ngenial, that the learned thought no scorn of it. For all that appears,\ntoo, the dignities of those days suffered no detriment by their\nsurrender to the spirit of the times, but seem to have resumed all their\nfunctions and privileges, when it had exhausted itself, with unimpaired\neffect. Philosophers had due reverence, without erecting themselves\nalways on stilts for the purpose of attracting it; and names have come\ndown to us which are esteemed the names of grave and learned and wise\nmen,--even in this grave and learned and wise age,--who, nevertheless,\nappear in their own to have conducted themselves at times very like\nchildren.\n\nFrom the royal Household-Books which exist, and from the Household-Books\nof noble families (some of which have been printed for better\npreservation), as also from the other sources to which we have alluded,\nMr. Sandys, in the very valuable introduction to his collection of\nChristmas carols, already mentioned, has brought together a body of\nvaluable information,--both as to the stately ceremonies and popular\nobservances by which the season continued to be illustrated, from an\nearly period up to the time of its decline, amid the austerities of the\ncivil war. To this careful compilation we shall be occasionally indebted\nfor some curious particulars which had escaped ourselves, amid the\nmultiplied and unconnected sources from which our notes for this volume\nhad to be made. To those who would go deeper into the antiquarian part\nof the subject than suits the purpose of a popular volume, we can\nrecommend that work, as containing the most copious and elaborate\nsynopsis of the existing information connected therewith which we have\nfound in the course of our own researches. It would be impossible,\nhowever, in a paper of that length--or, indeed, in a volume of any\nmoderate size--to give an account of all the numerous superstitions and\nobservances of which traces are found, in an extended inquiry, to\nexist,--throwing light upon each other and contributing to the complete\nhistory of the festival. We have therefore gleaned from all quarters\nthose which appear to be the most picturesque and whose relation is the\nmost obvious, with a view, as much as possible, of generalizing the\nsubject and presenting its parts in relation to an intelligible whole.\n\nAs we shall have occasion, in our second part, to speak of those\n_peculiar_ feelings and customs by which each of the several days of the\nChristmas festival is specially illustrated, we shall not at present\npause to go into any of the details of the subject, although continually\ntempted to do so by their connection with the observations which we are\ncalled upon to make. The purpose of the present chapter is rather to\ninsist generally, and by some of its more striking features, upon the\nhigh and lengthened festivity with which this portion of the year was so\nlong and so universally welcomed, and to seek some explanation of the\ncauses to which the diminution of that spirit, and the almost total\nneglect of its ancient forms, are to be ascribed.\n\nAs early as the twelfth century we have accounts of the spectacles and\npageants by which Christmas was welcomed at the court of the then\nmonarch Henry II.; and from this period the wardrobe rolls and other\nHousehold-Books of the English kings furnish continual evidences of the\ncostly preparations made for the festival. Many extracts from these\nbooks have been made by Mr. Sandys and others, from which it appears\nthat the mirth of the celebration, and the lavish profusion expended\nupon it, were on the increase from year to year, excepting during that\ndistracted period of England's history when these, like all other\ngracious arrangements and social relations, were disturbed by the unholy\ncontests between the houses of the rival roses. There is, however, a\nbeautiful example of the sacred influence of this high festival\nmentioned by Turner in his History of England, showing that its hallowed\npresence had power, even in those warlike days, to silence even the\nvoice of war,--of all war save that most impious of (what are almost\nalways impious) wars, civil war. During the siege of Orleans, in 1428,\nhe says: \"The solemnities and festivities of Christmas gave a short\ninterval of repose. The English lords requested of the French commanders\nthat they might have a night of minstrelsy, with trumpets and clarions.\nThis was granted; and the horrors of war were suspended by melodies,\nthat were felt to be delightful.\"\n\nIn the peaceful reign of Henry VII., the nation, on emerging from that\nlong and unnatural struggle, appears to have occupied itself, as did the\nwise monarch, in restoring as far as was possible, and by all means, its\ndisrupted ties, and rebaptizing its apostate feelings; and during this\nperiod the festival of Christmas was restored with revived splendor and\nobserved with renewed zeal. The Household-Book of that sovereign,\npreserved in the chapter-house at Westminster, contains numerous items\nfor disbursements connected with the Christmas diversions, in proof of\nthis fact.\n\nThe reign of Henry VIII. was a reign of jousts and pageants till it\nbecame a reign of blood; and accordingly the Christmas pageantries\nprepared for the entertainment of that execrable monarch were\ndistinguished by increased pomp and furnished at a more profuse\nexpenditure. The festivities of Eltham and Greenwich figure in the pages\nof the old chroniclers; and the account books at the chapter-house\nabound in payments made in this reign, for purposes connected with the\nrevels of the season.\n\nWe shall by and by have occasion to present our readers with some\ncurious particulars, illustrative of the cost and pains bestowed upon\nthis court celebration during the short reign of the young monarch\nEdward VI.\n\nNot all the gloom and terror of the sanguinary Mary's reign were able\nentirely to extinguish the spirit of Christmas rejoicing throughout the\nland, though the court itself was too much occupied with its auto-da-f\u00e9\nspectacles to have much time for pageants of less interest.\n\nOur readers, we think, need scarcely be told that the successor of this\nstern and miserable queen (and, thank God! the last of that bad family)\nwas sure to seize upon the old pageantries, as she did upon every other\nvehicle which could in any way be made to minister to her intolerable\nvanity, or by which a public exhibition might be made, before the slaves\nwhom she governed, of her own vulgar and brutal mind. Under all the\nforms of ancient festival observance, some offering was presented to\nthis insatiable and disgusting appetite,--and that, too, by men entitled\nto stand erect, by their genius or their virtues, yet whose knees were\nrough with kneeling before as worthless an idol as any wooden god that\nthe most senseless superstition ever set up for worship. From all the\naltars which the court had reared to old Father Christmas of yore, a\ncloud of incense was poured into the royal closet, enough to choke\nanything but a woman,--that woman a queen, and that queen a Tudor. The\nfestival was preserved, and even embellished; but the saint, as far as\nthe court was concerned, was changed. However, the example of the\nfestivity to the people was the same; and the land was a merry land, and\nthe Christmas time a merry time, throughout its length and breadth, in\nthe days of Queen Elizabeth.\n\nNay, out of this very anxiety to minister to the craving vanity of a\nweak and worthless woman--the devices to which it gave rise and the\nlaborers whom it called into action--have arisen results which are not\namongst the least happy or important of those by its connection with\nwhich the Christmas festival stands recommended. Under these impulses,\nthe old dramatic entertainments--of which we shall have occasion to\nspeak more at large hereafter--took a higher character and assumed a\nmore consistent form. The first regular English tragedy, called \"Ferrex\nand Porrex,\" and the entertainment of \"Gammer Gurton's Needle,\" were\nboth productions of the early period of this queen's reign; and amid the\ncrowd of her worshippers (alas that it is so!) rose up--with the star\nupon his forehead which is to burn for all time--the very first of all\ncreated beings, William Shakespeare. These are amongst the strange\nanomalies which the world, as it is constituted, so often presents, and\n_must_ present at times, constitute it how we will. Shakespeare doing\nhomage to Queen Elizabeth! The loftiest genius and the noblest heart\nthat have yet walked this earth, in a character merely human, bowing\ndown before this woman with the soul of a milliner and no heart at all!\nThe \"bright particular star\" humbling itself before the temporal crown!\nThe swayer of hearts, the ruler of all men's minds, in virtue of his own\ntranscendent nature, recognizing the supremacy of this overgrown child,\nbecause she presided over the temporalities of a half emancipated\nnation, by rights derived to her from others and sanctioned by no\nqualities of her own!\n\nAnd yet if to the low passions of this vulgar queen, and the patronage\nwhich they led her to extend to all who could best minister to their\ngratification, we owe any part of that development by which this\nconsummate genius expanded itself, then do we stand in some degree\nindebted to her for one of the greatest boons which has been bestowed\nupon the human race; and as between her and mankind in general (for the\naccounts between her and individuals, and still more that between her\nand God, stand uninfluenced by this item) there is a large amount of\ngood to be placed to her credit. Against her follies of a day there\nwould have to be set her promotion of a wisdom whose lessons are for all\ntime; against the tears which she caused to flow, the human anguish\nwhich she inflicted, and the weary, pining hours of the captives whom\nshe made, would stand the tears of thousands dried away, many and many\nan aching heart beguiled of its sorrow, and many a captive taught to\nfeel that\n\n \"Stone walls do not a prison make,\n Nor iron bars a cage;\"\n\nall the chords of human feeling touched with a hand that soothes as did\nthe harp of David, all the pages of human suffering stored with\nconsolations!\n\nTo any one who will amuse himself by looking over the Miracle Plays and\nMasques, which were replaced by the more regular forms of dramatic\nentertainment, and will then regale himself by the perusal of \"Gammer\nGurton's Needle\" or \"Ferrex and Porrex,\" which came forward with higher\npretensions in the beginning of this reign, there will appear reason to\nbe sufficiently astonished at the rapid strides by which dramatic\nexcellence was attained before its close and during the next, even\nwithout taking Shakespeare into the account at all. Put when we turn to\nthe marvels of this great magician, and find that in his hands not only\nwere the forms of the drama perfected, but that, without impeding the\naction or impairing the interest invested in those forms, and besides\nhis excursions into the regions of imagination and his creations _out\nof_ the natural world he has touched every branch of human knowledge and\nstruck into every train of human thought; that without learning, in the\npopular sense, he has arrived at all the results and embodied all the\nwisdom which learning is only useful if it teaches; that we can be\nplaced in no imaginable circumstances and under the influence of no\npossible feelings of which we do not find exponents,--and _such_\nexponents!--\"in sweetest music,\" on his page; and above all, when we\nfind that all the final morals to be drawn from all his writings are\nhopeful ones, that all the lessons which all his agents--joy or sorrow,\npain or pleasure--are made alike to teach are lessons of goodness--it is\nimpossible to attribute all this to aught but a revelation, or ascribe\nto him any character but that of a prophet. Shakespeare knew more than\nany other mere man ever knew; and none can tell how that knowledge came\nto him. \"All men's business and bosoms\" lay open to him. We should not\nlike to have him quoted against us on _any_ subject. Nothing escaped\nhim, and he never made a mistake (we are not speaking of technical\nones). He was the universal interpreter into language of the human mind,\nand he knew all the myriad voices by which nature speaks. He reminds us\nof the vizier in the Eastern story, who is said to have understood the\nlanguages of all animals. The utterings of the elements, the voices of\nbeasts and of birds, Shakespeare could translate into the language of\nmen; and the thoughts and sentiments of men he rendered into words as\nsweet as the singing of birds. If the reign of Elizabeth had been\nillustrated only by the advent of this great spirit, it might itself\nhave accounted for some portion of that prejudice which (illustrated, as\nin fact it was, by much that was great and noble) blinds men still--or\ninduces them to shut their eyes--to the true personal claims and\ncharacter of that queen.\n\nBut we are digressing, again, as who does not when the image of\nShakespeare comes across him? To return:--\n\nThe court celebrations of Christmas were observed throughout the reign\nof the first James; and the Prince Charles himself was an occasional\nperformer in the pageantries prepared for the occasion, at great cost.\nBut at no period do they appear to have been more zealously sought\nafter, or performed with more splendor, than during that which\nimmediately preceded the persecution, from whose effects they have never\nsince recovered into anything like their former lustihood. In the early\nyears of Charles the First's reign, the court pageants of this season\nwere got up with extraordinary brilliancy,--the king with the lords of\nhis court, and the queen with her ladies, frequently taking parts\ntherein. This was the case in 1630-31; and at the Christmas of 1632-33\nthe queen, says Sandys, \"got up a pastoral in Somerset House, in which\nit would seem she herself took a part. There were masques at the same\ntime, independently of this performance, the cost of which considerably\nexceeded \u00a32,000, besides that portion of the charge which was borne by\nthe office of the revels and charged to the accounts of that\ndepartment.\" In the same year, we learn that a grant of \u00a3450 was made to\nGeorge Kirke, Esq., gentleman of the robes, for the _masking attire_ of\nthe king and his party. In 1637 there is a warrant, under the privy\nseal, to the same George Kirke for \u00a3150, to provide the masking dress of\nthe king; and, in the same year, another to Edmund Taverner for \u00a31,400\ntowards the expenses of a masque to be presented at Whitehall on the\nensuing Twelfth Night. We have selected these from similar examples\nfurnished by Sandys, in order to give our readers some idea of the sums\nexpended in these entertainments, which sums will appear very\nconsiderable when estimated by the difference between the value of\nmoney in our days and that of two hundred years ago. Several of the\nmasques presented at court during this reign, and the preceding ones,\nwere written by Ben Jonson.\n\n[Illustration: MUMMERS.--_Page 65._]\n\nDuring the whole of this time, the forms of court ceremonial appear to\nhave been aped, and the royal establishments imitated as far as\npossible, by the more powerful nobles; and the masques and pageantries\nexhibited for the royal amusement were accordingly reproduced or\nrivalled by them at their princely mansions in the country. Corporate\nand other public bodies caught the infection all over the land; and each\nlanded proprietor and country squire endeavored to enact such state in\nthe eyes of his own retainers, as his means would allow. The sports and\nfestivities of the season were everywhere taken under the protection of\nthe lord of the soil; and all classes of his dependants had a customary\nclaim upon the hospitalities which he prepared for the occasion. The\nmasques of the court and of the nobles were imitated in the mummings of\nthe people,--of which we give a representation here, and which we shall\nhave occasion particularly to describe hereafter,--they having survived\nthe costly pageants of which they were the humble representatives. The\nfestival was thus rendered a universal one, and its amusements brought\nwithin the reach of the indigent and the remote. The peasant, and even\nthe pauper, were made, as it were, once a year sharers in the mirth of\ntheir immediate lord, and even of the monarch himself. The laboring\nclasses had enlarged privileges during this season, not only by custom,\nbut by positive enactment; and restrictive acts of Parliament, by which\nthey were prohibited from certain games at other periods, contained\nexceptions in favor of the Christmas-tide. Nay, folly was, as it were,\ncrowned, and disorder had a license! Sandys quotes from Leland the form\nof a proclamation given in his \"Itinerary\" as having been made by the\nsheriff of York, wherein it is declared that all \"thieves, dice-players,\ncarders\" (with some other characters by name that are usually repudiated\nby the guardians of order) \"_and all other unthrifty folke_, be welcome\nto the towne, whether they come late or early, att the reverence of the\nhigh feast of Youle, till the twelve dayes be passed.\" The terms of this\nproclamation were, no doubt, not intended to be construed in a grave and\nliteral sense, but were probably meant to convey something like a satire\nupon the unbounded license of the season which they thus announce.\n\nThere are very pleasant evidences of the care which was formerly taken,\nin high quarters, that the poor should not be robbed of their share in\nthis festival. The yearly increasing splendor of the royal celebrations\nappears at one time to have threatened that result, by attracting the\ncountry gentlemen from their own seats, and thereby withdrawing them\nfrom the presidency of those sports which were likely to languish in\ntheir absence. Accordingly, we find an order, in 1589, issued to the\ngentlemen of Norfolk and Suffolk, commanding them \"to depart from London\nbefore Christmas, and to repair to their countries, there to keep\nhospitality amongst their neighbors.\" And similar orders appear to have\nbeen from time to time necessary, and from time to time repeated.\n\nAmongst those bodies who were distinguished for the zeal of their\nChristmas observances, honorable mention may be made of the two English\nuniversities; and we shall have occasion hereafter to show that traces\nof the old ceremonials linger still in those their ancient haunts. But\nthe reader who is unacquainted with this subject would scarcely be\nprepared to look for the most conspicuous celebration of these revels,\nwith all their antics and mummeries, in the grave and dusty retreats of\nthe law. Such, however, was the case. The lawyers beat the doctors\nhollow. Their ancient halls have rung with the sounds of a somewhat\nbarbarous revelry; and the walls thereof, had they voices, could tell\nmany an old tale, which the present occupants might not consider as\nthrowing any desirable light upon the historical dignities of the body\nto which they belong. Our readers, no doubt, remember a certain scene in\n\"Guy Mannering,\" wherein the farmer Dinmont and Colonel Mannering are\nsomewhat inconsiderately intruded upon the carousals of Mr. Counsellor\nPleydell at his tavern in the city of Edinburgh and find that worthy\nlawyer in what are called his \"altitudes,\" being deeply engaged in the\nancient and not very solemn pastime of \"High Jinks.\" Their memory may\nprobably present the counsellor \"enthroned as a monarch in an\nelbow-chair placed on the dining-table, his scratch-wig on one side, his\nhead crowned with a bottle-slider, his eye leering with an expression\nbetwixt fun and the effects of wine,\" and recall, assisted by the\njingle, some of the high discourse of his surrounding court:--\n\n \"Where is Gerunto now? and what's become of him?\"\n \"Gerunto's drowned, because he could not swim,\" etc.\n\nNow, if our readers shall be of opinion--as Colonel Mannering and the\nfarmer were--that the attitude and the occupation were scarcely\nconsistent with the dignity of a gentleman whom they had come to consult\non very grave matters, we may be as much to blame as was the\ntavern-waiter on that occasion, in introducing them to the revels of the\nInns of Court. We will do what we can to soften such censure by stating\nthat there certainly appears at times to have arisen a suspicion, in the\nminds of a portion of the profession, that the wig and gown were not\nfiguring to the best possible advantage on these occasions. For, in the\nreign of the first James, we find an order issued by the benchers of\nLincoln's Inn, whereby the \"under barristers were, by decimation, put\nout of commons because the whole bar offended by not dancing on\nCandlemas Day preceding, according to the ancient order of the society,\nwhen the judges were present;\" and this order is accompanied by a threat\n\"that, if the fault were repeated, they should be fined or disbarred.\"\n\nThere seems to have been a contest between the four Inns of Court as to\nwhich should get up these pageantries with the greatest splendor, and\noccasionally a struggle between the desire of victory and the\ndisinclination, or perhaps inability, to furnish the heavy cost at which\nthat victory was to be secured. Most curious particulars on these\nsubjects are furnished by the accompt-books of the houses: by the \"Gesta\nGrayorum\" (which was published for the purpose of describing a\ncelebrated Christmas kept at Gray's Inn in 1594, and had its title\nimitated from the then popular work called the \"Gesta Romanorum\"); by\nDugdale, in his \"Origines Juridiciales,\"; and by Nichols, in his\n\"Progresses of Queen Elizabeth.\" For some time Lincoln's Inn appears to\nhave carried it all its own way, having been first on the ground. The\nChristmas celebrations seem to have been kept by this society from as\nearly a period as the reign of Henry VI.; although it was not until the\nreign of Henry VIII. that they began to grow into celebrity, or at least\nthat we have any account of their arrangements. When, however, the\nsocieties of the two Temples, and that of Gray's Inn, began, with a\nlaudable jealousy, to contest the palm of splendor, the necessary\nexpenditure appears occasionally to have \"given them pause.\"\nAccordingly, they held anxious meetings, at the approach of the season,\nto decide the important question whether Christmas should be kept that\nyear or not; and one of the registers of the society of Lincoln's Inn,\nbearing date the 27th of November, in the twenty-second year of the\nreign of Henry VIII. contains the following order: \"Yt is agreed that if\nthe two Temples do kepe Chrystemas, then Chrystemas to be kept here; and\nto know this, the Steward of the House ys commanded to get knowledge,\nand to advertise my master by the next day at night.\"\n\nThere is a curious story told in Baker's Chronicle of an awkward\npredicament into which the society of Gray's Inn brought themselves by a\nplay which they enacted amongst their Christmas revels of 1527. The\nsubject of this play was to the effect that \"Lord Governance was ruled\nby Dissipation and Negligence; by whose evil order Lady Public-Weal was\nput from Governance.\" Now, if these gentlemen did not intend, by this\nsomewhat delicate moral, any insinuation against the existing state of\nthings (which, being lawyers, and therefore courtiers, there is good\nmotive to believe they did not), it is, at all events, certain that, as\nlawyers, they ought to have known better how to steer clear of all\noffence to weak consciences. That respectable minister, Cardinal Wolsey,\nfelt himself (as we think he had good right to do) greatly scandalized\nat what, if not designed, was, by accident, a palpable hit; and, in\norder to teach the gentlemen of Gray's Inn that they were responsible\nfor wounds given, if they happened to shoot arrows in the dark, he\ndivested the ingenious author, Sergeant Roe, of his coif, and committed\nhim to the Fleet, together with one of the actors, of the name of\nMoyle,--in order to afford them leisure for furnishing him with a\nsatisfactory explanation of the matter.\n\nIn Dugdale's \"Origines Juridiciales,\" we have an account of a\nmagnificent Christmas which was kept at the Inner Temple, in the fourth\nyear of Queen Elizabeth's reign; at which the Lord Robert Dudley,\nafterwards Earl of Leicester, presided, under the mock-title of\nPalaphilos, Prince of Sophie, High Constable Marshal of the Knights\nTemplars, and Patron of the honorable order of Pegasus. A potentate with\nsuch a title would have looked very foolish without a \"tail;\" and\naccordingly he had for his master of the game no less a lawyer than\nChristopher Hatton, afterwards Lord Chancellor of England, with four\nmasters of the revels, a variety of other officers, and fourscore\npersons forming a guard. Gerard Leigh, who was so fortunate as to obtain\nthe dignity of a knight of Pegasus, describes, as an eye-witness, in his\n\"Accidence of Armorie,\" the solemn fooleries which were enacted on the\noccasion by these worthies of the sword and of the gown.\n\nOf course, it was not to be expected that such shrewd courtiers as\nlawyers commonly are, if they had ever kept Christmas at all, should\nfail to do so during the reign of this virgin queen, when its\ncelebration offered them such admirable opportunities for the\nadministration of that flattery which was so agreeable to her Majesty,\nand might possibly be so profitable to themselves. We have great\npleasure in recording a speech made by her Majesty on one of these\noccasions, nearly so much as two centuries and a half ago, but which for\nits great excellence has come down to our days. The gentlemen of Gray's\nInn (their wits, probably, a little sharpened by the mistake which they\nhad made in her father's time) had ventured upon a dramatic performance\nagain; and, in the course of a masque which they represented before the\nqueen's Majesty, had administered to her copious draughts of that nectar\non which her Majesty's vanity was known to thrive so marvellously. They\nappear, however, with a very nice tact, to have given her no more of it\non this occasion than was sufficient to put her Majesty into spirits,\nwithout intoxicating her, for by this period of her life it took a great\ndeal of that sort of thing to intoxicate the queen's Majesty; and the\neffect was of the pleasantest kind, and could not fail to be most\nsatisfactory to the gentlemen of Gray's Inn. For after the masque was\nfinished (in which we presume there had been a little dancing by the\nlawyers who, would, as in duty bound, have stood on their wigs to\nplease her Majesty), and on the courtiers attempting, in _their_ turn,\nto execute a dance, her Majesty was most graciously pleased to exclaim,\n\"What! shall we have bread and cheese after a banquet?\"--meaning\nthereby, we presume, to imply that the courtiers could not hope to leap\nas high or, in any respect, to cut such capers as the lawyers had done.\nNow, this speech of the virgin queen we have reported here less for the\nsake of any intrinsic greatness in the thought or elegance in the form\nthan because, out of a variety of speeches by her Majesty, which have\nbeen carefully preserved, we think this is about as good as any other,\nand has the additional recommendation (which so few of the others have)\nof exhibiting the virgin queen in a good humor. And, further, because\nhaving recorded the disgrace into which the gentlemen of Gray's Inn\ndanced themselves, in the lifetime of her illustrious father, it is but\nright that we should likewise record the ample indemnification which\nthey must have considered themselves to have received, at the lips of\nhis virgin daughter.\n\nThe celebrations at the Inns of Court were from time to time continued,\ndown to the period of the civil troubles which darkened the reign of\nCharles I.; and so lately as the year 1641, when they had already\ncommenced, we find it recorded by Evelyn, in his Memoirs, that he was\nelected one of the comptrollers of the Middle Temple revellers, \"as the\nfashion of the young students and gentlemen was, the Christmas being\nkept this yeare with greate solemnity.\" During this reign, we discover\nthe several societies lessening their expenses by a very wise compromise\nof their disputes for supremacy; for in the eighth year thereof the four\nInns of Court provided a Christmas masque in conjunction, for the\nentertainment of the court, which cost the startling sum of \u00a324,000 of\nthe money of that day, and in return King Charles invited one hundred\nand twenty gentlemen of the four Inns to a masque at Whitehall on the\nShrove-Tuesday following.\n\nThat our readers may form some idea of the kind of sports which\nfurnished entertainment to men of no less pretension than Hatton and\nCoke and Crewe, we will extract for them a few more particulars of the\nceremonies usually observed at the grand Christmases of the Inner\nTemple, before quitting this part of the subject.\n\nIn the first place, it appears that on Christmas Eve there was a banquet\nin the hall, at which three masters of the revels were present, the\noldest of whom, after dinner and supper, was to sing a carol, and to\ncommand other gentlemen to sing with him; and in all this we see nothing\nwhich is not perfectly worthy of all imitation now. Then, on each of the\ntwelve nights, before and after supper were revels and dancing; and if\nany of these revels and dancing were performed in company with the fair\nsex (which, on the face of the evidence, doth not appear), then we have\nnone of the objections to urge against them which we have ventured to\ninsinuate against the solemn buffooneries, to which the bar was fined\nfor refusing to surrender itself, in the time of James I. Neither do we\nfind anything repugnant to our modern tastes in the announcement that\nthe breakfasts of the following mornings were very substantial ones,\nconsisting of brawn, mustard, and malmsey, which the exhaustion of the\nprevious night's dancing might render necessary; nor that all the\ncourses were served with music, which we intend that some of our own\nshall be this coming Christmas. But against most of that which follows\nwe enter our decided protest, as not only very absurd in itself, but\neminently calculated to spoil a good dinner.\n\nOn St. Stephen's Day, we learn that, after the first course was served\nin, the constable marshal was wont to enter the hall (and we think he\nhad much better have come in, and said all he had to say beforehand)\nbravely arrayed with \"a fair rich compleat harneys, white and bright and\ngilt, with a nest of fethers, of all colours, upon his crest or helm,\nand a gilt pole ax in his hand,\" and, no doubt, thinking himself a\nprodigiously fine fellow. He was accompanied by the lieutenant of the\nTower, \"armed with a fair white armour,\" also wearing \"fethers,\" and\n\"with a like pole ax in his hand,\" and of course also thinking himself a\nvery fine fellow. With them came sixteen trumpeters, preceded by four\ndrums and fifes, and attended by four men clad in white \"harneys,\" from\nthe middle upwards, having halberds in their hands, and bearing on their\nshoulders a model of the Tower, and each and every one of these latter\npersonages, in his degree, having a consciousness that he, too, was a\nfine fellow. Then all these fine fellows, with the drums and music, and\nwith all their \"fethers\" and finery, went three times round the fire,\nwhereas, considering that the boar's head was cooling all the time, we\nthink once might have sufficed. Then the constable marshal, after three\ncourtesies, knelt down before the Lord Chancellor, with the lieutenant\ndoing the same behind him, and then and there deliberately proceeded to\ndeliver himself of an \"oration of a quarter of an hour's length,\" the\npurport of which was to tender his services to the Lord Chancellor,\nwhich, we think, at such a time he might have contrived to do in fewer\nwords. To this the Chancellor was unwise enough to reply that he would\n\"take farther advice therein,\" when it would have been much better for\nhim to settle the matter at once, and proceed to eat his dinner.\nHowever, this part of the ceremony ended at last by the constable\nmarshal and the lieutenant obtaining seats at the Chancellor's table,\nupon the former giving up his sword: and then enter, for a similar\npurpose, the master of the game, apparelled in green velvet, and the\nranger of the forest, in a green suit of \"satten,\" bearing in his hand a\ngreen bow, and \"divers\" arrows, \"with either of them a hunting-horn\nabout their necks, blowing together three blasts of venery.\" These\nworthies, also, thought it necessary to parade their finery three times\naround the fire; and having then made similar obeisances, and offered up\na similar petition in a similar posture, they were finally inducted into\na similar privilege.\n\nBut though seated at the Chancellor's table, and no doubt sufficiently\nroused by the steam of its good things, they were far enough as yet from\ngetting anything to eat, as a consequence; and the next ceremony is one\nwhich strikingly marks the rudeness of the times. \"A huntsman cometh\ninto the hall, with a fox, and a purse-net with a cat, both bound at the\nend of a staff, and with them nine or ten couple of hounds, with the\nblowing of hunting-horns. And the fox and the cat are set upon by the\nhounds, and killed beneath the fire.\" \"What this 'merry disport'\nsignified (if practised) before the Reformation,\" says a writer in Mr.\nHone's Year Book, \"I know not. In 'Ane compendious boke of godly and\nspiritual songs, Edinburgh, 1621, printed from an old copy,' are the\nfollowing lines, seemingly referring to some such pageant:--\n\n 'The hunter is Christ that hunts in haist,\n The hunds are Peter and Pawle,\n The paip is the fox, Rome is the Rox\n That rubbis us on the gall.'\"\n\nAfter these ceremonies, the welcome permission to betake themselves to\nthe far more interesting one of an attack upon the good things of the\nfeast appears to have been at length given; but at the close of the\nsecond course the subject of receiving the officers who had tendered\ntheir Christmas service was renewed. Whether the gentlemen of the law\nwere burlesquing their own profession intentionally or whether it was\nonly an awkward _hit_, like that which befell their brethren of Gray's\nInn, does not appear. However, the common serjeant made what is called\n\"a plausible speech,\" insisting on the necessity of these officers \"for\nthe better reputation of the Commonwealth;\" and he was followed, to the\nsame effect, by the king's serjeant-at-law till the Lord Chancellor\nsilenced them by desiring a respite of further advice, which it is\ngreatly to be marvelled he had not done sooner. And thereupon he called\nupon the \"ancientest of the masters of the revels\" for a song,--a\nproceeding to which we give our unqualified approbation.\n\nSo much for the dinner. After supper, the constable marshal again\npresented himself, if possible finer than before, preceded by drums,--as\nso fine a man ought to be,--and mounted on a scaffold borne by four men.\nAfter again going thrice round the hearth, he dismounted from his\nelevation, and having set a good example by first playing the figurant\nhimself for the edification of the court, called upon the nobles, by\ntheir respective Christmas names, to do the same. Of the styles and\ntitles which it was considered humorous to assume on such occasions, and\nby which he called up his courtiers to dance, our readers may take the\nfollowing for specimens:--\n\n\"Sir Francis Flatterer, of Fowlehurst, in the county of Buckingham.\"\n\n\"Sir Randle Rackabite, of Rascall Hall, in the county of Rabchell.\"\n\n\"Sir Morgan Mumchance, of Much Monkery, in the county of Mad Popery.\"\n\nAnd so on, with much more of the same kind, which we are sure our\nreaders will spare us, or rather thank us for sparing them. The\nceremonies of St. John's Day were, if possible, more absurd than those\nby which St. Stephen was honored; but, that we may take leave of the\nlawyers on good terms, and with a word of commendation, we will simply\nadd that the concluding one is stated to be that on the Thursday\nfollowing \"the Chancellor and company partook of dinner of roast beef\nand venison pasties, and at supper of mutton and hens roasted,\" which we\ntake to have been not only the most sensible proceeding of the whole\nseries, but about as sensible a thing as they or anybody else could well\ndo.\n\nSo important were these Christmas celebrations deemed by our ancestors,\nand such was the earnestness bestowed upon their preparation, that a\nspecial officer was appointed for that purpose, and to preside over the\nfestival with large privileges, very considerable appointments, and a\nretinue which in course of time came to be no insignificant imitation\nof a prince's. We are of course speaking at present of the officer who\nwas appointed to the superintendence of the Christmas ceremonials _at\ncourt_. The title by which this potentate was usually distinguished in\nEngland was that of \"Lord of Misrule,\" \"Abbot of Misrule,\" or \"Master of\nMerry Disports;\" and his office was, in fact, that of a temporary\n\"Master of the Revels\" (which latter title was formerly that of a\npermanent and distinguished officer attached to the household of our\nkings). Accordingly we find that amongst those of the more powerful\nnobles who affected an imitation of the royal arrangements in their\nChristmas establishments, this Christmas officer (when they appointed\none to preside over their private Christmas celebrations) was\noccasionally nominated as _their_ \"Master of the Revels.\" In the\nHousehold-Book of the Northumberland family, amongst the directions\ngiven for the order of the establishment, it is stated that \"My lorde\nuseth and accustomyth yerly to gyf hym which is ordynede to be the\nMASTER OF THE REVELLS yerly in my lordis hous in cristmas for the\noverseyinge and orderinge of his lordschips Playes, Interludes, and\nDresinge that is plaid befor his lordship in his hous in the xijth dayes\nof Cristenmas, and they to have in rewarde for that caus yerly, xx_s_.\"\nIn the Inns of Court, where this officer formed no part of a household,\nbut was a member elected out of their own body for his ingenuity, he was\ncommonly dignified by a title more appropriate to the extensive\nauthority with which he was invested, and the state with which he was\nfurnished for its due maintenance; namely, that of \"Christmas Prince,\"\nor sometimes \"King of Christmas.\" He is the same officer who was known\nin Scotland as the \"Abbot of Unreason,\" and bears a close resemblance to\nthe \"Abbas Stultorum,\" who presided over the Feast of Fools in France,\nand the \"Abb\u00e9 de la Malgourvern\u00e9,\" who ruled the sports in certain\nprovinces of that kingdom. In a note to Ellis's edition of Brand's\n\"Popular Antiquities,\" we find a quotation from Mr. Warton (whose\n\"History of English Poetry\" we have not at hand) in which mention is\nmade of an \"Abb\u00e9 de Liesse,\" and a reference given to Carpentier's\nSupplement to Du Cange, for the title \"Abbas L\u00e6titi\u00e6.\" We mention these,\nto enable the antiquarian portion of our readers to make the reference\nfor themselves. Writing in the country, we have not access to the works\nin question, and could not, in these pages, go farther into the matter\nif we had.\n\nWe have already stated that the \"Lord of Misrule\" appears to bear a\nconsiderable resemblance to that ruler or king who was anciently\nappointed to preside over the sports of the Roman Saturnalia; and we\nfind on looking farther into the subject, that we are corroborated in\nthis view by one who, of course, asserts the resemblance for the purpose\nof making it a matter of reproach. The notorious Prynne, in his\n\"Histrio-Mastix,\" affirms (and quotes Polydore Virgil to the same\neffect) that \"our Christmas lords of Misrule, together with dancing,\nmasques, mummeries, stage-players, and such other Christmas disorders,\nnow in use with Christians, were derived from these Roman Saturnalia and\nBacchanalian festivals; which,\" adds he, \"should cause all pious\nChristians eternally to abominate them.\" We should not, however, omit to\nmention that by some this officer has been derived from the ancient\nceremony of the Boy-Bishop. Faber speaks of him as originating in an old\nPersico-Gothic festival in honor of Buddha: and Purchas, in his\n\"Pilgrimage,\" as quoted in the Aubrey manuscripts, says, that the custom\nis deduced from the \"Feast in Babylon, kept in honour of the goddess\nDorcetha, for five dayes together; during which time the masters were\nunder the dominion of their servants, one of which is usually sett over\nthe rest, and royally cloathed, and was called Sogan, that is, Great\nPrince.\"\n\nThe title, however, by which this officer is most generally known is\nthat of Lord of Misrule. \"There was,\" says Stow, \"in the feast of\nChristmas, in the king's house, wheresoever he was lodged, a Lord of\nMisrule, or Master of merry Disports; and the like had ye for the house\nof every nobleman of honour or good worship, were he spiritual or\ntemporal. Among the which the Mayor of London and either of the Sheriffs\nhad their several Lords of Misrule ever contending, without quarrel or\noffence, which should make the rarest pastimes to delight the\nbeholders.\"\n\nOf the antiquity of this officer in England, we have not been able to\nfind any satisfactory account; but we discover traces of him almost as\nearly as we have any positive records of the various sports by which the\nfestival of this season was supported. Polydore Virgil speaks of the\nsplendid spectacles, the masques, dancings, etc., by which it was\nillustrated as far back as the close of the twelfth century; and it is\nreasonable to suppose that something in the shape of a master of these\npublic ceremonies must have existed then, to preserve order as well as\nfurnish devices, particularly as the hints for the one and the other\nseem to have been taken from the celebrations of the heathens. As early\nas the year 1489 Leland speaks of an Abbot of Misrule \"that made much\nsport, and did right well his office.\" Henry the Seventh's \"boke of\npaymentis,\" preserved in the Chapter House, is stated by Sandys to\ncontain several items of disbursement to the Lord of Misrule (or Abbot,\nas he is therein sometimes called) for different years \"in rewarde for\nhis besynes in Christenmes holydays,\" none of which exceeded the sum of\n\u00a36. 13_s._ 4_d._ This sum--multiplied as we imagine it ought to be by\nsomething like fifteen, to give the value thereof in our days--certainly\naffords no very liberal remuneration to an officer whose duties were of\nany extent; and we mention it that our readers may contrast it with the\nlavish appointments of the same functionary in after times. Henry,\nhowever, was a frugal monarch, though it was a part of his policy to\npromote the amusements of the people; and from the treasures which that\nfrugality created, his immediate successors felt themselves at liberty\nto assume a greater show. In the subsequent reign, the yearly payments\nto the Lord of Misrule had already been raised as high as \u00a315 6_s._\n8_d._; and the entertainments over which he presided were furnished at a\nproportionably increased cost.\n\nIt is not, however, until the reign of the young monarch, Edward the\nSixth, that this officer appears to have attained his highest dignities;\nand during the subsequent reign we find him playing just such a part as\nmight be expected from one whose business it was to take the lead in\nrevels such as we have had occasion to describe; namely, that of\narch-buffoon.\n\nIn Hollinshed's Chronicle, honorable mention is made of a certain George\nFerrers, therein described as a \"lawyer, a poet, and an historian,\" who\nsupplied the office well in the fifth year of Edward the Sixth, and who\nwas rewarded by the young king with princely liberality. This George\nFerrers was the principal author of that well-known work, the \"Mirrour\nfor Magistrates;\" and Mr. Kempe, the editor of the recently published\n\"Loseley Manuscripts,\" mentions his having been likewise distinguished\nby military services, in the reign of Henry the Eighth. It appears that\nthe young king having fallen into a state of melancholy after the\ncondemnation of his uncle, the Protector, it was determined to celebrate\nthe approaching Christmas festival with more than usual splendor, for\nthe purpose of diverting his mind; and this distinguished individual was\nselected to preside over the arrangements.\n\nThe publication of the \"Loseley Manuscripts\" enables us to present our\nreaders with some very curious particulars, illustrative at once of the\nnature of those arrangements, and of the heavy cost at which they were\nfurnished. By an order in council,--dated the 31st of September, 1552,\nand addressed to Sir Thomas Cawarden, at that time Master of the King's\nRevels,--after reciting the appointment of the said George Ferrers, the\nsaid Sir Thomas is informed that it is his Majesty's pleasure \"that you\nse hym furneshed for hym and his bande, as well in apparell as all other\nnecessaries, of such stuff as remayneth in your office. And whatsoever\nwanteth in the same, to take order that it be provided accordinglie by\nyo^{r} discretion.\"\n\nFor the manner in which the Lord of Misrule availed himself of this\nunlimited order, we recommend to such of our readers as the subject may\ninterest a perusal of the various estimates and accounts published by\nMr. Kempe from the manuscripts in question. Were it not that they would\noccupy too much of our space, we should have been glad to introduce some\nof them here, for the purpose of conveying to the reader a lively notion\nof the gorgeousness of apparel and appointment exhibited on this\noccasion. We must, however, present them with some idea of the train for\nwhom these costly preparations were made, and of the kind of mock court\nwith which the Lord of Misrule surrounded himself.\n\nAmongst these we find mention made of a chancellor, treasurer,\ncomptroller, vice-chamberlain, lords-councillors, divine, philosopher,\nastronomer, poet, physician, apothecary, master of requests, civilian,\ndisard (an old word for clown), gentleman-ushers, pages of honor,\nsergeants-at-arms, provost-marshal, under-marshal, footmen, messengers,\ntrumpeter, herald, orator; besides hunters, jugglers, tumblers, band,\nfools, friars (a curious juxtaposition, which Mr. Kempe thinks might\nintend a satire), and a variety of others. None seem in fact to have\nbeen omitted who were usually included in the retinue of a prince; and\nover this mock court the mock monarch appears to have presided with a\nsway as absolute, as far as regarded the purposes of his appointment, as\nthe actual monarch himself over the weightier matters of the state. But\nthe most curious part of these arrangements is that by which (as appears\nfrom one of the lists printed from these manuscripts) he seems to have\nbeen accompanied in his processions by an heir-at-law, and three other\nchildren, besides two _base sons_. These two base sons, we presume, are\nbastards; and that the establishment of a potentate could not be\nconsidered complete without them. The editor also mentions that he was\nattended by an almoner, who scattered amongst the crowd during his\nprogresses, certain coins made by the wire-drawers; and remarks that if\nthese bore the portrait and superscription of the Lord of Misrule, they\nwould be rare pieces in the eye of a numismatist.\n\nThe following very curious letter, which we will give entire, will\nfurnish our readers with a lively picture of the pageantries of that\ntime, and of the zeal with which full-grown men set about amusements of\na kind which are now usually left to children of a smaller growth.\nPlaying at kings is in our day one of the sports of more juvenile\nactors. The letter is addressed by Master George Ferrers to Sir Thomas\nCawarden; and gives some account of his intended entry at the court at\nChristmas, and of his devices for furnishing entertainment during the\nfestival.\n\n SIR,--Whereas you required me to write, for that y{^r}\n busynes is great, I have in as few wordes as I maie\n signefied to you such things as I thinke moste\n necessarie for my purpose.\n\n ffirst, as towching my Introduction. Whereas the laste\n yeare my devise was to cum of oute of the mone (moon)\n this yeare I imagine to cum oute of a place called\n _vastum vacuum_, the great waste, as moche to saie as\n a place voide or emptie w^{th}out the worlde, where is\n neither fier, ayre, nor earth; and that I have bene\n remayning there sins the last yeare. And, because of\n certaine devises which I have towching this matter, I\n wold, yf it were possyble, have all myne apparell\n blewe, the first daie that I p'sent my self to the\n King's Ma^{tie}; and even as I shewe my self that\n daie, so my mynd is in like order and in like suets\n (suits) to shew myself at my comyng into London after\n the halowed daies.\n\n Againe, how I shall cum into the Courte, whether under\n a canopie, as the last yeare, or in a chare\n triumphall, or uppon some straunge beaste,--that I\n reserve to you; but the serpente with sevin heddes,\n cauled hidra, is the chief beast of myne armes, and\n wholme[2] (holm) bushe is the devise of my crest, my\n worde[3] is _semper ferians_, I alwaies feasting or\n keping holie daies. Uppon Christmas daie I send a\n solempne ambassad^{e} to the King's Ma^{ie} by an\n herrald, a trumpet, an orator speaking in a straunge\n language, an interpreter or a truchman with hym, to\n which p'sons ther were requiset to have convenient\n farnyture, which I referre to you.\n\n I have provided one to plaie uppon a kettell drom with\n his boye, and a nother drome w^{th} a fyffe, whiche\n must be apparelled like turkes garments, according to\n the paternes I send you herewith. On St. Stephen's\n daie, I wold, if it were possyble, be with the King's\n Ma^{tie} before dynner. Mr. Windham, being my\n Admyrall, is appointed to receive me beneth the bridge\n with the King's Brigandyne, and other vessells\n apointed for the same purpose; his desire is to have\n the poope of his vessell covered w^{th} white and\n blew, like as I signefie to you by a nother l^{re}.\n\n Sir George Howard, being my M^{r.} of the Horsis,\n receiveth me at my landing at Grenwiche with a spare\n horse and my pages of hono^{r}, one carieng my hed\n pece, a nother my shelde, the thirde my sword, the\n fourth my axe. As for their furniture I know nothing\n as yet provided, either for my pages or otherwise,\n save a hed peece that I caused to be made. My\n counsailo^{rs}, with suche other necessarie psons\n y^{t} attend uppon me that daie, also must be\n consydered. There maie be no fewer than sixe\n counsailo^{rs} at the least; I must also have a\n divine, a philosopher, an astronomer, a poet, a\n phisician, a potecarie, a m^{r} of requests, a\n sivilian, a disard, John Smyth, two gentlemen ushers,\n besides juglers, tomblers, fooles, friers, and suche\n other.\n\n The residue of the wholie daies I will spend in other\n devises: as one daie in feats of armes, and then wolde\n I have a challeng pformed with hobbie horsis, where I\n purpose to be in pson. Another daie in hunting and\n hawking, the residue of the tyme shalbe spent in other\n devisis, which I will declare to you by mouth to have\n yo^{r} ayde and advice therin.\n\n S^{r}, I know not howe ye be provided to furnish me,\n but suer methinks I shold have no lesse than five\n suets of apparell, the first for the daie I come in,\n which shall also serve me in London, and two other\n suets for the two halowed daies folowing, the fourth\n for newe yeares daie, and the fifte for XII^{th} daie.\n\n Touching my suet of blew, I have sent you a pece of\n velvet which hath a kinde of powdered ermaines in it,\n vearie fytt for my wering, yf you so thynke good. All\n other matters I referre tyll I shall speake with you.\n\n GEORGE FERRERS.\n\nIn other letters from this Lord of Misrule to the Master of the Revels\nhe applies for eight visors for a drunken masque, and eight swords and\ndaggers for the same purpose; twelve hobby-horses, two Dryads, and Irish\ndresses for a man and woman; and seventy jerkins of buckram, or canvas\npainted like mail, for seventy \"hakbuturs,\" or musketeers of his guard.\n\nSuch are some of the testimonies borne by the parties themselves to\ntheir own right pleasant follies, and the expense at which they\nmaintained them; and to these we will add another, coming from an\nadverse quarter, and showing the light in which these costly levities\nhad already come to be regarded by men of sterner minds so early as the\nreign of Elizabeth. The following very curious passage is part of an\nextract made by Brand, from a most rare book entitled \"The Anatomie of\nAbuses,\"--the work of one Phillip Stubs, published in London in\n1585,--and gives a quaint picture of the Lord of Misrule and his\nretainers, as viewed through Puritan optics.\n\n\"Firste,\" says Master Stubs, \"all the wilde heades of the parishe\nconventynge together, chuse them a grand Capitaine (of mischeef) whom\nthey innoble with the title of my _Lorde of Misserule_, and hym they\ncrown with great solemnitie, and adopt for their kyng. This kyng\nanoynted, chuseth for the twentie, fourtie, three score, or a hundred\nlustie guttes like to hymself, to waite uppon his lordely majestie, and\nto guarde his noble persone. Then every one of these his menne he\ninvesteth with his liveries of greene, yellowe or some other light\nwanton colour. And as though that were not (baudie) gaudy enough I\nshould saie, they bedecke themselves with scarffes, ribons, and laces,\nhanged all over with golde rynges, precious stones, and other jewelles:\nthis doen, they tye about either legge twentie or fourtie belles with\nrich handkercheefes in their handes, and sometymes laied acrosse over\ntheir shoulders and neckes, borrowed for the moste parte of their pretie\nMopsies and loovyng Bessies, for bussyng them in the darcke. Thus\nthinges sette in order, they have their hobbie horses, dragons, and\nother antiques, together with their baudie pipers, and thunderyng\ndrommers, to strike up the Deville's Daunce withall\" (meaning the Morris\nDance), \"then marche these heathen companie towardes the church and\nchurche yarde, their pipers pipyng, drommers thonderyng, their stumppes\ndauncyng, their belles iynglyng, their handkerchefes swyngyng about\ntheir heades like madmen, their hobbie horses and other monsters\nskyrmishyng amongst the throng: and in this sorte they goe to the\nchurche (though the minister bee at praier or prea\u00e7hyng) dauncyng and\nswingyng their handkercheefes over their heades, in the churche, like\ndevilles incarnate, with suche a confused noise that no man can heare\nhis owne voice. Then the foolishe people, they looke, they stare, they\nlaugh, they fleere, and mount upon formes and pewes, to see these\ngoodly pageauntes, solemnized in this sort.\"\n\nAt the Christmas celebration held at Gray's Inn in 1594, to which we\nhave already alluded, the person selected to fill the office of\nChristmas Prince was a Norfolk gentleman of the name of Helmes, whose\nleg, like that of Sir Andrew Aguecheek, appears \"to have been formed\nunder the star of a galliard.\" He is described as being \"accomplished\nwith all good parts, fit for so great a dignity, and also a very proper\nman in personage, and very active in dancing and revelling.\" The revels\nover which this mock monarch presided were, as our readers will\nremember, exhibited before Queen Elizabeth; and it was the exquisite\nperformance of this gentleman and his court which her Majesty described\nas bearing the same relation for excellence to those of her own\ncourtiers which a banquet does to bread and cheese. We must refer such\nof our readers as are desirous of informing themselves as to the nature\nand taste of the devices which could make her Majesty so eloquent, to\nthe \"Gesta Grayorum;\" contenting ourselves with giving them such notion\nthereof, as well as of the high dignities which appertained to a Lord of\nMisrule, as may be conveyed by a perusal of the magnificent style and\ntitles assumed by Mr. Henry Helmes on his accession. They were enough to\nhave made her Majesty jealous, if she had not been so good-natured a\nqueen; for looking at the _philosophy_ of the thing, she was about as\nmuch a mock monarch as himself, and could not dance so well. To be sure,\nshe was acknowledged by this potentate as Lady Paramount; and to a woman\nlike Elizabeth, it was something to receive personal homage from--\n\n\"The High and Mighty Prince Henry, Prince of Purpoole, Archduke of\nStapulia and Bernardia; Duke of High and Nether Holborn; Marquis of St.\nGiles and Tottenham; Count Palatine of Bloomsbury and Clerkenwell; Great\nLord of the Cantons of Islington, Kentish Town, Paddington, and\nKnightsbridge; Knight of the most Heroical Order of the Helmet, and\nSovereign of the same\"!\n\nIt is admitted that no man can be a great actor who has not the faculty\nof divesting himself of his personal identity, and persuading himself\nthat he really is, for the time, that which he represents himself to be;\nhis doing which will go far to persuade others into the same belief. Now\nas her Majesty has pronounced upon the excellence of Mr. Henry Helmes's\nacting, and if we are therefore to suppose that that gentleman had\ncontrived to mystify both himself and her, she would naturally be not a\nlittle vain of so splendid a vassal. But seriously, it is not a little\namusing to notice the good faith with which these gentlemen appear to\nhave put on and worn their burlesque dignities, and the real homage\nwhich they not only expected, but actually received. If the tricks\nwhich they played during their \"brief authority,\" were not of that\nmischievous kind which \"make the angels weep,\" they were certainly\nfantastic enough to make those who are \"a little lower than the angels\"\nsmile. A Lord Mayor in his gilt coach seems to be a trifle compared with\na Lord of Misrule entering the city of London in former days; and the\nfollowing passage from Warton's \"History of English Poetry,\" exhibits\namusingly enough the sovereign functions seriously exercised by this\nimportant personage, and the homage, both ludicrous and substantial,\nwhich he sometimes received:--\n\n\"At a Christmas celebrated in the hall of the Middle Temple, in the year\n1635, the jurisdiction privileges and parade of this mock monarch are\nthus circumstantially described. He was attended by his Lord Keeper,\nLord Treasurer with eight white staves, a Captain of his Band of\nPensioners and of his guard, _and with two Chaplains who were so\nseriously impressed with an idea of his regal dignity that, when they\npreached before him on the preceding Sunday in the Temple Church, on\nascending the pulpit they saluted him with three low bows_. He dined\nboth in the Hall and in his Privy Chamber under a cloth of Estate. The\npole-axes for his Gentlemen Pensioners were borrowed of Lord Salisbury.\nLord Holland, his temporary justice in Eyre, supplies him with venison\non demand; and the Lord Mayor and Sheriffs of London with wine. On\nTwelfth-day, at going to Church, he received many petitions which he\ngave to his Master of Requests; and like other kings he had a favourite,\nwhom--with others, gentlemen of high quality--he knighted at returning\nfrom Church.\"\n\nThe Christmas Prince on this occasion was Mr. Francis Vivian, who\nexpended from his own private purse the large sum of \u00a32,000 in support\nof his dignities. Really, it must have tried the philosophy of these\ngentlemen to descend from their temporary elevation, into the ranks of\nordinary life. A deposed prince like that high and mighty prince, Henry,\nPrince of Purpoole, must have felt, on getting up on the morrow of\nCandlemas-day, some portion of the sensations of Abou Hassan on the\nmorning which succeeded his Caliphate of a day, when the disagreeable\nconviction was forced upon him that he was no longer Commander of the\nFaithful, and had no further claim to the services of Cluster-of-Pearls,\nMorning-Star, Coral-Lips or Fair-Face. In the case, however, of Mr.\nFrancis Vivian, it is stated that after his deposition he was knighted\nby the king,--by way, we suppose, of breaking his fall.\n\nIn Wood's \"Athen\u00e6 Oxonienses,\" mention is made of a very splendid\nChristmas ceremonial observed at St. John's College, Oxford, in the\nreign of our first James, which was presided over by a Mr. Thomas\nTooker, whom we elsewhere find called \"Tucker.\" From a manuscript\naccount of this exhibition, Wood quotes the titles assumed by this\ngentleman in his character of Christmas Prince; and we will repeat them\nhere, for the purpose of showing that the legal cloisters were not the\nonly ones in which mirth was considered as no impeachment of\nprofessional gravity, and that humor (such as it is) was an occasional\nguest of the wisdom which is proverbially said to reside in wigs--of\n_all_ denominations. From a comparison of these titles with those by\nwhich Mr. Henry Helmes illustrated his own magnificence at Gray's Inn,\nour readers may decide for themselves upon the relative degrees of the\nwit which flourished beneath the shelter of the respective gowns. Though\nourselves a Cantab, we have no skill in the measurement of the relations\nof small quantities. Of the hearty mirth in each case there is little\ndoubt; and humor of the finest quality could have done no more than\nproduce that effect, and might probably have failed to do so much. The\nappetite is the main point. \"The heart's all,\" as Davy says. A small\nmatter made our ancestors laugh, because they brought stomachs to the\nfeast of Momus. And, Heaven save the mark! through how many national\ntroubles has that same joyous temperament (which is the farthest thing\npossible from levity,--one of the phases of deep feeling,--) helped to\nbring the national mind! The \"merry days\" of England were succeeded by\nwhat may be called her \"age of tears,\"--the era of the sentimentalists,\nwhen young gentlemen ceased to wear cravats, and leaned against pillars\nin drawing-rooms in fits of moody abstraction or under the influence of\nevident inspiration, and young ladies made lachrymatories of their\nboudoirs, and met together to weep, and in fact went through the world\nweeping. Amid all its absurdity, there was some real feeling at the\nbottom of this too; and therefore it, too, had its pleasure. But there\nis to be an end of this also. Truly are we falling upon the \"evil days\"\nof which we may say we \"have no pleasure in them.\" Men are neither to\nlaugh nor smile, now, without distinctly knowing why. We are in the age\nof the philosophers.--All this time, however, Mr. Thomas Tucker is\nwaiting to have his style and titles proclaimed; and thus do we find\nthem duly set forth:--\n\n\"The most magnificent and renowned THOMAS, by the favor of Fortune,\nPrince of Alba Fortunata, Lord of St. John's, High Regent of the Hall,\nDuke of St. Giles's, Marquis of Magdalen's, Landgrave of the Grove,\nCount Palatine of the Cloysters, Chief Bailiff of Beaumont, High Ruler\nof Rome, Master of the Manor of Walton, Governor of Gloucester Green,\nsole Commander of all Titles, Tournaments, and Triumphs, Superintendent\nin all Solemnities whatever.\"\n\nFrom these titles,--as well as from those which we have already\nmentioned as being assumed by the courtiers of the illustrious Prince of\nSophie, our readers will perceive that alliteration was an esteemed\nfigure in the rhetoric of the revels.\n\nIn order to give our readers a more lively idea of this potentate, we\nhave, as the frontispiece to our second part, introduced a Lord of\nMisrule to preside over the Christmas sports therein described. Although\nthe titles with which we have there invested him are taken from the\n\"Gesta Grayorum,\" the dress in which the artist has bestowed him is not\ncopied from any one of the particular descriptions furnished by the\ndifferent records. He is intended to represent the ideal of a Christmas\nprince, and not the portrait of any particular one of whom we have\naccounts. The artist's instructions were therefore confined to investing\nhim with a due magnificence (referring to the records only so far as to\nkeep the costume appropriate) and with a complacent sense of his own\nfinery and state, and we think that Mr. Seymour has succeeded very\nhappily in catching and embodying the mock heroic of the character. The\nPrince of Purpoole, or His Highness of Sophie, must have looked just\nsuch a personage as he has represented.\n\nWe must not omit to observe that a corresponding officer appears to have\nformerly exercised his functions at some of the colleges at Cambridge,\nunder the more classical title of Imperator. And we must further state\nthat at Lincoln's-Inn, in the early times of their Christmas\ncelebrations, there appear to have been elected (besides the Lord of\nMisrule, and, we presume, in subordination to him) certain dignitaries\nexercising a royal sway over the revelries of particular days of the\nfestival. In the account given by Dugdale of the Christmas held by this\nsociety in the ninth year of the reign of Henry VIII., mention is\nmade--besides the Marshal and (as he is there called) the Master of the\nRevels--of a King chosen for Christmas day, and an officer for\nChildermas day having the title of King of the Cockneys. A relic of this\nancient custom exists in the Twelfth Night King, whom it is still usual\nto elect on the festival of the Epiphany, and of whom we shall have\noccasion to speak at length in his proper place.\n\nThe length of the period over which the sway of this potentate extended\ndoes not seem to be very accurately defined, or rather it is probable\nthat it varied with circumstances. Strictly speaking, the Christmas\nseason is in our day considered to terminate with Twelfth Night, and the\nfestival itself to extend over that space of time of which this night on\none side and Christmas eve on the other are the limits. In ancient\ntimes, too, we find frequent mention of the _twelve_ days of Christmas.\nThus the George Ferrers of whom we have spoken, is appointed \"to be in\nhis hyness household for the twelve days;\" and he dates one of his\ncommunications to Sir Thomas Cawarden, \"From Greenwich y^{e} second of\nJanuary and y^{e} ix^{th} day of o^{r} rule.\" In the extract from the\nHousehold-Book of the Northumberland family which we have already\nquoted, mention is also made of the \"Playes, Interludes and Dresinge\nthat is plaid befor his lordship in his hous in the xijth dayes of\nChristenmas.\" Stow, however, says that \"these Lords beginning their rule\nat Allhallond Eve, continued the same till the morrow after the Feast of\nthe Purification, commonly called Candlemas day;\" and that during all\nthat time there were under their direction \"fine and subtle disguisings,\nmasks and mummeries, with playing at cards for counters, nayles and\npoints in every house, more for pastimes than for gaine.\" This would\ngive a reign of upwards of three months to these gentlemen. Dugdale, in\ndescribing the revels of the Inner Temple speaks of the three principal\ndays being All-hallows, Candlemas, and Ascension days,--which would\nextend the period to seven months; and the masque of which we have\nspoken as forming the final performance of the celebrated Christmas of\n1594, described in the \"Gesta Grayorum,\" is stated to have been\nrepresented before the queen at Shrovetide. At the Christmas exhibition\nof St. John's college, Oxford, held in 1607, Mr. Thomas Tucker did not\nresign his office till Shrove-Tuesday; and the costly masque of which we\nhave spoken as being presented by the four Inns of Court to Charles I.,\nand whose title was \"The Triumph of Peace,\" was exhibited in February of\n1633. In Scotland, the rule of the Abbot of Unreason appears to have\nbeen still less limited in point of time; and he seems to have held his\ncourt and made his processions at any period of the year which pleased\nhim. These processions, it appears, were very usual in the month of May\n(and here we will take occasion to observe parenthetically, but in\nconnection with our present subject, that the practice at _all_ festival\ncelebrations of selecting some individual to enact a principal and\npresiding character in the ceremonial is further illustrated by the\nancient May King, and by the practice, not yet wholly forgotten, of\ncrowning on the first of that month a Queen of the May. This subject we\nshall have occasion to treat more fully when we come to speak in some\nfuture volume of the beautiful customs of that out-of-doors season).\n\nFrom what we have stated, it appears probable that the officer who was\nappointed to preside over the revels so universally observed at\nChristmas time, extended, as a matter of course, his presidency over all\nthose which--either arising out of them or unconnected therewith--were\nperformed at more advanced periods of the succeeding year; that in fact,\nthe Christmas prince was, without new election, considered as special\nmaster of the revels till the recurrence of the season. It is not\nnecessary for us to suppose that the whole of the intervals lying\nbetween such stated and remote days of celebration were filled up with\nfestival observances; or that our ancestors, under any calenture of the\nspirits, could aim at extending Christmas over the larger portion of\nthe year. It is, however, apparent that although the common observances\nof the season were supposed to fall within the period bounded by the\ndays of the Nativity and the Epiphany, the special pageantries with a\nview to which the Lords of Misrule were appointed in the more exalted\nquarters were in years of high festival spread over a much more extended\ntime, and that their potential dignities were in full force, if not in\nfull display, from the eve of All-hallows to the close of Candlemas day.\nIt is stated in Drake's \"Shakspeare and his Times,\" that the festivities\nof the season, which were appointed for at least twelve days, were\nfrequently extended over a space of six weeks; and our readers know from\ntheir own experience that, even in these our days of less prominent and\nceremonial rejoicing, the holiday-spirit of the season is by no means to\nbe restrained within the narrower of those limits. The Christmas feeling\nwaits not for Christmas day. The important preparations for so great a\nfestival render this impossible. By the avenues of most of the senses,\nthe heralds of old Father Christmas have long before approached to awake\nit from its slumber. Signal notes which there is no mistaking, have been\nplayed on the visual and olfactory organs for some time past, and the\npalate itself has had foretastes of that which is about to be. From the\nday on which his sign has been seen in the heavens, the joyous\ninfluences of the star have been felt and the moment the school-boy\narrives at his home he is in the midst of Christmas. And if the \"coming\nevents\" of the season \"cast their shadows before,\" so, amid all its\ncross-lights it would be strange if there were no reflections flung\nbehind. The merry spirit which has been awakened and suffered to play\nhis antics so long is not to be laid by the exorcism of a word. After so\nvery absolute and unquestioned a sway, it is not to be expected that\nMomus should abdicate at a moment's notice. Accordingly, we find that,\nany thing enacted to the contrary notwithstanding, the genial feelings\nof the time and the festivities springing out of them contrive to\nmaintain their footing throughout the month of January; and Christmas\nkeeps lingering about our homes till he is no longer answered by the\nyoung glad voices to whom he has not as yet begun to utter his solemn\nwarnings and expound his sterner morals, and for whom his coming is\nhitherto connected with few memories of pain. Till the merry urchins\nhave gone back to school there will continue to be willing subjects to\nthe Lord of Misrule.\n\nIn Scotland, the Abbot of Unreason was frequently enacted by persons of\nthe highest rank; and James V. is himself said to have concealed his\ncrown beneath the mitre of the merry abbot. As in England, his revels\nwere shared by the mightiest of the land; but they appear to have been\nof a less inoffensive kind and to have imitated more unrestrainedly the\nlicense of the Roman Saturnalia than did the merry-makings of the\nSouth. The mummeries of these personages (a faint reflection of which\nstill exists in the Guisars whom we shall have to mention hereafter), if\nless costly than those of their brethren in England, were not less\nshowy; and though much less quaint, were a great deal more free. \"The\nbody-guards of the Abbot of Unreason were all arrayed in gaudy colors\nbedecked with gold or silver lace, with embroidery and silken scarfs,\nthe fringed ends of which floated in the wind. They wore chains of gold\nor baser metal gilt and glittering with mock jewels. Their legs were\nadorned and rendered voluble by links of shining metal hung with many\nbells of the same material twining from the ankle of their buskins to\ntheir silken garters, and each flourished in his hand a rich silk\nhandkerchief brocaded over with flowers. This was the garb of fifty or\nmore youths, who encircled the person of the leader. They were\nsurrounded by ranks, six or more in depth, consisting of tall, brawny,\nfierce-visaged men covered with crimson or purple velvet bonnets, and\nnodding plumes of the eagle and the hawk, or branches of pine, yew, oak,\nfern, boxwood, or flowering heath. Their jerkins were always of a hue\nthat might attract the eye of ladies in the bower or serving-damsels at\nthe washing-green. They had breeches of immense capacity so padded or\nstuffed as to make each man occupy the space of five in their natural\nproportions; and in this seeming soft raiment they concealed weapons of\ndefence or offence, with which to arm themselves and the body-guard if\noccasion called for resistance. To appearance, they had no object but\ncareless sport and glee,--some playing on the Scottish harp, others\nblowing the bagpipes or beating targets for drums, or jingling bells.\nWhenever the procession halted they danced, flourishing about the\nbanners of their leader. The exterior bands perhaps represented in dumb\nshow or pantomime the actions of warriors or the wildest buffoonery; and\nthese were followed by crowds who, with all the grimaces and phrases of\nwaggery, solicited money or garniture from the nobles and gentry that\ncame to gaze upon them. Wherever they appeared, multitudes joined them,\nsome for the sake of jollity, and not a few to have their fate predicted\nby spae-wives, warlocks, and interpreters of dreams, who invariably were\nfound in the train of the Abbot of Unreason.\"\n\nIn England, not only was this merry monarch appointed over the revelries\nof the great and the opulent, but--as of most of the forms of amusement\nover which he presided, so of the president himself--we find a rude\nimitation in the Christmas celebrations of the commonalty. Nor was the\npractice confined to towns or left exclusively in the hands of corporate\nor public bodies. The quotation which we have already made from Stubs's\n\"Anatomie of Abuses,\" refers to a rustic Lord of Misrule; and while the\nantics which took place under his governance do not seem to have risen\nmuch above the performances of the morris-dancers, the gaudiness of the\ntinsel attire paraded by him and his band forms an excellent burlesque\nof the more costly finery of their superiors. Nay, the amusements\nthemselves exhibit nearly as much wisdom as those of the court (with\nless of pretension), and we dare say created a great deal more fun at a\nfar less cost. As to the Scottish practices, our readers will not fail\nto observe from our last quotation that the lordly Abbot and his train\nwere little better than a set of morris-dancers themselves, and that so\nmuch of their practices as was innocent differed nothing from those\nwhich Stubs and his brother Puritans deemed so ridiculous in a set of\nparish revellers. In fact, the Lord of Misrule seems to have set himself\nup all over the land; and many a village had its master Simon who took\ncare that the sports should not languish for want of that unity of\npurpose and concentration of mirth to which some directing authority is\nso essential.\n\nWe have already stated, and have made it quite apparent in our\ndescriptions, that the Christmas celebrations of the more exalted\nclasses are not put forward for the consideration of our readers on the\nground of any great wisdom in the matter or humor in the manner of those\ncelebrations themselves. But we claim for them serious veneration, in\nright of the excellence of the spirit in which they originated, and the\nexcellence of the result which they produced. The very extravagance of\nthe court pageantries--their profuse expenditure and grotesque\ndisplays--were so many evidences of the hearty reception which was given\nto the season in the highest places, and so many conspicuous sanctions\nunder which the spirit of unrestrained rejoicing made its appeals in the\nlowest. This ancient festival of all ranks, consecrated by all religious\nfeelings and all moral influences; this privileged season of the lowly;\nthis Sabbath of the poor man's year,--was recognized by his superiors\nwith high observance and honored by his governors with ceremonious\nstate. The mirth of the humble and uneducated man received no check from\nthe assumption of an unseasonable gravity or ungenerous reserve on the\npart of those with whom fortune had dealt more kindly, and to whom\nknowledge had opened her stores. The moral effect of all this was of the\nmost valuable kind. Nothing so much promotes a reciprocal kindliness of\nfeeling as a community of enjoyment; and the bond of good will was thus\ndrawn tighter between those remote classes, whose differences of\nprivilege, of education, and of pursuit, are perpetually operating to\nloosen it, and threatening to dissolve it altogether. There was a great\ndeal of wisdom in all this; and the result was well worth producing even\nat the cost of much more folly than our ancestors expended on it. We\ndeny that spectacles and a wig are the inseparable symbols of sapience;\nand we hold that portion of the world to be greatly mistaken which\nsupposes that wisdom may not occasionally put on the cap and bells, and\nunder that disguise be wisdom still! The ancient custom which made what\nwas called a fool a part of the establishment of princes, and gave him a\nright in virtue of his bauble to teach many a wise lesson and utter many\na wholesome truth--besides its practical utility, contained as excellent\na moral and was conceived in as deep a spirit as the still more ancient\none of the skeleton at a feast. \"_Cucullus non facit monachum_,\" says\none of those privileged gentry, in the pages of one who, we are sure,\ncould have enacted a Christmas foolery with the most foolish, and yet\nhad \"sounded all the depths and shallows\" of the human mind, and was\nhimself the wisest of modern men. \"Better a witty fool than a foolish\nwit.\" There is a long stride from the wisdom of that sneering\nphilosopher who laughed _at_ his fellows to his who on proper occasions\ncan laugh _with_ them; and in spite of all that modern philosophy may\nsay to the contrary, there was in the very extravagances of Coke and\nHatton, and other lawyers and statesmen of past times--if they aimed at\nsuch a result as that which we have mentioned, and in so far as they\ncontributed thereto--more real wisdom than all which they enunciated in\ntheir more solemn moods, or have put upon record in their books of the\nlaw.\n\n[Illustration: GATE OF THE \"OLD ENGLISH GENTLEMAN.\"--_Page 109._]\n\nIn the same excellent spirit, too, everything was done that could assist\nin promoting the same valuable effect; and while the pageantries which\nwere prepared by the court and by other governing bodies furnished a\nportion of the entertainments by which the populace tasted the season in\ntowns, and sanctioned the rest, care was taken in many ways (of which we\nhave given an example) that the festival should be spread over the\ncountry, and provision made for its maintenance in places more secluded\nand remote. A set of arrangements sprang up which left no man without\ntheir influence; and figuratively and literally, the crumbs from the\ntable of the rich man's festival were abundantly enjoyed by the veriest\nbeggar at his gate. The kindly spirit of Boaz was abroad in all the\nland, and every Ruth had leave to \"eat of the bread and dip her morsel\nin the vinegar.\" At that great harvest of rejoicing, all men were\nsuffered to glean; and they with whom at most other seasons the world\nhad \"dealt very bitterly\"--whose names were Mara, and who ate sparingly\nof the bread of toil--gleaned \"even among its sheaves,\" and no man\nreproached them. The old English gentleman, like the generous\nBethlehemite in the beautiful story, even scattered that the poor might\ngather, and \"commanded his young men saying, . . . 'Let fall also some\nof the handfuls of purpose for them and leave them, that they may glean\nthem, and rebuke them not.'\" And the prayer of many a Naomi went up in\nanswer, \"Blessed be he that did take knowledge of thee;\" \"blessed be he\nof the Lord!\"\n\nIn a word, the blaze of royal and noble celebration was as a great\nbeacon to the land, seen afar off by those who could not share in its\nwarmth or sit under the influence of its immediate inspirations. But it\nwas answered from every hill-top and repeated in every valley of\nEngland; and each man flung the Yule log on his own fire at the cheering\nsignal. The hearth, according to Aubrey, at the first introduction of\ncoals, was usually in the middle of the room; and he derives from thence\nthe origin of the saying, \"round about our coal fire.\" But whether the\nhuge fagot crackled and flustered within those merry circles or flared\nand roared up the ample chimneys,--all social feelings, and all\nbeautiful superstitions and old traditions and local observances awoke\nat the blaze; and from their thousand hiding-places crept out the\ncustoms and ceremonials which crowd this festal period of the year, and\nof which it is high time that we should proceed to give an account in\nthese pages. The charmed log that (duly lighted with the last year's\nbrand, which, as we learn from Herrick, was essential to its virtue)\nscared away all evil spirits, attracted all beneficent ones. The 'squire\nsat in the midst of his tenants as a patriarch might amid his family,\nand appears to have had no less reverence, though he compounded the\nwassail-bowl with his own hands and shared it with the meanest of his\ndependants. The little book from which we have more than once quoted by\nthe title of \"Round about our Coal-fire,\" furnishes us with an example\nof this reverence too ludicrous to be omitted. Its writer tells us that\nif the 'squire had occasion to ask one of his neighbors what o'clock it\nwas, he received for answer a profound bow and an assurance that it was\nwhat o'clock his worship pleased,--an answer, no doubt, indicative of\nprofound respect, but not calculated to convey much useful information\nto the inquirer. In fine, however, while the glad spirit of the season\ncovered the land, hospitality and harmony were everywhere a portion of\nthat spirit. The light of a common festival shone for once upon the\npalace and the cottage, and the chain of a universal sympathy descended\nunbroken through all ranks, from the prince to the peasant and the\nbeggar.\n\n \"The damsel donned her kirtle sheen;\n The hall was dress'd with holly green;\n Forth to the wood did merry men go,\n To gather in the misletoe.\n Then opened wide the baron's hall,\n To vassall, tenant, serf and all;\n Power laid his rod of rule aside,\n And ceremony doffed his pride.\n The heir, with roses in his shoes,\n _Those nights_ might village partner chuse;\n The lord, underogating, share\n The vulgar game of 'post-and-pair.'\n\n . . . . . . .\n\n The fire with well-dried logs supplied,\n Went roaring up the chimney wide;\n The huge hall-table's oaken face,\n Scrubbed till it shone, the _time_ to grace,\n Bore then upon its massive board\n No mark to part the 'squire and lord.\n Then was brought in the lusty brawn,\n By old blue-coated serving-man;\n Then the grim boar's head frowned on high,\n Crested with bays and rosemary.\n Well can the green-garbed ranger tell,\n How, when, and where, the monster fell;\n What dogs, before his death, he tore,\n And all the batings of the boar.\n The wassail round, in good brown bowls,\n Garnished with ribbons, blithely trowls.\n There the huge sirloin reeked; hard by\n Plumb-porridge stood, and Christmas pye;\n Nor failed old Scotland to produce,\n At such high-tide, her savoury goose.\n Then came the merry masquers in,\n And carols roared with blithesome din;\n If unmelodious was the song,\n It was a hearty note, and strong.\n Who lists may, in their mumming, see\n Traces of ancient mystery;\n White shirts supplied the masquerade,\n And smutted cheeks the visors made:\n But, Oh! what masquers, richly dight,\n Can boast of bosoms half so light?\n England was merry England, when\n Old Christmas brought his sports again.\n 'Twas Christmas broached the mightiest ale,\n 'Twas Christmas told the merriest tale,\n A Christmas gambol oft would cheer\n The poor man's heart through half the year.\"\n\nThe ceremonies and superstitions and sports of the Christmas season are\nnot only various in various places, but have varied from time to time in\nthe same. Those of them which have their root in the festival itself\nare for the most part common to all, and have dragged out a lingering\nexistence even to our times. But there are many which, springing from\nother sources, have placed themselves under its protection or, naturally\nenough, sought to associate themselves with merry spirits like their\nown. Old Father Christmas has had a great many children in his time,\nsome of whom he has survived; and not only so, but in addition to his\nown lawful offspring the generous old man has taken under his patronage\nand adopted into his family many who have no legitimate claim to that\ndistinction by any of the wives to whom he has been united,--neither by\nthe Roman lady, his lady of the Celtic family, nor her whom he took to\nhis bosom and converted from the idolatry of Thor. His family appears to\nhave been generally far too numerous to be entertained at one time in\nthe same establishment, or indeed by the same community, and to have\nrarely travelled therefore in a body.\n\nIn Ben Jonson's Masque of Christmas, to which we have already alluded,\nthe old gentleman is introduced \"attired in round hose, long stockings,\na close doublet, a high-crowned hat with a broach, a long thin beard, a\ntruncheon, little ruffs, white shoes, his scarfs and garters tied cross,\nand his drum beaten before him,\" and is accompanied by the following\nmembers of his fine family: MISS-RULE, CAROLL, MINCED-PIE, GAMBOLL,\nPOST-AND-PAIR (since dead), NEW YEAR'S GIFT, MUMMING, WASSAIL,\nOFFERING, and BABY-CAKE,--or BABY-COCKE, as we find him elsewhere\ncalled, but who we fear is dead too, unless he may have changed his\nname, for we still find one of the family bearing some resemblance to\nthe description of him given by Ben Jonson.\n\nIn the frontispiece to this volume the artist has represented the old\nman like another magician, summoning his spirits from the four winds for\na general muster; and we hope that the greater part of them will obey\nhis conjuration. The purpose, we believe, is to take a review of their\ncondition and see if something cannot be done to amend their\nprospects,--in which it is our purpose to assist him. Already some of\nthe children have appeared on the stage; and the rest, we have no doubt,\nare advancing in all directions. We are glad to see amongst the\nforemost, as he ought to be, ROAST BEEF,--that English \"champion bold\"\nwho has driven the invader hunger from the land in many a well-fought\nfray, and for his doughty deeds was created a knight banneret on one of\nhis own gallant fields so long ago as King Charles's time. We suppose he\nis the same worthy who, in the Romish calendar, appears canonized by the\ntitle of Saint George, where his great adversary Famine is represented\nunder the figure of a dragon. Still following ROAST BEEF, as he has done\nfor many a long year, we perceive his faithful 'squire (bottle-holder\nif you will) PLUM PUDDING, with his rich round face and rosemary\ncockade. He is a blackamoor, and derives his extraction from the spice\nlands. His Oriental properties have however received an English\neducation and taken an English form, and he has long ago been adopted\ninto the family of Father Christmas. In his younger days his name was\n\"PLUMB-PORRIDGE\": but since he grew up to be the substantial man he is,\nit has been changed into the one he now bears, as indicative of greater\nconsistency and strength. His master treats him like a brother; and he\nhas, in return, done good service against the enemy in many a\nhard-fought field, cutting off all straggling detachments or flying\nparties from the main body, which the great champion had previously\nrouted. Both these individuals, we think, are looking as vigorous as\nthey can ever have done in their lives, and offer in their\nwell-maintained and portly personages a strong presumption that _they_\nat least have at no time ceased to be favorite guests at the festivals\nof the land.\n\nNear them stands, we rejoice to see, their favorite sister Wassail. She\nwas of a slender figure in Ben Jonson's day, and is so still. If the\ngarb in which she appears has a somewhat antiquated appearance, there is\na play of the lip and a twinkle of the eye which prove that the glowing\nand joyous spirit which made our ancestors so merry \"ages long ago,\" and\nhelped them out with so many a pleasant fancy and quaint device, is not\na day older than it was in the time of King Arthur. How should she grow\nold who bathes in such a bowl? It is her fount of perpetual youth! Why,\neven mortal hearts grow younger, and mortal spirits lighter, as they\ntaste of its charmed waters. There it is, with its floating apples and\nhovering inspirations! We see too, that the \"tricksy spirit,\" whose head\nbears it (and that is more than every head could do) has lost none of\nhis gambols, and that he is still on the best of terms with the Turkey\nwho has been his playfellow at these holiday-times for so many years.\nThe latter, we suppose, has just come up from Norfolk, where Father\nChristmas puts him to school; and the meeting on both sides seems to be\nof the most satisfactory kind.\n\nMUMMING also, we see, has obeyed the summons, although he looks as if he\nhad come from a long distance and did not go about much now. We fancy he\nhas become something of a student. Misrule too, we believe, has lost a\ngood deal of his mercurial spirit, and finds his principal resource in\nold books. He has come to the muster, however, with a very long \"feather\nin his cap,\" as if he considered the present summons portentous of good\nfortune. He looks as if he were not altogether without hopes of taking\noffice again. We observe with great satisfaction, that the Lord of\nTwelfth Night has survived the revolutions which have been fatal to the\nKing of the Cockneys and so many of his royal brethren; and that he is\nstill \"every inch a king.\" Yonder he comes under a state-canopy of cake,\nand wearing yet his ancient crown. The lady whom we see advancing in the\ndistance we take to be Saint Distaff. She used to be a sad romp; but her\nmerriest days we fear are over, for she is looking very like an old\nmaid. Not far behind her we fancy we can hear the clear voice of Caroll\nsinging as he comes along; and if our ears do not deceive us, the Waits\nare coming up in another direction. The children are dropping in on all\nsides.\n\nBut what is he that looks down from yonder pedestal in the back-ground\nupon the merry muster, with a double face? And why, while the holly and\nthe mistletoe mingle with the white tresses that hang over the brow of\nthe one, is the other hidden by a veil? The face on which we gaze is the\nface of an old man, and a not uncheerful old man,--a face marked by many\na scar, by the channels of tears that have been dried up and the deep\ntraces of sorrows past away. Yet does it look placidly down from beneath\nits crown of evergreens on the joyous crew who are assembled at the\nvoice of Christmas. But what aspect hath that other face which no man\ncan see? Why doth our flesh creep and the blood curdle in our veins as\nwe gaze? What awful mystery doth that dark curtain hide? What may be\nwritten on that covered brow, that the old man dare not lift the veil\nand show it to those laughing children? Much, much, much that might\nspoil the revels. Much that man might not know and yet bear to abide.\nThat twin face is Janus, he who shuts the gates upon the old year and\nopens those of the new, he who looks into the past and into the future,\nand catches the reflections of both, and has the tales of each written\non his respective brows. For the past, it is known and has been\nsuffered; and even at a season like this we can pause to retrace the\nstory of its joys and of its sorrows as they are graven on that open\nforehead,--and from that retrospect, glancing to the future for hope,\ncan still turn to the present for enjoyment. But oh, that veil and its\nsolemn enigmas! On that other brow may be written some secret which,\nputting out the light of hope, should add the darkness of the future to\nthe darkness of the past, until, amid the gloom before and the gloom\nbehind, the festal lamps of the season, looked on by eyes dim with our\nown tears, should show as sad as tapers lighted up in the chamber of the\ndead. God in mercy keep down that veil!\n\n \"Such foresight who on earth would crave,\n Where knowledge is not power to save?\"\n\nIt will be our business to introduce to our readers each of the children\nof old Christmas as they come up in obedience to the summons of their\nfather, reserving to ourselves the right of settling the order of their\nprecedence; and we will endeavor to give some account of the part which\neach played of old in the revelries of the season peculiarly their own,\nand of the sad changes which time has made in the natural constitutions,\nor animal spirits, of some of them. Preparatory, however, to this we\nmust endeavor to give a rapid glance at the causes which contributed to\nthe decay of a festival so ancient and universal and uproarious as that\nwhich we have described, and brought into the old man's family that\ndisease to which some of them have already fallen victims, and which\nthreatens others with an untimely extinction.\n\nWe have already shown that so early as the reign of Elizabeth the\nPuritans had begun to lift up their testimony against the pageantries of\nthe Christmas-tide; and the Lord of Misrule, even in that day of his\npotential ascendancy, was described as little better than the great\nEnemy of Souls himself. Our friend Stubs (whose denunciations were\ndirected against _all_ amusements which from long usage and established\nrepetition had assumed anything like a form of ceremonial, and who is\nquite as angry with those who \"goe some to the woodes and groves and\nsome to the hilles and mountaines . . . where they spende all the night\nin pastymes, and in the mornyng they return bringing with them birch\nbowes and braunches of trees to deck their assemblies withall,\" in the\nsweet month of May, as he could possibly be with the Christmas\nrevellers, although the very language in which he is obliged to state\nthe charge against the former was enough to tempt people out \"a Maying,\"\nand might almost have converted himself) assures the reader of his\n\"Anatomie\" that all who contribute \"to the maintenaunce of these\nexecrable pastymes\" do neither more nor less than \"offer sacrifice to\nthe devill and Sathanas.\" It is probable, however, that the people of\nthose days, who were a right loyal people and freely acknowledged the\nclaim of their sovereigns to an absolute disposition of all their\ntemporalities (any of the common or statute laws of the land\nnotwithstanding), considered it a part of their loyalty to be damned in\ncompany with their sovereigns, too, and resolved that so long as these\niniquities obtained the royal patronage it was of their allegiance to\nplace themselves in the same category of responsibility. Or perhaps\ntheir notion of regal prerogative, which extended so far as to admit its\nright to mould the national law at its good pleasure, might go the\nfurther length of ascribing to it a controlling power over the moral\nstatutes of right and wrong, and of pleading its sanction against the\nmenaces of Master Stubs. Or it may be that Master Stubs had failed to\nconvince them that they were wrong, even without an appeal to the royal\ndispensation. Certain it is that, in spite of all that Master Stubs and\nhis brethren could say, the sway of the Lord of Misrule, and the revels\nof his court continued to flourish with increasing splendor during this\nreign, and, as we have seen, lost no portion of their magnificence\nduring the two next, although in that time had arisen the great champion\nof the Puritans, Prynne, and against them and their practices had been\ndirected whole volumes of vituperation, and denounced large vials of\nwrath.\n\nIn Scotland, however, where the reformation took a sterner tone than in\nthe southern kingdom, and where, as we have said, the irregularities\ncommitted under cover of the Christmas and other ceremonials laid them\nmore justly open to its censure, the effect of this outcry was earlier\nand far more sensibly felt; and even so early as the reign of Queen Mary\nan act passed the Scottish Parliament whereby the Abbot of Unreason and\nall his \"merrie disports\" were suppressed.\n\nIn England, it is true that, according to Sandys, an order of the common\ncouncil had issued as early as the beginning of _our_ Mary's reign\nprohibiting the Lord Mayor or Sheriffs from entertaining a Lord of\nMisrule in any of their houses; but this appears to have been merely on\nfinancial grounds, with a view of reducing the corporation expenditure,\nand to have extended no further.\n\nIt was not, however, until after the breaking out of the Civil War that\nthe persecution of the Puritans (who had long and zealously labored not\nonly to resolve the various ceremonials of the season into their pagan\nelements, but even to prove that the celebration of the Nativity at all\nwas in itself idolatrous) succeeded to any extent in producing that\nresult which the war itself and the consequent disorganization of\nsociety must in a great measure have effected even without the aid of a\nfanatical outcry. In the very first year of that armed struggle the\nearliest successful blow was struck against the festivities with which\nit had been usual to celebrate this period of the year, in certain\nordinances which were issued for suppressing the performance of plays\nand other diversions; and in the following year some of the shops in\nLondon were for the first time opened on Christmas day, in obedience to\nthe feelings which connected any observance of it with the spirit of\npopery. By the year 1647 the Puritans had so far prevailed that in\nvarious places the parish officers were subjected to penalties for\nencouraging the decking of churches and permitting divine service to be\nperformed therein on Christmas morning; and in the same year the\nobservance of the festival itself, with that of other holidays, was\nformally abolished by the two branches of the legislature.\n\nIt was found impossible, however, by all these united means, to\neradicate the Christmas spirit from the land; and many of its customs\nand festivities continued to be observed, not only in obscure places,\nbut even in towns, in spite of prohibition and in spite of the\ndisarrangement of social ties. The contest between the Puritan spirit\nand the ancient spirit of celebration led to many contests; and we have\nan account--in a little book of which we have seen a copy in the\nBritish Museum, entitled \"Canterbury Christmas, or a True Relation of\nthe Insurrection in Canterbury\"--of the disturbances which ensued in\nthat city upon the Mayor's proclamation, issued in consequence of that\nParliamentary prohibition at the Christmas which followed. This said\nproclamation, it appears, which was made by the city crier, was to the\neffect \"that Christmas day and all other superstitious festivals should\nbe put downe and that a market should be kept upon Christmas day.\" This\norder, it goes on to state, was \"very ill taken by the country,\" the\npeople of which neglected to bring their provisions into the town, and\ngave other tokens of their displeasure of a less negative kind. For, a\nfew of the shopkeepers in the city, \"to the number of twelve at the\nmost,\" having ventured to open their shops in defiance of the general\nfeeling, \"they were commanded by the multitude to shut up again; but\nrefusing to obey, their ware was thrown up and down and they at last\nforced to shut in.\"\n\nNor were the revilings of the Puritans against the lovers of Christmas\nobservances suffered to remain unanswered. Many a squib was directed\nagainst the Roundheads; and the popular regret for the suppression of\ntheir high festival was skilfully appealed to by Royalist politicians\nand favorers of the ancient religion. The connection between the new\ncondition of things in Church and State and the extinction of all the\nmerriment of the land was carefully suggested in publications that\nstole out in spite of penalties and were read in defiance of\nprohibitions. As an example, that curious little tract from which we\nhave more than once quoted under the title of \"An Hue and Cry after\nChristmas,\" bears the date of 1645; and we shall best give our readers\nan idea of its character by setting out that title at length, as the\nsame exhibits a tolerable abstract of its contents. It runs thus: \"The\narraignment, conviction, and imprisoning of Christmas on St. Thomas day\nlast, and how he broke out of prison in the holidayes and got away,\nonely left his hoary hair and gray beard sticking between two iron bars\nof a window. With an Hue and Cry after Christmas, and a letter from Mr.\nWoodcock, a fellow in Oxford, to a malignant lady in London. And divers\npassages between the lady and the cryer about Old Christmas; and what\nshift he was fain to make to save his life, and great stir to fetch him\nback again. Printed by Simon Minc'd Pye for Cissely Plum-Porridge, and\nare to be sold by Ralph Fidler Chandler at the signe of the Pack of\nCards in Mustard Alley in Brawn Street.\" Besides the allusions contained\nin the latter part of this title to some of the good things that follow\nin the old man's train, great pains are taken by the \"cryer\" in\ndescribing him, and by the lady in mourning for him, to allude to many\nof the cheerful attributes that made him dear to the people. His great\nantiquity and portly appearance are likewise insisted upon. \"For age\nthis hoarie-headed man was of great yeares, and as white as snow. He\nentered the Romish Kallendar, time out of mind, as old or very neer as\nFather Mathusalem was,--one that looked fresh in the Bishops' time,\nthough their fall made him pine away ever since. He was full and fat as\nany divine doctor on them all; he looked under the consecrated lawne\nsleeves as big as Bul-beefe,--just like Bacchus upon a tunne of wine,\nwhen the grapes hang shaking about his eares; but since the Catholike\nliquor is taken from him he is much wasted, so that he hath looked very\nthin and ill of late.\" \"The poor,\" says the \"cryer\" to the lady, \"are\nsory for\" his departure; \"for they go to every door a-begging, as they\nwere wont to do (_good Mrs., Somewhat against this good time_); but Time\nwas transformed, _Away, be gone; here is not for you_.\" The lady,\nhowever, declares that she for one will not be deterred from welcoming\nold Christmas. \"No, no!\" says she; \"bid him come by night over the\nThames, and we will have a back-door open to let him in;\" and ends by\nanticipating better prospects for him another year.\n\nAnd by many a back-door was the old man let in to many a fireside during\nthe heaviest times of all that persecution and disgrace. On the\nestablishment of the Commonwealth, when the more settled state of things\nremoved some of the causes which had opposed themselves to his due\nreception, the contests of opposition between the revived spirit of\nfestival and the increased sectarian austerity became more conspicuous.\nThere is an order of the Parliament in 1652 again prohibiting the\nobservance of Christmas day, which proves that the practice had revived;\nand there are examples of the military having been employed to disperse\ncongregations assembled for that purpose. In the \"Vindication of\nChristmas,\" published about this time, the old gentleman, after\ncomplaining bitterly of the manner in which he was \"used in the city,\nand wandering into the country up and down from house to house, found\nsmall comfort in any,\" asserts his determination not to be so repulsed:\n\"Welcome or not welcome,\" says he, \"I am come.\" In a periodical\npublication of that day entitled \"Mercurius Democritus, or a True and\nPerfect Nocturnall, communicating many strange wonders out of the World\nin the Moon, etc.,\" the public are encouraged to keep Christmas, and\npromised better days. No. 37 contains some verses to that effect, of\nwhich the following are the first two:--\n\n \"Old Christmass now is come to town,\n Though few do him regard;\n He laughs to see them going down,\n That have put down his Lord.\n\n \"Cheer up, sad heart, crown Christmass bowls,\n Banish dull grief and sorrow;\n Though you want cloaths, you have rich souls,\n The _sun_ may shine to-morrow.\"\n\nAnd again in No. 38:--\n\n \"A gallant crew, stir up the fire,\n The other winter tale,\n Welcome, Christmass, 'tis our desire\n To give thee more spic'd ale.\"\n\nOn the return of the royal family to England, the court celebrations of\nChristmas were revived both there and at the Inns of Court; and the Lord\nof Misrule came again into office. We have allusions to the one and the\nother in the writings of Pepys and of Evelyn. The nobles and wealthy\ngentry, too, once more at their country-seats, took under their\nprotection such of the ancient observances as had survived the\npersecution, and from time to time stole out of their hiding-places\nunder the encouragement of the new order of things. But in none of its\nancient haunts did the festival ever again recover its splendor of old.\nThe condition of Charles's exchequer, and the many charges upon\nit,--arising as well out of the services of his adherents as from his\nown dissolute life,--left him little chance of imitating the lavish\nappointments of the court pageantries in the days of Elizabeth and\nJames; and the troubles out of which the nation had emerged had made\nchanges as well in the face of the country as in the condition and\ncharacter of society, alike opposed to anything like a general and\ncomplete revival of the merry doings of yore. In the country, estates\nhad passed into new hands, and the immemorial ties between the ancient\nfamilies and the tenants of the soil had been rudely severed. Many of\nthe old establishments in which these celebrations had been most\nzealously observed, were finally broken up; and friends who had met\ntogether from childhood around the Christmas fire, and pledged each\nother year by year in the wassail-bowl, were scattered by the chances of\nwar. But out of this disturbance of the old localities and disruption of\nthe ancient ties of the land, a result still more fatal to these old\nobservances had arisen, promoted besides by the dissipation of manners\nwhich the restored monarch had introduced into the country. Men rooted\nout from their ancestral possessions and looking to a licentious king\nfor compensation, became hangers-on about the court; and others who had\nno such excuse, seduced by their example and enamoured of the gayeties\nof the metropolis and the profligacies of Whitehall, abandoned the\nshelter of the old trees beneath whose shade their fathers had fostered\nthe sanctities of life, and from \"country gentlemen\" became \"men about\ntown.\" The evils of this practice, at which we have before hinted as one\nof those to which the decay of rural customs is mainly owing, began to\nbe early felt, and form the topic of frequent complaint and the subject\nof many of the popular ballads of that day. The song of the \"Old and\nYoung Courtier\" was written for the purpose of contrasting the good old\nmanners with those of Charles's time; and the effects of the change upon\nthe Christmas hospitalities has due and particular notice therein. We\nextract it from the Percy collection for our readers, as appropriate to\nour subject and a sample of the ballads of the time:--\n\nTHE OLD AND YOUNG COURTIER.\n\n An old song made by an aged old pate,\n Of an old worshipful gentleman who had a greate estate,\n That kept a brave old house at a bountifull rate,\n And an old porter to relieve the poor at his gate;\n Like an old courtier of the Queen's,\n And the Queen's old courtier.\n\n With an old lady, whose anger one word assuages;\n They every quarter paid their old servants their wages,\n And never knew what belong'd to coachmen, footmen, nor pages,\n But kept twenty old fellows with blue coats and badges;\n Like an old courtier, etc.\n\n With an old study fill'd full of learned old books,\n With an old reverend chaplain,--you might know him by his looks,--\n With an old buttery hatch worn quite off the hooks,\n And an old kitchen, that maintained half-a-dozen old cooks;\n Like an old courtier, etc.\n\n With an old hall, hung about with pikes, guns, and bows,\n With old swords, and bucklers that had borne many shrewde blows,\n And an old frize coat, to cover his worship's trunk hose,\n And a cup of old sherry to comfort his copper nose;\n Like an old courtier, etc.\n\n With a good old fashion, when Christmasse was come,\n To call in all his old neighbours with bagpipe and drum,\n With good chear enough to furnish every old room,\n And old liquor able to make a cat speak, and man dumb;\n Like an old courtier, etc.\n\n With an old falconer, huntsman, and a kennel of hounds,\n That never hawked, nor hunted, but in his own grounds,\n Who, like a wise man, kept himself within his own bounds,\n And when he dyed gave every child a thousand good pounds;\n Like an old courtier, etc.\n\n But to his eldest son his house and land he assign'd,\n Charging him in his will to keep the old bountifull mind,\n To be good to his old tenants, and to his neighbours be kind;\n But in the ensuing ditty you shall hear how he was inclined;\n Like a young courtier, etc.\n\n Like a flourishing young gallant, newly come to his land,\n Who keeps a brace of painted madams at his command,\n And takes up a thousand pound upon his father's land,\n And gets drunk in a tavern, till he can neither go nor stand;\n Like a young courtier, etc.\n\n With a new-fangled lady, that is dandy, nice, and spare,\n Who never knew what belong'd to good housekeeping or care,\n Who buys gaudy-color'd fans to play with wanton air,\n And seven or eight different dressings of other women's hair;\n Like a young courtier, etc.\n\n With a new-fashion'd hall, built where the old one stood,\n Hung round with new pictures, that do the poor no good,\n With a fine marble chimney, wherein burns neither coal nor wood,\n And a new smooth shovelboard, whereon no victuals ne'er stood;\n Like a young courtier, etc.\n\n With a new study, stuff'd full of pamphlets and plays,\n And a new chaplain, that swears faster than he prays,\n With a new buttery-hatch that opens once in four or five days,\n And a new French cook, to devise fine kickshaws and toys;\n Like a young courtier, etc.\n\n With a new fashion, when Christmasse is drawing on,\n On a new journey to London straight we all must begone,\n And leave none to keep house, but our new porter John,\n Who relieves the poor with a thump on the back with a stone;\n Like a young courtier, etc.\n\n With a new gentleman usher, whose carriage is compleat,\n With a new coachman, footmen, and pages to carry up the meat,\n With a waiting-gentlewoman, whose dressing is very neat,\n Who when her lady has din'd, lets the servants not eat;\n Like a young courtier, etc.\n\n With new titles of honour bought with his father's old gold,\n For which sundry of his ancestors' old manors are sold;\n And this is the course most of our new gallants hold,\n Which makes that good housekeeping is now grown so cold,\n Among the young courtiers of the King,\n Or the King's young courtiers.\n\nIn a word, the old English feeling seemed nearly extinct for a time; and\nthe ancient customs which had connected themselves therewith, one by one\nfell more or less into disuse. The chain of _universal_ sympathy and\n_general_ observance, which had long kept the festival together in all\nits parts, was broken; and the parts fell asunder, and were by degrees\nlost or overlooked. Let no man say that this is scarcely worth\nlamenting! Let none imagine that, in the decay of customs useless or\ninsignificant in themselves, there is little to regret! \"The\naffections,\" says Sterne, \"when they are busy that way, will build their\nstructures, were it but on the paring of a nail;\" and there is no\npractice of long observance and ancient veneration--whether among\nnations or individuals--round which the affections have not in some\ndegree twined themselves, and which are not therefore useful as supports\nand remembrancers to those affections. There are few of the consequences\nspringing from civil war more lamentable than the disturbance which it\ngives to the social arrangements, were it but to the meanest of them. It\nis impossible that customs long identified with the feelings should\nperish without those feelings (though from their own eternal principle\nthey will ultimately revive and find new modes of action) suffering some\ntemporary injury. It was a beautiful assertion of Dr. Johnson that his\nfeelings would be outraged by seeing an old post rooted up from before\nhis door which he had been used to look at all his life,--even though it\nmight be an incumbrance there. How much more would he have grieved over\nthe removal of a village Maypole, with all its merry memories and all\nits ancient reverence!\n\nThe Christmas festival has languished from those days to this, but never\nhas been, and never will be extinct. The stately forms of its\ncelebration in high places have long since (and, in all probability,\nforever) passed away. The sole and homely representative of the gorgeous\nChristmas prince is the mock-monarch of the Epiphany,--the laureate of\nour times, with his nominal duties, in the last faint shadow of the\ncourt bards and masque-makers of yore; and the few lingering remains of\nthe important duties once confided to the master of the royal revels are\nsilently and unostentatiously performed in the office of the Lord\nChamberlain of to-day. But the spirit of the season yet survives, and,\nfor reasons which we shall proceed to point out, _must_ survive. True,\nthe uproarious merriment, the loud voice which it sent of old throughout\nthe land, have ceased; and while the ancient sports and ceremonies are\nwidely scattered, many of them have retreated into obscure places, and\nsome perhaps are lost. Still, however, this period of commemoration is\neverywhere a merry time; and we believe, as we have already said, that\nmost of the children of Father Christmas are yet wandering up and down\nin one place or another of the land. We call upon all those of our\nreaders who know anything of the \"old, old, very old, gray-bearded\ngentleman\" or his family to aid us in our search after them; and with\ntheir good help we will endeavor to restore them to some portion of\ntheir ancient honors in England.\n\n[Illustration: FAMILY CONGRATULATION.--_Page 134._]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[2] The evergreen holly is meant, a bearing peculiarly appropriate to\nthe lord of Christmas sports.\n\n[3] His motto or impress.\n\n\n\n\nFEELINGS OF THE SEASON.\n\n\nOF all the festivals which crowd the Christian calendar there is none\nthat exercises an influence so strong and universal as that of\nChristmas; and those varied superstitions, and quaint customs, and\njoyous observances, which once abounded throughout the rural districts\nof England, are at no period of the year so thickly congregated or so\nstrongly marked as at this season of unrestrained festivity and extended\ncelebration. The reasons for this are various and very obvious. In the\ncase of a single celebration, which has to support itself by its own\nsolitary influence long, perchance, after the feeling in which it\noriginated has ceased to operate, whose significance is perhaps dimly\nand more dimly perceived (through the obscurity of a distance, year\nafter year receding further into shadow) by its own unaided and\nunreflected light, the chances are many that the annually increasing\nneglect into which its observance is likely to fall, shall finally\nconsign it to an entire obliteration. But a cluster of festivals,\nstanding in a proximate order of succession, at once throwing light upon\neach other and illustrated by a varied and numerous host of customs,\ntraditions, and ceremonies,--of which, as in a similar cluster of stars,\nthe occasional obscuration of any one or more would not prevent their\nmemory being suggested and their place distinctly indicated by the\nothers,--present greatly multiplied probabilities against their\nexistence being ever entirely forgotten or their observation wholly\ndiscontinued. The arrangement by which a series of\ncelebrations--beautiful in themselves, and connected with the paramount\nevent in which are laid the foundations of our religion--are made to\nfall at a period otherwise of very solemn import (from its being assumed\nas the close of the larger of those revolutions of time into which man\nmeasures out the span of his transitory existence), and the chance which\nhas brought down to the same point and thrown together the traces of\ncustoms and superstitions both of a sacred and secular character,\nuniting with the crowd of Catholic observances, off-shoots from the\nancient Saturnalia, remains of old Druidical rites, and glimpses into\nthe mythology of the Northern nations, have written a series of\nhieroglyphics upon that place of the calendar, which, if they cannot be\ndeciphered in every part, are still, from their number and\njuxtaposition, never likely to be overlooked.\n\nBut though these causes are offered as accounting for the preservation\nof many customs which, without them, would long since have passed into\noblivion, which exist by virtue of the position they occupy on the\ncalendar, yet the more conspicuous celebrations of this season need no\nsuch aid and no such arguments. Nothing can be added to their intrinsic\ninterest, and they are too closely connected with the solemn warnings of\nman's temporal destiny, and linked with the story of his eternal hopes,\never to lose any portion of that influence, a share of which (without\nthereby losing, as light is communicated without diminution) they throw\nover all the other celebrations that take shelter under their wing.\n\nIn every way, and by many a tributary stream, are the holy and\nbeneficent sentiments which belong to the period increased and\nrefreshed. Beautiful feelings, too apt to fade within the heart of man\namid the chilling influences of worldly pursuit, steal out beneath the\nsweet religious warmth of the season, and the pure and holy amongst the\nhopes of earth assemble, to place themselves under the protection of\nthat eternal hope whose promise is now, as it were, yearly renewed. Amid\nthe echoes of that song which proclaimed peace on earth and good-will\ntowards men, making no exclusions, and dividing them into no classes,\nrises up a dormant sense of universal brotherhood in the heart; and\nsomething like a distribution of the good things of the earth is\nsuggested in favor of those, destitute here, who are proclaimed as joint\nparticipators in the treasure thus announced from heaven. At no other\nperiod of the year are the feeling of a universal benevolence and the\nsense of a common Adam so widely awakened; at no season is the\npredominant spirit of selfishness so effectually rebuked; never are the\ncircles of love so largely widened.\n\nThe very presence of a lengthened festivity--for festivity can never be\n_solitary_--would, apart from its sacred causes, promote these wholesome\neffects. The extended space of time over which this festival is spread,\nthe protracted holiday which it creates, points it out for the gathering\ntogether of distant friends whom the passing nature of an occasional and\nsingle celebration would fail to collect from their scattered places of\nthe world. By this wise and beautiful arrangement the spell of home is\nstill made to cast its sweet and holy influence along the sterile\nregions as along the bright places of after-life, and from the dark\nvalleys and the sunny hilltops of the world to call back alike the\nspoiled of fortune and the tired and travel-stained to refresh\nthemselves again and again at the fountain of their calmer hopes and\npurer feelings. A wise and beautiful arrangement this would be, in\nwhatever season of the year it might be placed! Wise and beautiful is\nany institution which sets up a rallying-place for the early affections\nand re-awakens the sacred sympathies of youth,--which, from that\nwell-head of purity and peace, sends forth, as it were, a little river\nof living waters, to flow with revivifying freshness and soothing\nmurmur along the wastes and wildernesses of after years; which makes of\nthat spring-time of the heart a reservoir of balm, to which in hours of\nsorrow it can return for joy, and in years of guilt for regeneration;\nand which, like the widow's cruse of oil, wasteth not in all the ages of\nthe mind's dearth. But how greatly are the wisdom and the beauty of this\narrangement increased by the sacred season at which it has been placed!\nUnder the sanctions of religion the covenants of the heart are renewed.\nUpon the altars of our faith the lamps of the spirit are rekindled. The\nloves of earth seem to have met together at the sound of the \"glad\ntidings\" of the season, to refresh themselves for the heaven which those\ntidings proclaim. From \"Abana and Pharpar\" and all the \"rivers of\nDamascus\" the affections are returned to bathe in \"the waters of\nIsrael.\" In many a peaceful spot and lowly home,\n\n \"Wi' joy unfeigned, brothers and sisters meet,\n An' each for other's welfare kindly spiers;\"\n\nand as the long-separated look once more into the \"sweet, familiar\nfaces,\" and listen in that restored companionship to strains such as\n\"once did sweet in Zion glide\" (even as they listened long ago, and, it\nmay be, with some who are gone from them for ever),--\n\n \"Hope springs, 'exulting on triumphant wing'\n That thus they all shall meet in future days,\n There ever bask in uncreated rays,\n No more to sigh or shed the bitter tear,\n Together hymning their Creator's praise\n In such society, yet still more dear,\n While ceaseless time moves round in an eternal sphere.\"\n\nTo this tone of feeling the services of the Church have for some time\npreviously been gradually adapting the mind. During the whole period of\nAdvent a course of moral and religious preparation has been going on,\nand a state of expectation is by degrees excited, not unlike that with\nwhich the Jews were waiting for the Messiah, of old. There is, as it\nwere, a sort of watching for the great event, a questioning where Christ\nshall be born, and an earnest looking out for his star in the East that\nwe may \"come to worship him.\" The feeling awakened by the whole series\nof these services--unlike that suggested by some of those which\ncommemorate other portions of the same sacred story--is entirely a\njoyous one. The lowly manner of the Saviour's coming, the exceeding\nhumiliation of his appointments, the dangers which beset his infancy,\nand his instant rejection by those to whom he came, are all forgotten in\nthe fact of his coming itself, in the feeling of a mighty triumph and\nthe sense of a great deliverance, or only so far remembered as to temper\nthe triumph and give a character of tenderness to the joy. \"The services\nof the Church about this season,\" says Washington Irving, \"are extremely\ntender and inspiring. They dwell on the beautiful story of the origin\nof our faith, and the pastoral scenes that accompanied its announcement.\nThey gradually increase in fervor and pathos during the season of\nAdvent, until they break forth in full jubilee on the morning that\nbrought 'peace and good-will to men.'\" \"I do not know,\" he adds, \"a\ngrander effect of music on the moral feelings than to hear the full\nchoir and the pealing organ performing a Christmas anthem in a\ncathedral, and filling every part of the vast pile with triumphant\nharmony.\" We confess that, for ourselves, very sensible as we are to the\ngrander and more complicated effects of harmony, we have, on the\noccasion in question, been more touched by the simple song of rejoicing\nas it rang in its unaided sweetness through the aisles of some village\nchurch. We have felt ourselves more emphatically reminded, amid pastoral\nscenes and primitive choirs, of the music of congratulation which was\nuttered through the clear air to men \"abiding in the field, keeping\nwatch over their flocks by night,\"--\n\n \"The hallowed anthem sent to hail\n Bethlehem's shepherds in the lonely vale\n When Jordan hushed his waves, and midnight still\n Watched on the holy towers of Zion's hill.\"\n\nNor is the religious feeling which belongs to this season suffered to\nsubside with the great event of the nativity itself. The incidents of\nstriking interest which immediately followed the birth of the Messiah,\nthe persecutions which were directed against his life, and the starry\nwriting of God in the sky, which, amid the rejection of \"his own,\" drew\nto him witnesses from afar, all contribute to keep alive the sense of a\nsacred celebration to the end of the period usually devoted to social\nfestivity, and send a wholesome current of religious feeling through the\nentire season, to temper its extravagancies and regulate its mirth. The\nworship of the shepherds; the lamentation in Rama, and the weeping of\nRachel for the murder of the innocents; the miraculous escape from that\nmassacre of the Saviour, and the flight of his parents into Egypt with\nthe rescued child; and the manifestation of Christ to the Gentiles,\nwhich is indeed the day of his nativity to _us_,--are all commemorated\nin the Christian Church, and illustrated by the series of services\ndistributed through that period of religious worship which bears the\ngeneral title of Christmas.\n\nThere is, too, in the lengthened duration of this festival a direct\ncause of that joyous and holiday spirit which, for the most part (after\nthe first tenderness of meeting has passed away, and a few tears perhaps\nbeen given, as the muster-roll is perused, to those who answer to their\nnames no more), pervades all whom that same duration has tempted to\nassemble.\n\nRegrets there will no doubt, in most cases, be, for these distant and\nperiodical gatherings together of families but show more prominently\nthe blanks which the long intervals have created; this putting on anew,\nas it were, of the garment of love but exposes the rents which time has\nmade since it was last worn; this renewing of the chain of our\nattachments but displays the links that are broken! The Sybil has come\nround again, as year by year she comes, with her books of the\naffections; but new leaves have been torn away. \"No man,\" says\nShakspeare, \"ever bathed twice in the same river;\" and the home-Jordan\nto which the observers of the Christmas festival come yearly back to\nwash away the leprous spots contracted in the world never presents to\nthem again the identical waters in which last they sported, though it be\nJordan still. Amid these jubilant harmonies of the heart there will be\nparts unfilled up, voices wanting. \"This young gentlewoman,\" says the\nCountess of Rousillon to Lafeu, \"had a father (oh that _had_! how sad a\npassage 'tis!).\" And surely with such changes as are implied in that\npast tense some of the notes of life's early music are silenced forever.\n\"Would they were with us still!\" says the old ballad; and in the first\nhour of these reunions many and many a time is the wish echoed in\nsomething like the words! And if these celebrations have been too long\ndisused, and the wanderer comes rarely back to the birthplace of the\naffections, the feeling of sadness may be too strong for the joyous\ninfluences of the season,--\n\n \"A change\" _he may find_ \"there, and many a change!\n Faces and footsteps and all things strange!\n Gone are the heads of the silvery hair,\n And the young that were, have a brow of care,\n And the place is hushed where the children played!\"\n\ntill, amid the bitter contrasts of the past with the present, and\nthoughts of \"the loved, the lost, the distant, and the dead,\" something\nlike\n\n \"A pall,\n And a gloom o'ershadowing the banquet-hall,\n And a mark on the floor as of life-drops spilt,\"\n\nmay spoil his ear for the voice of mirth, and darken all the revels of\nthe merry Christmas-tide.\n\n * * * * *\n\nTo few assemblages of men is it given to come together in the scene of\nancient memories without having to \"remember such things were that were\nmost precious.\" But excepting in those cases in which the suffering is\nextreme or the sorrow immediate, after a few hours given to a wholesome\nand perhaps mournful retrospect, the mind readjusts itself to the tone\nof the time, and men for the most part seem to understand that they are\nmet for the purpose of being as merry as it is in their natures to be.\nAnd to the attainment of this right joyous frame of mind we have already\nsaid that a sense of the duration of the festival period greatly\ncontributes. In the case of a single holiday the mind has scarcely time\nto take the appropriate tone before the period of celebration has\npassed away; and a sense of its transitoriness tends often to prevent\nthe effort being made with that heartiness which helps to insure\nsuccess.\n\nBut when the holiday of to-day terminates only that it may make way for\nthe holiday of to-morrow, and gladness has an ancient charter in virtue\nof which it claims dominion over a series of days so extended that the\nhappy school-boy (and some who are quite as happy as school-boys, and as\nmerry too) cannot see the end of them for the blaze of joyous things\nthat lies between,--then does the heart surrender itself confidently to\nthe genius of the time, and lets loose a host of cheerful and kindly\nfeelings, which it knows will not be suddenly thrown back upon it, and\nheaps up pleasant devices upon the glowing flame of mirth, as we heap up\nlogs on the roaring fire, laying them decently aside at the end of the\nseason, as we lay aside the burned-out brand of the Yule log to\nre-kindle the Christmas fire and the Christmas feeling of another year.\n\nBut there is yet another reason, in aid of those which we have\nenumerated, accounting for an observance of the Christmas festivities\nmore universal, and a preservation of its traditions more accurate and\nentire, than are bestowed in England upon the festival customs of any\nother period of the year. This reason, which might not at first view\nseem so favorable to that end as in truth it is, is to be found in the\noutward and natural aspects of the season. We have been watching the\nyear through the period of its decline, are arrived at the dreary season\nof its old age, and stand near the edge of its grave. We have seen the\nrich sunshines and sweet but mournful twilights of autumn, with their\nsolemn inspirations, give place to the short days and gloomy evenings\nwhich usher in the coming solstice. One by one the fair faces of the\nflowers have departed from us, and the sweet murmuring of \"shallow\nrivers, by whose falls melodious birds sing madrigals,\" has been\nexchanged for the harsh voice of the swollen torrent and the dreary\nmusic of winds that \"rave through the naked tree.\" Through many a\nchilling sign of \"weary winter comin' fast,\" we have reached the\n\n \"Last of the months, severest of them all.\n\n . . . . . . .\n\n For lo! the fiery horses of the Sun\n Through the twelve signs their rapid course have run;\n Time, like a serpent, bites his forked tail,\n And Winter, on a goat, bestrides the gale;\n Rough blows the North-wind near Arcturus' star,\n And sweeps, unreined, across the polar bar.\"\n\nThe halcyon days, which sometimes extend their southern influence even\nto our stern climate, and carry an interval of gloomy calm into the\nheart of this dreary month, have generally ere its close given place to\nthe nipping frosts and chilling blasts of mid-winter. \"Out of the South\"\nhath come \"the whirlwind, and cold out of the North.\" The days have\ndwindled to their smallest stature, and the long nights, with their\natmosphere of mist, shut in and circumscribe the wanderings of man.\nClouds and shadows surround us. The air has lost its rich echoes, and\nthe earth its diversified aspects; and to the immediate threshold of the\nhouse of feasting and merriment we have travelled through those dreary\ndays which are emphatically called \"the dark days before Christmas.\" Of\none of the gloomy mornings that usher in these melancholy days Ben\nJonson gives the following dismal description:--\n\n \"It is, methinks, a morning full of fate!\n It riseth slowly, as her sullen car\n Had all the weights of sleep and death hung at it!\n She is not rosy-fingered, but swoln black!\n Her face is like a water turned to blood,\n And her sick head is bound about with clouds,\n As if she threatened night, ere noon of day!\n It does not look as it would have a hail\n Or health wished in it--as of other morns!\"\n\nAnd the general discomforts of the season are bemoaned by old Sackville,\nwith words that have a wintry sound, in the following passage, which we\nextract from \"England's Parnassus:\"--\n\n \"The wrathfull winter, proching on a pace,\n With blustring blast had all ybard the treene;\n And old Saturnus, with his frosty face,\n With chilling cold had pearst the tender greene;\n The mantle rent wherein inwrapped beene\n The gladsome groves that now lay over-throwne,\n The tapers torne, and every tree downe blowne;\n The soyle, that erst so seemely was to seeme,\n Was all dispoiled of her beauties hewe,\n And stole fresh flowers (wherewith the Somer's queene\n Had clad the earth), now Boreas blast downe blew;\n And small fowles flocking, in their songs did rew\n The Winter's wrath, where with each thing defast,\n In wofull wise bewayl'd the Sommer past:\n Hawthorne had lost his motley liverie,\n The naked twigs were shivering all for cold,\n And, dropping down the teares aboundantlie,\n Each thing, methought, with weeping eye me told\n The cruell season, bidding me withhold\n Myselfe within.\"\n\nThe feelings excited by this dreary period of transition, and by the\ndesolate aspect of external things to which it has at length brought us,\nwould seem, at first view, to be little in harmony with a season of\nfestival, and peculiarly unpropitious to the claims of merriment. And\nyet it is precisely this joyless condition of the natural world which\ndrives us to take refuge in our moral resources, at the same time that\nit furnishes us with the leisure necessary for their successful\ndevelopment. The spirit of cheerfulness which, for the blessing of man,\nis implanted in his nature, deprived of the many issues by which, at\nother seasons, it walks abroad and breathes amid the sights and sounds\nof Nature, is driven to its own devices for modes of manifestation, and\ntakes up its station by the blazing hearth. In rural districts, the\nvaried occupations which call the sons of labor abroad into the fields\nare suspended by the austerities of the time; and to the cottage of the\npoor man has come a season of temporal repose, concurrently with the\nfalling of that period which seals anew for him, as it were, the\npromises of an eternal rest. At no other portion of the year, could a\nfeast of equal duration find so many classes of men at leisure for its\nreception.\n\n \"With his ice, and snow, and rime,\n Let bleak winter sternly come!\n There is not a sunnier clime\n Than the love-lit winter home.\"\n\nAmid the comforts of the fireside, and all its sweet companionships and\ncheerful inspirations, there is something like the sense of a triumph\nobtained over the hostilities of the season. Nature, which at other\ntimes promotes the expansion of the feelings and contributes to the\nenjoyments of man, seems here to have promulgated her fiat against their\nindulgence; and there is a kind of consciousness of an inner world\ncreated, in evasion of her law,--a tract won by the genius of the\naffections from the domain of desolation, spots of sunshine planted by\nthe heart in the very bosom of shadow, a pillar of fire lit up in the\ndarkness. And thus the sensation of a respite from toil, the charms of\nrenewed companionship, the consciousness of a general sympathy of\nenjoyment running along all the links of the social chain, and the\ncontrasts established within to the discomforts without, are all\ncomponents of that propitious feeling to which the religious spirit of\nthe season, and all its quaint and characteristic observances, make\ntheir appeal.\n\nThere is, too (connected with these latter feelings, and almost\nunacknowledged by the heart of man), another moral element of that\ncheerful sentiment which has sprung up within it. It consists in the\nprospect, even at this distant and gloomy period, of a coming spring.\nThis is peculiarly the season of looking forward. Already, as it were,\nthe infant face of the new year is perceived beneath the folds of the\nold one's garment. The business of the present year has terminated, and\nalong the night which has succeeded to its season of labor have been set\nup a series of illuminations, which, we know, will be extinguished only\nthat the business of another seed-time may begin.\n\nNeither, amid all its dreary features, is the _natural_ season without\nits own picturesque beauty, nor even entirely divested of all its summer\nindications of a living loveliness, or all suggestions of an eternal\nhope. Not only hath it the peculiar beauties of old age, but it hath\nbesides lingering traces of that beauty which old age hath not been able\nwholly to extinguish, and which come finely in aid of the moral hints\nand religious hopes of the season.\n\nThe former--the graces which are peculiar to the season itself--exist in\nmany a natural aspect and grotesque effect, which is striking both for\nthe variety it offers and for its own intrinsic loveliness.\n\n \"We may find it in the wintry boughs, as they cross the cold blue sky,\n While soft on icy pool and stream the pencilled shadows lie,\n When we look upon their tracery, by the fairy frost-work bound,\n Whence the flitting red-breast shakes a shower of blossoms to\n the ground.\"\n\nThe white mantle which the earth occasionally puts on with the rapidity\nof a spell, covering, in the course of a night and while we have slept,\nthe familiar forms with a sort of strangeness that makes us feel as if\nwe had awakened in some new and enchanted land; the fantastic forms\nassumed by the drifting snow; the wild and fanciful sketching of old\nwinter upon the \"frosty pane;\" the icicles that depend like stalactites\nfrom every projection, and sparkle in the sun like jewels of the most\nbrilliant water; and, above all, the feathery investiture of the trees\nabove alluded to, by which their minute tracery is brought out with a\nrichness shaming the carving of the finest chisel,--are amongst the\nfeatures which exhibit the inexhaustible fertility of Nature in the\nproduction of striking and beautiful effects. Hear how one of our best\npoetesses, Mary Howitt, sings of these graces:--\n\n \"One silent night hath passed, and lo,\n How beautiful the earth is now!\n All aspect of decay is gone,\n The hills have put their vesture on,\n And clothed is the forest bough.\n\n \"Say not 'tis an unlovely time!\n Turn to the wide, white waste thy view;\n Turn to the silent hills that rise\n In their cold beauty to the skies,\n And to those skies intensely blue.\n\n . . . . . . .\n\n \"Walk now among the forest trees:\n Saidst thou that they were stripped and bare?\n Each heavy bough is bending down\n With snowy leaves and flowers,--the crown\n Which Winter regally doth wear.\n\n \"'Tis well; thy summer garden ne'er\n Was lovelier, with its birds and flowers,\n Than is this silent place of snow,\n With feathery branches drooping low,\n Wreathing around thee shadowy bowers!\"\n\nWhile on the subject of the natural beauties of this season, we must\nintroduce our readers to some admirable verses which have been furnished\nto us by our friend Mr. Stoddart, the author of that fine poem the\n\"Death-Wake,\" and in which its peculiar aspects are described with a\nvery graphic pen:\n\n\nA WINTER LANDSCAPE.\n\n The dew-lark sitteth on the ice, beside the reedless rill;\n The leaf of the hawthorn flutters on the solitary hill;\n The wild lake weareth on its heart a cold and changed look,\n And meets, at the lip of its moon-lit marge, the spiritual brook.\n\n Idly basks the silver swan, near to the isle of trees,\n And to its proud breast come and kiss the billow and the breeze;\n They wash the eider as they play about the bird of grace,\n And boom, in the same slow mood, away, to the moveless mountain-base.\n\n The chieftain-deer, amid the pines, his antlered forehead shows,\n And scarcely are the mosses bent where that stately one arose;\n His step is as the pressure of a light beloved hand,\n And he looketh like a poet's dream in some enchanted land!\n\n A voice of Winter, on the last wild gust of Autumn borne,\n Is hurried from the hills afar, like the windings of a horn;\n And solemnly and heavily the silver birches groan,\n And the old ash waves his wizard hand to the dim, mysterious tone.\n\n And noiselessly, across the heaven, a gray and vapory shred\n Is wandering, fed by phantom clouds that one by one are led\n Out of the wide North, where they grow within the aged sea,\n And in their coils the yellow moon is laboring lazily!\n\n She throws them from her mystic urn, as they were beckoned back\n By some enchantress, working out her spells upon their track;\n Or gathers up their fleecy folds, and shapes them, as they go,\n To hang around her beautiful form a tracery of snow.\n\n Lo, Winter cometh!--and his hoar is heavy on the hill,\n And curiously the frostwork forms below the rimy rill;\n The birth of morn is a gift of pearl to the heath and willow-tree,\n And the green rush hangs o'er its water-bed, shining and silvery.\n\n From the calm of the lake a vapor steals its restless wreath away,\n And leaves not a crisp on the quiet tarn but the wake of the swan\n at play;\n The deer holds up the glistening heath, where his hoof is lightly\n heard,\n And the dew-lark circleth to his song,--sun-lost and lonely bird!\n\nBut the season hath other striking aspects of its own. Pleasant, says\nSouthey,--\n\n \"To the sobered soul,\n The silence of the wintry scene;\n When Nature shrouds her in her trance,\n In deep tranquillity.\n\n \"Not undelightful now to roam\n The wild heath sparkling on the sight;\n Not undelightful now to pace\n The forest's ample rounds,\n\n \"And see the spangled branches shine,\n And snatch the moss of many a hue,\n That varies the old tree's brown bark,\n Or o'er the gray-stone spreads.\"\n\nMr. Southey might have mentioned, too,--as belonging to the same class\nof effects with those produced by the mosses \"of many a hue\" that \"vary\nthe old tree's brown bark,\"--those members of the forest which retain\ntheir dead and many tinted leaves till the ensuing spring, hanging\noccasional wreaths of strange and fantastic beauty in the white tresses\nof winter, together with the rich contrast presented by the red twigs of\nthe dog-wood amid the dark colors of the surrounding boughs. The starry\nheavens, too, at this period of the year, present an occasional aspect\nof extraordinary brilliancy; and the long winter nights are illustrated\nby a pomp of illumination, presenting magnificent contrasts to the cold\nand cheerless earth, and offering unutterable revelations at once to the\nphysical and mental eye.\n\nAmongst the traces of a _former_ beauty not utterly extinguished, and\nthe suggestions of a summer feeling not wholly passed away, we have\nthose both of sight and scent and sound. The lark, \"all independent of\nthe leafy spring,\" as Wordsworth says, has not long ceased to pour his\nanthem through the sky. In propitious seasons, such as we have enjoyed\nfor some years past, he is almost a Christmas-carol singer. The\nChina-roses are with us still, and under proper management will stay\nwith us till the snowdrops come. So will the anemones and the\nwallflowers; and the aconite may be won to come, long \"before the\nswallow dares, and take the winds of _January_ with beauty.\" The cold\nair may be kept fragrant with the breath of the scented coltsfoot, and\nthe lingering perfume of the mignonette. Then we have rosemary, too,\n\"mocking the winter of the year with perfume,\"--\n\n \"Rosemary and rue, which keep\n Seeming and savor all the winter long.\"\n\n\"It looks,\" says Leigh Hunt, pleasantly, \"as if we need have no winter,\nif we choose, as far as flowers are concerned.\" \"There is a story,\" he\nadds, \"in Boccaccio, of a magician who conjured up a garden in\nwinter-time. His magic consisted in his having a knowledge beyond his\ntime; and magic pleasures, so to speak, await on all who choose to\nexercise knowledge after his fashion.\"\n\nBut what we would allude to more particularly here are the evergreens,\nwhich, with their rich and clustering berries, adorn the winter season,\noffering a provision for the few birds that still remain, and hanging a\nfaint memory of summer about the hedges and the groves. The misletoe\nwith its white berries, the holly (Virgil's acanthus) with its scarlet\nberries and pointed leaves, the ivy whose berries are green, the\npyracanthus with its berries of deep orange, the arbutus exhibiting its\nflowers and fruit upon adjacent boughs, the glossy laurel and the\npink-eyed laurestine (not to speak of the red berries of the May-bush,\nthe purple sloes of the blackthorn, or others which show their clusters\nupon leafless boughs, nor of the evergreen trees,--the pine, the fur,\nthe cedar, or the cypress), are all so many pleasant remembrancers of\nthe past, and so many types to man of that which is imperishable in his\nown nature. And it is probably both _because_ they are such\nremembrancers of what the heart so much loves, and such types of what it\nso much desires, that they are gathered about our doors and within our\nhomes at this period of natural decay and religious regeneration, and\nmingle their picturesque forms and hopeful morals with all the mysteries\nand ceremonies of the season.\n\n[Illustration: COUNTRY CAROL SINGERS.--_Page 157._]\n\n\n\n\nSIGNS OF THE SEASON.\n\n\nWE have said that the coming festivities of the season \"fling their\nshadows\" long before: the _avant-couriers_ of the old man are to be seen\nadvancing in all directions. At home and abroad, in town and in country,\nin the remote farmstead and on the king's highway, we are met by the\nsymptoms of his approach, and the arrangements making for his reception.\n\nWe will not dwell here on the domestic operations which are so familiar\nto all,--the ample provision for good cheer, which has long been making\nin every man's home who can at any time afford to make good cheer at\nall. We need not remind our town readers of the increased activity\nvisible in all the interior departments of each establishment, and the\napparent extent and complication of its foreign relations; the councils\nheld with the housekeeper and cook; the despatches to the butcher,\nbaker, poulterer, and confectioner, which are their consequence; and the\nefficient state of preparation which is arising out of all these\nenergetic movements. To our country readers we need not dwell upon the\nslaughter of fowls in the poultry-yard, and game in the field, or the\nwholesale doings within doors for the manufacture of pastry of all\nconceivable kinds and in all its conceivable forms. And to neither the\none nor the other is it necessary that we should speak of the packages,\nin every shape and size, which both are getting ready, for the\ninterchange between friends of the commodities of their respective\npositions. Here, however, the town has clearly the advantage in point of\ngain, and the country in point of character,--the former having little\nbesides barrels of oysters and baskets of Billingsgate fish to furnish\nto the country larders in return for the entire range of the products of\nthe dairy, farmyard, and game-field.\n\nBut however lightly we may allude to the other articles which enter into\nthe charge of the commissariat department, and have no distinctive\ncharacter, at this particular season, beyond their unimaginable\nabundance, we are by no means at liberty, without a more special notice,\nto pass over the mystery of MINCE-PIE! We speak not here of the _merits_\nof that marvellous compound; because a dish which has maintained without\nimpeachment, since long before the days of honest old Tusser (who calls\nthese marvels shred-pies), the same supreme character which it holds\namongst the men of these latter days, may very well dispense with our\ncommendation; and every school-boy knows, from his own repeated\nexperience, the utter inadequacy of language to convey any notion of the\nineffable flavor of this unapproachable viand. The poverty of speech is\nnever so conspicuous as when even its richest forms are used for the\npurpose of describing that which is utterly beyond its resources; and we\nhave witnessed most lamentable, although ludicrous, failures, on the\npart of eloquent but imprudent men, in their ambitious attempts to give\nexpression to their sensations under the immediate influence of this\nunutterable combination. It is therefore to other properties than those\nwhich make their appeal to the palate that we must confine ourselves in\nour mention of mince-pie.\n\nThe origin of this famous dish, like that of the heroic in all kinds and\nclasses, is involved in fable. By some it has been supposed, from the\nOriental ingredients which enter into its composition, to have a\nreference (as probably had also the plum-porridge of those days) to the\nofferings made by the wise men of the East; and it was anciently the\ncustom to make these pies of an oblong form, thereby representing the\nmanger in which, on that occasion, those sages found the infant Jesus.\nAgainst this practice--which was of the same character with that of the\nlittle image called the Yule Dough, or Yule Cake, formerly presented by\nbakers to their customers at the anniversary of the Nativity--the\nPuritans made a vehement outcry, as idolatrous; and certainly it\nappears to us somewhat more objectionable than many of those which they\ndenounced, in the same category. Of course it was supported by the\nCatholics with a zeal the larger part of which (as in most cases of\ncontroversy where the passions are engaged) was derived from the\nopposition of their adversaries; and the latter having pronounced the\nmince-pie to be an abomination, the eating thereof was immediately\nestablished as a test of orthodoxy by the former. Sandys mentions that\neven when distressed for a comfortable meal they would refuse to partake\nof this very tempting dish, when set before them, and mentions John\nBunyan when in confinement as an example. He recommends that under such\nextreme circumstances they should be eaten with a protest, as might be\ndone by a lawyer in a similar case.\n\nIn a struggle like this, however, it is clear that the advocates of\nmince-pie were likely to have the best of it, through the powerful\nauxiliary derived to their cause from the savoriness of the dish itself.\nThe legend of the origin of eating roast-pig, which we have on the\nauthority of Charles Lamb, exhibits the rapid spread of that practice,\nagainst the sense of its abomination, on the strength of the\nirresistible appeals made to the palate by the _crackling_. And\naccordingly, in the case of mince-pie we find that the delicious\ncompound has come down to our days, stripped of its objectionable forms\nand more mystic meanings, from the moment when they ceased to be topics\nof disputation, and is freely partaken of by the most rigid\nPresbyterian, who raises \"no question\" thereon \"for conscience' sake.\"\n\nIt may be observed, however, that relics of the more recondite virtues\nascribed to this dish by the Catholics, in the days of its sectarian\npersecution, still exist in the superstitions which attach certain\nprivileges and promises to its consumption. In some places the form of\nthis superstition, we believe, is, that for every house in which a\nmince-pie shall be eaten at the Christmas season, the eater shall enjoy\na happy month in the coming year. As, however, this version would limit\nthe consumption, as far as any _future_ benefit is attached to it, to\nthe insufficient number of twelve, we greatly prefer an edition of the\nsame belief which we have met with elsewhere, and which promises a happy\n_day_ for every individual pie eaten during the same period,--thereby\ngiving a man a direct and prospective interest in the consumption of as\nlarge a number out of three hundred and sixty-five as may happen to\nagree with his inclination.\n\nLeaving, however, those proceedings which are going on within our homes,\nand of which the manufacture of mince-pies forms so important an\narticle, we must turn to the symptoms of the approaching holiday that\nmeet the eye at every turn which we make out of doors. He who will take\nthe king's highway in his search after these, planting himself on the\noutside of a stage-coach, will have the greater number of such signs\nbrought under his observation in the progress of a journey which whirls\nhim through town and village, and by park and farmhouse.\n\nThe road is alive with travellers; and along its whole extent there is\nan air of aimless bustle, if we may so express ourselves,--an appearance\nof active idleness. No doubt he who shall travel that same road in the\ndays of hay-making or harvest will see as dense a population following\ntheir avocations in the open air and swarming in the fields. But then at\nthose periods of labor the crowds are more widely scattered over the\nface of the country, and each individual is earnestly engaged in the\nprosecution of some positive pursuit, amid a silence scarcely broken by\nthe distant whistle or occasional song that comes faintly to the ear\nthrough the rich sunny air. People are busier without being so bustling.\nBut now all men are in action, though all men's business seems\nsuspended. The population are gathered together in groups at the corners\nof streets or about the doors of ale-houses, and the mingling voices of\nthe speakers and the sound of the merry laugh come sharp and ringing\nthrough the clear frosty air. There is the appearance, every way, of a\nseason of transition. The only conspicuous evidence of the business of\nlife going forward with a keen and steady view to its ordinary objects,\nexists in the abundant displays made at the windows of every\nshopkeeper, in every village along the road. Vehicles of all kinds are\nin motion; stage-coach, post-chaise, and private carriage are alike\nfilled with travellers passing in all directions to their several places\nof assembling, and give glimpses of faces bright with the re-awakened\naffections that are radiating on all sides to common centres. Everywhere\nhearts are stirred and pulses quickened by pleasant anticipations; and\nmany a current of feelings which for the rest of the year has wandered\nonly in the direction of the world's miry ways and been darkened by its\npollutions, met by the memories of the season and turned back from its\nunpleasing course, is flowing joyously back by every highway into the\nsweet regions of its pure and untainted spring.\n\n[Illustration: COMING HOME FROM SCHOOL.--_Page 163._]\n\nBut of all wayfarers who are journeying towards the haunts of Christmas,\nwho so happy as the emancipated school-boy? And of all vehicles that are\ncarrying contributions of mirth to that general festival, what vehicle\nis so richly stored therewith as the post-chaise that holds a group of\nthese young travellers? The glad day which has been the subject of\nspeculation so long before, and has been preceded by days which, in\ntheir imaginary calendar, are beyond any question the very longest days\nof all the year, has at length arrived, after seeming as if it never\nwould arrive, and the long restrained and hourly increasing tide of\nexpectation has at length burst its barriers, and is rushing forward\nwith no little noise, into the sea of fruition. \"_Eja! quid silemus?_\"\nsays the well-known breaking-up song of the Winchester boys; and the\nsentiment therein expressed is wide awake (as everything must be, on\nthis morning, that lies within any reasonable distance of their voices)\nin the breast of every school-boy, at all schools.\n\n \"Appropinquat ecce! felix\n Hora gaudiorum,\n Post grave tedium,\n Advenit omnium\n Meta petita laborum.\n Domum, domum, dulce domum!\n Domum, domum, dulce domum!\n Dulce, dulce, dulce domum!\n Dulce domum resonemus.\n\n \"Musa! libros mitte, fessa;\n Mitte pensa dura,\n Mitte negotium,\n Jam datur otium,\n Mea mittito cura!\n Domum, domum, etc.\n\n . . . . . . .\n\n \"Heus, Rogere, fer caballos;\n Eja nunc eamus,\n Limen amabile,\n Matris et oscula,\n Suaviter et repetamus\n Domum, domum, etc.\n\n \"Concinamus ad Penates,\n Vox et audiatur;\n Phosphore! quid jubar,\n Segnius emicans,\n Gaudia nostra moratur.\n Domum, domum, etc.\"\n\nAnd away they go well inclined to act up to the injunctions of the\nancient song. \"_Concinamus, O Sodales!_\" Our readers will do well on the\npresent occasion to translate the verb by its English equivalent,--to\nshout. \"_Vox et audiatur!_\"--small doubt of that! That deaf-looking old\nwoman by the way-side must be \"very deaf indeed\" if the sounds of that\nmerriment have failed at least to reach her ears,--though they may get\nno further; for she looks like one of those in whom all the avenues by\nwhich mirth reaches the heart, where they have not been closed at their\nexternal outlets by the infirmities of age, are choked up within by the\nruins of that heart itself. But the entire progress of these glad hearts\nto-day is in the nature of a triumph, and all objects in its course are\nministers to their unreflecting mirth. Theirs is the blessed age, and\nthis its most privileged day, when the spirit can extract from all\nthings the chyle of cheerfulness. That urchin who is flinging alms (a\nmost gracious act in childhood!) is doing so to the sound of his merry\nneighbor's trumpet; and yet the act performed and the duty remembered,\namid all the heydey and effervescence of the spirits, has not lost its\ngracefulness for the frolicsome mood by which it is attended. There are\nmen in this world who dispense their charities to the flourish of _their\nown_ trumpets; and though they are practised performers on that\ninstrument, and play with considerable skill, the effect is unpleasing\nand the act a mockery. Away go the light-hearted boys! away past the\naged and the poor,--as happiness has long since done, and the happy have\nlong continued to do!--awaking the shrill echoes of the road and all its\nadjacent fields with the sound of their revelry. Every school-boy knows\nthe programme. Flags flying, horns blowing, racing against rival\nchaises, taunts from the foremost, cheers from the hindmost, all sorts\nof practical jokes upon each other and upon all they meet and all they\npass, and above all, the loud, ringing laugh,--the laugh of boyhood, so\nunlike all other laughter, that comes out clear and distinct, direct\nfrom the heart, stopping nowhere on its way, not pausing to be\nquestioned by the judgment nor restrained by the memory, presenting no\nhollowness nor flatness to the nicest attention, betraying no under-tone\nto the finest ear, giving true and unbroken \"echoes to the seat where\n_mirth_ is throned,\" born spontaneously of that spirit, and excited so\noften by causes too minute for older eyes to see. And it is in this very\ncauselessness that consists the spell of childhood's laughter, and the\nsecret of youth's unmingled joy. We seldom begin to seek _reasons_ for\nbeing gay till we have had some for being grave; and the search after\nthe former is very apt to bring us upon more of the latter. There are\ntares among that wheat. The moment we commence to distrust our\nlight-heartedness, it begins to evade us. From the day when we think it\nnecessary to reason upon our enjoyments, to philosophize upon our\nmirth, to analyze our gladness, their free and unmingled character is\ngone. The toy is taken to pieces to see of what it was composed, and can\nno more be put together in the same perfect form. They who have entered\nupon the paths of knowledge, or gone far into the recesses of\nexperience, like the men of yore who ventured to explore the cave of\nTrophonius, may perhaps find something higher and better than the\nlight-heartedness they lose, but they smile never more as they smiled of\nold. The fine, clear instrument of the spirit that we bring with us from\nheaven is liable to injury from all that acts upon it here; and the\nstring that has once been broken or disordered, repair it as we may,\n_never_ again gives out the precise tone which it did before. The old\nman,--nay, even the young man,--let him be as merry as he may, and laugh\nas long and loudly as he will, never laughs as the school-boy laughs.\n\nBut of all this, and all the slumbering passions yet to be awakened in\nthose young breasts, and of many a grief to come, there is no token to\ndarken the joy of to-day. The mighty pleasures towards which they are\nhastening have as yet never \"broken the word of promise to their hope.\"\nThe postilions are of their party, and even he with the bottle-nose, who\nseems to be none of the youngest, is a boy for the nonce. The very\nhorses appear to have caught the spirit of the occasion, and toss their\nheads and lay their haunches to the ground and fling out their forelegs\nas if they drew the car of Momus. The village boys return them shout for\nshout, fling up their hats as the triumph approaches, and follow it till\ntheir breath fails. The older passer-by returns their uproarious salute,\ntaking no umbrage at their mischievous jokes and impish tricks, and\nturning, as the sounds of the merry voices die in the distance, to a\nvision of the days when he too was a boy, and an unconscious rehearsal\nof the half-forgotten song of \"Dulce, dulce domum!\"\n\nAnd then the \"limen amabile,\" and the \"matris oscula,\" and the\n\"Penates,\" towards which they are advancing; the yearning hearts that\nwait within those homes to clasp them; the bright eyes that are even now\nlooking out from windows to catch the first token of \"their coming, and\nlook brighter when they come;\" the quiet halls that shall ring to-night\nto their young voices; and the lanes and alleys whose echoes they shall\nawaken to-morrow, and still more loudly when the ice comes; and, above\nall, the Christmas revelries themselves! The whole is one crowded scene\nof enjoyment, across whose long extent the happy school-boy has as yet\ncaught no glimpse of that _black Monday_ which forms the opposite and\ndistant portal of this haunted time.\n\nAmongst the signs of the time that are conspicuous upon the roads the\ntraveller whose journeyings bring him towards those which lead into the\nmetropolis will be struck by the droves of cattle that are making their\npainful way up to the great mart for this great festival. But a still\nmore striking, though less noisy, Christmas symptom forms a very amusing\nobject to him who leaves London by such of its highways as lead\neastward. There is little exaggeration in the accompanying picture of a\nLynn or Bury coach on its town-ward journey with its freight of turkeys\nat the Christmas season. Nay, as regards the freightage itself, the\nartist has kept himself within bounds. Many a time have we seen a\nNorfolk coach with its hampers piled on the roof and swung from beneath\nthe body, and its birds depending, by every possible contrivance, from\nevery part from which a bird could be made to hang. Nay, we believe it\nis not unusual with the proprietors, at this season, to refuse inside\npassengers of the human species, in favor of these Oriental gentry, who\n\"pay better;\" and on such occasions of course they set at defiance the\nrestriction which limits them to carrying \"four insides.\" Within and\nwithout, the coaches are crammed with the bird of Turkey; and a\ngentleman town-ward bound, who presented himself at a Norwich\ncoach-office at such a time, to inquire the \"fare to London,\" was pertly\nanswered by the bookkeeper, \"Turkeys.\" Our readers will acquit us of\nexaggeration when we tell them that Mr. Hone, in his \"Every-Day Book,\"\nquotes from an historical account of Norwich an authentic statement of\nthe amount of turkeys which were transmitted from that city to London\nbetween a Saturday morning and the night of Sunday, in the December of\n1793, which statement gives the number as one thousand seven hundred,\nthe weight as nine tons, two hundredweight, and two pounds, and the\nvalue as \u00a3680. It is added that in the two following days these were\nfollowed by half as many more. We are unable to furnish the present\nstatistics of the matter; but in forty years which have elapsed since\nthat time the demand, and of course the supply, must have greatly\nincreased; and it is probable that the coach-proprietors find it\nconvenient to put extra carriages on the road for these occasions.\n\n[Illustration: NORFOLK COACH AT CHRISTMAS.--_Page 170._]\n\nIn making the annexed sketch we presume that Mr. Seymour must have had\nin mind, and intended to illustrate by \"modern instances,\" that class of\n\"wise saws\" such as \"Birds of a feather flock together,\" \"Tell me the\ncompany, and I will tell you the man,\" and others which tend generally\nto show that men are apt to catch the hues of surrounding objects, and\ntake the features of their associates. If this was not his design, we\nhave only the alternative conclusion, that he had drawn turkeys till he\ncould draw nothing else, and till his best efforts at representing \"the\nhuman face divine\" resulted in what the Scotch call a \"bubbly-jock.\"\nSome poet, in describing the perfections of his mistress's countenance,\nspeaks of it as conveying the impression that she \"had looked on heaven,\nand caught its beauty.\" Our friend the guard of this coach seems to\nhave looked on those turkeys of which he has charge till he has \"caught\ntheir beauty.\" It is impossible to conceive that the breath which he is\npouring into that horn of his should issue in any other form of sound\nthan that of a gobble. The coachman is clearly a turkey in disguise; and\nthe old-looking figure that sits behind him, with something like a\nsausage round its neck, is probably his father. As for the swan with two\nnecks that floats on the panel of the coach-door, it is a\nstrange-looking bird at any time, but looks considerably more strange in\nits present situation. It is unquestionably out of place, and forms no\nfitting cognizance for a Norfolk coach at Christmas time.\n\nNorfolk must be a noisy county. There must be a \"pretty considerable\ndeal\" of gabble towards the month of November in that English Turkistan.\nBut what a silence must have fallen upon its farmyards since Christmas\nhas come round! Turkeys are indisputably born to be killed. That is an\naxiom. It is the end of their training, as it ought to be (and, in one\nsense, certainly _is_) of their desires. And such being the destiny of\nthis bird, it may probably be an object of ambition with a respectable\nturkey to fulfil its fate at the period of this high festival. Certain\nit is that at no other time can it attain to such dignities as belong to\nthe turkey who smokes on the well-stored table of a Christmas\ndinner,--the most honored dish of all the feast. Something like an\nanxiety for this promotion is to be inferred from the breathless haste\nof the turkey of which our artist has here given us a sketch, in its\npursuit of the coach which has started for London without it. The\npicture is evidently a portrait. There is an air of verisimilitude in\nthe eager features, and about the action altogether, of the bird, which\nstamps it genuine. In its anxiety it has come off without even waiting\nto be killed; and at the rate after which it appears to be travelling,\nis, we think, likely enough to come up with a heavily laden coach. We\nhope, however, that it is not in pursuit of the particular coach which\nwe have seen on its way to the \"Swan with two Necks,\" because we verily\nbelieve there is no room on _that_ conveyance for a single additional\nturkey, even if it should succeed in overtaking it.\n\n[Illustration: TOO LATE FOR THE COACH.]\n\nOne of the most striking signs of the season, and which meets the eye\nin all directions, is that which arises out of the ancient and still\nfamiliar practice of adorning our houses and churches with evergreens\nduring the continuance of this festival. The decorations of our\nmantel-pieces, and in many places of our windows, the wreaths which\nornament our lamps and Christmas candles, the garniture of our tables,\nare alike gathered from the hedges and winter gardens; and in the\nneighborhood of every town and village the traveller may meet with some\nsuch sylvan procession as is here represented, or some group of boys\nreturning from the woods laden with their winter greenery, and like the\nsturdy ambassador in the plate, engaged in what we have heard\ntechnically called \"bringing home Christmas\" This symptom of the\napproaching festivity is mentioned by Gay in his \"Trivia\":--\n\n \"When Rosemary and Bays, the poet's crown,\n Are bawl'd in frequent cries through all the town,\n Then judge the festival of Christmass near,--\n Christmass, the joyous period of the year!\n Now with bright holly all the temples strow;\n With Lawrel green, and sacred Misletoe.\"\n\n[Illustration: BRINGING HOME CHRISTMAS.--_Page 173._]\n\nThe practice of these decorations, which is recommended to modern times\nby its own pleasantness and natural beauty, is of very high antiquity,\nand has been ascribed by various writers to various sources. They who\nare desirous of tracing a Christian observance to a Christian cause\nremind us of those figurative expressions in the prophets which speak\nof the Messiah as the \"Branch of righteousness,\" etc., and describe by\nnatural allusions the fertility which should attend his coming. \"The\nLord shall comfort Zion,\" says Isaiah: \"he will comfort all her waste\nplaces; and he will make her wilderness like Eden, and her desert like\nthe garden of the Lord.\" Again, \"The glory of Lebanon shall come unto\nthee, the fir tree, the pine tree, and the box together, to beautify the\nplace of my sanctuary; and I will make the place of my feet glorious.\"\nAnd Nehemiah, on an occasion of rejoicing, orders the people, after the\nlaw of Moses, to \"go forth unto the mount and fetch olive branches, and\npine branches, and myrtle branches, and palm branches, and branches of\nthick trees,\" and to make booths thereof, \"every one upon the roof of\nhis house, and in their courts, and in the courts of the house of God,\"\nand in the streets; \"and all the congregation of them that were come\nagain out of the captivity\" sat under these booths, \"and there was very\ngreat gladness.\" A writer in the \"Gentleman's Magazine\" asks if this\ncustom may not be referred, as well as that of the palms on Palm Sunday,\nto that passage in the Scripture account of Christ's entry into\nJerusalem which states that the multitude \"cut down branches from the\ntrees, and strawed them in the way.\"\n\nThe practice, however, of introducing flowers and branches amongst the\ntokens of festivity seems, and very naturally, to have existed\nuniversally and at all times. It was, as we know, a pagan manifestation\nof rejoicing and worship, and is forbidden on that express ground in\nearly councils of the Christian Church. Hone, in his \"Every-Day Book,\"\nquotes Polydore Virgil to the effect that \"trymming of the temples with\nhangynges, flowres, boughes, and garlondes, was taken of the heathen\npeople, whiche decked their idols and houses with suche array;\" and it\ncame under the list of abominations denounced by the Puritans for the\nsame reason. The practice was also in use amongst the nations both of\nGothic and Celtic origin; and Brand quotes from Dr. Chandler's \"Travels\nin Greece\" a very beautiful superstition, mentioned as the reason of\nthis practice, amongst the votaries of Druidism. \"The houses,\" he says,\n\"were decked with evergreens in December, that the sylvan spirits might\nrepair to them and remain unnipped with frost and cold winds until a\nmilder season had renewed the foliage of their darling abodes.\"\n\nIn England the practice, whencesoever derived, has existed from the very\nearliest days, and, in spite of outcry and prohibition, has come down in\nfull vigor to our own. In former times, as we learn from Stow, in his\n\"Survey of London,\" not only were our houses and churches decorated with\nevergreens, but also the conduits, standards, and crosses in the\nstreets; and in our own day they continue to form a garniture not only\nof our temples and our houses, but constitute a portion of the striking\ndisplay made at this festive season in our markets and from the windows\nof our shops. Holly forms a decoration of the shambles, and every tub\nof butter has a sprig of rosemary in its breast.\n\nThe plants most commonly in use for this purpose appear to have\ngenerally been the holly, the ivy, the laurel, the rosemary, and the\nmistletoe; although the decorations were by no means limited to these\nmaterials. Brand expresses some surprise at finding cypress included in\nthe list, as mentioned in the tract called \"Round about our Coal-Fire,\"\nand observes that he \"should as soon have expected to have seen the\n_yew_ as the cypress used on this joyful occasion.\" The fact, however,\nis that yew _is_ frequently mentioned amongst the Christmas decorations,\nas well as box, pine, fir, and indeed the larger part of the Christmas\nplants which we have enumerated in a former chapter. The greater number\nof these appear to have been so used, not on account of any mystic\nmeanings supposed to reside therein, but simply for the sake of their\ngreenery or of their rich berries. Stow speaks of the houses being\ndecked with \"whatsoever the year afforded to be green;\" and Sandys\nobserves that \"at present great variety is observed in decorating our\nhouses and buildings, and many flowers are introduced that were unknown\nto our ancestors, but whose varied colors add to the cheerful effect; as\nthe chrysanthemum, satin-flower, etc., mingling with the red berry of\nthe holly and the mystic mistletoe. In the West of England,\" he adds,\n\"the myrtle and laurustinum form a pleasing addition.\" There is a very\nbeautiful custom which we find mentioned in connection with the subject\nof evergreens as existing at this season of the year in some parts of\nGermany and Sicily. A large bough is set up in the principal room, the\nsmaller branches of which are hung with little presents suitable to the\ndifferent members of the household. \"A good deal of innocent mirth and\nspirit of courtesy,\" it is observed, \"is produced by this custom.\"\n\nHerrick, however (a poet amid whose absurd conceits and intolerable\naffectation there are samples of the sweetest versification and touches\nof the deepest pathos, and who amongst a great deal that is liable to\nheavier objections still, has preserved many curious particulars of old\nceremonies and obsolete superstitions), carries this custom of adorning\nour houses with evergreens over the entire year, and assigns to each\nplant its peculiar and appropriate season. To Christmas he appoints\nthose which we have stated to be most commonly used on that occasion,\nbut insists upon a change of decoration on the eve of Candlemas Day:--\n\n \"Down with the rosemary, and so\n Down with the baies and misletoe;\n Down with the holly, ivie, all\n Wherewith you drest the Christmas hall;\n That so the superstitious find\n Not one least branch there left behind;\"\n\nand he urges the maids to the careful performance of this charge by the\nfollowing threat:--\n\n \"For look! how many leaves there be\n Neglected there, maids, trust to me,\n So many goblins you shall see.\"\n\nThe plant by which he orders these to be replaced for Candlemas Day is\nbox, whose turn is to continue--\n\n \"Until the dancing Easter Day\n Or Easter's Eve appeare.\"\n\nThen the box is to make way for \"the crisped yew;\" which is to be\nsucceeded at Whitsuntide by birch and the flowers of the season; and\nthese again are to yield to the--\n\n \"Green rushes, then, and sweetest bents,\n With cooler oken boughs;\"\n\nwhose reign continues till the period again comes round of preparation\nfor Christmas. We believe that it is still usual in many parts of\nEngland to suffer the Christmas greens to remain in the windows of our\nchurches, and sometimes of our houses, until Candlemas Eve.\n\nOf those plants, then, which are considered as containing meanings that\nmake them appropriate decorations for the Christmas-tide, or which have\nfor any reason been peculiarly devoted to that season, the laurel, or\nbay, may be dismissed in a few words. Since the days of the ancient\nRomans this tree has been at all times dedicated to all purposes of\njoyous commemoration, and its branches have been used as the emblems of\npeace and victory and joy. Of course its application is obvious to a\nfestival which includes them all, which celebrates \"peace on earth,\"\n\"glad tidings of great joy,\" and a triumph achieved over the powers of\nevil and the original curse by the coming of the Saviour.\n\nWe may add that, besides forming a portion of the household decorations,\nit is usual in some places to fling branches and sprigs of laurel on the\nChristmas fire, and seek for omens amid the curling and crackling of its\nleaves:--\n\n \"When laurell spirts i' th' fire, and when the hearth\n Smiles to itselfe and guilds the roofe with mirth;\n When up the Thyrse is rais'd, and when the sound\n Of sacred orgies flyes around, around,\"\n\nsays Herrick. At the two English universities the windows of the college\nchapels are still carefully decked with laurel at the season of\nChristmas.\n\nThe holly is a plant of peculiar veneration at this period of the\nyear,--so much so as to have acquired to itself by a popular metonymy\nthe name of the season itself, being vulgarly called \"Christmas.\" It is\nno doubt recommended to the general estimation in which it is held by\nthe picturesque forms of its dark, glossy leaves and the brilliant\nclusters of its rich red berries. There is in the Harleian Manuscripts a\nvery striking carol of so remote a date as the reign of Henry VI., which\nis quoted by most of the writers on this subject, and gives a very\npoetical statement of the respective claims of this plant and of the ivy\nto popular regard. The inference from the second and fourth verses\n(taken in connection with the authorities which place it amongst the\nplants used for the Christmas ornaments) would seem to be, that while\nthe former was employed in the decorations within doors, the latter was\nconfined to the exteriors of buildings. Mr. Brand, however, considers\nthose passages to allude to its being used as a vintner's sign and\ninfers from others of the verses that it was also amongst the evergreens\nemployed at funerals. It runs thus:--\n\n \"Nay, Ivy! nay, it shall not be, I wys;\n Let Holy hafe the maystry, as the manner ys.\n\n \"Holy stond in the halle, fayre to behold;\n Ivy stond without the dore: she ys ful sore a cold.\n Nay, Ivy! etc.\n\n \"Holy and hys mery men they dawnsyn and they syng.\n Ivy and hur maydenys they wepyn and they wryng.\n Nay, Ivy! etc.\n\n \"Ivy hath a lyve; she laghtyt with the cold:\n So mot they all hafe that wyth Ivy hold.\n Nay, Ivy! etc.\n\n \"Holy hat berys as rede as any rose,\n The foster the hunters kepe hem from the doos.\n Nay, Ivy! etc.\n\n \"Ivy hath berys as blake as any slo;\n Ther com the oule and ete hym as she goo.\n Nay, Ivy! etc.\n\n \"Holy hath byrdys a ful fayre flok,\n The Nyghtyngale, the Poppingy, the gayntyl Lavyrok.\n Nay, Ivy! etc.\n\n \"Good Ivy, what byrdys ast thou?\n Non but the howlet that kreye 'How, how!'\n Nay, Ivy! nay, hyt shal not, etc.\"\n\nWe had some thoughts of modernizing the orthography, and very slightly\nthe diction, of this curious old ballad; but it reads best in its own\nquaint garb, and even those of our friends who are not in the habit of\nperusing ancient writings will find scarcely any difficulty in making it\nout.\n\nThe rosemary, besides its rich fragrance, and probably _because_\nthereof, was supposed to possess many occult virtues, and was used for\nthe sake of one or other of them on occasions both of rejoicing and of\nmourning. It was believed to clear the head, to strengthen the memory,\nand to make touching appeals to the heart. For these reasons it was\nborne both at weddings and at funerals. Herrick says:--\n\n \"Grow for two ends, it matters not at all,\n Be 't for my bridal or my burial.\"\n\n\"There's rosemary,\" says Ophelia; \"that's for remembrance: pray you,\nlove, remember;\" and the custom of decking the corpse with this flower,\nas well as that of flinging its sprigs into the grave, would naturally\nspring out of this touching superstition. Its presence at bridals would\nseem to suggest that it was dedicated to hope as well as to memory. We\nhave in Shakspeare's play of \"Romeo and Juliet\" allusions to the use of\nthis herb on both of these important but very different occasions, which\nallusions are affecting from the application of both to the same young\ngirl. The first, which refers to the joyous celebration, occurs in an\ninterview between Romeo and the Nurse of Juliet, in which arrangements\nare making for the secret marriage, where the garrulous old woman\nobserves, as hinting at Juliet's willingness, \"She hath the prettiest\nsententious of it, of you and rosemary, that it would do you good to\nhear it.\" The second is in that scene in which Juliet is supposed to be\ndead:\n\n \"_Friar._ Come, is the bride ready to go to church?\n _Capulet._ Ready to go, but never to return!\"\n\nAnd is inserted amongst the holy father's exhortations to resignation:--\n\n \"Dry up your tears, and stick your rosemary\n On this fair corse; and, as the custom is,\n In all her best array bear her to church.\"\n\nIndependently of the beautiful suggestion to remembrance which is made\nby its enduring perfume, that precious perfume itself would recommend\nthis herb, for reasons less fine, as \"strewings fitt'st for graves.\" The\nfact of its being in bloom at this season would naturally introduce the\nrosemary, with all its fine morals, into the Christmas celebrations;\nand such customs as that which prescribed that the wassail-bowl should\nbe stirred with a sprig of this plant before it went round amongst\nfriends, seem to have a very elegant reference to its secret virtues\n(\"that's for remembrance,\" perhaps), and suggest that the revellings of\nthe season in those old times were mingled with the best and most\nrefined feelings of our nature.\n\nBut the mistletoe, the mystic mistletoe, where is the man whose\nschool-boy days are gone by, in whom that word conjures up no merry\nmemories?\n\n\"Oh, the mistletoe-bough!\" who hath not, at the name, thronging visions\nof sweet faces that looked sweetest in those moments of their startled\nbeauty beneath the pendent bough! If the old spells with which\nsuperstition has invested the mistletoe have lost some of their power\nover me, it hath now another, which in earlier days I knew not of,--the\npower to restore the distant and to raise the dead. I am to laugh no\nmore as I have laughed of old beneath the influence of that mystic\ncognizance of the gay Christmas-tide; but even now as I write thereof,\nlook in upon my heart bright portraits, traced with a skill which no\nmortal pencil shall achieve,--faces on which the earth hath long lain,\nand others from whom the wide spaces of the world have separated me for\nmany a weary year; and, heavier far, some to whom _unkindness_ hath made\nme too long a stranger! There they rise and stand, one by one, beneath\nthe merry snare, each with the heightened beauty on her cheek, which is\nthe transient gift of the sacred bough!\n\nO M----! how very fair is thine image in the eye of memory, and how has\nthy going away changed all things for me! The bright and the beautiful\nlie still about,--still bright and beautiful even to me,--but in another\nmanner than when thou wert here. All things are tinged with thy loss.\nAll fair things have a look, and all sweet sounds a tone, of mourning\nsince thou leftest me. How long it seems, as if ages, instead of years,\nof the grave had grown between us, as if, indeed, I had known thee in\nsome former and far-removed state of being! I do not love to think of\nthee as dead, I strive to think of thee rather as of one whom I have\nleft behind in the quiet valley of our youth and our love,--from whom I\nhave wandered forth and lost my way amid the mazes of the world. But\nwhere is the clew that should lead me back to thee? There may have been\nfairer (sweeter never) things than thou in this fair world, but my heart\ncould never be made to believe or understand it. Had I known thee only\nin that world, I might not so have marked thy beauty; but thou wert with\nme when the world left me. In the flood of the sunshine, when a thousand\nbirds are about us, we go upon our way with a sense that there is melody\naround, but singling perhaps no one note to take home to the heart and\nmake a worship of. But the one bird that sings to us in the dim and\nsilent night--oh! none but they on whom the night has fallen can know\nhow dear its song becomes, filling with its music all the deserted\nmansions of the lonely soul. But the bird is dead, the song is hushed,\nand the houses of my spirit are empty and silent and desolate!\n\nAnd thou whom the grave hath not hidden, nor far distance removed, from\nwhom I parted as if it were but yesterday, and yet of whom I have\nalready learned to think as of one separated from me by long years of\nabsence and death, as if it were very long since I had beheld thee,--as\nif I gazed upon thee from a far distance across the lengthened and\ndreary alleys of the valley of the dead! Physically speaking, thou art\nstill within my reach; and yet art thou to me as if the tomb or the\ncloister had received thee, and made of thee (what the world or the\ngrave makes of all things we have loved) a dream of the night, a phantom\nof the imagination, an angel of the memory, a creation of the hour of\nshadows! Whatever may be thy future fortunes, however thy name may\nhereafter be borne to my mortal ear, my heart will ever refuse to\npicture _thee_ but as one who died in her youth!\n\nAnd _thou_!--thou too art there, with thy long fair hair and that harp\nof thine which was so long an ark of harmony for me. \"Alas! we had been\nfriends in youth.\" But _all_ things bring _thee_ back, and I am haunted\nyet, and shall be through the world, by the airs which thou wert wont to\nsing me long ago. I remember that even in those days, at times, in the\nsilent night, when broken snatches of melodies imperfectly remembered\nstole through the chambers of my heart,--ever in the sweet tones in\nwhich it had learned to love them,--I have asked myself if the ties that\nbound us might ever be like those passing and half-forgotten melodies;\nif the time could ever come when they should be like an old song learned\nin life's happier day, and whose memory has been treasured, to make us\nweep in the years when the heart has need to be soothed by weeping; if\nthere would ever be a day when thy name might be sounded in mine ear as\nthe name of a stranger! And that day has long since come,--\n\n \"For whispering tongues will poison truth.\"\n\nHow truly may we be said to live but in the past and in the future,--to\nhave our hearts made up of memory and of hope, for which the present\nbecomes, hour after hour, more and more of a void! And alas! is it not\ntrue, as a consequence, that the more they are occupied with memory, the\nless room have they for hope? And thus the one is ever gaining upon the\nother, and the dark waters of memory are hourly spreading upon that\nshore where hope had room to build her edifices and to play about them,\ntill at length they cover all, and hope, having \"no rest for the sole of\nher foot,\" flies forward to a higher and a better shore!\n\nAnd such are my visions of the mistletoe; these are amongst the spirits\nthat rise up to wait upon my memory,--\"they and the other spirits\" of\nthe mystic bough! But brighter fancies has that charmed branch for many\nof our readers, and merrier spirits hide amid its leaves. Many a\npleasant tale could we tell of the mistletoe-bough which might amuse our\nreaders more than the descriptions to which we are confined, if the\nlimits of our volume would permit. But already our space is scarcely\nsufficient for our purpose. We think we can promise our readers in\nanother volume a series of tales connected with the traditions and\nsuperstitions which are detailed in the present, and which may serve as\nillustrations of the customs of the Christmas-tide.\n\nSome of the names by which this remarkable plant were formerly called\nare, \"misselden,\" \"misseldine,\" and, more commonly, \"missel.\" Old Tusser\ntells us that,--\n\n \"If snow do continue, sheep hardly that fare,\n Crave mistle and ivy;\"\n\nand Archdeacon Nares says \"the missel-thrush\" is so designated \"from\nfeeding on its berries.\" From the generality of the examples in which\nthis plant is mentioned by the name of \"missel,\" it is suggested to us,\nby Mr. Crofton Croker that the additional syllable given to the name\nnow in common use is a corruption of the old _tod_, and that mistletoe,\nor mistletod, implies a _bush_, or bunch, of missel, such as is commonly\nhung up at Christmas. He quotes in support of this suggestion the\ncorresponding phrase of \"ivy-tod,\" which occurs frequently in the\nwritings of the Elizabethan age. If this be so, the expression \"the\nmistletoe-bough\" includes a tautology; but as it is popularly used, we\nretain it for the instruction of such antiquarians of remote future\ntimes as may consult our pages for some account of the good old customs\nwhich are disappearing so fast, and may fail to reach their day.\n\nThat this plant was held in veneration by the pagans, has been inferred\nfrom a passage in Virgil's description of the descent into the infernal\nregions. That passage is considered to have an allegorical reference to\nsome of the religious ceremonies practised amongst the Greeks and\nRomans, and a comparison is therein drawn between the golden bough of\nthe infernal regions, and what is obviously the misletoe:--\n\n \"Quale solet silvis brumali frigore _viscum_\n Fronde virere nova, quod non sua seminat arbos,\n Et croceo fetu teretis circumdare truncos,\" etc.\n\nThe reference is given by Mr. Christie in his \"Enquiry into the Ancient\nGreek Game\" of Palamedes; and he mentions likewise the respect in which\nthis plant was held by the Gothic as well as the Celtic nations. Sandys\nfurnishes a legend from the Edda in proof of the extraordinary qualities\nascribed to it by the former. Amongst the Celtic nations it is well\nknown to have been an object of great veneration, and the ceremony of\ncollecting it by the Druids against the festival of the winter solstice\nwas one of high solemnity. It was cut by the prince of the Druids\nhimself, and with a golden sickle. It was said that those only of the\noaks were sacred to the Druids which had the mistletoe upon them, and\nthat the reverence of the people towards the priests, as well as their\nestimation of the mistletoe, proceeded in a great measure from the cures\nwhich the former effected by means of that plant. Medicinal properties,\nwe believe, are still ascribed to it, and it was not very long ago\ndeemed efficacious in the subduing of convulsive disorders. Sir John\nColbatch, in his dissertation concerning it, observes that this\nbeautiful plant must have been designed by the Almighty \"for further and\nmore noble purposes than barely to feed thrushes, or to be hung up\nsurreptitiously in houses to drive away evil spirits.\" Against the\nlatter it appears to have been used as a charm up to the last century.\n\nIts introduction into the Christian festival might therefore be\nconsidered appropriate as emblematic of the conquest obtained over the\nspirits of darkness by the event of the Nativity; and perhaps its\nsupposed healing properties might be deemed to recommend it further, as\na symbol of the moral health to which man was restored from the original\ncorruption of his nature, and a fitting demonstration of the joy which\nhailed the \"Sun of Righteousness\" that had arisen, \"with _healing_ in\nhis wings.\"\n\nNotwithstanding all this, however, Brand is of opinion that its heathen\norigin should exclude it at all events from the decorations of our\nchurches, and quotes a story told him by an old sexton at Teddington, in\nMiddlesex, of the clergyman of that place having observed this profane\nplant intermingled with the holly and ivy which adorned the church, and\nordered its immediate removal. Washington Irving, who has studied old\nEnglish customs and manners with sincere regard, introduces a similar\nrebuke from the learned parson to his unlearned clerk, in his account of\nthe Christmas spent by him at Bracebridge Hall.\n\n[Illustration: THE MISTLETOE BOUGH.--_Page 191._]\n\nThe reverence of the mistletoe among the Ancient Britons appears,\nhowever, to have been limited to that which grew upon the oak; whereas\nthe _Viscum album_, or common mistletoe,--the sight of whose pearly\nberries brings the flush into the cheek of the maiden of modern\ndays,--may be gathered besides from the old apple-tree, the hawthorn,\nthe lime-tree, and the Scotch or the silver fir. Whether there remain\nany traces of the old superstitions which elevated it into a moral or a\nmedical amulet,--beyond that which is connected with the custom\nalluded to in the opening of our remarks upon this plant, and\nrepresented, by our artist here,--we know not. We should, however, be\nvery sorry to see any light let in amongst us which should fairly rout a\nbelief connected with so agreeable a privilege as this. That privilege,\nas all our readers know, consists in the right to kiss any female who\nmay be caught under the mistletoe-bough,--and, we may hope, will\ncontinue, for its own pleasantness, even if the superstition from which\nit springs should be finally lost. This superstition arose, clearly\nenough, out of the old mystic character of the plant in question, and\nerects it into a charm, the neglect of which exposes to the imminent\ndanger of all the evils of old-maidenism. For, according to Archdeacon\nNares, the tradition is, \"that the maid who was not kissed under it, at\nChristmas, would not be married in that year,\"--by which, we presume,\nthe Archdeacon means in the following year. Accordingly, a branch of\nthis parasitical plant was hung (formerly with great state, but now it\nis generally suspended with much secrecy) either from the centre of the\nroof, or over the door,--and we recommend this latter situation to our\nreaders, both as less exposed to untimely observation, and because every\nmaiden who joins the party must of necessity do so by passing under it.\nWe learn from Brand that the ceremony was not duly performed unless a\nberry was plucked off with each kiss. This berry, it is stated by other\nauthorities, was to be presented for good luck to the maiden kissed;\nand Washington Irving adds that \"when the berries are all plucked, the\nprivilege ceases.\" If this be so, it behooves the maidens of a household\nto take good care that the branch provided for the occasion shall be as\nwell furnished with these pearly tokens as the feast is likely to be\nwith candidates for the holy state of matrimony. The practice is still\nof very common observance in kitchens and servants' halls, particularly\nin the country. But, as we have hinted, we have met with it (and so, we\ndare say, have most of our readers) in higher scenes; and many a merry\nlaugh have we heard ring from beneath the mistletoe-bough. There are\nlips in the world that we would gladly meet there in this coming season.\n\nAnother of the symptoms of the approaching season which has, at least to\nus, a very pleasing effect, consists in the bursts of solemn minstrelsy\nby which we are aroused from our slumbers in the still hour of the\nwinter nights, or which, failing to break our sleep, mingle with our\ndreams, leading us into scenes of enchantment, and filling them with\nunearthly music. This midnight minstrelsy, whether it comes in the shape\nof human voices, hallowing the night by the chanting of the Christmas\ncarol, or breaks upon the silence of the mid-watches from the mingling\ninstruments of those wandering spirits of harmony, the waits, has in\neach case its origin in the _Gloria in Excelsis_,--the song with which\nthe angels hailed the birth of the Redeemer in the fields near\nBethlehem. \"As soon,\" says Jeremy Taylor, \"as these blessed choristers\nhad sung their Christmas carol, and taught the Church a hymn to put into\nher offices forever on the anniversary of this festivity, the angels\nreturned into heaven.\" Accordingly, these nocturnal hymns, although they\nspread over the entire period of Advent, grow more and more fervent and\nfrequent as the season approaches, and the night which ushers in the\ngreat day itself is filled throughout all its watches with the continued\nsounds of sacred harmony. How beautiful is the effect given to this\nmusic by this consideration of its meaning and its cause! Many and many\na time have we been awakened by the melody of the waits when\n\n \"The floor of heaven\n _Was_ thick inlaid with patines of bright gold,\"--\n\nand have lain and listened to their wild minstrelsy, its solemn swells\nand \"dying falls\" kept musical by the distance and made holy by the\ntime, till we have felt amid all those influences as if it were\n\n \"No mortal business, nor no sound\n That the earth owes,\"\n\nand could have fancied that the \"morning stars\" were again singing, as\nof old they \"sang together for joy,\" and that the sounds of their far\nanthem came floating to the earth. This sort of fancy has occurred over\nand over again to him who has looked out from his bed upon a sky full of\nstars, and listened at the same time to invisible and distant music,\nunder the holy impressions of the season. Shakspeare has helped us to\nthis feeling, perhaps, as we can trace his influence upon _all_ our\nfeelings, and upon none more than the most sacred or the most solemn:--\n\n \"There's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st,\n But in his motion like an angel sings,\n Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubims;\n Such harmony is in immortal souls.\"\n\nTo the rudest carol that ever flung its notes upon the still air of\nthese solemn hours we have hearkened with a hush of pleasure which\nrecognized how well--\n\n \"Soft stillness, and the night,\n Become the touches of sweet harmony!\"\n\nAnd the wildest music that ever broke upon that solemn calm from the\ninstruments of the most unskilful waits,--if it were but remote enough\nto keep its asperities out of the ear, and send us only its floating\ntones,--has brought Shakspeare into our hearts again:--\n\n \"_Portia._ Methinks it sounds much sweeter than by day.\n _Nerissa._ Silence bestows that virtue on it, madam.\"\n\nThe waits of to-day are the remote and degenerated successors of those\nancient bards who filled an important place in the establishments of\nprinces and nobles, as also of those wandering members of the\nfraternity who, having no fixed position, carried their gift of music\nfrom place to place as the tournament or the festival invited. Those of\nour readers who have much acquaintance with the old chroniclers have not\nto be told by us that these latter were frequently drawn together in\nconsiderable numbers by the Christmas celebrations. The name \"wait,\" or\n\"wayte,\" itself is of great antiquity amongst us, and appears to have\nbeen the title given to some member of the band of minstrels who either\nreplaced the ancient minstrel-chronicler in the royal establishments, or\nwas probably under his direction, the duty of which particular member it\nwas to pass at night from door to door of the chambers and pipe the\nwatches upon some species of instrument. As early as the reign of Edward\nIII. we have mention of this individual minstrel by his title of\n\"wayte,\" and in the subsequent ordinances for royal households the name\nfrequently occurs. Dr. Burney, in his \"History of Music,\" quotes from\nthe \"Liber niger domus regis,\" of Edward IV.'s time, a full description\nof the duties, privileges, and perquisites of this ancient officer. It\nis probably from this member of the royal household and his office that\nthe corporations for towns borrowed their earliest appointment of\nwatchmen; and the ancestors of those ancient gentlemen whose most sweet\nvoices are amongst the lost sounds of the metropolis, and whose\nmysterious cries will soon, we fear, be a dead language, were no doubt\nin their original institution minstrels or waits. The sworn waits are,\nwe believe, still attached to many corporations (although some of their\nduties have been alienated, and some of their prerogatives usurped), and\namongst others to that of the City of London. The bellman and those\n\"wandering voices,\" the watchmen, where they still exist, have, however,\na title to the same high and far descent, and have succeeded to most of\nthe offices of the ancient waits. It would seem, too, that both these\nlatter important personages have at all times had it in view to assert\ntheir claim to a minstrel origin, their announcements being generally\nchanted in a species of music quite peculiar to themselves, and such as\nthe world can never hope to hear again when these gentry shall be\nextinct. \"Oh, what a voice is silent!\" wrote Barry Cornwall long before\nthe introduction of the new police into our streets; and the passionate\nexclamation must surely have originated in a prophetic vision of the\nextinction of the Dogberry who piped the night-watches in Bedford\nSquare. As for those wandering musicians who charm the long nights of\nthe Christmas time with _unofficial_ music, and are waits by courtesy,\nthey bear the same relation to the corporation minstrels of modern times\nas did the travelling bards of former days to the ancient minstrels who\nwere established in the households of nobles or of kings. The waits\nstill on some occasions close their performance by calling the hour,\nand by certain other announcements descriptive of the weather or\ncharacteristic of the season.\n\n[Illustration: WAITS.--_Page 197._]\n\nThe sacred origin and meaning of this practice have, however, in modern\ndays been a good deal lost sight of by these uncertificated harmonists\nin their selection of tunes. In London, particularly, the appropriate\nmusic of religious celebration, which in awaking the sleeper should\nbring the lessons of the season directly to his heart, are (excepting\nperhaps on the eve of the Nativity itself) most frequently supplanted by\nthe airs of the theatre; and the waits for the most part favor us by\nnight with repetitions of the melodies with which the barrel-organists\nhave labored to make us familiarly acquainted during the day. It is with\nsome such strain that the group of instrumentalists, by whom our artist\nhas here represented these peripatetic musicians, appear to be regaling\ntheir neighborhood, in so far as we may venture to judge of the\ncharacter of the music, by the accompaniment which it is receiving from\nthe lady in the distance. Not that we could by any means have\nconjectured from the appearance of the performers themselves that the\nair, however profane, had been at all of the lively, unless what poor\nMatthews called the \"deadly lively,\" kind,--and, in fact, the vicinity\nin which the lady appears may perhaps suggest that her joyous\ninspiration is not derived wholly from the music. She appears to be\ndancing \"unto her own heart's song.\" If we may presume to argue from the\naspects and attitudes of the gentlemen of the bass-viol and flute, he of\nthe trombone (who is evidently performing with considerable energy)\nappears to have got a good way before his companions without being at\nall conscious of it; and indeed there is something about his\naccoutrements, if carefully inspected, which seems to hint that the\nsource of his vigor, and perhaps of his unconsciousness, is of the same\nkind with that of the lady's liveliness. We have in the case of each a\nsort of insinuation as to the cause of the _spirited_ character of the\nperformances, and in that of our friend with the trombone it seems a\ngood deal more clear that his pocket has contributed to the supply of\nhis instrument than that his instrument will ever do much for the supply\nof his pocket. As for the violin, it is clearly in the enjoyment of a\nsinecure at this late hour, the sensitive performer having apparently\nlulled himself to sleep with his own music. \"Poor knave, I blame thee\nnot; thou art o'er watched!\"\n\n \"O murd'rous slumber,\n Lay'st thou thy leaden mace upon my boy\n That plays thee music? Gentle knave, good night;\n I will not do thee so much wrong to wake thee.\"\n\nBut we will not answer for the old gentleman with the water-jug, who\nlooks down so benignantly from that window overhead. He seems about to\nfurnish an illustration of the assertion that--\n\n \"The heart that music cannot melt,\n Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils;\"\n\nand appears to have conceived a stratagem against the group below which,\nif carried into successful execution on this winter night, will probably\n_spoil_ more than the music. It bids fair at once to waken the\nviolin-player and to silence the trombone.\n\nThe practice of hailing the Nativity with music, in commemoration of the\nsong of the angels, is in full observance in Roman Catholic countries as\nwell as in our own. There are, we fancy, few of our readers who have not\nhad opportunities of listening to the divine strains which mingle in the\nRoman services that usher in the blessed morning itself. The _no\u00ebls_ of\nFrance are of the same character as the Christmas carols of England; and\nthe visits of our street musicians at this season are closely resembled\nby the wanderings of the Italian _pifferari_. These _pifferari_ are\nCalabrian shepherds who come down from the mountains at the season of\nAdvent, and enter the Italian cities, saluting with their hill music the\nshrines of the Virgin and Child which adorn the streets. Of these rude\nminstrels Lady Morgan, in her \"Italy,\" gives some account, and states\nthat having frequently observed them stopping to play before the shop of\na carpenter in Rome, her inquiries on the subject were answered by the\ninformation that the intention of this part of their performance, was to\ngive his due share of honor to Saint Joseph. Our friend Mr. Hone, in his\n\"Every-Day Book,\" has given, from an old print in his possession, a\nrepresentation of this practice, in which two of these mountaineers are\nplaying before the shrine of the Virgin. The practice is continued till\nthe anniversary day of the Nativity.\n\nWith modern carol-singing there are few of our readers, in town or in\ncountry (for the practice, like that of which we have just spoken, is\nstill very general), who are not well acquainted. For some curious\nantiquarian information on the subject we must refer them to Mr.\nSandys's Introduction, and to a paper in Mr. Hone's book of \"Ancient\nMysteries.\" The word itself is derived by Brand, after Bourne, from\n_cantare_, to sing, and _rola_, an interjection of joy; and although in\nvulgar acceptance it has come to be understood as implying particularly\nthose anthems by which the Christmas-tide is distinguished, it has at\nall times been properly applied to all songs which are sung upon any\noccasion of festival or rejoicing. In strictness, therefore, even in its\napplication to the musical celebrations of Advent, a distinction should\nbe drawn between those carols which are of a joyous or festive\ncharacter, and those more solemn ones which would be better described by\nthe title of Christmas hymns.\n\nThe practice itself, as applied to religious commemoration, is drawn\nfrom the very first ages of the Church. It is frequently referred to in\nthe Apostolic writings, and the celebrated letter of the younger Pliny\nto the Emperor Trajan, in the seventh year of the second Christian\ncentury, mentions, amongst the habits of the primitive Christians, their\nassembling at stated times \"to sing among themselves alternately a hymn\nto Christ, as to God.\" Such a practice, however, constitutes no\npeculiarity of the new worship, hymns of praise to their deities having\nmade a portion of the rites of most religions. Indeed, in the more\nsevere times of the Early Church there are prohibitions against this\nform of worship, as against several other practices to which we have\nalluded, on the express ground of its resemblance to one of the customs\nof the pagan celebration.\n\nThe custom of celebrating the festivities of the season by the singing\nof carols in these islands, appears to have mingled with the Christmas\nobservances from the earliest period. We have specimens of the carols\nthemselves of a remote date, and have already given an extract from one,\nthe manuscript of which, in the British Museum, is dated as far back as\nthe thirteenth century. There are evidences of the universality of the\npractice in the fifteenth century; and the great popularity of these\nsongs about this time is proved by the fact of a collection thereof\nhaving been printed in the early part of the following century by\nWynkyn de Worde. It is to the Puritans that we appear to have been\nindebted for the introduction of the religious carol. Those enemies of\nall mirth, even in its most innocent or valuable forms, finding the\npractice of carol-singing at this festive time too general and rooted to\nbe dealt with by interdiction, appear to have endeavored to effect their\nobjects by directing it into a channel of their own, and probably\nretaining the ancient airs, to have adapted them to the strange\nreligious ballads, of which we must give our readers a few specimens.\nThe entire version of the Psalms of David made by Sternhold and Hopkins\nwas published about the middle of the sixteenth century; and some time\nbefore the middle of the seventeenth a duodecimo volume appeared, under\nthe title of \"Psalmes or Songs of Zion, turned into the language and set\nto the tunes of a strange land, by W. S. [William Slatyr], intended for\nChristmas Carols and fitted to divers of the most noted and common but\nsolemne tunes everywhere in this land familiarly used and knowne.\"\n\nOf these old ballads of both kinds, many (and snatches of more) have\nsurvived to the present day, and may be heard, particularly in the\nNorthern counties of England, ringing through the frosty air of the long\nwinter nights, in the shrill voices of children, for several weeks\nbefore Christmas, probably, too, to the old traditional tunes. They\nare, however, as might be expected of compositions which have no more\nsubstantial depositary than the memories of the humble classes of the\nyoung, full of corruptions, which render some of them nearly\nunintelligible. The difficulty of restoring these old carols in their\noriginal forms is becoming yearly greater, in consequence of the modern\ncarols, which are fast replacing them by a sort of authority. In country\nplaces many of the more polished carols, of modern composition, find\ntheir way into the Church services of this season; and amongst the\nsingers who practise this manner of appealing to the charities of the\nseason with most success are the children of the Sunday-schools and the\nchoristers of the village church. These, with their often sweet voices,\nbring to our doors the more select hymns and the musical training which\nthey have gathered for more sacred places; and from a group like that\nwhich stands at the parsonage door in our plate, we are more likely to\nhear some carol of Heber's, some such beautiful anthem as that\nbeginning, \"Hark! the herald angels sing,\" than the strange, rambling\nold Christmas songs which we well remember when we were boys. These\nlatter, however, occasionally are not without a wild beauty of their\nown. We quote a fragment of one of them from memory. We think it\nbegins:--\n\n \"The moon shines bright, and the stars give light,\n A little before the day;\"\n\nand wanders on somewhat after the following unconnected fashion:--\n\n \"Awake, awake, good people all!\n Awake, and you shall hear\n How Christ our Lord died on the cross\n For those he loved so dear.\n\n \"O fair, O fair Jerusalem!\n When shall I come to thee?\n When shall my griefs be at an end,\n That I thy tents may see!\n\n \"The fields were green as green could be\n When, from his glorious seat,\n The Lord our God he watered us\n With his heavenly good and sweet.\n\n \"And for the saving of our souls\n Christ died upon the cross!\n We never shall do for Jesus Christ\n What he has done for us!\n\n \"The life of man is but a span,\n And cut down in its flower;\n We're here to-day, and gone to-morrow,\n We're all dead in an hour.\n\n \"Oh, teach well your children, men!\n The while that you are here,\n It will be better for your souls,\n When your corpse lies on the bier.\n\n \"To-day you may be alive, dear man,\n With many a thousand pound;\n To-morrow you may be a dead man,\n And your corpse laid under ground,--\n\n \"With a turf at your head, dear man,\n And another at your feet.\n Your good deeds and your bad ones\n They will together meet.\n\n \"My song is done, and I must begone,\n I can stay no longer here;\n God bless you all, both great and small,\n And send you a happy new year.\"\n\nOur Lancashire readers know that a similar wish to that expressed in the\ntwo last lines is generally delivered in recitative at the close of each\ncarol, or before the singers abandon our doors,--which wish, however, we\nhave heard finally changed into a less quotable ejaculation in cases\nwhere the carolists had been allowed to sing unregarded.\n\nThe gradual decay into which these ancient religious ballads are rapidly\nfalling was in some measure repaired by Mr. Davies Gilbert in 1823, who\npublished a collection containing upwards of twenty carols in a restored\nstate, with the tunes to which it was usual to sing them in the West of\nEngland. Of Welsh carols various collections are mentioned both by Hone\nand by Sandys, and in that country the practice is in better\npreservation than even in England. In Ireland, too, it exists to the\npresent day, although we have not met with any collection of Irish\ncarols; and in France, where there are numerous collections under the\ntitle of _no\u00ebls_, the custom is universal. In Scotland, however, it was\nextinguished, with the other Christmas practices, by the thunders of\nJohn Knox and his precisians, and we believe has never been in any\ndegree restored. We should add that there are numerous carols for the\nChristmas season scattered through the writings of our old poets,\namongst whom Herrick may be mentioned as conspicuous.\n\nBut the most ample and curious published collection of Christmas carols\nwith which we have met is that by Mr. Sandys to which we have so often\nalluded; and from the text of this collection we will give our readers\none or two specimens of the quaint beauties which occasionally mingle in\nthe curious texture of these old anthems. Mr. Sandys's collection is\ndivided into two parts, the first of which consists of ancient carols\nand Christmas songs from the early part of the fifteenth to the end of\nthe seventeenth century. We wish that in cases where the authorship\nbelongs to so conspicuous a name as Herrick,--and indeed in all cases\nwhere it is ascertained,--the names of the authors had been prefixed.\nThe second part comprises a selection from carols which the editor\nstates to be still used in the West of England. We can inform him that\nmany of these we have ourselves heard, only some dozen years ago,\nscreamed through the sharp evening air of Lancashire at the top pitch of\nvoices that could clearly never have been given for any such purposes,\n\"making night hideous,\" or occasionally filling the calm watches with\nthe far-lulling sounds of wild, sweet harmony. The practice, however,\nis, under any circumstances, full of fine meanings that redeem the\nrudeness of performance; and for ourselves, we like the music at its\nbest and worst.\n\nOf the festive songs we have already given occasional examples in the\nprogress of this work, and shall just now confine ourselves to extracts\nfrom those of a more religious character. From the old part of the\ncollections before us we will give a verse of a short carol which, while\nit will exhibit in a very modified degree the familiar tone in which the\nwriters of these ancient songs dealt with the incidents of the sacred\nstory, is full of a tenderness arising out of that very manner of\ntreatment. We give it in the literal form in which we find it in this\ncollection, with the exception of extending an occasional cypher. It\nbegins with a burden:--\n\n \"A, my dere son, sayd mary, a, my dere,\n Kys thi moder, Jhesu, with a lawghyng chere;\"\n\nand continues:--\n\n \"This endnes nyght I sawe a syght\n all in my slepe,\n Mary that may she sang lullay\n and sore did wepe.\n To kepe she sawght full fast a bowte\n her son fro cold;\n Joseph seyd, wiff, my joy, my leff,\n say what ye wolde;\n No thyng my spouse is In this howse\n unto my pay;\n My son a kyng that made all thyng\n lyth in hay.\n \"A, my dere son.\"\n\nSome of these ancient carols run over the principal incidents in the\nscheme of man's fall and redemption; and we are sorry that our limits\nwill not permit us to give such lengthened specimens as we should\ndesire. We will, however, copy a few verses from one of a different\nkind, in which, beneath its ancient dress, our readers will see that\nthere is much rude beauty. It begins:--\n\n \"I come from heuin to tell\n The best nowellis that ever be fell.\"\n\nBut we must take it up further on:--\n\n \"My saull and lyfe, stand up and see\n Quha lyes in ane cribe of tree;\n Quhat babe is that so gude and faire?\n It is Christ, God's Sonne and Aire.\n\n . . . . . . .\n\n O God, that made all creature,\n How art thou becum so pure,\n That on the hay and straw will lye,\n Amang the asses, oxin, and kye?\n\n \"And were the world ten tymes so wide,\n Cled ouer with gold and stanes of pride,\n Unworthy zit it were to thee,\n Under thy feet ane stule to bee.\n\n \"The sylke and sandell, thee to eis,\n Are hay and sempill sweiling clais,\n Quhairin thow gloiris, greitest king,\n As thow in heuin were in thy ring.\n\n . . . . . . .\n\n \"O my deir hert, zoung Jesus sweit,\n Prepare thy creddill in my spreit,\n And I sall rock thee in my hert,\n And neuer mair from thee depart.\"\n\nThe Star-song in this collection is, if our memory mislead us not,\nHerrick's, and taken from his \"Noble Numbers.\" It begins:--\n\n \"Tell us, thou cleere and heavenly tongue,\n Where is the babe but lately sprung?\n Lies he the lillie-banks among?\n\n \"Or say if this new Birth of our's\n Sleep, laid within some ark of flowers,\n Spangled with deaw-light; thou canst cleere\n All doubts, and manifest the where.\n\n \"Declare to us, bright star, if we shall seek\n Him in the morning's blushing cheek,\n Or search the beds of spices through,\n To find him out?\"\n\nThe second part of Sandys's collection contains an imperfect version of\na carol of which we find a full and corrected copy in Mr. Hone's\n\"Ancient Mysteries,\" formed by that author's collation of various copies\nprinted in different places. The beautiful verses which we quote are\nfrom Hone's version, and are wanting in that of Sandys. The ballad\nbegins by elevating the Virgin Mary to a temporal rank which must rest\nupon that particular authority, and is probably a new fact for our\nreaders:\n\n \"Joseph was an old man,\n And an old man was he,\n And he married Mary,\n Queen of Galilee,\"--\n\nwhich, for a carpenter, was certainly a distinguished alliance. It goes\non to describe Joseph and his bride walking in a garden,--\n\n \"Where the cherries they grew\n Upon every tree;\"\n\nand upon Joseph's refusal, in somewhat rude language, to pull some of\nthese cherries for Mary, on the ground of her supposed misconduct,--\n\n \"Oh! then bespoke Jesus,\n All in his mother's womb,\n 'Go to the tree, Mary,\n And it shall bow down;\n\n \"'Go to the tree, Mary,\n And it shall bow to thee,\n And the highest branch of all\n Shall bow down to Mary's knee.'\"\n\nAnd then, after describing Joseph's conviction and penitence at this\ntestimony to Mary's truth, occur the beautiful verses to which we\nalluded:\n\n \"As Joseph was a walking,\n He heard an angel sing:\n 'This night shall be born\n Our heavenly king.\n\n \"'He neither shall be born\n In housen nor in hall,\n Nor in the place of Paradise,\n But in an ox's stall.\n\n \"'He neither shall be clothed\n In purple nor in pall,\n But all in fair linen,\n As were babies all.\n\n \"'He neither shall be rock'd\n In silver nor in gold,\n But in a wooden cradle,\n That rocks on the mould.\n\n \"'He neither shall be christen'd\n In white wine nor in red,\n But with the spring water\n With which we were christened.'\"\n\nThe strange, wild ballad beginning,--\n\n \"I saw three ships come sailing in,\n On Christmas day, on Christmas day;\n I saw three ships come sailing in,\n On Christmas day in the morning,\"--\n\nand the still stranger one of \"The Holy Well,\" we would have copied at\nlength, as examples of these curious relics, if we could have spared the\nspace. Of the latter, however, we will give our readers some account, to\nshow the singular liberties which were taken with sacred personages and\nthings in these old carols. In the one in question, the boy Jesus,\nhaving asked his mother's permission to go and play, receives it,\naccompanied with the salutary injunction,--\n\n \"And let me hear of no complaint\n At night when you come home.\n\n \"Sweet Jesus went down to yonder town,\n As far as the Holy Well,\n And there did see as fine children\n As any tongue can tell.\"\n\nOn preferring, however, his petition to these children,--\n\n \"Little children, shall I play with you,\n And you shall play with me?\"\n\nhe is refused on the ground of his having been \"born in an ox's stall,\"\nthey being \"lords' and ladies' sons.\"\n\n \"Sweet Jesus turned him around,\n And he neither laugh'd nor smil'd,\n But the tears came trickling from his eye\n Like water from the skies.\"\n\nWhereupon he returns home to report his grievance to his mother, who\nanswers,--\n\n \"Though you are but a maiden's child,\n Born in an ox's stall,\n Thou art the Christ, the King of Heaven,\n And the Saviour of them all;\"\n\nand then proceeds to give him advice neither consistent with the\nassertion in the last line, nor becoming her character:--\n\n \"Sweet Jesus, go down to yonder town,\n As far as the Holy Well,\n And take away those sinful souls,\n And dip them deep in hell.\n\n \"Nay, nay, sweet Jesus said,\n Nay, nay, that may not be;\n For there are too many sinful souls\n Crying out for the help of me.\"\n\nBoth these latter carols are given by Sandys as amongst those which are\nstill popular in the West of England; and we remember to have ourselves\nheard them both many and many a time in its Northern counties.\n\nWe must give a single verse of one of the ancient French provincial\n_no\u00ebls_, for the purpose of introducing our readers to a strange species\nof chanted burden; and then we must stop. It is directed to be sung _sur\nun chant joyeux_, and begins thus:\n\n \"Quand Dieu naquit \u00e0 No\u00ebl,\n Dedans la Jud\u00e9e,\n On vit ce jour solemnel\n La joie inond\u00e9e;\n Il n'\u00e9toit ni petit ni grand\n Qui n'apport\u00e2t son pr\u00e9sent\n Et n'o, n'o, n'o, n'o,\n Et n'offrit, frit, frit,\n Et n'o, n'o, et n'offrit,\n Et n'offrit sans cesse Toute sa richesse.\"\n\nOur readers are no doubt aware that the carol-sheets still make their\nannual appearance at this season, not only in the metropolis, but also\nin Manchester, Birmingham, and perhaps other towns. In London they pass\ninto the hands of hawkers, who wander about our streets and suburbs\nenforcing the sale thereof by--in addition to the irresistible\nattraction of the wood-cuts with which they are embellished--the further\nrecommendation of their own versions and variations of the original\ntunes, yelled out in tones which could not be heard without alarm by any\nanimals throughout the entire range of Nature, except the domesticated\nones, who are \"broken\" to it. For ourselves, we confess that we are not\nthoroughly broken yet, and experience very uneasy sensations at the\napproach of one of these alarming choirs.\n\n \"'T is said that the lion will turn and flee\n From a maid in the pride of her purity.\"\n\nWe would rather meet him under the protection of a group of London\ncarol-singers. We would undertake to explore the entire of central\nAfrica, well provisioned and in such company, without the slightest\napprehension, excepting such as was suggested by the music itself.\n\nBy these gentry a very spirited competition is kept up in the article of\nannoyance with the hurdy-gurdies, and other instruments of that class,\nwhich awaken the echoes of all our streets, and furnish a sufficient\nrefutation of the assertion that we are not a musical nation. We have\nheard it said that the atmosphere of London is highly impregnated\nwith coal-smoke and barrel-organs. The breath of ballad-singers should\nenter into the account at this season. The sketch from life which we\nhave given of one of these groups will convey to our readers a very\nlively notion of the carol-singers of London, and supply them with a\nhint as to the condition in this flourishing metropolis of that branch\nof the fine arts. Our friends will perceive that this is a family of\nartists, from the oldest to the youngest. The children are born to an\ninheritance of song, and begin to enter upon its enjoyment in the\ncradle. That infant in arms made his _d\u00e9b\u00fbt_ before the public a day or\ntwo after he was born, and is already an accomplished chorister; and the\nhopeful boy who is howling by his mother's side acquits himself as\nbecomes the heir-at-law to parents who have sung through the world, and\nthe next in reversion to his father's fiddle.\n\n[Illustration: LONDON CAROL SINGERS.--_Page 215._]\n\nA very curious part of the business, however, is, that these people\nactually expect to get money for what they are doing! With the most\nperfect good faith, they really calculate upon making a profit by their\noutrages upon men's feelings! It is for the purpose of \"putting bread\ninto their mouths\" that those mouths are opened in that portentous\nmanner. For ourselves, we have a strong conviction that the spread of\nthe emigration mania has been greatly promoted by the increase of\nballad-singers in the land. We have frequently resolved to emigrate, on\nthat account, ourselves; and if we could be perfectly certified of any\ndesirable colony, to which no removals had taken place from the class in\nquestion, we believe we should no longer hesitate. The existence of that\nclass is a grievous public wrong, and calls loudly for legislation. We\nhave frequently thought that playing a hurdy-gurdy in the streets should\nbe treated as a capital crime.\n\nOf the annual sheets and of such other carols as may be recoverable from\ntraditional or other sources, it is to be regretted that more copious\ncollections are not made, by the lovers of old customs, ere it be too\nlate. Brand speaks of an hereditary collection of ballads, almost as\nnumerous as the Pepysian collection at Cambridge, which he saw, at\nNewcastle-upon-Tyne, in the printing-office of the late Mr. Saint,\namongst which were several carols for the Christmas season. Hone, in his\n\"Ancient Mysteries,\" gives a list of eighty-nine carols in his\npossession, all in present use (though likely soon to become obsolete),\nand exclusive of the modern compositions printed by religious societies,\nunder the denomination of carols. He furnishes a curious proof of the\nattachment which the carol-buyers extend, from the old carols\nthemselves, to the old rude cuts by which they are illustrated. \"Some of\nthese,\" he says, \"on a sheet of Christmas carols, in 1820, were so rude\nin execution that I requested the publisher, Mr. T. Batchelar, of 115,\nLong Alley, Moorfields, to sell me the original blocks. I was a little\nsurprised by his telling me that he was afraid it would be impossible\nto get any of the same kind cut again. When I proffered to get much\nbetter engraved, and give them to him in exchange for his old ones, he\nsaid, 'Yes, but better are not so good; I can get better myself. Now\nthese are old favorites, and better cuts will not please my customers so\nwell.'\" We have before us several of the sheets for the present season,\nissued from the printing-office and toy warehouse of Mr. Pitts, in the\nSeven Dials; and we grieve to say that, for the most part, they show a\nlamentable improvement in the embellishments, and an equally lamentable\nfalling-off in the literary contents. One of these sheets, however,\nwhich bears the heading title of \"Divine Mirth,\" contains some of the\n_old_ carols, and is adorned with impressions from cuts, rude enough, we\nshould think, to please even the customers of Mr. Batchelar.\n\nAmongst the musical signs of the season we must not omit to place that\nonce important gentleman, the bellman, who was anciently accustomed, as\nour excellent friend Mr. Hone says, at this time, \"to make frequent\nnocturnal rambles, and proclaim all tidings which it seemed fitting to\nhim that people should be awakened out of their sleep to hearken to.\"\nFrom that ancient collection, \"The Bellman's Treasury,\" which was once\nthis now decayed officer's vade-mecum, we shall have occasion to\nextract, here and there, in their proper places, the announcements by\nwhich, of old, he broke in upon the stillness of the several nights of\nthis period. In the mean time our readers may take the following example\nof bellman verses, written by Herrick, and which we have extracted from\nhis \"Hesperides:\"\n\n \"From noise of scare-fires rest ye free,\n From murders Benedicitie;\n From all mischances that may fright\n Your pleasing slumbers in the night.\n\n \"Mercie secure ye all, and keep\n The goblin from ye while ye sleep.\n Past one aclock, and almost two.\n My masters all, good day to you!\"\n\nThe bell of this ancient officer may still be heard, at the midnight\nhour of Christmas Eve (and perhaps on other nights), in the different\nparishes of London, performing the overture to a species of recitative,\nin which he sets forth (amongst other things) the virtues of his patrons\n(dwelling on their liberality), and offers them all the good wishes of\nthe season. The printed papers containing the matter of these\nrecitations he has been busy circulating amongst the parishioners for\nsome time; and, on the strength thereof, presents himself as a candidate\nfor some expression of their good-will in return, which, however, he\nexpects should be given in a more profitable form. These papers, like\nthe carol-sheets, have their margins adorned with wood-cuts after\nScriptural subjects. One of them now lies before us, and we grieve to\nsay that the quaint ancient rhymes are therein substituted by meagre\nmodern inventions, and the wood-cuts exhibit a most ambitious pretension\nto be considered as specimens of improved art. There is a copy of Carlo\nDolce's \"Last Supper\" at the foot.\n\nThe beadle of to-day is in most respects changed, for the worse, from\nthe bellman of old. Still, we are glad to hear his bell--which sounds\nmuch as it must have done of yore--lifting up its ancient voice amongst\nits fellows at this high and general season of bells and bob-majors.\n\n[Illustration: BELL-RINGING.]\n\n\n\n\nPart Second.\n\nTHE CHRISTMAS DAYS.\n\n[Illustration: The Lord of Misrule\n\n The High and Mighty Prince, Henry Prince of Purpoole,\n Archduke of Stapulia and Bernardia, Duke of High and\n Nether Holborn, Marquis of St. Giles and Tottenham, Count\n Palatine of Bloomsbury and Clerkenwell, Great Lord of the\n Cantons of Islington, Kentish Town Paddington & Knightsbridge\n _Gesta Grayorum._\n]\n\n\n\n\nTHE CHRISTMAS DAYS.\n\n\nHAVING given our readers an historical and general account of this\nancient festival, and a particular explanation of some of the principal\ntokens which, in modern times as of old, bespeak the coming of its more\nhigh and ceremonious days, we must now proceed to furnish them with a\nmore peculiar description of those individual days themselves; confining\nourselves, as nearly as completeness of view will admit, within the\nlimits which bound what is, in its most especial and emphatic sense, the\nChristmas season. In order, however, to attain this completeness of\nview, it has been necessary to allow ourselves certain points lying on\nboth sides, _without_ those strict boundaries; and the selection which\nwe have made includes the two conditions of giving us latitude enough\nfor our purpose, and keeping reasonably close to the heart of the\nsubject at the same time. The reasons for this particular selection will\nmore fully appear in the accounts which we have to give of the\nindividual days on which that selection has fallen, and in the further\nremarks which we have to make, generally on that portion of the year\nwhich we place under the presidency of\n\n OUR LORD OF MISRULE.\n\n[Illustration: CHRISTMAS PRESENTS.]\n\n\n\n\nST. THOMAS'S DAY.\n\n21ST DECEMBER.\n\n\nTHIS day, which is dedicated to the apostle St. Thomas, we have chosen\nas the opening of the Christmas festivities; because it is that on which\nwe first seem to get positive evidence of the presence of the old\ngentleman, and see the spirit of hospitality and benevolence which his\ncoming creates brought into active operation. Of the manner in which\nthis spirit exhibits itself in the metropolis, we are about presently to\nspeak; but must previously notice that in many of the rural districts of\nEngland there are still lingering traces of ancient customs, which meet\nat this particular point of time and under the sanction of that same\nspirit. These practices, however various in their kinds, are for the\nmost part relics in different shapes of the old mummeries, which we\nshall have to discuss at length in the course of the present chapter;\nand are but so many distinct forms in which the poor man's appeal is\nmade to the rich man's charity, for a share in the good things of this\nmerry festival.\n\nAmongst these ancient customs may be mentioned the practice of \"going a\ngooding,\" which exists in some parts of Kent, and is performed by women,\nwho present sprigs of evergreens and Christmas flowers, and beg for\nmoney in return. We believe the term \"going a gooding\" scarcely requires\nillustration. It means, simply, going about to wish \"good even,\"--as,\naccording to Nares, fully appears from this passage in Romeo and\nJuliet:--\n\n \"_Nurse._ God ye good morrow, gentlemen.\n _Mercutio._ God ye _good den_, fair gentlewoman.\"\n\nIn this same county, St. Thomas's Day is likewise known by the name of\n\"Doleing Day,\" on account of the distribution of the bounty of different\ncharitable individuals. This word \"dole\" is explained by Nares to mean\n\"a share or lot in any thing distributed,\" and to come from the verb _to\ndeal_. He quotes Shakspeare for this also:--\n\n \"It was your presurmise\n That in the _dole_ of blows your son might drop.\"\n\nThe musical procession known in the Isle of Thanet and other parts of\nthe same county by the name of \"hodening\" (supposed by some, to be an\nancient relic of a festival ordained to commemorate the landing of our\nSaxon ancestors in that island, and which, in its form, is neither more\nnor less than a modification of the old practice of the \"hobby horse\"),\nis to this day another of the customs of this particular period.\n\nA custom analogous to these is still to be traced in Warwickshire;\nthroughout which county it seems to have been the practice of the poor\nto go from door to door of every house \"with a bag to beg corn of the\nfarmers, which they call going a corning.\" And in Herefordshire a\nsimilar custom exists, where this day is called \"Mumping Day,\" that is,\nbegging day.\n\nTo the same spirit we owe the Hagmena or Hogmanay practice, still in use\nin Scotland, as well as that of the Wren Boys in Ireland, both of which\nwill be described hereafter, although their observance belongs to later\ndays of the season, and probably many others which will variously\nsuggest themselves to our various readers as existing in their several\nneighborhoods.\n\nIn the great metropolis of England, where poverty and wretchedness exist\nin masses upon which private benevolence cannot efficiently act, and\nwhere imposture assumes their forms in a degree that baffles the charity\nof individuals, the bequests of our ancestors have been to a great\nextent placed for distribution in the hands of the various parish\nauthorities. St. Thomas's Day in London therefore is connected with\nthese charities, by its being that on which some of the most important\nparochial proceedings take place; and amongst these are the wardmotes,\nheld on this day for the election, by the freemen inhabitant\nhouseholders, of the members of the Common Council, and other officers\nof the respective city wards.\n\nThe civil government of the City of London is said to bear a general\nresemblance to the legislative power of the empire; the Lord Mayor\nexercising the functions of monarchy, the Aldermen those of the peerage,\nand the Common Council those of the legislature. The principal\ndifference is, that the Lord Mayor himself has no negative. The laws for\nthe internal regulation of the city are wholly framed by these officers\nacting in common council. A Common-Councilman is, therefore, a personage\nof no mean importance.\n\nLoving Christmas and its ceremonies with antiquarian veneration, we must\nprofess likewise our profound respect for wards of such high sounding\nnames as Dowgate, and Candlewick, and Cripplegate, and Vintry, and\nPortsoken; the last of which, be it spoken with due courtesy, has always\nreminded us of an alderman's nose; and for such distinguished callings\nas those of Cordwainers, and Lorimers, and Feltmakers, and Fishmongers,\nand Plasterers, and Vintners, and Barbers; each of whom we behold in\nperspective transformed into what Theodore Hook calls \"a splendid\nannual,\" or in less figurative language, Lord Mayor of London! There is\na pantomimic magic in the word since the memorable days of Whittington.\nBut to our theme.--\n\nPepys, the gossipping secretary of the Admiralty, records in his curious\ndiary his having gone on St. Thomas's Day (21st December), 1663, \"to\nShoe Lane to see a cocke-fighting at the new pit there, a spot,\" he\nadds, \"I was never at in my life: but, Lord! to see the strange variety\nof people, from parliament-man (by name Wildes, that was deputy governor\nof the Tower when Robinson was Lord Mayor) to the poorest 'prentices,\nbakers, brewers, butchers, draymen, and what not; and all these fellows\none with another cursing and betting. I soon had enough of it. It is\nstrange to see how people of this poor rank, that look as if they had\nnot bread to put into their mouths, shall bet three or four pounds at a\ntime and lose it, and yet as much the next battle, so that one of them\nwill lose \u00a310 or \u00a320 at a meeting.\"\n\nNow the cock-fighting of our times, under the immediate patronage of\nSaint Thomas, and those of Pepys's differ little except in the character\nof the combatants. In his (comparatively speaking) barbarous days, it\nwas sufficient to pit two birds, one against the other, to excite the\npublic or amuse the spectators. But a purer taste prevails among the\npresent citizens of London; for our modern \"fighting-cocks,\" as the\ncandidates for civic honors are called, seem on this day to be fully\noccupied with the morning exhibition of their own foul tongues,--and\nbets often run as high as parties, on these occasions.\n\n\"Saint Thomas's birds\"--another name for these civic\nfighting-cocks--have been trained in various ale-house associations,\nsuch as the \"Ancient and honorable Lumber Troop,\" the venerable \"Society\nof Codgers,\" \"the free and easy Johns,\" the \"Councillors under the\nCauliflower,\" and other well-known clubs,--where politics, foreign and\ndomestic, night after night are discussed, and mingle with the smoke of\ntobacco, inhaled through respectable clay pipes and washed down with\nnips of amber ale, or quarts of frothy-headed porter. Indeed the\nqualification for admission into the Lumber Troop is, we have been told,\nthe power of consuming a quart of porter at a draught, without, once\npausing to draw a breath,--which feat must be performed before that\naugust assembly. We once visited the head-quarters of this\nporter-quaffing troop, and found the house, with some difficulty, near\nGough Square,--which lies in that intricate region between Holborn Hill\nand Fleet Street. It was a corner house, and an inscription upon the\nwall, in letters of gold, informed the passer-by that this was the place\nof meeting of the Lumber Troop. The room in which they met is small,\ndark, and ancient in appearance, with an old-fashioned chimney-piece in\nthe centre, and a dais or raised floor at one end, where, we presume,\nthe officers of the troop take their seats. Above their heads, upon a\nshelf, some small brass cannon were placed as ornaments, and the walls\nof the room were decorated with the portraits of distinguished\ntroopers,--among whom Mr. Alderman Wood, in a scarlet robe, and Mr.\nRichard Taylor were pointed out to our notice. Over the fire-place hung\nthe portrait of an old gentleman, in the warlike costume of Cromwell's\ntime, who was, probably,\n\n \"Some Fleet Street Hampden.\"\n\nThe obscurity which conceals the origin of many interesting and\nimportant institutions hangs over the early history of the Lumber Troop.\nTradition asserts that, when Henry VIII. went to the siege of Boulogne,\nhe drained the country of all its soldiers; and the citizens of London\nwho remained behind, inspired with martial ardor, formed themselves into\na troop, for the protection of old England. In the grotesque and gouty\nappearance of these troopers, their name of the Lumber Troop is said to\nhave originated. Their field days, as may be expected, were exhibitions\nof merriment; and their guards and midnight watches scenes of feasting\nand revelry. The \"Lumber-pye\" was formerly a dish in much repute, being\ncomposed of high-seasoned meats and savory ingredients, for the\npreparation of which receipts may be found in the old cookery books.\nRecently, it has been corrupted into Lombard Pie, on account, as is\nsaid, of its Italian origin,--but we profess allegiance to the more\nancient name.\n\nLet those who hold lightly the dignity of a Lumber Trooper, and who\nperhaps have smiled at the details here given, inquire of the\nrepresentatives of the city of London in the parliament of England,\ntheir opinion of the matter. We have been assured that these jolly\ntroopers influence every city election to such an extent that, without\nan understanding with these worthies, no candidate can have a chance of\nsuccess. In the same way, the codgers, in Codger's Hall, Bride Lane\n(said to have been instituted in 1756, by some of the people of the\nInner Temple, who imagined their free thoughts and profound cogitations\nworthy of attention, and charged half-a-crown for the _entr\u00e9e_), and\nother ale-house clubs, exert their more limited power. Hone, in his\nEvery-Day Book, observes that \"these societies are under currents that\nset in strong, and often turn the tide of an election in favor of some\n'good fellow,' who is good nowhere but in 'sot's-hole.'\" And he adds,\ncommenting upon St. Thomas's Day, \"Now the 'gentlemen of the inquest,'\nchosen 'at the church' in the morning, dine together, as the first\nimportant duty of their office; and the re-elected ward-beadles are busy\nwith the fresh chosen constables; and the watchmen [this was before the\ndays of the police] are particularly civil to every 'drunken gentleman'\nwho happens to look like one of the new authorities. And now the\nbellman, who revives the history and poetry of his predecessors, will\nvociferate--\n\n[Illustration: ST. THOMAS'S DAY.--_Page 233._]\n\n \"'My masters all, this is St. Thomas'-day,\n And Christmas now can't be far off, you'll say.\n And when you to the Ward-motes do repair,\n I hope such good men will be chosen there,\n As constables for the ensuing year,\n As will not grudge the watchmen good strong beer.'\"\n\nThe illustration of this part of our subject which our artist has given,\nexhibits the scene of one of these parish elections; and includes, in\nthe distance, a vision of those good things to which all business\nmatters in England--and above all, in its eastern metropolitan city--are\nbut prefaces.\n\nWe may observe, here, that St. Thomas's Day is commonly called the\nshortest of the year, although the difference between its length and\nthat of the twenty-second is not perceptible. The hours of the sun's\nrising and setting, on each of those days, are marked as the same in our\ncalendars, and the latter is sometimes spoken of as the shortest day.\n\n - - - - - - -\n\nAs the days which intervene between this and the Eve of Christmas are\ndistinguished by no special ceremonial of their own, and as the numerous\nobservances attached to several of the particular days which follow will\nsufficiently prolong those parts of our subject, we will take this\nopportunity of alluding to some of the sports and festivities not\npeculiar to any one day, but extending more or less generally over the\nentire season.\n\nBurton in his \"Anatomy of Melancholy\" mentions, as the winter amusements\nof his day, \"Cardes, tables and dice, shovelboard, chesse-play, the\nphilosopher's game, small trunkes, shuttlecocke, billiards, musicke,\nmasks, singing, dancing, ule-games, frolicks, jests, riddles, catches,\npurposes, questions and commands, merry tales of errant knights,\nqueenes, lovers, lords, ladies, giants, dwarfes, theeves, cheaters,\nwitches, fayries, goblins, friers,\" &c. Amongst the list of Christmas\nsports, we elsewhere find mention of \"jugglers, and jack-puddings,\nscrambling for nuts and apples, dancing the hobby-horse, hunting owls\nand squirrels, the fool-plough, hot-cockles, a stick moving on a pivot\nwith an apple at one end and a candle at the other, so that he who\nmissed his bite burned his nose, blindman's buff, forfeits, interludes\nand mock plays:\" also of \"thread my needle, Nan,\" \"he can do little that\ncan't do this,\" feed the dove, hunt the slipper, shoeing the wild mare,\npost and pair, snap-dragon, the gathering of omens, and a great variety\nof others. In this long enumeration, our readers will recognize many\nwhich have come down to the present day, and form still the amusement of\ntheir winter evenings at the Christmas-tide, or on the merry night of\nHalloween. For an account of many of those which are no longer to be\nfound in the list of holiday games, we must refer such of our readers as\nit may interest to Brand's \"Popular Antiquities,\" and Strutt's \"English\nSports.\" A description of them would be out of place in this volume; and\nwe have mentioned them only as confirming a remark which we have\nelsewhere made; viz., that in addition to such recreations as arise out\nof the season or belong to it in a special sense, whatever other games\nor amusements have at any time been of popular use, have generally\ninserted themselves into this lengthened and joyous festival; and that\nall the forms in which mirth or happiness habitually sought expression\ncongregated from all quarters at the ringing of the Christmas bells.\n\nTo the Tregetours, or jugglers, who anciently made mirth at the\nChristmas fireside, there are several allusions in Chaucer's tales; and\nAubrey, in reference thereto, mentions some of the tricks by which they\ncontributed to the entertainments of the season. The exhibitions of such\ngentry in modern times are generally of a more public kind, and it is\nrarely that they find their way to our firesides. But we have still the\ngalantee-showman wandering up and down our streets and squares, with his\nmusical prelude and tempting announcement sounding through the sharp\nevening air, and summoned into our warm rooms to display the shadowy\nmarvels of his mysterious box to the young group, who gaze in great\nwonder and some awe from their inspiring places by the cheerful hearth.\n\nNot that our firesides are altogether without domestic fortune-tellers\nor amateur practitioners in the art of sleight-of-hand. But the\nprophecies of the former are drawn from, and the feats of the other\nperformed with the cards. Indeed we must not omit to particularize cards\nas furnishing in all their uses one of the great resources at this\nseason of long evenings and in-door amusements, as they appear also to\nhave formed an express feature of the Christmas entertainments of all\nranks of people in old times. We are told that the squire of three\nhundred a-year in Queen Anne's time \"never played at cards but at\nChristmas, when the family pack was produced from the mantel-piece;\" and\nStevenson, an old writer of Charles the Second's time, in an enumeration\nof the preparations making for the mirth of the season, tells us that\n\"the country-maid leaves half her market and must be sent again, if she\nforgets a pack of cards on Christmas Eve.\" And who of us all has not\nshared in the uproarious mirth which young and unclouded spirits find,\namid the intrigues and speculations of a round game! To the\nover-scrupulous on religious grounds, who, looking upon cards as the\n\"devil's books,\" and to the moral alarmist who, considering card-playing\nto be in itself gaming, would each object to this species of recreation\nfor the young and innocent, it may be interesting to know that the\npractice has been defended by that bishop of bishops, Jeremy Taylor\nhimself, and that he insists upon no argument against the innocence of a\npractice being inferred from its abuse.\n\nWe have before alluded to the bards and harpers who assembled in ancient\ndays at this time of wassail, making the old halls to echo to the voice\nof music, and stirring the blood with the legends of chivalry or\nchilling it with the wizard tale. And the tale and the song are amongst\nthe spirits that wait on Christmas still, and charm the long winter\nevenings with their yet undiminished spells. Many a Christmas evening\nhas flown over our heads on the wings of music, sweeter, far sweeter,\ndearer, a thousand times dearer, than ever was played by wandering\nminstrel or uttered by stipendiary bard; and we have formed a portion of\nhappy groups, when some thrilling story has sent a chain of sympathetic\nfeeling through hearts that shall beat in unison no more, and tales of\nthe grave and its tenants have sent a paleness into cheeks that the\ngrave itself hath since made paler still.\n\nThe winter hearth is the very land of gossip-red. There it is that\nsuperstition loves to tell her marvels, and curiosity to gather them.\nThe gloom and desolation without, with the wild, unearthly voice of the\nblast, as it sweeps over a waste of snows and cuts sharp against the\nleafless branches, or the wan sepulchral light that shows the dreary\nearth as it were covered with a pall, and the trees like spectres rising\nfrom beneath it, alike send men huddling round the blazing fire, and\nawaken those impressions of the wild and shadowy and unsubstantial, to\nwhich tales of marvel or of terror are such welcome food. But other\ninspirations are born of the blaze itself; and the jest and the laugh\nand the merry narration are of the spirits that are raised within the\nmagic circles that surround it.\n\n \"They should have drawn thee by the high heap't hearth,\n Old Winter! seated in thy great armed-chair,\n Watching the children at their Christmas mirth;\n Or circled by them, as thy lips declare\n Some merry jest, or tale of murder dire,\n Or troubled spirit that disturbs the night;\n Pausing at times to move the languid fire,\n Or taste the old October, brown and bright.\"\n\nThe song and the story, the recitation and the book read aloud are, in\ntown and in village, mansion and farmhouse, amongst the universal\nresources of the winter nights now, as they or their equivalents have at\nall times been. The narratives of \"old adventures, and valiaunces of\nnoble knights, in times past,\" the stories of Sir Bevys of Southampton\nand Sir Guy of Warwick, of Adam Bell, Clymme of the Clough, and William\nof Cloudesley, with other ancient romances or historical rhymes, which\nformed the recreation of the common people at their Christmas dinners\nand bride-ales long ago, may have made way for the wild legend of the\nsea, or fearful anecdote--\n\n \"Of horrid apparition, tall and ghastly,\n That walks at dead of night, or takes its stand\n O'er some new opened grave, and, strange to tell,\n Evanishes at crowing of the cock;\"\n\nand for the more touching ballads which sing of the late repentance of\nthe cruel Barbara Allan,--\n\n \"O mither, mither, mak my bed,\n O mak it saft and narrow;\n Since my love died for me to-day,\n I'll die for him to morrow;\"\n\nor how the\n\n \"Pretty babes, with hand in hand,\n Went wandering up and down;\n But never more could see the man\n Returning from the town;\"\n\nor how \"there came a ghost to Margaret's door,\" and chilled the\nlife-blood in her veins, by his awful announcement,--\n\n \"My bones are buried in a kirk-yard,\n Afar beyond the sea;\n And it is but my sprite, Marg'ret,\n That's speaking now to thee;\"\n\nor may have been replaced, in higher quarters, by the improved narrative\nliterature of the present day, and the traditions or memories which\nhaunt all homes. But the spirit of the entertainment itself is still the\nsame, varied only by circumstances in its forms.\n\n[Illustration: STORY TELLING.--_Page 239._]\n\nIt is apparently by a group of the latter kind that this branch of the\nChristmas amusements is illustrated in the plate. The youthful members\nof a family are listening, in all probability, to some tale of their\nsires, related by the withered crone, who, grown old in that service,\nlinks those young beings with a generation gone by, and stands, as it\nwere, prophesying \"betwixt the living and the dead.\" If we may judge\nfrom the aspect of the aged sybil herself, and the pale and earnest\nfaces that surround her, the narrative which she is imparting is one of\nthe fearful class, and not to be listened to beyond the cheering\ninspirations of that bright fire; although the moving shadows which it\nflings upon the old walls are amongst the terrors which are born of her\nstory. For the scene of these emotions, the artist has chosen, as\nartists still love to do, the chamber of an ancient mansion, with its\nhuge chimney and oriel-window. And it may be that for picturesque\neffects which are to address themselves to the eye, artists are right in\nso doing. No doubt, the high chronicles of chivalry, and the mysterious\ntraditions of the past, comport well with the gloom of the gothic\ngallery;--and, certainly, the long rambling passages of an old house\nafford at once room for the wandering of ghosts, and that dim, shadowy\nlight by which imagination sees them best. But the true poetry of life\nis not confined to ancient dwellings; and every house, in every crowded\nthoroughfare of every city, has its own tales to tell around the\nChristmas fire. The most pert-looking dwelling of them all, that may\nseem as if it were forever staring out of its sash windows into the\nstreet, has its own mysteries, and is, if it have been tenanted\nsufficiently long, as closely haunted by recollections as the baron's\ncastle, or the squire's old manor-house. Like them,--\n\n \"_Its_ stones have voices, and _its_ walls do live;\n It is the house of memory!\"\n\nWithin its neat parlors and light saloons, the lyre of human passions\nhas been struck on all its chords. Birth and death, marriage and\nseparation, joy and grief, in all their familiar forms, have knocked at\nits painted door, and crossed its narrow threshold; and the hearts\nwithin have their own traditions of the past, and their own reckonings\nto take, and their own anecdotes to revise, and their own ghosts to\nbring back, amid the commemorations of this festal time.\n\nAnd--whatever may be said for the ancient ghost stories, which are fast\nlosing ground--fitting it is that, amid the mirth of this pleasant time,\nsuch thoughts should be occasionally stirred, and those phantoms of the\nheart brought back. Not that the joy of the young and hopeful should be\nthereby darkened, but that they may be duly warned that \"youth's a stuff\nwill not endure,\" and taught in time the tenure upon which hope is held.\nThat was a beautiful custom of the Jews which led them, when they built\nhouses, to leave ever some part unfinished, as a memento of the ruin and\ndesolation of their city. Not that they, therefore, built the less, or\nthe less cheerfully; but that in the very midst of their amplest\naccommodations they preserved a perpetual and salutary reference to the\nevil of their condition,--a useful check upon their worldly thoughts.\nAnd thus should mirth be welcomed and hopes built up, wherever the\nmaterials present themselves; but a mark should, notwithstanding, be\nplaced upon the brightest of them all, remembrances ever let in, which\nmay recall to us the imperfect condition of our nature here, and speak\nof the certain decay which must attend all hopes erected for mere\nearthly dwellings.\n\nBut _thou_ shouldst speak of this, thou for whom the following lines\nwere written long ago, though they have not yet met thine eye, thou who\nhast learnt this lesson more sternly than even I, and speakest so well\nof _all_ things! Many a \"Winter's Tale\" have we two read together\n(Shakspeare's among the rest--and how often!), and many a written lay\nhas linked our thoughts in a sympathy of sentiment, on many an evening\nof Christmas. It may be that on some night of that which is approaching,\nthese lines may meet thy notice, and through them, _one more_ winter's\neve may yet be spent by thee and me, in a communion of thought and\nfeeling. No fear that joy should carry it all, with us! No danger that\nthe ghosts of the past should fail to mingle with our Christmas\nfeelings, in that hour! There can be no future hope built up for thee or\nme, or for most others who have passed the first season of youth, to\nwhich something shall not be wanting; which shall not, like the houses\nof the Jews, be left imperfect in some part; and for the same\nreason,--even for the memories of the ruined past!\n\n Farewell! I do not bid thee weep;\n The hoarded love of many years,\n The visions hearts like thine must keep,\n May not be told by tears!\n No! tears are but the spirit's showers,\n To wash its _lighter_ clouds away,\n In breasts where sun-bows, like the flowers,\n Are born of rain and ray;\n But gone from thine is all the glow\n That helped to form life's promise-bow!\n\n Farewell! I know that never more\n Thy spirit, like the bird of day,\n Upon its own sweet song shall soar\n Along a sunny way!\n The hour that wakes the waterfall\n To music, in its far-off flight,\n And hears the silver fountains call,\n Like angels through the night,\n Shall bring thee songs whose tones are sighs\n From harps whose chords are memories!\n\n Night! when, like perfumes that have slept,\n All day, within the wild-flower's heart,\n Steal out the thoughts the soul has kept\n In silence and apart;\n And voices we have pined to hear,\n Through many a long and lonely day,\n Come back upon the dreaming ear,\n From grave-lands, far away;\n And gleams look forth, of spirit-eyes,\n Like stars along the darkening skies!\n\n When fancy and the lark are still--\n Those riders of the morning gale!\n And walks the moon o'er vale and hill\n With memory and the nightingale;\n The moon that is the daylight's ghost\n (As memory is the ghost of hope),\n And holds a lamp to all things lost\n Beneath night's solemn cope,\n Pale as the light by memory led\n Along the cities of the dead!\n\n Alas, for thee! alas for thine!\n Thy youth that is no longer young!\n Whose heart, like Delphi's ruined shrine,\n Gives oracles--oh! still divine!--\n But never more in song!\n Whose breast, like Echo's haunted hall,\n Is filled with murmurs of _the past_,\n Ere yet its \"gold was dim,\" and all\n Its \"pleasant things\" laid waste!\n From whose sweet windows never more\n Shall look the sunny soul of yore!\n\n Farewell! I do not bid thee weep,\n The smile and tear are past for thee;\n The river of thy thoughts must keep\n Its solemn course, too still and deep\n For idle eyes to see!\n Oh! earthly things are all too far\n To throw their shadows o'er its stream!\n But, now and then, a silver star,\n And, now and then, a gleam\n Of glory from the skies be given,\n To light its waves with dreams of heaven!\n\nTo the out-door sports of this merry time which arise out of the natural\nphenomena of the season itself, we need do no more than allude here,\nbecause every school-boy knows far more about them than we are now able\nto tell him, though we too reckoned them all amidst the delights of our\nboyhood. The rapid motions and graceful man\u0153uvres of the skilful amongst\nthe skaters, the active games connected with this exercise (such as the\nGolf of our northern neighbors, not very commonly practised in England),\nthe merry accidents of the sliders, and the loud and mischievous laugh\nof the joyous groups of snowballers,--are all amongst the picturesque\nfeatures by which the Christmas time is commonly marked in these\nislands. To be sure, the kind of seasons seems altogether to have\nabandoned us in which the ice furnished a field for those diversions\nduring a period of six weeks; and the days are gone when fairs were held\non the broad Thames, and books were printed and medals struck on the\nvery pathway of his fierce and daily tides. Even now as we write\nhowever, in this present year of grace, old Winter stands without the\ndoor in something like the garb in which as boys we loved him best, and\nthat old aspect of which we have such pleasant memories, and which\nCowper has so well described:\n\n \"O Winter! ruler of the inverted year!\n Thy scattered hair with sleet-like ashes filled;\n Thy breath congealed upon thy lips; thy cheeks\n Fringed with a beard made white with other snows\n Than those of age; thy forehead wrapt in clouds;\n A leafless branch thy sceptre; and thy throne\n A sliding car indebted to no wheels,\n But urged by storms along thy slippery way!\"\n\nIn looking over a description of London we have met with a quotation of\na passage from Fitz-Stephen, an old historian of that city, in which he\ngives a quaint description of these familiar sports, as they were\npractised in King Henry the Second's day on the large pond or marsh\nwhich then occupied the site of what is now Moorfields. The passage is\nshort and we will quote it.\n\n\"When that vast lake,\" he says, \"which waters the walls of the city\ntowards the north is hard frozen, the youth in great numbers go and\ndivert themselves on the ice. Some, taking a small run for increment of\nvelocity, place their feet at a proper distance and are carried sliding\nsideways a great way. Others will make a large cake of ice, and seating\none of their companions upon it, they take hold of one another's hands\nand draw him along; when it happens that, moving so swiftly on so\nslippery a place, they all fall headlong. Others there are who are still\nmore expert in these amusements on the ice; they place certain bones,\nthe leg bones of animals, under the soles of their feet by tying them\nround their ankles, and then, taking a pole shod with iron into their\nhands, they push themselves forward by striking it against the ice, and\nare carried on with a velocity equal to the flight of a bird or a bolt\ndischarged from a cross-bow.\"\n\nBut amongst all the amusements which in cities contribute to make the\nChristmas time a period of enchantments for the young and happy, there\nis another, which must not be passed over without a word of special\nnotice; and that one is the theatre,--a world of enchantment in itself.\nWe verily believe that no man ever forgets the night on which as a boy\nhe first witnessed the representation of a play. All sights and sounds\nthat reached his senses before the withdrawing of the mysterious\ncurtain, all things which preceded his introduction to that land of\nmarvels which lies beyond, are mingled inextricably with the memories of\nthat night, and haunt him through many an after year. The very smell of\nthe lamps and orange-peel, the discordant cries, the ringing of the\nprompter's bell, and above all the heavy dark green curtain itself,\nbecome essential parts of the charm in which his spirit is long after\nheld. It was so with ourselves; and though many a year is gone by since\nthat happy hour of our lives, and most of the spells which were then\ncast have been long since broken, yet we felt another taken from us when\nat Drury Lane an attempt was made to substitute a rich curtain of\ncrimson and gold for the plain dark fall of green. And then the\noverture! the enchanting prelude to all the wonders that await us! the\nunearthly music leading us into fairy land! the incantation at whose\nvoice, apparently, the mysterious veil on which our eyes have been so\nlong and so earnestly rivetted rises, as if by its own act, and reveals\nto us the mysteries of an enchanted world! From that moment all things\nthat lie on this side the charmed boundary are lost sight of, and all\nthe wonders that are going on beyond it are looked on with the most\nundoubting faith. It is not for a moment suspected that the actors\ntherein are beings of natures like ourselves, nor is there any\nquestioning but that we are gazing upon scenes and doings separated from\nthe realities of life. Verily do we believe that never again in this\nlife are so many new and bewildering and bewitching feelings awakened in\nhis breast, as on the first night in which the boy is spectator of a\ntheatrical performance, if he be old enough to enjoy and not quite old\nenough clearly to understand what is going on.\n\nAt this holiday period of the year the boxes of our theatres are filled\nwith the happy faces, and their walls ring with the sweet laughter of\nchildren. All things are matters of amazement and subjects of\nexclamation. But in London above all things,--far, far beyond all other\nthings (though it does not begin for some days later than this) is the\npantomime with its gorgeous scenery and incomprehensible transformations\nand ineffable fun. \"Ready to leap out of the box,\" says Leigh Hunt,\n\"they joy in the mischief of the clown, laugh at the thwacks he gets for\nhis meddling, and feel no small portion of contempt for his ignorance in\nnot knowing that hot water will scald, and gunpowder explode; while with\nhead aside to give fresh energy to the strokes, they ring their little\npalms against each other in testimony of exuberant delight.\" The\nwinter pantomimes are introduced on the evening next after Christmas\nnight; and some account of this entertainment seems, as a feature of the\nseason, due to our Christmas readers.\n\n[Illustration: CHRISTMAS PANTOMIME.--_Page 249._]\n\nFrom Italy, then, we appear to have derived our pantomime,--the\nlegitimate drama of Christmas, and to pagan times and deities the origin\nof our pantomimical characters may be directly referred. The nimble\nharlequin of our stage is the Mercury of the ancients, and in his magic\nwand and charmed cap may be recognized that god's caduceus and petasus.\nOur columbine is Psyche, our clown Momus, and our pantaloon is\nconjectured to be the modern representative of Charon,--variously\nhabited indeed, according to Venetian fancy and feelings. Even Punch,\nthe friend of our childhood, the great-headed, long-nosed, hump-backed\n\"Mister P\u014dnch,\" it seems, was known to the Romans, under the name of\nMaccus.\n\nOur pantomime, however, is an inferior translation, rather than a good\ncopy, from its Italian original. The rich humor, the ready wit, the\nexquisite raciness of the Italian performance have all evaporated, and\nwith us are burlesqued by the vapid joke, the stale trick, and acts of\nlow buffoonery. We read of the pantomimic actors, Constantini and\nCecchini, being ennobled; of Louis XIII. patronizing the merits of\nNicholas Barbieri, and raising him to fortune; that Tiberio Fiurilli,\nthe inventor of the character of Scaramouch, was the early companion of\nLouis XIV., and that the wit of the harlequin Dominic made him a\nfavored guest at the same monarch's table. These instances of\ndistinction are alone sufficient proof of the superior refinement of the\nactors of Italian pantomime, above our vulgar tribe of tumblers. The\nItalian artists were fellows \"of infinite jest,\" whose ready wit enabled\nthem to support extempore dialogue, suiting \"the action to the word, and\nthe word to the action;\" for the Arlequino of Italy was not a mute like\nhis English representative. Many of the Italian harlequins were authors\nof considerable reputation; Ruzzante, who flourished about 1530, may be\nregarded as the Shakspeare of pantomime. \"Till his time,\" says\nD'Israeli, \"they had servilely copied the duped fathers, the wild sons,\nand the tricking valets of Plautus and Terence; and perhaps, not being\nwriters of sufficient skill but of some invention, were satisfied to\nsketch the plots of dramas, boldly trusting to extempore acting and\ndialogue. Ruzzante peopled the Italian stage with a fresh, enlivening\ncrowd of pantomimic characters. The insipid dotards of the ancient\ncomedy were transformed into the Venetian Pantaloon, and the Bolognese\nDoctor; while the hare-brained fellow, the arch knave, and the booby,\nwere furnished from Milan, Bergamo, and Calabria. He gave his newly\ncreated beings new language and a new dress. From Plautus, he appears to\nhave taken the hint of introducing all the Italian dialects into one\ncomedy, by making each character use his own,--and even the modern\nGreek, which, it seems, afforded many an unexpected play on words for\nthe Italian. This new kind of pleasure, like the language of Babel,\ncharmed the national ear; every province would have its dialect\nintroduced on the scene, which often served the purpose both of\nrecreation and a little innocent malice. Their masks and dresses were\nfurnished by the grotesque masqueraders of the Carnival, which,\ndoubtless, often contributed many scenes and humors to the quick and\nfanciful genius of Ruzzante.\"\n\nTo the interesting essay, by the author of the \"Curiosities of\nLiterature,\" from whence this extract is derived, we beg leave to refer\nthe reader for an anecdotical history of pantomime. Mr. D'Israeli in\nconclusion observes, that \"in gesticulation and humor our Rich appears\nto have been a complete mime; his genius was entirely confined to\npantomime, and he had the glory of introducing Harlequin on the English\nstage, which he played under the feigned name of Lun. He could describe\nto the audience by his signs and gestures, as intelligibly as others\ncould express by words. There is a large caricature print of the triumph\nwhich Rich had obtained over the severe muses of tragedy and comedy,\nwhich lasted too long not to excite jealousy and opposition from the\n_corps dramatique_.\n\n\"Garrick, who once introduced a speaking Harlequin, has celebrated the\nsilent but powerful language of Rich:--\n\n \"When LUN appeared, with matchless art and whim,\n He gave the power of speech to every limb,\n Tho' mask'd and mute, convey'd his quick intent,\n And told in frolic gestures what he meant;\n But now the motley coat and sword of wood\n Require a tongue to make them understood!'\"\n\nFoote, it was, we think, who attempted to get a standing for a Harlequin\nwith a wooden leg upon the English stage; and though he was supported by\na clown upon crutches, these and other efforts to effect a witty reform\nin the mechanism of an English pantomime proved unsuccessful. \"Why is\nthis burlesque race here,\" inquires Mr. D'Israeli, \"privileged to cost\nso much, to do so little, and repeat that little so often?\" In 1827,\naccording to a statement which we believe to be tolerably correct, the\n\"getting up,\" as it is termed, of the pantomimes produced on the 26th of\nDecember, in London, cost at--\n\n Covent Garden \u00a31,000\n Drury Lane 1,000\n Surrey 500\n Adelphi 200\n Olympic 150\n Sadler's Wells 100\n West London 100\n ------\n Making the total of \u00a33,050\n\nand in other years, we believe the cost has been considerably more; and\nyet this enormous expenditure left no impression on the popular memory,\nmere stage-trick being far below the exhibition of a juggler. True it\nis, that clever artists have been for many years employed to design and\npaint the scenery of the pantomimes, and consequently admirable pictures\nhave been exhibited, especially at the national theatres, where this\nfeature, indeed, constitutes the main attraction of the evening's\nperformance. The stupid tragedy of \"George Barnwell,\" produced for the\nsake of the city apprentices, was formerly the usual prelude to the\nChristmas pantomime on the night of St. Stephen's Day. Hone, in his\n\"Every-Day Book,\" has chronicled that \"the representation of this\ntragedy was omitted in the Christmas holidays of 1819, at both theatres,\nfor the first time.\" To be sure, this dull affair answered the purpose\nas well as any other, it being an established rule with the tenants of\nthe theatrical Olympus that nothing shall be heard save their own\nthunders, previously to the pantomime on St. Stephen's night. The most\nfamous pantomime which has been played in our times is unquestionably\nMother Goose. When it was produced, or to whom the authorship is\nascribed, we know not; but in 1808 it was revived and played at the\nHaymarket, with an additional scene representing the burning of Covent\nGarden Theatre. The pantomimes of the last thirty years have failed to\neffect a total eclipse of the brilliancy of \"Harlequin and Mother Goose,\nor the Golden Egg;\" which found its way into the list of provincial\nstock-pieces.\n\nConnected with this golden age of English pantomime, the recollection of\nGrimaldi, Joey Grimaldi, as the gallery folk delighted to call him, is\nan obvious association. His acting like that of Liston must have been\nseen to be understood or appreciated; for no description can convey an\nadequate idea of the power of expression and gesture. They who have not\nseen Joey may never hope to look upon his like; and they who have seen\nhim must never expect to see his like again. On the English stage never\nwas clown like Grimaldi! He was far more than a clown, he was a great\ncomic actor. But his constitution soon gave way under the trials to\nwhich it was exposed. In the depth of winter, after performing at\nSadler's Wells, he was brought down night after night wrapped in\nblankets to Covent Garden; and there had, for the second time in the\ncourse of the same evening, to go through the allotted series of\ngrimaces, leaps, and tumbles. Poor Grimaldi, sunk by these exertions\ninto a premature old age, was finally obliged to retire from the stage\non the 27th of June, 1828; and the Literary Gazette thus pleasantly, but\nfeelingly, announced his intention:--\n\n\"Our immense favorite, Grimaldi, under the severe pressure of years and\ninfirmities, is enabled through the good feeling and prompt liberality\nof Mr. Price, to take a benefit at Drury Lane on Friday next; the last\nof Joseph Grimaldi! Drury's, Covent Garden's, Sadler's, everybody's Joe!\nThe friend of Harlequin and Farley-kin! the town clown! greatest of\nfools! daintiest of motleys! the true ami des enfans! The tricks and\nchanges of life, sadder, alas! than those of pantomime, have made a\ndismal difference between the former flapping, filching, laughing,\nbounding antic and the present Grimaldi. He has no spring in his foot,\nno mirth in his eye! The corners of his mouth droop mournfully\nearthward; and he stoops in the back, like the weariest of Time's\nporters! L'Allegro has done with him, and Il Penseroso claims him for\nits own! It is said, besides, that his pockets are neither so large nor\nso well stuffed as they used to be on the stage: and it is hard to\nsuppose fun without funds, or broad grins in narrow circumstances.\"\n\nThe mummers, who still go about at this season of the year in some parts\nof England, are the last descendants of those maskers, who in former\ntimes, as we have shown at length, contributed to the celebrations of\nthe season, at once amongst the highest and lowest classes of the land;\nas their performances present, also, the last semblances of those\nancient Mysteries and Moralities, by which the splendid pageants of the\ncourt were preceded. Sir Walter Scott, in a note to \"Marmion,\" seems to\nintimate that these mummeries are, in fact, the offspring and relics of\nthe old Mysteries themselves. The fact, however, seems rather to be,\nthat these exhibitions existed before the introduction of the Scripture\nplays; and that the one and the other are separate forms of a practice\ncopied directly from the festival observances of the pagans.\nAccordingly, Brand speaks of a species of mumming which \"consists in\nchanging clothes between men and women who, when dressed in each other's\nhabits go from one neighbor's house to another, partaking of Christmas\ncheer and making merry with them in disguise;\" and which practice he\ntraces directly to the Roman Sigillaria. In various parts of the\nContinent also, as in France and Germany, certain forms of mumming long\nexisted, which appear to have been originally borrowed from the rites of\nidolatry: and the Scottish Guisars, or Guisarts, if the very ingenious\nexplanation of their hogmanay cry given by Mr. Repp (and for which we\nrefer our readers to vol. iv., part 1, of the Arch\u00e6ologia Scotica) be\ncorrect, connect themselves with the superstitions of the northern\nnations.\n\nAmongst the forms of ancient mumming which have come down to the present\nor recent times, we may observe that the hobby-horse formed as late as\nthe seventeenth century a prominent character, and that something of\nthis kind seems still to exist. Dr. Plot in his \"History of\nStaffordshire\" mentions a performance called the \"Hobby-horse Dance,\" as\nhaving taken place at Abbot's Bromley during the Christmas season,\nwithin the memory of man; and we have already shown that a modification\nof the same practice continues to the present day, or did to within a\nfew years back, in the Isle of Thanet. This dance is described by Dr.\nPlot as being composed of \"a person who carried the image of a horse\nbetween his legs, made of thin boards, and in his hand a bow and arrow.\nThe latter, passing through a hole in the bow and stopping on a\nshoulder, made a snapping noise when drawn to and fro, keeping time with\nthe music. With this man danced six others, carrying on their shoulders\nas many reindeer heads with the arms of the chief families to whom the\nrevenues of the town belonged. They danced the heys, and other country\ndances. To the above Hobby-horse there belonged a pot, which was kept by\nturns by the reeves of the town, who provided cakes and ale to put into\nthis pot,--all people who had any kindness for the good intent of the\ninstitution of the sport, giving pence a-piece for themselves and\nfamilies. Foreigners also that came to see it contributed; and the\nmoney, after defraying the expense of the cakes and ale, went to repair\nthe church and support the poor.\" A reason given by some as the origin\nof this practice, we have already stated in our mention of \"hodening;\"\nand our readers will see that its object, like that of the other similar\nobservances of this season, was charity.\n\nIn some parts of the north of England, a custom exists to the present\ntime which appears to be composed of the ancient Roman sword-dance, or,\nperhaps, the sword-dance of the northern nations, and lingering traces\nof the obsolete \"Festival of Fools.\" This practice, which is called the\n\"Fool Plough,\" consists in a pageant composed of \"a number of\nsword-dancers dragging a plough, with music, and one, sometimes two, in\nvery strange attire; the Bessy in the grotesque habit of an old woman,\nand the fool almost covered with skins, a hairy cap on, and the tail of\nsome animal hanging from his back. The office of one of these\ncharacters, in which he is very assiduous, is to go about rattling a box\namongst the spectators of the dance, in which he receives their little\ndonations.\" Our readers will probably remember that a set of these\nmummers are introduced by Washington Irving, in his account of a\nChristmas spent in Yorkshire.\n\nThe old Christmas play of \"Saint George and the Dragon\" is still amongst\nthe most popular amusements of this season, in many parts of England.\nWhether this particular kind of performance is to be considered as\ndating from the return of the Crusaders, or that similar representations\nhad existed previously, the characters of which alone were changed by\nthat event, does not appear from any other remains that have reached us.\nThere is evidence, however, that plays founded upon the legend of Saint\nGeorge are of a very remote date; and, in all probability, they were\nintroduced not long after the age of the Crusades. From various\ncontributors to Mr. Hone's \"Every-Day Book,\" we learn that versions of\nthese plays are still performed amongst the lower orders at the\nChristmas tide, in the extreme western counties of England, as also in\nCumberland, and some others of the more northern ones; and one of those\ncorrespondents, dating from Falkirk, gives an account of a play still\nperformed by the Guisars, in some parts of Scotland, which is of similar\nconstruction and evidently borrowed from the same source, but in which\none Galgacus is substituted for Saint George, as the hero of the piece;\nand the drama is made by that substitution to commemorate the successful\nbattle of the Grampians, by the Scots under that leader, against the\ninvader, Agricola. If Mr. Reddock be right in this opinion, Agricola is\nfor the nonce elevated to the title of king of Macedon. The party who\ncarries the bag for these mummers is a very questionable trustee, being\nno other than Judas Iscariot. Sir Walter Scott, in his notes to\n\"Marmion,\" speaks of the same play as one in which he and his companions\nwere in the habit of taking parts, when boys; and mentions the\ncharacters of the old Scripture-plays having got mixed up with it in the\nversion familiar to him. He enumerates Saint Peter, who carried the\nkeys; Saint Paul, who was armed with a sword; and Judas, who had the bag\nfor contributions; and says that he believes there was also a Saint\nGeorge. It is not unlikely there might, though he is not mentioned by\nMr. Reddock, for the confusion of characters in all these versions is\nvery great. In the Whitehaven edition, Saint George is son to the king\nof Egypt, and the hero who carries all before him is Alexander. He\nconquers Saint George and kills the king of Egypt. In fact the legend,\nas it exists in the old romance of \"Sir Bevys of Hampton,\" has\neverywhere been mixed up with extraneous matter, and scarcely any two\nsets of performers render it alike. The plot seems, in all, to be pretty\nnearly the same; and the doctor, with his marvellous cures and empirical\ngibberish, seems to be common to them all. \"But so little,\" says Sandys,\n\"do the actors know the history of their own drama, that sometimes\nGeneral Wolfe is introduced, who first fights Saint George, and then\nsings a song about his own death. I have also seen the Duke of\nWellington represented.\" Mr. Reddock mentions, that during the war with\nFrance one of the characters in his version \"was made to say that he had\nbeen 'fighting the French,' and that the _loon_ who took leg-bail was no\nless a personage than\" the great Napoleon. Mr. Sandys mentions that\noccasionally there is a sort of anti-masque, or burlesque (if the\nburlesque itself _can_ be burlesqued) at the end of the performance;\nwhen some comic characters enter, called Hub Bub, Old Squire, etc., and\nthe piece concludes with a dance. At other times, the performances are\nwound up by a song.\n\nWe may mention that we have in our possession an Irish version of the\nsame play, as it is still played by the boys in that country; in which\nversion, as might be expected, the championship is given to Saint\nPatrick, who asserts that Saint George was nothing more than \"Saint\nPatrick's boy,\" and fed his horses. Another of the characters in this\nedition of the story is Oliver Cromwell, who, after certain\ngrandiloquent boastings (amongst others, that he had \"conquered many\nnations with his copper nose\"), calls upon no less personage than\nBeelzebub to step in and confirm his assertions.\n\nThe costume and accoutrements of these mummers (of whom we have given a\nrepresentation at page 65) appear to be pretty generally of the same\nkind, and, for the most part, to resemble those of morris-dancers. They\nare thus correctly described by Mr. Sandys. Saint George and the other\ntragic performers wear \"white trousers and waistcoats, showing their\nshirt-sleeves, and are much decorated with ribbons and handkerchiefs,\neach carrying a drawn sword in his hand, if they can be procured,\notherwise a cudgel. They wear high caps of pasteboard covered with fancy\npaper, adorned with beads, small pieces of looking-glass, bugles, etc.,\nseveral long strips of pith generally hanging down from the top, with\nshreds of different colored cloth strung on them, the whole having a\nfanciful and smart effect. The Turk sometimes has a turban. Father\nChristmas is personified as a grotesque old man, wearing a large mask\nand wig, with a huge club in his hand. The doctor, who is sort of\nmerry-andrew to the piece, is dressed in some ridiculous way, with a\nthree-cornered hat and painted face. The female when there is one, is\nin the costume of her great-grandmother. The hobby-horse, when\nintroduced, has a sort of representation of a horse's hide; but the\ndragon and the giant, when there is one, frequently appear with the same\nstyle of dress as the knights.\"\n\nWe will present our readers with the version of this old drama given by\nMr. Sandys, as still performed in Cornwall. Elsewhere, we have met with\nsome slight variations upon even this Cornwall piece, but will be\ncontent to print it as we find it in the collection in question. Our\nLancashire readers will at once recognize its close resemblance to the\nplay performed in that county, about the time of Easter, by the\nPeace-eggers, or Paste-eggers, of whom we shall speak, in their proper\nplace, in a future volume.\n\n\n _Enter the Turkish Knight._\n\n Open your doors and let me in,\n I hope your favors I shall win;\n Whether I rise or whether I fall\n I'll do my best to please you all.\n Saint George is here, and swears he will come in,\n And if he does, I know he'll pierce my skin.\n If you will not believe what I do say,\n Let Father Christmas come in,--clear the way!\n [_Retires._\n\n\n _Enter Father Christmas._\n\n Here come I, old Father Christmas,\n Welcome, or welcome not,\n I hope old Father Christmas\n Will never be forgot.\n I am not come here to laugh or to jeer,\n But for a pocketful of money and a skinful of beer.\n If you will not believe what I do say,\n Come in the King of Egypt,--clear the way!\n\n\n _Enter the King of Egypt._\n\n Here I, the King of Egypt, boldly do appear,\n Saint George! Saint George! walk in, my only son and heir.\n Walk in, my son, Saint George! and boldly act thy part,\n That all the people here may see thy wond'rous art.\n\n\n _Enter Saint George._\n\n Here come I, Saint George, from Britain did I spring,\n I'll fight the Dragon bold, my wonders to begin,\n I'll clip his wings, he shall not fly;\n I'll cut him down, or else I die.\n\n\n _Enter the Dragon._\n\n Who's he that seeks the Dragon's blood,\n And calls so angry, and so loud?\n That English dog, will he before me stand?\n I'll cut him down with my courageous hand.\n With my long teeth and scurvy jaw,\n Of such I'd break up half a score,\n And stay my stomach, till I'd more.\n\n[_Saint George and the Dragon fight,--the latter is killed._\n\n _Father Christmas._\n\n Is there a doctor to be found\n All ready, near at hand,\n To cure a deep and deadly wound,\n And make the champion stand?\n\n\n _Enter Doctor._\n\n Oh! yes, there is a doctor to be found\n All ready, near at hand,\n To cure a deep and deadly wound,\n And make the champion stand.\n\n _Fa. Chris._ What can you cure?\n\n _Doctor._ All sorts of diseases,\n Whatever you pleases,\n The phthisic, the palsy, and the gout;\n If the devil's in, I'll blow him out.\n\n _Fa. Chris._ What is your fee?\n\n _Doctor._ Fifteen pound, it is my fee,\n The money to lay down;\n But, as 'tis such a rogue as thee,\n I cure for ten pound.\n I carry a little bottle of alicumpane,\n Here Jack, take a little of my flip flop,\n Pour it down thy tip top,\n Rise up and fight again.\n\n[_The Doctor performs his cure, the fight is renewed, and the Dragon\nagain killed._\n\n _Saint George._\n\n Here am I, Saint George,\n That worthy champion bold!\n And with my sword and spear\n I won three crowns of gold!\n I fought the fiery dragon,\n And brought him to the slaughter;\n By that I won fair Sabra,\n The King of Egypt's daughter.\n Where is the man, that now me will defy?\n I'll cut his giblets full of holes, and make his buttons fly.\n\n\n _The Turkish Knight advances._\n\n Here come I, the Turkish knight,\n Come from the Turkish land to fight!\n I'll fight Saint George, who is my foe,\n I'll make him yield, before I go;\n He brags to such a high degree,\n He thinks there's none can do the like of he.\n\n\n _Saint George._\n\n Where is the Turk, that will before me stand?\n I'll cut him down with my courageous hand.\n\n[_They fight, the Knight is overcome, and falls on one knee._\n\n\n _Turkish Knight._\n\n Oh! pardon me, Saint George! pardon of thee I crave,\n Oh! pardon me, this night, and I will be thy slave.\n\n _Saint George._\n\n No pardon shalt thou have, while I have foot to stand.\n So rise thee up again, and fight out sword in hand.\n\n[_They fight again, and the Knight is killed; Father Christmas calls for\nthe Doctor, with whom the same dialogue occurs as before, and the cure\nis performed._\n\n_Enter the Giant Turpin._\n\n Here come I, the Giant! bold Turpin is my name,\n And all the nations round do tremble at my fame.\n Where'er I go, they tremble at my sight,\n No lord or champion long with me would fight.\n\n\n _Saint George._\n\n Here's one that dares to look thee in the face,\n And soon will send thee to another place.\n\n[_They fight, and the Giant is killed; medical aid is called in, as\nbefore, and the cure performed by the Doctor, who then, according to the\nstage direction, is given a basin of girdy grout, and a kick, and driven\nout._\n\n\n _Father Christmas._\n\n Now, ladies and gentlemen, your sport is most ended.\n So prepare for the hat, which is highly commended.\n The hat it would speak, if it had but a tongue.\n Come throw in your money, and think it no wrong.\n\nAnd these, with the dance filling up the intervals and enlivening the\nwinter nights, are amongst the sports and amusements which extend\nthemselves over the Christmas season and connect together its more\nspecial and characteristic observances.\n\n[Illustration: GALANTEE SHOW.]\n\n[Illustration: MARKET--CHRISTMAS EVE.--_Page 267._]\n\n\n\n\nCHRISTMAS EVE.\n\n24TH DECEMBER.\n\n \"Some say, that ever 'gainst that season comes\n Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated,\n This bird of dawning singeth all night long:\n And then, they say, no spirit dares stir abroad;\n The nights are wholesome; then no planets strike,\n No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm,\n So hallow'd and so gracious is the time.\"\n HAMLET.\n\n\nTHE progress of the Christmas celebrations has at length brought us up\nto the immediate threshold of that high day in honor of which they are\nall instituted; and amid the crowd of festivities by which it is on all\nsides surrounded, the Christian heart makes a pause to-night. Not that\nthe Eve of Christmas is marked by an entire abstinence from that spirit\nof festival by which the rest of this season is distinguished, nor that\nthe joyous character of the event on whose immediate verge it stands\nrequires that it should. No part of that season is more generally\ndedicated to the assembling of friends than are the great day itself and\nthe eve which ushers it in. Still, however, the feelings of rejoicing\nwhich properly belong to the blessed occasion are chastened by the\nimmediate presence of the occasion itself; and touching traditions and\nbeautiful superstitions have given an air of solemnity to the night,\nbeneath whose influence the spirit of commemoration assumes a religious\ncharacter, and takes a softened tone.\n\nBefore however, touching upon the customs and ceremonies of the night,\nor upon those natural superstitions which have hung themselves around\nits sacred watches, we must take a glimpse at an out-of-door scene which\nforms a curious enough feature of Christmas Eve, and is rather connected\nwith the great festival of to-morrow than with the hushed and expectant\nfeelings which are the fitting moral condition of to-night.\n\nEverywhere throughout the British isles Christmas Eve is marked by an\nincreased activity about the good things of this life. \"Now,\" says\nStevenson, an old writer whom we have already quoted for the customs of\nCharles the Second's time, \"capons and hens, besides turkeys, geese,\nducks, with beef and mutton, must all die; for in twelve days a\nmultitude of people will not be fed with a little;\" and the preparations\nin this respect of this present period of grace, are made much after the\nancient prescription of Stevenson. The abundant displays of every kind\nof edible in the London markets on Christmas Eve, with a view to the\ntwelve days' festival of which it is the overture, the blaze of lights\namid which they are exhibited and the evergreen decorations by which\nthey are embowered, together with the crowds of idlers or of purchasers\nthat wander through these well-stored magazines, present a picture of\nabundance and a congress of faces well worthy of a single visit from the\nstranger, to whom a London market on the eve of Christmas is as yet a\nnovelty.\n\nThe approach of Christmas Eve in the metropolis is marked by the\nSmithfield show of over-fed cattle; by the enormous beasts and birds,\nfor the fattening of which medals and cups and prizes have been awarded\nby committees of amateur graziers and feeders; in honor of which\nmonstrosities, dinners have been eaten, toasts drunk, and speeches made.\nThese prodigious specimens of corpulency we behold, after being thus\nglorified, led like victims of antiquity decked with ribbons and other\ntokens of triumph, or perhaps instead of led, we should, as the animals\nare scarcely able to waddle, have used the word goaded, to be immolated\nat the altar of gluttony in celebration of Christmas! To admiring\ncrowds, on the eve itself, are the results of oil-cake and\nturnip-feeding displayed in the various butcher's shops of the\nmetropolis and its vicinity; and the efficacy of walnut-cramming is\nillustrated in Leadenhall market, where Norfolk turkeys and Dorking\nfowls appear in numbers and magnitude unrivalled. The average weight\ngiven for each turkey, by the statement heretofore quoted by us of the\nnumber and gravity of those birds sent up to London from Norfolk during\ntwo days of a Christmas some years ago, is nearly twelve pounds; but\nwhat is called a fine bird in Leadenhall Market weighs, when trussed,\nfrom eighteen to one or two-and-twenty pounds,--the average price of\nwhich may be stated at twenty shillings; and prize turkeys have been\nknown to weigh more than a quarter of a hundred weight.\n\nBrawn is another dish of this season, and is sold by the poulterers,\nfishmongers, and pastry-cooks. The supply for the consumption of London\nis chiefly derived from Canterbury, Oxfordshire, and Hampshire. \"It is\nmanufactured from the flesh of large boars, which are suffered to live\nin a half-wild state, and, when put up to fatten, are strapped and\nbelted tight round the principal parts of the carcass, in order to make\nthe flesh become dense and brawny. This article comes to market in rolls\nabout two feet long and ten inches in diameter, packed in wicker\nbaskets.\"\n\nSandys observes that \"Brawn is a dish of great antiquity, and may be\nfound in most of the old bills of fare for coronation and other great\nfeasts.\" \"Brawn, mustard, and malmsey were directed for breakfast at\nChristmas, during Queen Elizabeth's reign; and Dugdale, in his account\nof the Inner Temple Revels, of the same age, states the same directions\nfor that society. The French,\" continues Sandys, \"do not appear to have\nbeen so well acquainted with it; for, on the capture of Calais by them,\nthey found a large quantity, which they guessed to be some dainty, and\ntried every means of preparing it; in vain did they roast it, bake it,\nand boil it; it was impracticable and impenetrable to their culinary\narts. Its merits, however, being at length discovered, 'Ha!' said the\nmonks, 'what delightful fish!'--and immediately added it to their\nfast-day viands. The Jews, again, could not believe it was procured from\nthat impure beast, the hog, and included it in their list of clean\nanimals.\"\n\nAmid the interior forms to be observed, on this evening, by those who\nwould keep their Christmas after the old orthodox fashion, the first to\nbe noticed is that of the Yule Clog. This huge block, which, in ancient\ntimes, and consistently with the capacity of its vast receptacle, was\nfrequently the root of a large tree, it was the practice to introduce\ninto the house with great ceremony, and to the sound of music. Herrick's\ndirection is:--\n\n \"Come, bring with a noise\n My merrie, merrie boys,\n The Christmas log to the firing;\n While my good dame she\n Bids you all be free,\n And drink to your heart's desiring.\"\n\nIn Drake's \"Winter Nights\" mention is made of the Yule Clog, as lying,\n\"in ponderous majesty, on the kitchen floor,\" until \"each had sung his\nYule song, standing on its centre,\"--ere it was consigned to the flames\nthat\n\n \"Went roaring up the chimney wide.\"\n\nThis Yule Clog, according to Herrick, was to be lighted with the brand\nof the last year's log, which had been carefully laid aside for the\npurpose, and music was to be played during the ceremony of lighting:--\n\n \"With the last yeere's brand\n Light the new block, and\n For good successe in his spending,\n On your psaltries play,\n That sweet luck may\n Come while the log is a teending.\"\n\nThis log appears to have been considered as sanctifying the roof-tree,\nand was probably deemed a protection against those evil spirits over\nwhom this season was in every way a triumph. Accordingly, various\nsuperstitions mingled with the prescribed ceremonials in respect of it.\nFrom the authority already quoted on this subject, we learn that its\nvirtues were not to be extracted, unless it were lighted with clean\nhands--a direction, probably, including both a useful household hint to\nthe domestics, and, it may be, a moral of a higher kind:--\n\n \"Wash your hands or else the fire\n Will not tend to your desire;\n Unwash'd hands, ye maidens, know,\n Dead the fire though ye blow.\"\n\nAround this fire, when duly lighted, the hospitalities of the evening\nwere dispensed; and as the flames played about it and above it, with a\npleasant song of their own, the song and the tale and the jest went\ncheerily round. In different districts, different omens attached\nthemselves to circumstances connected with this observance, but\ngenerally it was deemed an evil one if the log went out during the night\nor, we suppose, during the symposium. The extinguished brand was, of\ncourse, to be preserved, to furnish its ministry to the ceremonial of\nthe ensuing year.\n\nThe Yule Clog is still lighted up, on Christmas Eve, in various parts of\nEngland, and particularly in the north. In some places, where a block of\nsufficient dimensions is not readily come by, it is usual to lay aside a\nlarge coal for the purpose, which, if not quite orthodox, is an\nexceedingly good succedaneum, and a very rich source of cheerful\ninspirations.\n\nAnother feature of this evening, in the houses of the more wealthy, was\nthe tall Christmas candles, with their wreaths of evergreens, which were\nlighted up, along with the Yule log, and placed on the upper table, or\ndais, of ancient days. Those of our readers who desire to light the\nChristmas candles, this year, may place them on the sideboard, or in any\nother conspicuous situation. Brand, however, considers the Yule log and\nthe Christmas candle to be but one observance, and that the former is\nonly a substitute for the latter. By our ancestors, of the Latin church,\nChristmas was formerly called the \"Feast of Lights,\" and numbers of\nlights were displayed on the occasion. The lights and the title were\nboth typical of the religious light dawning upon the world at that\nsacred period,--of the advent, in fact, of the \"Light of lights,\" and\nthe conquest over moral darkness. Hence, it is thought, arose the\n_domestic_ ceremony of the Christmas candle, and that the Yule block was\nbut another form of the same,--the poor man's Christmas candle.\n\nOccasionally, the Catholics appear to have made these Christmas candles\n(as also the candles exhibited by them, on other occasions of the\ncommemorations connected with their religion) in a triangular form, as\ntypical of the Trinity. Mr. Hone, in his volume on the subject of\n\"Ancient Mysteries,\" gives a representation of one of these candles; and\nMr. Crofton Croker, in a letter to us, speaking of the huge dip candles\ncalled Christmas candles, exhibited at this season in the chandlers'\nshops in Ireland, and presented by them to their customers, says, \"It\nwas the custom, I have been told (for the mystery of such matters was\nconfined to the kitchen), to burn the three branches down to the point\nin which they united, and the remainder was reserved to 'see in,' as it\nwas termed, the new year by.\" \"There is,\" says Mr. Croker, \"always\nconsiderable ceremony observed in lighting these great candles on\nChristmas Eve. It is thought unlucky to snuff one; and certain auguries\nare drawn from the manner and duration of their burning.\"\n\n[Illustration: WASSAIL BOWL.--_Page 275._]\n\nThe customs peculiar to Christmas Eve are numerous, and various in\ndifferent parts of the British isles; the peculiarities, in most cases,\narising from local circumstances or traditions, and determining the\n_particular_ forms of a celebration which is _universal_. To enter upon\nany thing like an enumeration of these, it would be necessary to allow\nourselves another volume. We must, therefore, confine ourselves to the\ngeneral observances by which the Christmas spirit works, and each of our\nreaders will have no difficulty in connecting the several local customs\nwhich come under his own notice with the particular feature of common\ncelebration to which they belong.\n\nBut all men, in all places, who would keep Christmas Eve as Christmas\nEve should be kept, must set the wassail-bowl a-flowing for the\noccasion. \"Fill me a mighty bowl!\" says Herrick, \"up to the brim!\" and\nthough this fountain of \"quips and cranks and wreathed smiles,\" belongs,\nin an especial sense, to Twelfth-night (Twelfth-night not being\nTwelfth-night without it), yet it should be compounded for every one of\nthe festival nights, and invoked to spread its inspirations over the\nentire season.\n\n \"Honor to you who sit\n Near to the well of wit,\n And drink your fill of it!\"\n\nagain says our friend Herrick (what could we do without him, in this\nChristmas book of ours?). And surely, judging by such effects as we have\nwitnessed, Herrick must have meant the wassail-bowl. We are perfectly\naware that there are certain other dwellers in that same bowl. Truth has\nbeen said to lie at the bottom of a well; and we have certainly seen him\nunseasonably brought up out of the very well in question, by those who\nhave gone further into its depths than was necessary for reaching the\nabode of wit. No doubt, truth is at all times a very respectable\npersonage; but there are certain times when he and wit do not meet on\nthe best of terms, and he is apt, occasionally, to be somewhat of a\nrevel-marrer. The garb and temper in which he often follows wit out of\nthat bowl are not those in which he appears to the most advantage. We\nknow, also, that there is yet a deeper deep, in which worse things still\nreside; and although there be pearls there, too,--and the skilful diver\nmay bring treasures up out of that bowl, and escape all its evil\nspirits, besides,--yet it is, at any rate, not on this night of subdued\nmirth that we intend to recommend an exploration of these further\ndepths. But still the bowl should be produced, and go round. A cheerful\nsporting with the light bubbles that wit flings up to its surface are\nperfectly consistent with the sacred character of the night, and, for\nourselves, _we_ will have a wassail-bowl this Christmas Eve.\n\nThe word \"wassail\" is derived from the Saxon _was haile_; which word,\nand _drinc-heil_ (_heil_, health) were, as appears from old authors\nquoted by Brand, the usual ancient phrases of quaffing, among the\nEnglish and equivalent to the \"Here's to you,\" and \"I pledge you,\" of\nthe present day. \"The wassail-bowl,\" says Warton, \"is Shakspeare's\ngossip's bowl, in the Midsummer Night's Dream.\" It should be composed,\nby those who can afford it, of some rich wine highly spiced and\nsweetened, with roasted apples floating on its surface. But ale was more\ncommonly substituted for the wine, mingled with nutmeg, ginger, sugar,\ntoast, and roasted crabs. \"It is,\" says Leigh Hunt, \"a good-natured\nbowl, and accommodates itself to the means of all classes, rich and\npoor. You may have it of the costliest wine or the humblest malt liquor.\nBut in no case must the roasted apples be forgotten. They are the _sine\nqua non_ of the wassail-bowl, as the wassail-bowl is of the day (_he_ is\nspeaking of New Year's Day); and very pleasant they are, provided they\nare not mixed up too much with the beverage, balmy, comfortable, and\ndifferent, a sort of meat in the drink, but innocent withal and\nreminding you of the orchards. They mix their flavor with the beverage,\nand the beverage with them, giving a new meaning to the line of the\npoet,--\n\n 'The gentler apple's winy juice;'\n\nfor both winy and gentler have they become by this process. Our\nancestors gave them the affectionate name of 'lamb's wool;' for we\ncannot help thinking, in spite of what is intimated by one of our\nauthorities, that this term applied more particularly to the apples and\nnot so much to the bowl altogether; though if it did, it shows how\nindispensably necessary to it they were considered.\" With all deference\nto Mr. Leigh Hunt's pleasant and graceful trifling, lamb's wool was the\ntitle given to the composition itself, no doubt on account of the\ndelicate and harmonious qualities, to which the apples contribute their\nshare. Our readers will find an account of the alleged origin of this\nannual practice in a curious description of an old wassail-bowl, carved\nupon the oaken beam that supported a chimney-piece in an old mansion in\nKent, which description is copied by Hone into his \"Every-Day Book,\"\nfrom the \"Antiquarian Repertory.\" In the halls of our ancestors, this\nbowl was introduced with the inspiring cry of \"wassail,\" three times\nrepeated, and immediately answered by a song from the chaplain. We hope\nour readers will sing to the wassail-bowl this Christmas-tide.\n\nWe find that in some parts of Ireland and in Germany, and probably in\ndistricts of England, too, Christmas Eve is treated as a night of omens,\nand that practices exist for gathering its auguries having a resemblance\nto those of our northern neighbors at Halloween. Many beautiful, and\nsome solemn superstitions belong to this night and the following\nmorning. It is stated by Sir Walter Scott, in one of his notes to\n\"Marmion,\" to be an article of popular faith, \"that they who are born on\nChristmas or Good Friday have the power of seeing spirits, and even of\ncommanding them;\" and he adds that \"the Spaniards imputed the haggard\nand downcast looks of their Philip II. to the disagreeable visions to\nwhich this privilege subjected him.\"\n\nAmong the finest superstitions of the night may be mentioned that which\nis alluded to by Shakspeare in the lines which we have placed as the\nepigraph to the present chapter. It is a consequence or application of\nthat very ancient and popular belief which assigns the night for the\nwanderings of spirits, and supposes them, at the crowing of \"the cock,\nthat is the trumpet to the morn,\" to start \"like a guilty thing upon a\nfearful summons,\" and betake themselves to flight. Here again, as in so\nmany cases of vulgar superstition, a sort of mental metonymy has taken\nplace; and the crowing of the cock, which in the early stage of the\nbelief was imagined to be the signal for the departure of evil spirits,\nonly _because_ it announced the morning, is, in the further stage which\nwe are examining, held to be a sound _in itself_ intolerable to these\nshadowy beings. Accordingly it is supposed that on the eve of Christmas\n\"the bird of dawning singeth all night long,\" to scare away all evil\nthings from infesting the hallowed hours:--\n\n \"And then, they say, no spirit dares stir abroad;\n The nights are wholesome; then no planets strike,\n No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm,\n So hallow'd and so gracious is the time.\"\n\nIn the south-west of England there exists a superstitious notion that\nthe oxen are to be found kneeling in their stalls at midnight of this\nvigil, as if in adoration of the Nativity,--an idea which Brand, no\ndoubt correctly, supposes to have originated from the representations by\nearly painters of the event itself. That writer mentions a Cornish\npeasant who told him (1790) of his having with some others watched\nseveral oxen in their stalls, on the eve of old Christmas Day. \"At\ntwelve o'clock at night, they observed the two oldest oxen fall upon\ntheir knees, and, as he expressed it in the idiom of the country, make\n'a cruel moan like Christian creatures.'\" To those who regard the\nanalogies of the human mind, who mark the progress of tradition, who\nstudy the diffusion of certain fancies, and their influence upon\nmankind, an anecdote related by Mr. Howison in his \"Sketches of Upper\nCanada,\" is full of comparative interest. He mentions meeting an Indian\nat midnight, creeping cautiously along in the stillness of a beautiful\nmoonlight Christmas Eve. The Indian made signals to him to be silent;\nand when questioned as to his reason replied,--\"Me watch to see the deer\nkneel; this is Christmas night, and all the deer fall upon their knees\nto the Great Spirit, and look up.\"\n\nIn various parts of England, bees are popularly said to express their\nveneration for the Nativity by \"singing,\" as it is called, in their\nhives at midnight, upon Christmas Eve: and in some places, particularly\nin Derbyshire, it is asserted that the watcher may hear the ringing of\nsubterranean bells. In the mining districts again, the workmen declare\nthat--\n\n \"Ever 'gainst that season comes\n Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated,\"\n\nhigh mass is solemnly performed in that cavern which contains the\nrichest lode of ore, that it is brilliantly lighted up with candles, and\nthat the service is chanted by unseen choristers.\n\nSuperstitions of this kind seem to be embodied in the carol commencing\nwith \"I saw three ships come sailing in,\" to which we have before\nalluded; the rhythm of which old song is to our ear singularly\nmelodious:--\n\n \"And all the bells on earth shall ring\n On Christmas-day, on Christmas-day,\n And all the bells on earth shall ring\n On Christmas-day in the morning.\n\n \"And all the angels in heaven shall sing\n On Christmas-day, on Christmas-day,\n And all the angels in heaven shall sing\n On Christmas-day in the morning.\n\n \"And all the souls on earth shall sing\n On Christmas-day, on Christmas-day,\n And all the souls on earth shall sing,\n On Christmas-day in the morning.\"\n\nSuch fancies are but the natural echoes in the popular mind of ancient\nsongs and customs; and so strongly is that mind impressed with the\nfeeling of a triumph pervading the entire natural economy on\n\n \"the happy night\n That to the cottage as the crown,\n Brought tidings of salvation down,\"\n\nthat even the torpid bees are figured in its superstitions to utter a\nvoice of gladness, the music of sweet chimes to issue from the bosom of\nthe earth, and rich harmonies to echo and high ceremonies to be\ngorgeously performed, amid the hush and mystery of buried cells.\n\nWe must not omit to mention that these supposed natural testimonies to\nthe triumph of the time have been in some places used as means of\ndivination on a very curious question. The change of style introduced\ninto our calendars nearly a century ago, and by which Christmas Day was\ndisplaced from its ancient position therein, gave great dissatisfaction\non many accounts, and on none more than that of its interference with\nthis ancient festival. The fifth and sixth of January continued long to\nbe observed as the true anniversary of the Nativity and its vigil; and\nthe kneeling of the cattle, the humming of the bees, and the ringing of\nsubterranean bells, were anxiously watched for authentications on this\nsubject. The singular fact of the budding about the period of old\nChristmas Day of the Cadenham oak, in the New Forest of Hampshire, and\nthe same remarkable feature of the Glastonbury thorn (explained in\nvarious ways, but probably nowhere more satisfactorily than in the\nnumber for the 31st December, 1833, of the Saturday Magazine), were of\ncourse used by the vulgar as confirmation of their own tradition; and\nthe putting forth of their leaves was earnestly waited for as an\nunquestionable homage to the joyous spirit of the true period.\n\nWe have already alluded to the high ceremonies with which the great day\nis ushered in amongst the Catholics, and to the beautiful music of the\nmidnight mass:--\n\n \"That only night of all the year\n Saw the stoled priest his chalice rear.\"\n\nThe reader who would have a very graphic and striking account of the\nChristmas Eve mass, as performed by torchlight amid the hills in certain\ndistricts of Ireland, will find one in Mr. Carleton's \"Traits and\nStories of the Irish Peasantry.\"\n\nWe have also mentioned that all the watches of this hallowed night shall\nring to the sounds of earthly minstrelsy, intimating, as best they may,\nthe heavenly choirs that hailed its rising over Judea nearly two\ncenturies ago. Not for the shepherds alone, was that song! Its music was\nfor us, as for them; and all minstrelsy, however rude, is welcome on\nthis night that gives us any echoes of it, however wild. For us too, on\nthe blessed day of which this vigil keeps the door, \"is born in the city\nof David, a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord;\" and we too amid the\nsacred services of to-morrow will \"go even unto Bethlehem, and see this\nthing which is come to pass, which the Lord hath made known to us.\"\n\n[Illustration: OLD CHRISTMAS\n\n In furry pall yclad,\n His brows enwreathed with holly never sere,\n Old Christmas comes to close the wained year:\n _Bampfylde._\n]\n\n\n\n\nCHRISTMAS DAY.\n\n25TH DECEMBER.\n\n\nAND now has arrived the great and important day itself which gives its\ntitle to the whole of this happy season, and the high and blessed work\nof man's redemption is begun. The p\u00e6an of universal rejoicing swells up\non every side; and after those religious exercises which are the\nlanguage that man's joy should take first, the day is one of brightened\nspirits and general congratulation. In no way can man better express his\nsense of its inestimable gift than by the condition of mind that\nreceives gladly, and gives freely; than by mustering his worldly\naffections, that he may renew them in the spirit of the time. This is\nnot the proper place to speak more minutely of the _religious_\nsentiments and services which belong to the season than we have already\ndone. We may merely remark that the streets of the city and the thousand\npathways of the country are crowded on this morning by rich and poor,\nyoung and old, coming in on all sides, gathering from all quarters, to\nhear the particulars of the \"glad tidings\" proclaimed; and each lofty\ncathedral and lowly village church sends up a voice to join the mighty\nchorus whose glad burthen is--\"Glory to God in the highest; and on earth\npeace, good will toward men.\"\n\n[Illustration: CHRISTMAS PUDDING.--_Page 286._]\n\nFrom the religious duties of the day, we must turn at once to its\nsecular observances; and these we will take in the order, with reference\nto the progress of its hours, in which they come, mingling the customs\nof modern times with those of the past in our pages, as, in many\nrespects, we wish our readers would do in practice.\n\nThe plate then on the other side represents the earliest, and not the\nleast important, of the worldly ceremonies of the day, the due\nobservance thereof being essential to the due observance of that later\nceremony which no man holds to be unimportant, least of all on Christmas\nDay, the dinner. But, \"oh! Molly Dumpling! oh! thou cook!\" if that clock\nof thine be right, thou art far behindhand with thy work! Thou shouldst\nhave risen when thou wast disturbed by the Waits at three o'clock this\nmorning! To have discharged thy duty faithfully, thou shouldst have\nconsigned that huge pudding at least two hours earlier to the reeking\ncaldron! We are informed by those who understand such matters, that a\nplum pudding of the ordinary size requires from ten to twelve hours\nboiling; so that a pudding calculated for the appetites of such a party\nas our artist has assembled further on, for its consumption, and due\nregard being had to the somewhat earlier hour than on days in general at\nwhich a Christmas dinner is commonly discussed, should have found its\nway into the boiler certainly before six o'clock. Molly evidently wants\na word of advice from the ancient bellman:--\n\n \"Up, Doll, Peg, Susan! You all spoke to me\n Betimes to call you, and 'tis now past three,\n Get up on your but-ends, and rub your eyes,\n For shame, no longer lye abed, but rise;\n The pewter still to scow'r and house to clean,\n And you abed! good girls, what is't you mean?\"\n\nOn the subject of the identity of the modern plum pudding with the\nancient _hackin_, we are furnished with the following curious remarks by\nMr. Crofton Croker, which we think well worth submitting for the\nconsideration of the curious in such matters.\n\n\"The 'hackin,'\" says that amusing old tract, entitled 'Round about our\nCoal Fire,' \"'must be boiled by daybreak, or else two young men must\ntake the maiden [i. e., the cook] by the arms, and run her round the\nmarket-place, till she is ashamed of her laziness.' Brand, whose\nexplanation Hone in his Every-Day Book has adopted, renders 'hackin' by\n'the great sausage;' and Nares tells us, that the word means 'a large\nsort of sausage, being a part of the cheer provided for Christmas\nfestivities,'--deriving the word from _hack_, to cut or chop. Agreeing\nin this derivation, we do not admit Nares's explanation. 'Hackin,'\nliterally taken, is mince-meat of any kind; but Christmas mince-meat,\neverybody knows, means a composition of meat and suet (hacked small)\nseasoned with fruit and spices. And from the passage above quoted, that\n'the hackin must be boiled, i. e., boiling, by daybreak,' it is obvious\nthe worthy archdeacon who, as well as Brand and Hone, has explained it\nas a great sausage, did not see that 'hackin' is neither more nor less\nthan the old name for the national English dish of plum pudding.\n\n\"We have heard first-rate authorities upon this subject assert, the late\nDr. Kitchener and Mr. Douce were amongst the number, that plum pudding,\nthe renowned English plum pudding, was a dish comparatively speaking of\nmodern invention; and that plum porridge was its ancient representative.\nBut this, for the honor of England, we never would allow, and always\nfought a hard battle upon the point. Brand indeed devotes a section of\nhis observations on popular antiquities to 'Yule-doughs, mince-pies,\nChristmas-pies, and plum porridge,' omitting plum pudding, which new\nChristmas dish, or rather new name for an old Christmas dish, appears to\nhave been introduced with the reign of the 'merry monarch,' Charles II.\nA revolution always creates a change in manners, fashions, tastes, and\nnames; and our theory is that, among other changes, the 'hackin' of our\nancestors was then baptized plum pudding. In Poor Robin's Almanack for\n1676, it is observed of Christmas,--'Good cheer doth so abound as if\nall the world were made of minced-pies, plum pudding, and furmity.' And\nwe might produce other quotations to show that, as the name 'hackin'\nfell into disuse about this period, it was generally supplanted by that\nof plum pudding.\"\n\nPlum pudding is a truly national dish, and refuses to flourish out of\nEngland. It can obtain no footing in France. A Frenchman will dress like\nan Englishman, swear like an Englishman, and get drunk like an\nEnglishman; but if you would offend him forever, compel him to eat plum\npudding. A few of the leading restaurateurs, wishing to appear\nextraordinary, have _plomb-pooding_ upon their cartes; but in no\ninstance is it ever ordered by a Frenchman. Everybody has heard the\nstory of Saint Louis--Henri Quatre,--or whoever else it might be--who,\nwishing to regale the English ambassador on Christmas Day with a plum\npudding, procured an excellent receipt for making one, which he gave to\nhis cook with strict injunctions that it should be prepared with due\nattention to all particulars. The weight of the ingredients, the size of\nthe copper, the quantity of water, the duration of time,--everything was\nattended to, except one trifle; the king forgot the cloth; and the\npudding was served up like so much soup, in immense tureens, to the\nsurprise of the ambassador, who was, however, too well-bred to express\nhis astonishment.\n\nAmongst our ancestors, the duties of the day which followed first after\nthose of religion were the duties which immediately spring out of a\nreligion like ours,--those of charity.\n\n \"When\n Among their children, comfortable men\n Gather about great fires, and yet feel cold,\n Alas! then for the houseless beggar old!\"\n\nwas a sentiment of which they never allowed themselves to lose sight.\nAmid the preparations making for his own enjoyment, and the comforts by\nwhich he set at defiance the austerities of the season, the old English\ngentleman did not forget the affecting truths so beautifully embodied in\nwords by Mary Howitt:--\n\n \"In rich men's halls, the fire is piled,\n And ermine robes keep out the weather;\n In poor men's huts, the fire is low,\n Through broken panes the keen winds blow,\n And old and young are cold together.\n\n \"Oh! poverty is disconsolate!\n Its pains are many, its foes are strong!\n The rich man, in his jovial cheer,\n Wishes 'twas winter through the year;\n The poor man, 'mid his wants profound,\n With all his little children round,\n Prays God that winter be not long!\"\n\nImmediately after the services of the day, the country gentleman stood\nof old, at his own gate (as we have represented him at page 109), and\nsuperintended the distribution of alms to the aged and the destitute.\nThe hall, prepared for the festival of himself and his friends, was\npreviously opened to his tenants and retainers; and the good things of\nthe season were freely dispensed to all. \"There was once,\" says the\nwriter of \"Round about our Coal Fire,\" \"hospitality in the land. An\nEnglish gentleman at the opening of the great day had all his tenants\nand neighbors enter his hall by daybreak; the strong beer was broached,\nand the black-jacks went plentifully about, with toast, sugar, nutmeg,\nand good Cheshire cheese. . . . The servants were then running here and\nthere with merry hearts and jolly countenances. Every one was busy in\nwelcoming of guests, and looked as snug as new-licked puppies. The\nlasses were as blithe and buxom as the maids in good Queen Bess's days,\nwhen they ate sirloins of roast-beef for breakfast. Peg would scuttle\nabout to make a toast for John, while Tom run _harum-scarum_ to draw a\njug of ale for Margery.\"\n\n[Illustration: COUNTRY CHURCH, CHRISTMAS MORNING.--_Page 290._]\n\nOf this scene we have given a representation at page 42; and much of\nthis ancient spirit, we hope and believe, still survives in this\nChristian country. The solemn festivals of ancient superstition were\nmarked either by bloody sacrifice, secret revelling, or open\nlicentiousness. There was no celebration of rites, real or symbolical,\nwhich might become a religion of cheerfulness, decency, and mercy. There\nwas no medium between a mysteriousness dark and gloomy as the grave,\nand a wild and savage enthusiasm or riotous frenzy, which mingled with\nthe worship of the gods the impassioned depravity of human nature. From\nMoloch, upon whose dreadful altar children were offered, to Bacchus, at\nwhose shrine reason and virtue were prostrated, there were none of the\nfabled deities of antiquity whose service united the spirit of devotion\nwith innocent pleasures and the exercise of the domestic charities. This\nwas reserved for the Christian religion, one of the marks of whose\ndivinity it is that it can mingle with many of the pleasures, and all\nthe virtues of the world, without sullying the purity of its\nglory,--without depressing the sublime elevation of its character. The\nrites of Ceres were thought profaned if the most virtuous believer of\nthe divinity of that goddess beheld them without having undergone the\nceremonies of special initiation. The worship of Saturn gave rise to a\nliberty inconsistent with the ordinary government of states. At the\naltar of Diana, on certain days, the Spartans flogged children to death.\nAnd the offerings which on state occasions the Romans made to Jupiter,\nwere such as feudal vassals might offer to their warlike lord. But now,\nthank God!--to use the words of Milton's Hymn on the Nativity,--\n\n \"Peor and Baalim\n Forsake their temples dim,\n With that twice-batter'd God of Palestine;\n And mooned Ashtaroth\n Heaven's queen and mother both,\n Now sits not girt with tapers' holy shine;\n The Lybick Hammon shrinks his horn;\n In vain the Tyrian maids their wounded Thammuz mourn.\n\n \"And sullen Moloch, fled,\n Has left in shadows dread\n His burning idol all of blackest hue;\n In vain with cymbals' ring,\n They call the grisly king,\n In dismal dance about the furnace blue:\n The brutish Gods of Nile as fast,\n Iris, and Orus, and the dog Anubis haste.\n\n \"Nor is Osiris seen\n In Memphian grove or green,\n Trampling the unshowered grass with lowings loud;\n Nor can he be at rest,\n Within his sacred chest;\n Nought but profoundest hell can be his shroud.\n In vain, with timbrelled anthems dark,\n The sable-stoled sorcerers bear his worshipp'd ark.\n\n \"He feels from Judah's land\n The dreaded Infant's hand;\n The rays of Bethlehem blind his dusky eyne;\n Nor all the gods beside\n Longer dare abide;\n Not Typhon huge, ending in snaky twine:\n Our Babe, to show his God-head true,\n Can in his swaddling bands control the damned crew.\"\n\nOh! how different were those religions of the passions and the senses\nfrom that of the sentiments and pure affections of the Christian heart;\nwhich, as it rises to heaven in sublime devotion, expands in charity\ntowards its kind, until it comprehends all humanity in the bond of\nuniversal benevolence. To ameliorate the temporal, as well as elevate\nthe spiritual state of man, is its distinguishing excellence, the\nsublime peculiarity of its character as a religious dispensation. All\nthe systems of superstition were external and gross, or mysterious and\noccult. They either encouraged the follies and the passions of men, or\nby a vain and fruitless knowledge flattered their vanity. But\nChristianity came to repress the one and to dissipate the other; to make\nthe exercise of the virtues the result and the proof of mental\nattachment to the doctrines which, while they afford grand subjects of\neternal interest, contain the principles of all true civilization. It is\nin this religion alone that faith is the sister of charity; that the\nformer brightens with the beams of another world the institutions by\nwhich the latter blesses this,--those institutions of mercy and of\ninstruction which cover the land with monuments of humanity that are\nnowhere to be found but among the temples of our faith.\n\nAnd now, when silent and desolate are even the high places over which\nAugustus ruled, fallen majestic Rome with all her gods, the religion\nproclaimed to the humble shepherds, whose sound was first heard by the\nmoonlight streams and under the green boughs, has erected on the ruins\nof ancient grandeur a sublimer dominion than all those principalities of\nthe earth which refused its hospitality. It came in gentleness and\nlowliness and the spirit of peace; and now it grasps the power of the\nuniverse, and wields the civilized energies of the greatest of all the\nnations to the beneficent extension of its authority,--imperishable in\nits glory, and bloodless in its triumphs!\n\n[Illustration: BRINGING IN THE BOAR'S HEAD.--_Page 295._]\n\nOn the opposite side, our artist has given a lively and correct\nrepresentation of the high festival anciently celebrated on Christmas\nDay in the old baronial hall; and has presented it at that important\nmoment when the procession of the boar's head is making its way, with\nthe customary ceremonies, to the upper table. Our account of Christmas\nwould not be complete without some notice of this grand dish at the\nfeasts of our ancestors, and some description of the forms which\nattended its introduction.\n\nThe boar's head soused, then, was carried into the great hall with much\nstate, preceded by the Master of the Revels, and followed by choristers\nand minstrels, singing and playing compositions in its honor. Dugdale\nrelates that at the Inner Temple, for the first course of the Christmas\ndinner, was \"served in, a fair and large bore's head upon a silver\nplatter, with minstrelsye.\" And here we would observe, what we do not\nthink has been before remarked, that the boar's head carols appear to\nhave systematically consisted of three verses. A manuscript indeed which\nwe once met with, stated that the \"caroll, upon the bringynge in of the\nbore's head, was sung to the glorie of the blessed Trinytie;\" and the\nthree subsequent illustrative specimens--in which the peculiarity\nmentioned may be observed--tend to confirm this notion. At St. John's,\nOxford, in 1607, before the bearer of the boar's head--who was selected\nfor his height and lustiness, and wore a green silk scarf, with an empty\nsword-scabbard dangling at his side--went a runner dressed in a\nhorseman's coat, having a boar's spear in his hand, a huntsman in green\ncarrying the naked and bloody sword belonging to the head-bearer's\nscabbard, and \"two pages in tafatye sarcenet,\" each with a \"mess of\nmustard.\" Upon which occasion these verses were sung:--\n\n \"The boare is dead,\n Loe, heare is his head,\n What man could have done more\n Then his head of to strike,\n Meleager like,\n And bringe it as I doe before?\n\n \"He livinge spoyled\n Where good men toyled,\n Which made kinde Ceres sorrye;\n But now, dead and drawne,\n Is very good brawne,\n And wee have brought it for ye.\n\n \"Then sett downe the swineyard,\n The foe to the vineyard,\n Lett Bacchus crowne his fall;\n Lett this boare's head and mustard\n Stand for pigg, goose, and custard,\n And so you are welcome all.\"\n\nSo important was the office of boar's-head bearer considered to be,\nthat, in 1170, Holinshed has chronicled the circumstance of England's\nking, Henry II., bringing up to the table of his son, the young prince,\na boar's head, with trumpeters going before him. From this species of\nservice it is probable that many of our heraldic bearings have\noriginated. \"The ancient crest of the family of Edgecumbe,\" observes\nRitson, \"was the boar's head crowned with bays upon a charger; which,\"\nhe adds, \"has been very injudiciously changed into the entire animal.\"\n\nThis same diligent arranger and illustrator of our old ballads gives us,\nin his collection of ancient songs, a Boar's-head Carol, which probably\nbelongs to the fourteenth century, from a manuscript in his\npossession,--now, we believe, in the British Museum.\n\n\n_In die nativitatis._\n\n \"Nowell, nowell, nowell, nowell,\n Tydyngs gode y thyngke to telle.\n The borys hede that we bryng here,\n Be tokeneth a prince with owte pere,\n Ys born this day to bye vs dere,\n Nowell.\n\n \"A bore ys a souerayn beste,\n And acceptable in every feste,\n So mote thys lorde be to moste & leste,\n Nowell.\n\n \"This borys hede we bryng with song,\n In worchyp of hym that thus sprang\n Of a virgyne to redresse all wrong,\n Nowell.\"\n\nThe printing-press of Wynkyn de Worde has preserved to us the carol\nbelieved to have been generally used, prior to 1521, upon these\noccasions; a modernized version of which continues to be sung in Queen's\nCollege, Oxford. It is entitled \"A Caroll bringyne in the Bores heed;\"\nand runs thus:--\n\n \"Caput apri defero\n Reddens laudes Domino,\n The bore's heade in hande bring I\n With garlandes gay and rosemary,\n I pray you all synge merely,\n Qui estis in convivio.\n\n \"The bore's head I understande\n Is the chefe servyce in this lande,\n Loke wherever it be fande,\n Servite cum cantico.\n\n \"Be gladde, lordes both more and lasse,\n For this hath ordayned our stewarde,\n To chere you all this Christmasse,\n The bore's head with mustarde.\"\n\nA tradition of the same college states the introduction there of the\nboar's head (which according to Ritson, is now a mere representation\n\"neatly carved in wood\") to be contrived \"as a commemoration of an act\nof valor performed by a student of the college, who while walking in the\nneighboring forest of Shotover, and reading Aristotle, was suddenly\nattacked by a wild boar. The furious beast came open-mouthed upon the\nyouth; who, however, very courageously, and with a happy presence of\nmind, is said to have rammed in the volume, and cried _gr\u00e6cum est_,\nfairly choking the savage with the sage.\" To this legend a humorous\n\"song in honor of the Boar's head at Queen's College, Oxford,\" refers,\nhaving for its motto, _Tam Marti quam Mercurio_, but for which we cannot\nafford space.\n\nThe ancient mode of garnishing the boar's head was with sprigs of\nsweet-scented herbs. Dekker, than whom we could not name a more\nappropriate authority on this subject, speaking of persons apprehensive\nof catching the plague, says, \"They went (most bitterly) miching and\nmuffled up and down, with rue and wormwood stuft into their eares and\nnostrils, looking like so many bore's heads, stuck with branches of\nrosemary, to be served in for brawne at Christmas.\" The following lines\ndescribe the manner of serving up this famous dish:--\n\n ----\"if you would send up the brawner's head,\n Sweet rosemary and bays around it spread;\n His foaming tusks let some large pippin grace,\n Or 'midst these thundering spears an orange place;\n Sauce like himself, offensive to its foes,\n The roguish mustard, dangerous to the nose;\n Sack, and the well spiced hippocras, the wine\n Wassail, the bowl with ancient ribands fine,\n Porridge with plums, and Turkeys, with the chine.\"\n\nSack and hippocras are no longer to be found in our cellars; but, as we\nhave shown, we still compound the wassail-bowl.\n\n[Illustration: CHRISTMAS DINNER.--_Page 300._]\n\nThe Christmas dinner of modern days is, as most of our readers know, a\ngathering together of generations, an assembling of Israel by its\ntribes. In the one before us, the artist has given a pretty extensive\nmuster. We have them of the seven ages and the several professions.\nContrast with this modern Christmas dinner, as well as with the high\nfestival of yore, the dreary picture of a Christmas Day and dinner,\nunder the stern prescription of the Puritans, as given in his Diary, by\nPepys, the chatty secretary to the Admiralty. \"1668, Christmas-day. To\ndinner,\" thus he writes, \"alone with my wife; who, poor wretch! sat\nundressed all day till ten at night, altering and lacing of a noble\npetticoat; while I, by her, making the boy read to me the life of Julius\nC\u00e6sar and Des Cartes' book of Music.\"\n\nTo the heads of the very respectable family before us, we have already\nbeen introduced, in an earlier part of this volume, and are glad to meet\nwith them again, under circumstances so auspicious, and supported by\ntheir junior branches. In a family so flourishing, we might have\nexpected to escape the exhibition of antiquated celibacy. But, no! that\nis clearly an old maid, who is hobnobbing with the gentleman in the\nforeground, and, we must say, there is something about _him_ which\ncarries a strong suspicion of old-bachelorship. We suppose the one and\nthe other are to be found in most families. However, they are not the\nparties who least enjoy this sort of _reunions_. We fancy, it is\nknown to most people that meetings of this description are very happy\nones amongst the members of a family, and remarkably uninteresting to\nthird parties. We should certainly prefer reading Des Cartes, with Pepys\nand his wife, to finding ourselves a \"foreigner\" in such a group as the\npresent.\n\nBut the best of the day is yet to come! and we should have no objection\nto join the younger members of that group in the merry sports that await\nthe evening. We need not give the programme. It is like that of all the\nother Christmas nights. The blazing fire, the song, the dance, the\nriddle, the jest, and many another merry sport, are of its spirits.\nMischief will be committed under the mistletoe-bough, and all the good\nwishes of the season sent round under the sanction of the wassail-bowl.\n\n\n\n\nST. STEPHEN'S DAY.\n\n26TH DECEMBER.\n\n\nTHIS day, which, in our calendar, is still dedicated to the first\nChristian martyr, St. Stephen (for John the Baptist perished in the same\ncause before the consummation of the old law and the full introduction\nof the Christian dispensation), is more popularly known by the title of\nBoxing-day; and its importance amongst the Christmas festivities is\nderived from the practice whence that title comes.\n\n[Illustration: BOXING DAY.--_Page 302._]\n\nWe have already mentioned that the custom of bestowing gifts at seasons\nof joyous commemoration, has been a form of thankfulness at most\nperiods; and that it may have been directly borrowed, by the Christian\nworshippers, from the polytheists of Rome, along with those other modes\nof celebration which descended to the Christmas festival from that\nsource,--introduced, however, amongst our own observances, under\nScripture sanctions, drawn both from the old and new Testaments. The\nparticular form of that practice whose donations are known by the title\nof Christmas-boxes (and which appear to differ from New-year's gifts\nin this, that the former, passing from the rich to the poor and from the\nmaster to his dependants, are not reciprocal in their distribution,\nwhereas the latter are those gifts, for the mutual expression of\ngoodwill and congratulation, which are exchanged between friends and\nacquaintances), was, perhaps, originally one of the observances of\nChristmas Day, and made a portion of its charities. The multiplied\nbusiness of that festival, however, probably caused it to be postponed\ntill the day following, and thereby placed the Christmas-boxes under the\npatronage of St. Stephen. The title itself has been derived, by some,\nfrom the box which was kept on board of every vessel that sailed upon a\ndistant voyage, for the reception of donations to the priest,--who, in\nreturn, was expected to offer masses for the safety of the expedition,\nto the particular saint having charge of the ship,--and above all, of\nthe box. This box was not to be opened till the return of the vessel;\nand we can conceive that, in cases where the mariners had had a perilous\ntime of it, this casket would be found to enclose a tolerable offering.\nProbably the state of the box might be as good an evidence as the\nlog-book, of the character of the voyage which had been achieved. The\nmass was at that time called Christmass, and the boxes kept to pay for\nit were, of course, called Christmass-boxes. The poor, amongst those who\nhad an interest in the fate of these ships, or of those who sailed in\nthem, were in the habit of begging money from the rich, that they might\ncontribute to the mass boxes; and hence the title which has descended to\nour day, giving to the anniversary of St. Stephen's martyrdom the title\nof Christmas-boxing day, and, by corruption, its present popular one of\nBoxing-day.\n\nA relic of these ancient boxes yet exists in the earthen or wooden box,\nwith a slit in it, which still bears the same name, and is carried by\nservants and children for the purpose of gathering money, at this\nseason, being broken only when the period of collection is supposed to\nbe over.\n\nMost of our readers know that it was the practice, not many years ago\n(and in some places is so still), for families to keep lists of the\nservants, of tradesmen and others, who were considered to have a claim\nupon them for a Christmas-box, at this time. The practice, besides\nopening a door to great extortion, is one in every way of considerable\nannoyance, and is on the decline. There is, however, as they who are\nexposed to it know, some danger in setting it at defiance, where it is\nyet in force. One of the most amusing circumstances arising out of this\ndetermination to evade the annoyances of Boxing-day, is related by\nSandys. A person in trade had imprudently given directions that he\nshould be denied, on this day, to all applicants for money; and amongst\nthose who presented themselves at his door, on this errand, was\nunfortunately a rather importunate creditor. In the height of his\nindignation at being somewhat uncourteously repulsed, he immediately\nconsulted his lawyer, and, having done _that_, we need scarcely relate\nthe catastrophe. It follows as a matter of course. A docket was struck\nagainst the unsuspecting victim of Christmas-boxophobia.\n\nBoxing-day, however, is still a great day in London. Upon this\nanniversary, every street resounds with the clang of hall-door knockers.\nRap follows rap, in _rap_id succession, the harsh and discordant tones\nof iron mingling with those of rich and sonorous brass, and giving a\ndegenerate imitation of the brazen clangor of the trumpet, which formed\nthe summons to the gate in days of old, and which, together with the\nmartial music of the drum, appears to have been adopted, at a later\nperiod, by the Christmas-boxers, on St. Stephen's Day. Pepys, in his\nDiary (1668), records his having been \"called up by drums and trumpets;\nthese things and boxes,\" he adds, \"have cost me much money this\nChristmas, and will do more.\" Which passage seems to have been in the\nmemory of our facetious publisher, when he made the following entry in\nhis journal of last year, from whence we have taken the liberty of\ntranscribing it. \"Called out,\" says Spooner (1834), \"by the parish\nbeadle, dustmen, and charity-boys. The postman, street-sweepers,\nchimney-sweepers, lamp-lighters, and waits will all be sure to wait upon\nme. These fellows have cost me much money this Christmas, and will do\nmore, the next.\"\n\nThere is an amusing account, given by a writer of the querulous class,\nof a boxing-day in London, a century ago. \"By the time I was up,\" says\nhe, \"my servants could do nothing but run to the door. Inquiring the\nmeaning, I was answered, the people were come for their Christmas-box:\nthis was logic to me; but I found at last that, because I had laid out a\ngreat deal of ready-money with my brewer, baker, and other tradesmen,\nthey kindly thought it my duty to present their servants with some\nmoney, for the favor of having their goods. This provoked me a little,\nbut being told it was the 'custom,' I complied. These were followed by\nthe watch, beadles, dustmen, and an innumerable tribe; but what vexed me\nthe most was the clerk, who has an extraordinary place, and makes as\ngood an appearance as most tradesmen in the parish; to see him come\na-boxing, _alias_, a-begging, I thought was intolerable; however I found\nit was 'the custom,' too; so I gave him half-a-crown, as I was likewise\nobliged to do to the bellman, for breaking my rest for many nights\ntogether.\"\n\nThe manner in which the beadle approaches his \"good masters and\nmistresses,\" for a Christmas-box, particularly in the villages near the\nBritish metropolis, is, as we have before said, by the presentation of a\ncopy of printed verses, ornamented with wood engravings. These\nbroadsides are usually termed \"Bellman's verses;\" and we quite agree\nwith Mr. Leigh Hunt in his opinion, that \"good bellman's verses will\nnot do at all. There have been,\" he remarks, \"some such things of late\n'most tolerable and not to be endured.' We have seen them witty, which\nis a great mistake. Warton and Cowper unthinkingly set the way.\" \"The\nvery absurdity of the bellman's verses is only pleasant, nay, only\nbearable, when we suppose them written by some actual doggrel-poet, in\ngood faith. Mere mediocrity hardly allows us to give our Christmas-box,\nor to believe it now-a-days in earnest; and the smartness of your\ncleverest wordly-wise men is felt to be wholly out of place. No, no!\ngive us the good old decrepit bellman's verses, hobbling as their\nbringer, and taking themselves for something respectable, like his\ncocked-hat,--or give us none at all.\"\n\nUpon the bellman's verses which were last year circulated by the beadles\nof Putney, Chiswick, and other parishes on the west side of London, it\nwas recorded, that they were \"first printed in the year 1735,\" and our\ncuriosity induced us to inquire of the printer the number annually\nconsumed. \"We used, sir,\" said he, \"not many years ago, to print ten\nthousand copies, and even more, but now I suppose we don't print above\nthree thousand.\" Whether the trade of this particular dealer in\nbellman's verses has passed into other hands, or whether the\nencouragement given to the circulation of these broadsides has declined,\nthe statement of an individual will not of course enable us to\ndetermine. But we are inclined to think that, like other old Christmas\ncustoms, the popularity of bellman's verses is passing away, and that,\nbefore many years have elapsed, penny magazines and unstamped newspapers\nwill have completely superseded these relics of the rude, but sincere,\npiety of our ancestors.\n\nThe claims of dustmen to be remembered upon \"Boxing-day\" were formerly\nurged, without literary pretensions; but now \"the march of intellect\"\nhas rendered it necessary for them to issue their addresses in print.\nOne of these, which lies before us, represents that \"the United\nAssociation of Dustmen and Scavengers, of the Parish of ------ have the\nhonor to pay their humble duty and respects to the good [_Master_ or\n_Mistress_] of this house, and to solicit a Christmas mark of\napprobation of their unwearied exertions, which they flatter themselves\nconduce so eminently to the comfort and salubrity of the greatest\nmetropolitan city of civilized Europe.\" Here, however, is another, in\nwhich the spirit of St. Stephen's Day is embittered by the rivalries of\nbusiness; and the harmony of those two respectable bodies, the\nscavengers and dustmen, appears to have been disturbed. The dustmen, it\nwill be seen, repudiate the scavengers, and appeal to Saint Stephen on a\nseparate interest.\n\n\"_To the Worthy Inhabitants of the Southampton Estate._\n\n\"Ladies and Gentlemen,--At this season, when you are pleased to give to\nlaboring men, employed in collecting your dust, a donation called\nChristmas-box, advantage of which is often taken by persons assuming the\nname of Dustmen, obtaining under false pretences your bounty, we humbly\nsubmit to your consideration, to prevent such imposition, to bestow no\ngift on any not producing a brass figure of the following\ndescription,--A Scotch Fifer, French horn, etc., between his legs; James\nDee and Jerry Cane; Southampton Paving Act, on the bell; Contractor,\nThomas Salisbury.\n\n\"No connection with scavengers. Please not to return this bill to any\none.\"\n\nThe principal Wait also leaves a notice of a more imposing description,\nstating a regular appointment to the office by warrant and admission,\nwith all the ancient forms of the City and Liberty of Westminster; and\nbears a silver badge and chain, with the arms of that city.\n\nWe cannot dismiss the various modes of collecting Christmas-boxes,\nwithout a few words upon the pieces of writing carried about by parish\nboys, and which once presented the only evidence that the schoolmaster\nwas abroad. It appears formerly to have been the practice at this season\nto hang up in our churches the work of the most skilful pen-man in the\nparish, after it had been generally exhibited; the subject of which was\nthe life of some saint, or other religious legend. Pepys thus mentions\nthe custom:--\"26 December, 1665. Saw some fine writing work and\nflourishing of Mr. Hore, with one that I knew long ago, an acquaintance\nof Mr. Tomson's at Westminster, that is this man's clerk. It is the\nstory of the several Archbishops of Canterbury, engrossed on vellum, to\nhang up in Canterbury cathedral in tables in lieu of the old ones, which\nare almost worn out.\"\n\nTo this usage, which was no doubt of monkish origin, we are inclined to\nrefer the specimens of caligraphy upon gaudily ornamented sheets of\npaper, brought round on St. Stephen's Day by parish boys and\ncharity-school children, and displayed for admiration and reward. The\nwalls of school-rooms, and the houses of the children's parents are\nafterwards decorated with these \"Christmas pieces,\" in the same manner\nas were anciently the walls of churches.\n\nThere are in the different Christian countries of Europe a variety of\npopular practices connected with St. Stephen's Day; such as that of\nbleeding horses, which is mentioned by old Tusser in his \"December's\nAbstract:\"--\n\n \"At Christmas is good\n To let thy horse blood;\"\n\nand more particularly in his \"December's Husbandry:\"--\n\n \"Ere Christmas be passed, let horse be let blood,\n For many a purpose, it doth them much good,\n The _day of St. Stephen_ old fathers did use.\"\n\nThese various popular observances, however, are generally of that local\nand peculiar kind which we are compelled to omit in our enumeration, for\nreasons already given. But there is one of so striking a character, that\nwe must pause to give some account of it.\n\nThis custom, which is called \"hunting the wren,\" is generally practised\nby the peasantry of the south of Ireland on St. Stephen's Day. It bears\na close resemblance to the Manx proceedings described by Waldron,--as\ntaking place however on a different day. \"On the 24th of December,\" says\nthat writer, in his account of the Isle of Man, \"towards evening the\nservants in general have a holiday; they go not to bed all night, but\nramble about till the bells ring in all the churches, which is at twelve\no'clock. Prayers being over, they go to hunt the wren; and after having\nfound one of these poor birds, they kill her and lay her on a bier with\nthe utmost solemnity, bringing her to the parish church and burying her\nwith a whimsical kind of solemnity, singing dirges over her in the Manx\nlanguage, which they call her knell; after which Christmas begins.\"\n\nThe Wren-boys in Ireland, who are also called Droleens, go from house to\nhouse for the purpose of levying contributions, carrying one or more of\nthese birds in the midst of a bush of holly, gaily decorated with\ncolored ribbons; which birds they have, like the Manx mummers, employed\ntheir morning in killing. The following is their song; of which they\ndeliver themselves in most monotonous music:--\n\n \"The wren, the wren, the king of all birds,\n St. Stephen's-day was caught in the furze,\n Although he is little, his family's great,\n I pray you, good landlady, give us a treat.\n\n \"My box would speak, if it had but a tongue,\n And two or three shillings would do it no wrong;\n Sing holly, sing ivy--sing ivy, sing holly,\n A drop just to drink, it would drown melancholy.\n\n \"And if you draw it of the best,\n I hope, in heaven your soul will rest;\n But if you draw it of the small,\n It won't agree with these Wren-boys at all.\"\n\nIf an immediate acknowledgment, either in money or drink, is not made in\nreturn for the civility of their visit, some such nonsensical verses as\nthe following are added:--\n\n \"Last Christmas-day, I turned the spit,\n I burned my fingers (I feel it yet),\n A cock sparrow flew over the table,\n The dish began to fight with the ladle.\n\n \"The spit got up like a naked man,\n And swore he'd fight with the dripping pan;\n The pan got up and cocked his tail,\n And swore he'd send them all to jail.\"\n\nThe story told to account for the title of \"king of all birds,\" here\ngiven to the wren, is a curious sample of Irish ingenuity, and is thus\nstated in the clever \"Tales of the Munster Festivals,\" by an Irish\nservant in answer to his master's inquiry:--\n\n\"Saint Stephen! why what the mischief, I ask you again, have I to do\nwith Saint Stephen?\"\n\n\"Nothen, sure, sir, only this being his day, when all the boys o' the\nplace go about that way with the wran, the king of all birds, sir, as\nthey say (bekays wanst when all the birds wanted to choose a king, and\nthey said they'd have the bird that would fly highest, the aigle flew\nhigher than any of 'em, till at last when he couldn't fly an inch\nhigher, a little rogue of a wran that was a-hide under his wing took a\nfly above him a piece, and was crowned king, of the aigle an' all, sir),\ntied in the middle o' the holly that way you see, sir, by the leg, that\nis. An old custom, sir.\"\n\nVainly have we endeavored to arrive at the probable origin of hunting\nand killing these little birds upon this day. The tradition commonly\nrelated is by no means satisfactory. It is said that a Danish army would\nhave been surprised and destroyed by some Irish troops, had not a wren\ngiven the alarm by pecking at some crumbs upon a drum-head,--the remains\nof the sleeping drummer's supper; which roused him, when he instantly\nbeat to arms. And that from this circumstance the wren became an object\nof hatred to the Irish.\n\nSongs similar in spirit to that of the Irish Droleen boys were popularly\nsung by the Greeks. In D'Israeli's \"Curiosities of Literature,\" may be\nfound translations of \"the crow song,\" and \"the swallow song;\" between\nwhich and the Irish wren song the resemblance is very striking.\n\"Swallow-singing or chelidonising, as the Greek term is,\" was, it\nappears, a method of collecting eleemosynary gifts in the month of\nBoedromion or August. We think D'Israeli is right in his opinion that\nthere is probably a closer connection between the custom which produced\nthe songs of the crow and the swallow and that of our northern\nmummeries, than may be at first sight suspected. The subject of mumming\nwe have elsewhere treated at some length; but this curious variety of\nthe practice, and the manner in which it seems to connect the subject\nwith the ceremonies of the Greeks, we could not allow ourselves wholly\nto omit.\n\n\n\n\nNEW YEAR'S EVE.\n\n31ST DECEMBER.\n\n\nTHIS is the last day of the year, and the feelings which belong to it\nare of a tangled yarn. Regrets for the past are mingled with hopes of\nthe future; and the heart of man, between the meeting years, stands like\nthe head of Janus looking two ways.\n\nThe day and eve which precede the New Year are marked, in England, by\nfew outward observances, save such as are common to the season; and it\nis in the peculiar trains of thought to which they give rise that they\nhave a character of their own.\n\nIn Scotland, on the other hand, the festival of this season is, since\nthe Reformation, nearly limited to these two days; and the last day of\nthe year is distinguished both by omens and by customs peculiar to\nitself. In Mr. Stewart's \"Popular Superstitions of the Highlands,\" there\nis an account of some of these omens, as they were gathered, at no\ndistant period, in that land of mist and mystery; and a singular example\nmay be mentioned in the auguries drawn from what was called the\nCandlemas bull. The term Candlemas, which has been given to this\nseason, in Scotland and elsewhere, is supposed to have had its origin in\nsome old religious ceremonies which were performed by candle light; and\nthe bull was a passing cloud, which in Highland imagination assumed the\nform of that animal, and from whose rise or fall, or motions generally\non this night, the seer prognosticated good or bad weather. Something of\nthe same kind is mentioned in Sir John Sinclair's \"Statistical Account\nof Scotland,\" who explains more particularly the auguries gathered from\nthe state of the atmosphere on New Year's Eve. The superstition in\nquestion, however, is not peculiar to the Highlands of Scotland, but\nshared with the northern European nations in general, most of whom\nassigned portentous qualities to the winds of New Year's Eve.\n\nIt is on this night that those Scottish mummers, the Guisars, to whom we\nhave already more than once alluded, still go about the streets, habited\nin antic dresses, having their faces covered with vizards and carrying\ncudgels in their hands. The doggerel lines repeated by these masquers,\nas given by Mr. Callender, in a paper contributed by him to the\nTransactions of the Antiquarian Society of Scotland, are as follows:--\n\n \"Hogmanay,\n Trollolay,\n Gie me o' your white bread,\n I'll hae nane o' your grey;\"\n\nand much learning has been exhausted, and ingenuity exercised in their\nexplanation. The admirable paper of Mr. Repp, in the same Transactions\n(to which we have already alluded, and which we recommend to the notice\nof our antiquarian readers), connects them, as we have before hinted,\nwith another superstition common to many of the northern nations; and\nwhich may be compared with one of the articles of popular belief before\ndescribed, as prevailing in England, on Christmas Eve; that, viz., which\nseems to imply that the spirits of evil are at this time in peculiar\nactivity, unless kept down by holier and more powerful influences.\nAccording to this able investigator, the moment of midnight, on New\nYear's Eve, was considered to be a general removing term for the races\nof genii, whether good or bad; and the first two lines of the cry in\nquestion, which as he explains them, after the Anglo-Saxon and Icelandic\ndialects, were words of appeal to the good genii (the hoghmen or\nhillmen), and of execration against the evil ones (the trolles), were so\nused, in consequence of such belief (that these different spirits were,\nat that hour, in motion), and of the further one that the words of men\nhad power to determine that motion to their own advantage. It is well\nknown that, in some countries, and we may mention Germany, great\nimportance is attached to words involuntarily uttered at certain\nseasons, and under certain circumstances, and they are supposed to be\neither words of betrayal, leaving the speaker open to the machinations\nof evil spirits, who may apply them in a strained and fatal sense, if at\nall ambiguous; or words of power, controlling the designs of demons, and\ncompelling them to work out the good of the utterer, against their will.\nNow a superstition of this kind, Mr. Repp says, attaches _generally_ to\nthe doctrines of demonology; and he states that he could prove his\nposition by many instances from Arabic and Persian fairy lore. We may\nobserve that some of the Highland superstitions mentioned by Mr.\nStewart, such as that of sprinkling the household with water drawn from\n_the dead and living ford_, and that of fumigating the apartments and\nhalf smothering their tenants with the smoke from burning piles of the\njuniper-bush (both considered to operate as charms against the spells of\nwitchcraft and the malignity of evil eyes), have, evidently, their\norigin in that same belief, that the powers of evil are on the wing at\nthis mysterious and solemn time of natural transition.\n\nSome ancient superstitions are likewise alluded to in the old dialogue\nof Dives and Pauper, as being in force at the beginning of the year, and\nwhich appear to have had a like origin with the Highland ones above\ndescribed. As an example, mention may be made of the practice of\n\"setting of mete or drynke by nighte on the benche, to fede Alholde or\nGobelyn.\"\n\nWe must not forget to observe that Brand speaks of an ancient custom,\nwhich he says is still retained in some parts of England, in which\nyoung women go about on this eve carrying a wassail-bowl, and singing\ncertain verses from door to door, which custom has certainly some\nanalogy with the hogmanay practice in Scotland. And we may further\nstate, while we are in the way of tracing resemblances, that the _het\npint_, which, in Scotland, was formerly carried about the streets at the\nmidnight of the New Year's coming in, and which was composed of ale,\nspirits, sugar, and nutmeg or cinnamon, is neither more nor less, though\nit was borne about in a kettle, than a Scottish version of the\nwassail-bowl.\n\nIn Ritson's collection of ancient songs, there is a very spirited carol\ngiven at length, which appears to have been sung by these English\nwassail mummers, in honor of their bowl; but which some of its verses\nprove to be a Twelfth-night song, and show, therefore, that a similar\npractice marked the night of the Epiphany. It begins right heartily:--\n\n \"A jolly wassel-bowl,\n A wassel of good ale,\n Well fare the butler's soul\n That setteth this to sale;\n Our jolly wassel;\"\n\nbut is too long for insertion in our pages. We should mention here,\nhowever, that ale in all its forms, whether in that of wassail\ncomposition or in its own simple dignity, \"prince of liquors, old or\nnew!\" was ever the most cherished beverage of our ancestors, and many\nand enthusiastic are the songs in its praise. Our readers may take the\nfollowing verse from a very pleasant example of these carols:--\n\n \"I love no rost, but a nut brown toste,\n And a crab layde in the fyre,\n A little bread shall do me stead,\n Much breade I not desyre:\n No froste nor snow, no winde, I trowe,\n Can hurt mee if I wolde;\n I am so wrapt, and throwly lapt\n Of jolly good ale and olde.\n Back and syde go bare, go bare,\n Both foote and hand, go colde;\n But belly God send thee good ale inoughe,\n Whether it be new or olde.\"\n\nWe believe that most of the customs which, up to a recent period, filled\nthe streets of Edinburgh with mirth and bustle, on the eve of the New\nYear, have met with discouragement, and of late fallen into disuse, in\nconsequence of some outrages which were committed under their shelter,\nin the year 1811. We presume, however, that there are still many places\nof the northern kingdom, in which the youth waits impatiently for the\nstriking of the midnight hour, that he may be the earliest to cross the\nthreshold of his mistress, and the lassie listens eagerly, from the\nmoment when its chiming has ceased, to catch the sound of the\n_first-foot_ on the floor:--\n\n \"The _first foot's_ entering step,\n That sudden on the floor is welcome heard,\n Ere blushing maids have braided up their hair;\n The laugh, the _hearty kiss_, the good New Year,\n Pronounced with honest warmth.\"\n\nConsiderable importance was formerly, and probably is still, attached to\nthis custom. The welfare of a family, particularly of the fairer portion\nof its members, was supposed to depend much on the character of the\nperson who might first cross the threshold, after the mid-hour of this\nnight had sounded. Great care was therefore taken to exclude all\nimproper persons; and when the privilege of the season is taken into\nconsideration (that viz., of the hearty kiss above mentioned), it is\nprobable that the maidens themselves might consider it desirable to\ninterfere after their own fashion in the previous arrangements which\nwere to secure the priority of admission to an unobjectionable guest.\n\nBut our space does not permit us to inquire at length in the present\nvolume into any other customs than those which belong to an _English_\nChristmas season. We have only been able occasionally to advert to\nothers, even amongst our own sister nations, when they helped to throw\nlight upon those which on this occasion are our immediate subject. We\nmust therefore return at once to the only general and conspicuous\nobservance of this eve in England, viz., that which is commonly called\n\"seeing the New Year in.\"\n\nIt is almost impossible for man on this day to be insensible to the\n\"still small voices\" that call upon him for a gathering up of his\nthoughts. In the very midst of the house of mirth, a shadow passes\nthrough the heart and summons it to a solemn conference. The skeleton\nwho sits at all feasts, though overlooked at most from long habit, gets\npower on this day to wave his hand, and points emphatically, with his\n\"slow-moving finger,\" to the long record whose burthen is \"passing\naway!\" The handwriting of Time comes visibly out upon the wall; and the\nspirit pauses to read its lessons, and take an account of the wrecks\nwhich it registers and the changes which it announces. Properly\nspeaking, every day is the commencement of a new year, and the\ntermination of an old one; but it is only, as we have said at the\nbeginning of this book, by these emphatic markings that man is attracted\nto a consideration of a fact, whose daily recurrence at once makes its\nweighty importance and causes it to be forgotten, as if it were of none!\n\nBut on this particular day, no man fails to remember that--\n\n \"Again the silent wheels of time\n Their annual round have driven;\"\n\nand how solemn are the reflections which suggest themselves to him who\ncasts his eye over the space of a year, in a spirit which can look\nbeyond his own personal share in its doings, and embrace the wide human\ninterests that such a retrospect includes! \"What a mighty sum of\nevents,\" says that excellent writer, William Howitt, \"has been\nconsummated; what a tide of passions and affections has flowed; what\nlives and deaths have alternately arrived; what destinies have been\nfixed forever! . . . Once more our planet has completed one of those\njourneys in the heavens which perfect all the fruitful changes of its\npeopled surface, and mete out the few stages of our existence; and every\nday, every hour of that progress has in all her wide lands, in all her\nmillion hearts, left traces that eternity shall behold.\" Oh! blessed\nthey and rich, beyond all other blessedness and all other wealth which\n\"Time's effacing fingers\" may have left them, who, on the last night of\nthe year, can turn from reviews like these to sleep upon the pillow of a\ngood conscience, though that pillow should be moistened, aye, steeped in\ntheir tears!\n\nNo doubt it is in the name of his own private affections that man is\nfirst summoned to that review, which the wise will end by thus\nextending; and the first reckoning which each will naturally take is\nthat of the treasures which may have been lost or gained to himself in\nthe year which is about to close. Through many, many a heart, that\nsummons rings in the low, sweet, mournful voice of some beloved one,\nwhom in that bereaving space we have laid in the \"narrow house;\" and\nthen it will happen (for man is covetous of his griefs, when his\nattention is once called to them) that the ghost which took him out into\nthe churchyard to visit its own tomb, will end by carrying him round its\ndreary precincts and showing him all the graves that he has planted\nfrom his childhood. There _will_ be hours on a day like this to many,\nand in some year or another to most, when the cheerful hopes which are\nalso of the natural spirit of the season would contend in vain with the\nmemories which it conjures up, but for that furthest and brightest hope\nwhich lies beyond the rest, and which is at this moment typified and\nshadowed forth by the returning sun and the renewing year.\n\nWe cannot refrain from pausing here, to quote for our readers a few\nexquisite and affecting lines written in the seventeenth century by\nHenry King, Bishop of Chichester, to one such beloved remembrancer, and\nin the cheering spirit of that same precious hope. We fancy they are\nvery little known.\n\n \"Sleep on, my love! in thy cold bed,\n Never to be disquieted!\n My last 'good night!'--thou wilt not wake\n Till I thy fate shall overtake;\n Till age, or grief, or sickness must\n Marry my body to that dust\n It so much loves,--and fill the room\n My heart keeps empty in thy tomb.\n Stay for me there!--I will not faile\n To meet thee in that hollow vale:--\n And think not much of my delay,\n I am already on the way,\n And follow thee with all the speed\n Desire can make, or sorrows breed.\n Each minute is a short degree,\n And every houre a step tow'rds thee:--\n At night, when I betake to rest,\n Next morn I rise nearer my West\n Of life, almost by eight houres' sail,\n Than when sleep breathed his drowsy gale!\"\n\nThere are in the last volume of poems published by Mr. Tennyson, some\nbeautiful verses, in which the natural thoughts that inevitably haunt\nthis season of change are touchingly expressed, as they arise even in\nthe young breast of one for whom \"seasons and their change\" are\nimmediately about to be no more. We are in a mood which tempts us to\nextract them.\n\n If you're waking, call me early, call me early, mother dear,\n For I would see the sun rise upon the glad New-year--\n It is the last New-year that I shall ever see,\n Then ye may lay me low i' the mould, and think no more of me.\n\n To-night I saw the sun set: he set and left behind\n The good old year, the dear old time, and all my peace of mind;\n And the New-year's coming up, mother, but I shall never see\n The may upon the blackthorn, the leaf upon the tree.\n\n Last May we made a crown of flowers: we had a merry day:\n Beneath the hawthorn on the green they made me Queen of May;\n And we danced about the maypole, and in the hazel-copse,\n Till Charles's wain came out above the tall white chimney-tops.\n\n There's not a flower on all the hills: the frost is on the pane:\n I only wish to live till the snowdrops come again:\n I wish the snow would melt and the sun come out on high--\n I long to see a flower so before the day I die.\n\n The building rook 'll caw from the windy tall elm-tree,\n And the tufted plover pipe along the fallow lea,\n And the swallow 'll come back again with summer o'er the wave,\n But I shall lie alone, mother, within the mouldering grave.\n\n Upon the chancel casement, and upon that grave of mine,\n In the early, early morning the summer sun 'll shine,\n Before the red cock crows from the farm upon the hill,\n When you are warm asleep, mother, and all the world is still.\n\n When the flowers come again, mother, beneath the waning light,\n Ye 'll never see me more in the long gray fields at night;\n When from the dry dark wold the summer airs blow cool,\n On the oat-grass and the sword-grass, and the bulrush in the pool.\n\n Ye 'll bury me, my mother, just beneath the hawthorn shade,\n And ye 'll come sometimes and see me where I am lowly laid,\n I shall not forget ye, mother, I shall hear ye when ye pass,\n With your feet above my head in the long and pleasant grass.\n\n I have been wild and wayward, but ye 'll forgive me now:\n Ye 'll kiss me, my own mother, upon my cheek and brow;\n Nay,--nay, ye must not weep, nor let your grief be wild,\n Ye should not fret for me, mother, ye have another child.\n\n If I can, I'll come again, mother, from out my resting-place\n Tho' ye 'll not see me, mother, I shall look upon your face;\n Tho' I cannot speak a word, I shall hearken what ye say,\n And be often--often with ye when ye think I'm far away.\n\n Good night! good night! when I have said good night for evermore,\n And ye see me carried out from the threshold of the door,\n Don't let Effie come to see me till my grave be growing green;\n She'll be a better child to you than ever I have been.\n\n She'll find my garden tools upon the granary floor;\n Let her take 'em,--they are hers,--I shall never garden more:\n But tell her, when I'm gone, to train the rosebush that I set,\n About the parlor window, and the box of mignonette.\n\n Good night, sweet mother! call me when it begins to dawn:\n All night I lie awake, but I fall asleep at morn:\n But I would see the sun rise upon the glad New year,\n So, if you're waking, call me, call me early, mother dear!\n\nAnd it is wholesome that the mournful reflections which the period\nsuggests _should_ be indulged, but not to the neglect of its more\ncheerful influences. The New Year's Eve is in all quarters looked upon\nas a time of rejoicing; and perhaps no night of this merry season is\nmore universally dedicated to festivity. Men are for the most part met\nin groups to hail the coming year with propitiatory honors; and copious\nlibations are poured to its honor, as if to determine it to look upon us\nwith a benignant aspect. We generally spend _our_ New Year's Eve in some\nsuch group; but, we confess, it is not every class of wassailers that\nwill suit us for the occasion. The fact is, after all our resolves to\nwork up our minds to the pitch of gladness, aye, and notwithstanding our\n_success_, too, there are _other_ feelings that _will_ intrude in spite\nof us; and we like to find ourselves in a party where their presence is\nnot looked upon as a marrer of the revels. When fitly associated for\nsuch a night, we find the very feelings in question for the most part to\nharmonize very delightfully with the predominant spirit of the time,\nproducing a sort of mixed sensation which is full of luxury and\ntenderness. Bye the by, we have no great wish to have for our companions\nat any time those precisians who insist greatly on the _external_\nsolemnities. \"Ye are sae grave, nae doubt ye're wise,\" says Burns. But\nfor ourselves, gentlemen, our sympathies lie with those who can be made\nto understand that the garb of even folly may by possibility be at times\nworn by those who conceal beneath it more sickness of the heart, as well\nas more wisdom, than shall ever be dreamt of in _your_ philosophy,--who\nknow, in fact, that that same folly is sometimes the very saddest thing\nin the world; that the jingle of the cap and bells is too often but a\nvain device, like that of the ancient Corybantes, to drown the \"still\nsmall\" sounds whose wailing is yet heard over all.\n\nAnd on the night before us, of all nights in the year, the smile and the\nlaugh go freely round, but ever and anon there is, as it were, the echo\nof a far sigh. A birth in which we have a mighty interest is about to\ntake place, but every now and then comes to the heart the impression of\nlow whispering and soft treading in the back-ground, as of those who\nwait about a death-bed. We are in a state of divided feelings, somewhat\nresembling his whose joy at the falling of a rich inheritance is dashed\nby tender recollections of the friend by whose departure it came. Let\nMr. Tennyson explain for us why this is so:--\n\n \"Full knee-deep lies the winter snow,\n And the winter winds are wearily sighing:\n Toll ye the church-bell sad and slow,\n And tread softly and speak low,\n For the old year lies a-dying.\n Old year, you must not die.\n You came to us so readily,\n You lived with us so steadily,\n Old year, you shall not die.\n\n \"He lieth still: he doth not move:\n He will not see the dawn of day.\n He hath no other life above.\n He gave me a friend, and a true true-love,\n And the New-year will take 'em away.\n Old year, you must not go.\n So long as you have been with us,\n Such joy as you have seen with us,\n Old year, you shall not go!\n\n \"He frothed his bumpers to the brim;\n A jollier year we shall not see.\n But tho' his eyes are waxing dim,\n And tho' his foes speak ill of him,\n He was a friend to me!\n Old year, you shall not die.\n We did so laugh and cry with you,\n I've half a mind to die with you,\n Old year, if you _must_ die.\n\n \"He was full of joke and jest,\n But all his merry quips are o'er,\n To see him die, across the waste\n His son and heir doth ride post-haste,\n But he'll be dead before!\n Every one for his own!\n The night is starry and cold, my friend,\n And the New-year, blithe and bold, my friend,\n Comes up to take his own.\n\n \"How hard he breathes!--over the snow,\n I heard just now the crowing cock.\n The shadows flicker to and fro;\n The cricket chirps: the light burns low:\n 'Tis nearly one[4] o'clock.\n Shake hands before you die.\n Old year, we'll dearly rue for you.\n What is it we can do for you?\n Speak out before you die!\n\n \"His face is growing sharp and thin.\n Alack! our friend is gone!\n Close up his eyes: tie up his chin:\n Step from the corpse, and let _him_ in\n That standeth there alone,\n And waiteth at the door.\n There's a new foot on the floor, my friend,\n And a new face at the door, my friend,\n A new face at the door!\"\n\nOccasionally, too, there will come a thought across us, in these hours,\nwhich _cannot_ be made to harmonize with the feelings we are seeking to\nencourage, and has the unpleasing effect of a discord. It is felt at\ntimes, for instance, to be a sort of indecency that we should be looking\nout merrily for the New Year, when the old one is perishing by our side,\nand, for an instant, the heart's joyous issues are thrown back upon it.\nAnd then, again, the looker forward to hail the \"coming guest\" will\nsuddenly fix his eyes upon the veil which shrouds that face; and the\nchill of a moment will creep over his heart, as he speculates on what it\nmay conceal, or, gazing on the sealed book which the New Year carries in\nhis hand, asks himself how many of those who sit with him on this night\nabout the social table, may have their names written in its last page!\nThoughts like these, however, are instantly treated like informers, and\nducked, as they deserve to be, in the wassail-bowl.\n\n[Illustration: SEEING-IN THE NEW YEAR.--_Page 331._]\n\nBut, in any case, we have never failed to observe that, as the midnight\nhour draws near, a hush falls upon these assemblies; and when men rise\nto usher in the new comer, it is for the most part in silence. We do not\nbelieve _that_ moment is ever a merry one. The blithe spirits of the\nnight stand still. The glasses are full,--but so is the heart, and the\neye is strained upon the finger of the dial whose notes are to sound the\narrival, as if held there by a spell. We do not think that any man, of\nall that group whom our artist has represented, could turn his face away\nfrom the dial, even by an effort; and he who could, would be out of\nplace in any assembly of which we made one, unless we were out of place\nourselves. The instant the solemn sounds of the midnight chime have\nceased, the bells from a thousand steeples lift up their merry voices,\nbut they never, at that moment, found a true echo in _our_ hearts; and\nthe shout which rises from the wassail table, in answer, has ever seemed\nto us to want much of the mirth to which it makes such boisterous\npretension.\n\nBut this oppressive sensation soon passes away; and the glad bells of\nthe spirit, like those of the steeples, ring freely out. When the old\nyear is fairly withdrawn, when we have ceased to hear the sound of the\nfalling earth upon its coffin-lid, when the heir stands absolutely in\nour presence, and the curtain which hides his features has begun slowly\nto rise (while the gazer on that curtain can discover, as yet, nothing\nof the dark things that lie behind, and the hopes which the New Year\nbrings are seen through it, by their own light),--then does the heart\nshake off all that interfered with its hearty enjoyment, and then \"comes\nin the sweet o' the night!\" We are, ourselves, of that party in the\nplate; and it will be late, we promise you, before we separate. One song\nto the past! and then, \"shall we set about some revels?\"--as our old\nfriend, Sir Andrew, hath it.\n\n \"Here's to the year that's awa!\n We'll drink it, in strong and in sma';\n And to each bonny lassie that we dearly loo'd,\n In the days o' the year that's awa!\n\n \"Here's to the soldier who bled!\n To the sailor who bravely did fa'!\n Oh, their fame shall remain, though their spirits are fled,\n On the wings o' the year that's awa!\n\n \"Here's to the friend we can trust,\n When the storms of adversity blaw;\n Who can join in our song, and be nearest our heart,\n Nor depart,--like the year that's awa!\"\n\nAnd now are we in the humor, this New Year's morning, for keeping such\nvigils as they did in Illyria; for \"were we\" too \"not born under\nTaurus?\" No advocates do we mean to be for those whose zeal in symposiac\nmatters, like that of Bardolph, \"burns in their noses;\" but occasions\nthere are, and this is one, when we hold it lawful to sound the\nwassail-bowl to some considerable depth. Like honest Isaak Walton, we\nlove to keep within the bounds of \"such mirth as does not make friends\nashamed to look on one another, next morning;\" but we feel that we may\nventure to be a little intemperate, in the present instance, and yet\nhold our heads up, even if we should chance to meet one of those gentry\nwhom Burns presumes to be wise, because they \"are sae grave.\" What says\nInnocentius?--and he was a Father of the Church; \"_Fecundi calices, quem\nnon fecere disertum?_\" \"Carry Master Silence to bed!\" therefore, for we\nare about to be talkative, and expect to be answered. No man need sit\nwith us longer than he likes: but it is the opening of another year, and\n_we_ must see more of it. We find much virtue in Sir Toby's excellent\nreasoning, that \"not to be abed after midnight is to be up betimes;\" and\nhave no sympathy for those who would insist, to-day, with the stolid Sir\nAndrew, that \"to be up late is to be up late.\" \"A false conclusion!\"\nsays Sir Toby; and so say we. So fill the glasses, once more, from the\nwassail-bowl, and let us \"rouse the night-owl\" in another \"catch!\"\n\nBut alas! it is later than we thought, and the owl is gone to bed; for\nwe hear the cry of that other bird whom Herrick calls \"the Bellman of\nthe night:\"--\n\n \"Hark! the cock crows, and yon bright star\n Tells us the day himself's not far;\n And see! where, breaking from the night,\n He gilds the eastern hills with light!\"\n\nHonest Master Cotton had evidently been sitting up all night, himself,\nwhen he wrote these lines; and being therefore a boon companion, and a\ntrue observer of Christmas proprieties, we will take his warning, and to\nbed ourselves. So \"a good New Year to you, my masters! and many of\nthem!\" as the bellman (not Herrick's) says, on this morning.\n\nFOOTNOTE:\n\n[4] (Twelve?)\n\n\n\n\nNEW YEAR'S DAY.\n\n1ST JANUARY.\n\n\nTHE first of January, forming the accomplishment of the eight days after\nthe birth of Christ, has been sometimes called the octave of Christmas;\nand is celebrated in our church services as the day of the Circumcision.\n\nOf this day we have little left to say; almost all that belongs to it\nhaving been of necessity anticipated in the progress of those remarks\nwhich have brought us up to it. It is a day of universal congratulation;\nand one on which, so far as we may judge from external signs, a general\nexpansion of the heart takes place. Even they who have no hearts to\nopen, or hearts which are not opened by such ordinary occasions, adopt\nthe phraseology of those whom _all_ genial hints call into sympathy with\ntheir fellow-creatures; and the gracious compliments of the season may\nbe heard falling from lips on which they must surely wither in the very\nact of passing. To have your morning's salutation from a worthy like our\nfriend with the umbrella in the plate, must be much the same thing as\nriding out into the highway, and getting your New Year's greeting from a\nraven by the roadside. Mathews's undertaker, who used to sing the song\nof \"Merry I have been, and merry could I be,\" at his club, to a tune\nconsiderably below a dirge in point of liveliness, was a brother of the\nsame family.\n\nOf New Year's gifts, which are the distinguishing feature of this day,\nwe have already said enough, in pointing out the distinction betwixt\nthem and Christmas-boxes. They still pass generally from friend to\nfriend, and between the different members of a family; and are in such\ncases, very pleasant remembrancers; but the practice in ancient times\nhad some very objectionable features. It was formerly customary for the\nnobles and those about the court to make presents on this day to the\nsovereign; who, if he were a prince with anything like a princely mind,\ntook care that the returns which he made in kind should at least balance\nthe cost to the subject. The custom, however, became a serious tax when\nthe nobles had to do with a sovereign of another character; and in\nElizabeth's day it was an affair of no trifling expense to maintain\nground as a courtier. The lists of the _kind_ of gifts which she exacted\nfrom all who approached her (for the necessity of giving, the\nconsequences of not giving, amounted to an exaction), and the accounts\nof the childish eagerness with which she turned over the wardrobe\nfinery, furnished in great abundance as the sort of gift most suited to\nher capacity of appreciation, furnish admirable illustrations of her\nmind. She is said to have taken good care that her returns should leave\na very substantial balance in her own favor. The practice is stated to\nhave been extinguished in the reign of George III.\n\nA worse custom still, however, was that of presenting gifts to the\nChancellor by suitors in his court, for the purpose of influencing his\njudgments. The abuses of the New-Year's-gift practice have, however,\nbeen cleared away, and have left it what it now is,--a beautiful form\nfor the interchanges of affection and the expression of friendship.\n\nIn Paris, where this day is called the \"Jour d'Etrennes,\" the practice\nis of still more universal observance than with us, and the streets are\nbrilliant with the displays made in every window of the articles which\nare to furnish these tokens of kindness, and with the gay equipages and\nwell-dressed pedestrians passing in all directions, to be the bearers of\nthem, and offer the compliments which are appropriate to the season. The\nthousand bells of the city are pealing from its hundred belfries,\nfilling the air with an indescribable sense of festival, and would alone\nset the whole capital in motion if they were a people that ever sat\nstill. This singing of a thousand bells is likewise a striking feature\nof the day in London; and no one who has not heard the mingling voices\nof these high choristers in a metropolis, can form any notion of the\nwild and stirring effects produced by the racing and crossing and\nmingling of their myriad notes. It is as if the glad voices of the earth\nhad a chorus of echoes in the sky; as if the spirit of its rejoicing\nwere caught up by \"airy tongues,\" and flung in a cloud of incense-like\nmusic to the gates of heaven.\n\nWe need scarcely mention that most of the other forms in which the mirth\nof the season exhibits itself, are in demand for this occasion; and that\namong the merry evenings of the Christmas-tide, not the least merry is\nthat which closes New Year's Day. To the youngsters of society, that day\nand eve have probably been the most trying of all; and the strong\nexcitements of a happy spirit drive the weary head to an earlier pillow\nthan the young heart of this season at all approves. But his is the\nweariness that the sweet sleep of youth so surely recruits; and\nto-morrow shall see him early afoot, once more engaged in those winter\namusements which are to form his resource till the novelties of\nTwelfth-day arrive.\n\n \"There will come an eve to a longer day,\n That will find thee tired--but not of play;\n And thou wilt lean as thou leanest now,\n With drooping limbs and an aching brow;\n And wish the shadows would faster creep,\n And long to go to thy quiet sleep!--\n Well were it then if thine aching brow\n Were as free from sin and shame as now!\"\n\n[Illustration: Twelfth Night King.\n\n Let not a man be seen here,\n Who unurged will not drink\n To the base from the brink,\n A health to the King!\n _Herrick._\n]\n\n\n\n\nTWELFTH DAY AND TWELFTH NIGHT.\n\n6TH JANUARY.\n\n\nTWELFTH-DAY (so called from its being the twelfth after Christmas Day)\nis that on which the festival of the Epiphany is held. This feast of the\nChristian Church was instituted, according to Picart, in the fourth\ncentury, to commemorate the manifestation of our Saviour to the\nGentiles; and the name Epiphany (\u0395\u03c0\u03b9\u03c6\u03b1\u03bd\u03b5\u03b9\u03b1), which signifies an\nappearance from above, was given to it in allusion to the star described\nin Holy writ, as the guide of the Magi or Wise Men to the cradle of the\nBlessed Infant. \"In Italy,\" says Mr. Leigh Hunt, \"the word has been\ncorrupted into Beffania or Beffana, as in England it used to be called\nPiffany; and Beffana in some parts of that country has come to mean an\nold fairy or Mother Bunch, whose figure is carried about the streets,\nand who rewards or punishes children at night, by putting sweetmeats or\nstones and dirt into a stocking hung up for the purpose, near the bed's\nhead. The word 'Beffa,' taken from this, familiarly means a trick or\nmockery put upon any one; to such base uses may come the most splendid\nterms!\" But what is quite as extraordinary as that the primitive\nsignification of a word not familiarly understood should, amid the\nrevolutions of centuries, be lost in a different or distorted into an\ninferior meaning, is the preservation in popular rites of trivial\ndetails, which, as we have before stated, conclusively identify many of\nthe practices of our modern Christian festivals as echoes of ancient\npagan observances. Of this, Twelfth-day presents a remarkable instance.\n\nThe more we examine the Saturnalia of the Romans and compare those\nrevels with the proceedings of our Twelfth-night, the more satisfied do\nwe feel of the correctness of Selden's view. \"Christmas,\" he says, in\nhis \"Table Talk,\" \"succeeds the Saturnalia; the same time, the same\nnumber of holy-days. Then the master waited upon the servants, like the\nLord of Misrule.\" There is here a general likeness to the season of\nwhich we treat; but, as Mr. Brand further states, the Greeks and Romans\nat this period also \"drew lots for kingdoms, and like kings exercised\ntheir temporary authority;\" and Mr. Fosbroke mentions that \"the king of\nSaturnalia was elected by beans,\" which identifies our Twelfth-night\ncharacters, as well as our mode of selecting them, with those of the\nancients. Through so many centuries has chance decided who should wear a\ncrown! By the French Twelfth-day was distinguished as \"La F\u00eate des\nRois,\" a name of course obnoxious to the revolutionary fraternity of\n1792, who caused such feast to be declared anti-civic, and replaced it\nby \"La F\u00eate des Sans-Culottes.\"\n\nHowever, before entering upon the important discussion of the \"absolute\nmonarchy\" of \"the king of cakes and characters,\" in which, without any\nreference to profane ceremonies, there was sufficient found to offend\npuritanical ideas, we must be allowed to mention some customs observed\non the vigil or eve of the feast of the Epiphany. Amongst these was the\npractice of wassailing the trees to ensure their future fruitfulness,\nmentioned by Herrick:--\n\n \"Wassail the trees, that they may beare\n You many a plum, and many a peare;\n For more or lesse fruits they will bring,\n As you do give them wassailing.\"\n\nThe merry bowl which, notwithstanding that it had been so often drained,\nwas still kept brimming throughout all the Christmas holidays, was now\nwhen they were drawing to a close actually flowing over; and the warm\nheart and jovial spirit of the season, not content with pledging all\nthose who could drink in return, proceeded to an excess of\nboon-companionship, and after quaffing a wassail-draft to the health and\nabundant bearing of some favorite fruit-tree, poured what remained in\nthe cup upon the root, as a libation to its strength and vitality. Here,\nalso, we cannot fail to recognize the rites of classical times lurking\nin the superstitions used in the cider districts of England. A pleasant\ncustom of this kind is mentioned in the Gentleman's Magazine for 1791,\nas existing in certain parts of Devonshire. It is there stated that \"the\nfarmer, attended by his workmen with a large pitcher of cider, goes to\nthe orchard on this evening; and there, encircling one of the best\nbearing trees, they drink the following toast three times:--\n\n \"Here's to thee, old apple-tree!\n Whence thou mayst bud, and whence thou mayst blow!\n And whence thou mayst bear apples enow!\n Hats full! caps full!\n Bushel, bushel-sacks full!\n And my pockets full too!--Huzza!\"\n\nThis done they return to the house, the doors of which they are sure to\nfind bolted by the females, who, be the weather what it may, are\ninexorable to all entreatries to open them till some one has guessed at\nwhat is on the spit, which is generally some nice little thing difficult\nto be hit on, and is the reward of him who first names it. The doors are\nthen thrown open; and the lucky clodpole receives the titbit as a\nrecompense. Some, it is added, \"are so superstitious as to believe that\nif they neglect this custom the trees will bear no apples that year.\"\n\n \"Health to thee, good apple-tree!\n Well to bear, pockets full, hats full,\n Pecks full, bushel-bags full,\"--\n\nis another version of the address used on these occasions, preserved by\nBrand. We find recorded in one quarter or another a variety of analogous\nand other customs observed in different parts of England on this vigil;\nbut our diminishing space will not permit us to enter upon a description\nof them.\n\n[Illustration: TWELFTH NIGHT IN LONDON STREETS.--_Page 343._]\n\nTo illustrate \"Twelfth-night,\" our artist has made two studies of the\nscenes it presents in London,--abroad and at home; and these involve our\nconsideration of the subject, accordingly.\n\nDuring the entire twelve months there is no such illumination of\npastry-cooks' shops, as on Twelfth-night. Each sends forth a blaze of\nlight; and is filled with glorious cakes, \"decorated,\" to use the words\nof Mr. Hone, \"with all imaginable images of thing animate and inanimate.\nStars, castles, kings, cottages, dragons, trees, fish, palaces, cats,\ndogs, churches, lions, milkmaids, knights, serpents, and innumerable\nother forms, in snow-white confectionery, painted with variegated\ncolors.\" \"This 'paradise of dainty devices,'\" he continues, \"is crowded\nby successive, and successful, desirers of the seasonable delicacies;\nwhile alternate tappings of hammers and peals of laughter, from the\nthrong surrounding the house, excite smiles from the inmates.\" This last\nobservation requires explanation, for our country readers.\n\nLet all idle gazers, then, in the streets of London beware of\nTwelfth-night! There is then that spirit of mischievous fun abroad,\nwhich, carried on without the superintending power of a Lord of\nMisrule, exhibits itself in transfixing the coat-skirts of the\nunconscious stranger to the frame of the door or window, at which he may\nhave paused to stare and wonder. Once fairly caught, lucky is the wight\nwho can disengage himself, without finding that, in the interim, his\nother skirt has been pinned to the pelisse or gown of some alarmed\ndamsel, whose dress is perhaps dragged, at the same moment, in opposite\ndirections, so that he can neither stand still nor move, without aiding\nthe work of destruction. These practical faceti\u00e6 are the performances of\nthat class of nondescript lads, \"perplexers of Lord Mayors and\nirritators of the police,\" whose character Mr. Leigh Hunt has as truly\ndrawn as our artist has depicted their persons: \"those equivocal\nanimal-spirits of the streets, who come whistling along, you know not\nwhether thief or errand-boy, sometimes with a bundle and sometimes not,\nin corduroys, a jacket, and a cap or bit of hat, with hair sticking\nthrough a hole in it. His vivacity gets him into scrapes in the street;\nand he is not ultra-studious of civility in his answers. If the man he\nruns against is not very big, he gives him abuse for abuse, at once; if\notherwise, he gets at a convenient distance, and then halloos out, 'Eh,\nstupid!' or 'Can't you see before you?' or 'Go and get your face\nwashed!' This last is a favorite saying of his, out of an instinct\nreferable to his own visage. He sings 'Hokee-Pokee,' and 'A shiny\nNight,' varied, occasionally, with an uproarious 'Rise, gentle Moon,' or\n'Coming through the Rye.' On winter evenings, you may hear him indulging\nhimself, as he goes along, in a singular undulation of yowl, a sort of\ngargle, as if a wolf was practising the rudiments of a shake. This he\ndelights to do, more particularly in a crowded thoroughfare, as though\ndetermined that his noise should triumph over every other and show how\njolly he is, and how independent of the ties to good behavior. If the\nstreet is a quiet one, and he has a stick in his hand (perhaps a\nhoop-stick), he accompanies the howl with a run upon the gamut of the\niron rails. He is the nightingale of mud and cold. If he gets on in\nlife, he will be a pot-boy. At present, as we said before, we hardly\nknow what he is; but his mother thinks herself lucky if he is not\ntransported.\"\n\nOf Twelfth-night, at home, when \"the whole island keeps court,--nay all\nChristendom,\"--when \"all the world are kings and queens, and everybody\nis somebody else,\" a huge cake, the idol of young hearts, is the\npresiding genius of the evening. The account given by Nutt, the editor\nof the \"Cook and Confectioner's Dictionary,\" of the twelfth-cakes and\ndishes in vogue a hundred years ago, proves the nursery rhymes of--\n\n \"Four and twenty blackbirds baked in a pye,\"\n\nwho\n\n \"When the pye was opened all began to sing,\"\n\nto be no such nonsense as was generally supposed. He tells us of two\ngreat pies, made of coarse paste and bran, into one of which, after it\nwas baked, live frogs were introduced, and into the other, live birds;\nwhich, upon some curious persons lifting up the covers, would jump and\nfly about the room, causing \"a surprising and diverting hurly-burly\namong the guests.\" What feeble imitations are the castles, ships, and\nanimals that now adorn our Twelfth-night cakes, to the performances of\nNutt! How much, every way, inferior are the specimens of art produced,\neven by the renowned author of the \"Italian Confectioner,\" the\nillustrious Jarrin! On the battlements of the castles of former days\nwere planted \"kexes,\" or pop-guns, charged with gunpowder, to be fired\nupon a pastry ship, with \"masts,\" ropes, we doubt not of spun sugar,\n\"sails, flags, and streamers.\" Nor was the naval power of England lost\nsight of; for the \"kexes\" of this delicious ship were, also, charged\nwith gunpowder, and, when she was fired upon from the castle, her guns\nwere able to return the salute. Then, to take off the smell of the\npowder, there were eggshells, filled with rose-water, for the spectators\nto break, \"and throw at one another.\" Nor must a stag of pastry filled\nwith claret be forgotten; which, when wounded, poured forth its blood,\nfree and sparkling as a ruby, for those whose nerves were delicate and\nneeded the refreshment of a glass of wine. Such were the \"subtilties,\"\nas these jugglings in confectionery are called, which we now behold\nrepresented by the painted figures, \"so bad to eat, but so fine to look\nat,\" that adorn our twelfth-cakes.\n\n[Illustration: TWELFTH NIGHT.--_Page 347._]\n\n\"How to eat twelfth-cake,\" says Hone, \"requires no recipe; but how to\nprovide it, and draw the characters, on the authority of Rachel Revel's\n'Winter Evening Pastimes,' may be acceptable. First, buy your cake.\nThen, before your visitors arrive, buy your characters,--each of which\nshould have a pleasant verse beneath. Next, look at your invitation\nlist, and count the number of ladies you expect, and afterwards the\nnumber of gentlemen. Then, take as many female characters as you have\ninvited ladies, fold them up exactly of the same size, and number each\non the back, taking care to make the king No. 1, and the queen No. 2.\nThen prepare and number the gentlemen's characters. Cause tea and coffee\nto be handed to your visitors, as they drop in. When all are assembled,\nand tea over, put as many ladies' characters in a reticule as there are\nladies present; next, put the gentlemen's characters in a hat. Then call\non a gentleman to carry the reticule to the ladies as they sit; from\nwhich each lady is to draw one ticket, and to preserve it unopened.\nSelect a lady to bear the hat to the gentlemen for the same purpose.\nThere will be one ticket left in the reticule, and another in the\nhat,--which the lady and gentleman who carried each is to interchange,\nas having fallen to each. Next, arrange your visitors, according to\ntheir numbers; the king No. 1, the queen No. 2, and so on. The king is\nthen to recite the verse on his ticket, then the queen the verse on\nhers; and so the characters are to proceed, in numerical order. This\ndone, let the cake and refreshments go round; and hey! for merriment!\"\n\nAs _our_ contribution towards the merriment of this evening, we cannot\ndo better than present our readers with a copy of the following letter,\nrespecting the manufacture of Twelfth-night characters,--which document\nwas handed to us by the artist to whom it was addressed.--\n\n \"SIR,--As I am given to understand that you are an\n artist of celebrity, I will thank you to make me a\n hundred and forty-four different characters, for\n Twelfth-night, the entire cost not to exceed two\n shillings and sixpence each, say three plates at two\n pounds ten shillings a plate, including the poetry,\n which you can, I am told, get plenty of poets to write\n for nothing, though I should not mind standing a\n trifle,--say twopence more, if the verses gave\n satisfaction. You will please do your best for me,\n and, trusting to your speedy attention to this order,\n I remain your well-wisher and obedient servant, who\n will furnish the coppers.\"\n\nThough we publish this letter, that is no reason why we should publish\nthe writer's name. It is evident he was a young hand in the trade, and\ndesirous to rival the graphic and literary talent displayed in\nLangley's and Fairburn's characters,--of which we have preserved\nspecimens in our portfolio. Mr. Sandys speaks rather disparagingly of\nthe merit of these productions, and this, considering that gentleman's\nantiquarian zeal, we must confess, surprises us. In the copy of\nLangley's characters which we possess, the same love of alliteration,\nupon which we have already commented as encouraged in the Court of\nMisrule, is observable. We have, for instance, \"Bill Bobstay,\" \"Prudence\nPumpkin,\" \"Percival Palette,\" \"Judy Juniper,\" \"Peter Puncheon,\" \"Simon\nSalamander,\" \"Countess Clackett,\" \"Leander Lackbrain,\" \"Nelly Nester,\"\n\"Felicia Frill,\" etc.\n\nWhere the monarch of the evening and his queen are not determined by\nthis kind of pictorial lottery, a bean and a pea are put into the cake;\nand whoever finds them in the pieces taken, he and she become the king\nand queen of the evening. Other matters, such as a small coin, a ring,\netc., are often introduced into Twelfth-night cakes, and give to the\nfinders characters to be supported for the evening. In some countries,\nsays Sandys, a coin was put \"instead of the bean, and portions of the\ncake assigned to the Virgin Mary and the Three Kings, which were given\nto the poor; and if the bean should happen to be in any of these\nportions, the king was then chosen by pulling straws.\"\n\nThe three kings mentioned in the above extract are those worthies\ncommonly known by the title of the Three Kings of Colen (Cologne),\nidentified by old legends with the Wise Men of the East, who did homage\nto our Saviour on the day of which the Epiphany is the anniversary\ncelebration. They are stated to have been Arabians; and are\ndistinguished in the traditionary tales of the Early Church by the names\nof Melchior, Balthazar, and Gasper. Their bodies are said to have been\nfinally deposited at Cologne, after several removals; and the practice\nof electing a king on the evening of the Epiphany has been, by some,\nthought to have a reference to their supposed regal characters. We\nimagine, however, it will be sufficiently evident to our readers, after\nwhat we have formerly said, that it is not necessary for us to seek\nfurther than we have already done for the origin of the Twelfth-night\nking.\n\n\n\n\nSAINT DISTAFF'S DAY.\n\n7TH JANUARY.\n\nCONCLUSION.\n\n\nTHE day which precedes this is, as we have already informed our readers,\nthe last of the twelve days which constitute what is emphatically the\nChristmas season; and with the revelries of Twelfth-night the general\nholiday is in strictness considered to be at an end. As however we found\nit necessary to approach the throng of its celebrations with some degree\nof preparation,--to pass through some of its lighted antechambers,\nbefore we ventured to trust our eyes amid the blaze of the temple\nitself,--so also we dare not step at once from its thousand lights into\nthe common air of the every-day world without a previous subjecting of\nour imaginations to the diminished glare of the outer chambers which lie\non this other side. And this it is the more incumbent on us to do,\nbecause the revellers whose proceedings it is our business to describe\ntake the same course in returning to the business of life.\n\nIt is not, as we have said, to be expected that after the full chorus of\nincreased mirth which hath swelled up anew for the last of these\ncelebrations, the ear should all at once accustom itself to a sudden and\nutter silence,--should endure the abrupt absence of all festival sound;\nnor can all the laughing spirits of the season who were engaged in added\nnumbers for the revelries of last night, be got quietly laid at rest in\nthe course of a single day. One or other of them is accordingly found\nlurking about the corners of our chambers after the ceremonies for which\nthey were called up are over, encouraged to the neglect of the order for\ntheir dismissal by the young hearts, who have formed a merry alliance\nwith the imps which they are by no means willing to terminate thus\nsuddenly. And sooth to say, those youngsters are often able to engage\nheads who are older, and we suppose should know better, in the\nconspiracies which are day by day formed for the detention of some one\nor more of these members of the train of Momus.\n\nEven in rural districts, where the necessary preparations in aid of the\nreturning season are by this time expected to call men abroad to the\nlabors of the field, our benevolent ancestors admitted the claim for a\ngradual subsiding of the Christmas mirth in favor of the children of\ntoil. Their devices for letting themselves gently down were recognized;\nand a sort of compromise was sanctioned between the spirit of the past\nholiday and the sense of an important coming duty to be performed. The\ngenius of mirth met the genius of toil on neutral ground for a single\nday; and the two touched hands in recognition of the rightful dominion\nof each other, ere they severally set forth in their own separate\ndirections.\n\nThus, on the day which followed Twelfth-night, the implements of labor\nwere prepared and the team was even yoked for a space; but the business\nof turning the soil was not required to be laboriously engaged in until\nthe Monday which followed, and which therefore bore (and bears) the\ntitle of Plough Monday. After a few hours of morning labor, a sort of\nhalf-holiday was the concluding privilege of this privileged season; and\nthe husbandman laid aside his plough, and the maiden her distaff, to\nengage in certain revels which were peculiar to the day and to the\ncountry districts. From the partial resumption of the spinning labors of\nthe women on this morning, the festival in question takes its name; and\nit is (or was) sometimes called also \"Rockday,\" in honor of the rock,\nwhich is another name for the distaff. It is described as being \"a\ndistaff held in the hand, from whence wool is spun by twirling a ball\nbelow.\"\n\nOf the sports by which this day was enlivened we doubt if there are any\nremains. These seem to have consisted in the burning, by the men who had\nreturned from the field, of the flax and tow belonging to the women, as\na sort of assertion of the supremacy of the spirit of fun over his\nlaborious rival for this one day more, and a challenge into his court;\nand this challenge was answered by the maidens, and the mischief\nretorted, by sluicing the clowns with pails of water. It was, in fact, a\nmerry contest between these two elements of water and of fire; and may\nbe looked upon as typical of that more matter-of-fact extinction which\nwas about to be finally given to the lights of the season when the\nsports of this day should be concluded. Of these merry proceedings our\nartist has given a very lively representation; and Herrick's poem on the\nsubject, which we must quote from the \"Hesperides,\" includes all that is\nknown of the ancient observances of St. Distaff's day.\n\n \"Partly work and partly play,\n You must on S. Distaff's day;\n From the plough soone free your teame,\n Then come home and fother them,\n If the maides a spinning goe,\n Burne the flax, and fire the tow;\n\n . . . . . . .\n\n Bring in pailes of water then,\n Let the maides bewash the men:--\n Give S. Distaffe all the right,\n Then bid Christmas sport good-night:\n And next morrow, every one\n To his own vocation.\"\n\n - - - - - - -\n\n[Illustration: RETURNING TO SCHOOL.--_Page 355._]\n\n\nOUR REVELS NOW ARE ENDED; and our Christmas prince must abdicate. In\nflinging down his wand of misrule, we trust there is no reason why he\nshould, like Prospero, when his charms were over and he broke his staff,\ndrown this, his book, \"deeper than did ever plummet sound.\" The spells\nwhich it contains are, we believe, all innocent; and, we trust, it may\nsurvive to furnish the directions for many a future scheme of Christmas\nhappiness.\n\nAnd _now_ Father Christmas has at length departed,--but not till the\nyoungsters had got from the merry old man his last _bon-bon_. The\nschool-boy, too, has clung to the skirts of the patriarch's coat, and\nfollowed him as far as he could. And farther had _he_ gone, but for a\nclear and undoubted vision of a dark object, which has been looming\nsuspiciously through the gloom, for some weeks past. He first caught a\nglimpse of it, on stepping out from amongst the lights of Twelfth-night;\nbut he turned his head resolutely away, and has since looked as little\nin that direction as he could. But there is no evading it now! There it\nstands, right in his way, plain and distinct and portentous! the gloomy\nportal of this merry season, on whose face is inscribed, in characters\nwhich there is no mystifying, its own appropriate and unbeloved\nname,--BLACK MONDAY!\n\nAnd, behold! at the gloomy gate a hackney coach! (more like a mourning\ncoach!)--_Black Monday_, visible in all its appointments, and _black\nFriday_, looking blacker than ever, this black Monday, frowning from its\nfoot-board!\n\nAnd lo! through its windows, just caught in the distance, the last\nflutter of the coat-tails of old Father Christmas!--\n\nOUR REVELS ARE, indeed, ENDED!\n\n\nTHE END.\n\n\n\n\nSTANDARD LIBRARY BOOKS\n\nSELECTED FROM THE CATALOGUE OF\n\nROBERTS BROTHERS.\n\n\n =Louisa M. Alcott.= Little Women, Illustrated, 16mo,\n $1.50; Little Men, Illustrated, 16mo, $1 50; An\n Old-Fashioned Girl, Illustrated, 16mo, $1.50; Eight\n Cousins, Illustrated, 16mo, $1.50; Rose in Bloom,\n Illustrated, 16mo, $1.50, Under the Lilacs, Illustrated,\n 16mo, $1.50; Jack and Jill, Illustrated, 16mo, $1.50;\n Jo's Boys, Illustrated, 16mo, $1.50. Eight volumes in\n box, $12.00. Work, Illustrated, 16mo, $1.50, Moods, a\n Novel, 16mo, $1.50; Hospital Sketches, Illustrated,\n 16mo, $1.50.\n\n =A. 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Morrison Davidson.= New Book of Kings, 16mo, $1.00.\n\n =Sir Humphry Davy.= Consolations in Travel, Illustrated,\n 16mo, $1.50; Salmonia, Illustrated, $1.50.\n\n =Daniel Defoe.= Robinson Crusoe, Illustrated, 12mo, $1.50.\n\n =Mrs. Delany.= Autobiography, with Portraits, 2 vols.,\n 12mo, $4.00.\n\n =Paul De Musset.= Biography of Alfred De Musset, 12mo,\n $2.00.\n\n =Madame De S\u00e9vign\u00e9.= Letters, 12mo, $1.50.\n\n =Orville Dewey.= Autobiography, 12mo, $1.75.\n\n =George T. Dippold.= The Great Epics of Medi\u00e6val Germany,\n 16mo, $1.50.\n\n =Anna Bowman Dodd.= Cathedral Days, Illustrated, 12mo,\n $2.00.\n\n =Giovanni Dupr\u00e8's Autobiographical Memoirs.= With an\n Introduction by William W. Story. 12mo. $2.00.\n\n =Don Quixote=, Wit and Wisdom of, Illustrated, 16mo,\n $1.25.\n\n =Dorothy.= A Country Story in Verse, square 16mo, $1.25.\n\n =Samuel Adams Drake.= Old Landmarks of Boston,\n Illustrated, 12mo, $2.00; Old Landmarks of Middlesex,\n Illustrated, 12mo, $2.00; New England Legends and Folk\n Lore, Illustrated, 8vo, $3.50, 12mo, $2.00; Around the\n Hub, Illustrated, 16mo, $1.50.\n\n =Maria Edgeworth.= Classic Tales, 16mo, $1.00.\n\n =M. Betham Edwards.= Doctor Jacob, a Novel, 12mo, $1.00.\n\n =George Eliot=, Wit and Wisdom of, square 18mo, $1.00.\n\n =William Everett.= School Sermons, 16mo, $1.00.\n\n =Famous Women Series.= George Eliot, 16mo, $1.00; Emily\n Bront\u00eb, 16mo, $1.00; George Sand, 16mo, $1.00; Margaret\n Fuller, 16mo, $1.00; Mary Lamb, 16mo, $1.00; Maria\n Edgeworth, 16mo, $1.00; Elizabeth Fry, 16mo, $1.00; Mary\n Wollstonecraft, 16mo, $1.00; Harriet Martineau, 16mo,\n $1.00; Countess of Albany, 16mo, $1.00; Rachel Felix,\n 16mo, $1.00; Madame Roland, 16mo, $1.00; Mrs. Siddons,\n 16mo, $1.00; Margaret of Angoul\u00eame, 16mo, $1.00; Madame\n De Sta\u00ebl, 16mo, $1.00.\n\n =Festival Poems.= For Christmas, etc. Square 16mo, $1.25.\n\n =Louis Figuier.= To-morrow of Death, 16mo, $1.50.\n\n \"=George Fleming.=\" Kismet, 16mo, $1.00; Mirage, 16mo,\n $1.00; The Head of Medusa, 16mo, $1.50; Andromeda, 16mo,\n $1.50; Vestigia, 16mo, $1.25.\n\n =Mrs. Eliza Fletcher.= Autobiography, with Portraits,\n 16mo, $1.50.\n\n =James E. Freeman.= Gatherings from an Artist's Portfolio\n in Rome, 12mo, $1.50.\n\n =Ellen Frothingham's Translations.= Goethe's Hermann and\n Dorothea, 16mo, $1.00; Illustrated, 8vo, $2.00; The\n Laoco\u00f6n, 16mo, $1.50; Sappho, square 18mo, $1.00.\n\n =Margaret Fuller.= Woman in the Nineteenth Century, 12mo,\n $1.50; Art, Literature, and the Drama, 12mo, $1.50; Life\n Without and Life Within, 12mo, $1.50; At Home and\n Abroad, 12mo, $1.50; Memoirs, 2 vols., 12mo, $3.00;\n Same, 1 vol., $1.50.\n\n =Theophile Gautier.= My Household of Pets. Translated by\n \"Susan Coolidge.\" Illustrated, 16mo, $1.25.\n\n =Judith Gautier.= The Usurper, a Novel, 12mo, $1.50.\n\n =Oliver Goldsmith.= The Vicar of Wakefield, with\n Illustrations by Mulready, 16mo, $1.00.\n\n =Lord Ronald Gower.= My Reminiscences, with Portrait,\n 12mo, $2.00; Last Days of Marie Antoinette, with\n Portrait, small 4to, $4.00.\n\n =Louise Imogen Guiney.= Goose-Quill Papers, 16mo, $1.00.\n\n =Edward Everett Hale.= In His Name, Illustrated, 12mo,\n $2.00; square 18mo, $1.00; paper covers, 30 cents; The\n Man Without a Country, 16mo, $1.25; His Level Best,\n 16mo, $1.25; What Career? 16mo, $1.25; The Ingham\n Papers, 16mo, $1.25; Christmas Eve and Christmas Day,\n 16mo, $1.25; Sybaris, 16mo, $1.25; Seven Spanish Cities,\n 16mo, $1.25; Ten Times One is Ten, 16mo, $1.00; Mrs.\n Merriam's Scholars, 16mo, $1.00; How to Do It, 16mo,\n $1.00; Good Time Coming, 16mo, $1.00; Gone to Texas,\n 16mo, $1.00; Crusoe in New York, 16mo, $1.00; Ups and\n Downs, 16mo, $1.50; A Summer Vacation, paper covers,\n 16mo, 50 cents; Franklin in France, with Portraits, 2\n Vols., $6.00.\n\n =Eugenie Hamerton.= The Mirror of Truth, Illustrated,\n 16mo, $2.00; Golden Mediocrity, 16mo, $1.00.\n\n =Philip G. Hamerton.= A Painter's Camp, 12mo, $2.00;\n Thoughts about Art, 12mo, $2.00; Intellectual Life,\n 12mo, $2.00; Chapters on Animals, 12mo, $2.00; Round My\n House, 12mo, $2.00; The Sylvan Year and The Unknown\n River, 12mo, $2.00; Wenderholme, 12mo, $2.00; Modern\n Frenchmen, 12mo, $2.00; Life of J. M. W. Turner, 12mo,\n $2.00; The Graphic Arts, 12mo, $2.00; Human Intercourse,\n 12mo, $2.00; Landscape, 12mo, $2.00; Paris, Illustrated,\n 8vo, $3.00; Etching and Etchers, Illustrated, 8vo,\n $5.00; The Unknown River, Illustrated with etchings,\n 8vo, $6.00; Harry Blount, a Boy's Book, 16mo, $1.25.\n\n =Augustus J. C. Hare.= Records of a Quiet Life, 16mo,\n $2.00.\n\n =The Heaven Series.= Heaven Our Home, 16mo, $1.00; Life in\n Heaven, 16mo, $1.00; Meet for Heaven, 16mo, $1.00.\n\n =Lafcadio Hearn.= Some Chinese Ghosts, 16mo, $1.00.\n\n =Frederic Henry Hedge.= Primeval World of Hebrew\n Tradition, 16mo, $1.50; Reason in Religion, 16mo, $1.50;\n Ways of the Spirit, 16mo, $1.50; Atheism in Philosophy,\n 12mo, $2.00; Hours with German Classics, 8vo, $2.50.\n\n =Arthur Helps.= Companions of My Solitude, 16mo, $1.50;\n Essays, 16mo, $1.50; Brevia, 16mo, $1.50; Conversations\n on War and General Culture, 16mo, $1.50; Ivan de Biron,\n 12mo, $2.25; Thoughts Upon Government, 8vo, $2.25;\n Social Pressure, 8vo, $2.25; Brassey's Life, 8vo, $2.50;\n Realmah, 16mo, $2.00; Casimir Maremma, 16mo, $2.00.\n\n =Holy Songs,= Carols, and Sacred Ballads, 16mo, $1.00.\n\n =F. L. Hosmer and W. C. Gannett.= The Thought of God in\n Hymns and Poems, 16mo, $1.00; paper covers, 50 cents.\n\n =Lord Houghton.= Poetical Works, with Portrait, 2 vols.,\n 16mo, $5.00.\n\n =Julia Ward Howe.= Margaret Fuller, 16mo, $1.00; Modern\n Society, 16mo, 50 cents.\n\n =Maud Howe.= San Rosario Ranch, 16mo, $1.25; Atalanta in\n the South, 16mo, $1.25; A Newport Aquarelle, 16mo,\n $1.00.\n\n =Leigh Hunt.= Book of the Sonnet, 16mo, $2.00; The Seer,\n 16mo, $2.00; A Day by the Fire, 16mo, $1.50.\n\n =Jean Ingelow.= Poems, Cabinet edition, 16mo, $1.50;\n Diamond edition, square 18mo, $1.00; Household edition,\n 16mo, 75 cents; Red-Line Household edition, 12mo, $1.25;\n Illustrated edition, 8vo, $7.50; Birthday Book,\n Illustrated, 16mo, $1.00; Off the Skelligs, 16mo, $1.00;\n Fated to be Free, 16mo, $1.00; Sarah de Berenger, 16mo,\n $1.00; Don John, 16mo, $1.00, John Jerome, 16mo, $1.00;\n Poems of the Old Days and the New, 16mo, $1.25.\n\n =J. H. Ingraham.= The Prince of the House of David, 16mo,\n $1.50; The Pillar of Fire, 16mo, $1.50; The Throne of\n David, 16mo, $1.50.\n\n =Helen Jackson.= Ramona, 12mo, $1.50; Century of Dishonor,\n 12mo, $1.50; Glimpses of Three Coasts, 12mo, $1.50; Bits\n of Travel, Illustrated, 18mo, $1.25; Bits of Travel at\n Home, 18mo, $1.50; Bits of Talk, 18mo, $1.00; Bits of\n Talk for Young Folks. 16mo, $1.00; Mercy Philbrick's\n Choice, 16mo, $1.00; Hetty's Strange History, 16mo,\n $1.00; Zeph, 16mo, $1.25; Between Whiles, 16mo, $1.25;\n Verses, 16mo, $1.00; Sonnets and Lyrics, 16mo, $1.00;\n Verses and Sonnets and Lyrics, in 1 vol., $1.50.\n\n =Richard Jefferies.= Wild Life in a Southern County, 16mo,\n $1.25; Gamekeeper at Home, 12mo, $1.50; Illustrated,\n 8vo, $3.75; The Amateur Poacher, 12mo, $1.50; Round\n About a Great Estate, 12mo, $1.50; Story of My Heart,\n 16mo, 75 cents.\n\n =Francis Jacox.= Cues from All Quarters, 16mo, $1.50;\n Bible Music, 12mo, $1.75.\n\n =Joyce, R. D.= Deirdr\u00e9, a Poem, 16mo, $1.00; Blanid, a\n Poem, 16mo, $1.50.\n\n =Sylvester Judd.= Margaret, 16mo, $1.50; Richard Edney,\n 16mo, $1.50.\n\n =John Keats.= Poems. Memoir by Lord Houghton. 16mo, $1.50.\n\n =The Kernel and the Husk.= Letters on Spiritual\n Christianity, by the author of \"Philochristus\" and\n \"Onesimus,\" 12mo, $1.50.\n\n =Edward Lear.= Nonsense Books, Illustrated, 12mo, $2.00.\n\n =Walter Savage Landor.= Pericles and Aspasia, 16mo, $1.50;\n Imaginary Conversations, 5 vols., 12mo, $10.00; Oxford\n edition, 16mo, $5.00.\n\n =Mrs. E. W. Latimer.= Familiar Talks on Some of\n Shakspeare's Comedies, 12mo, $2.00.\n\n =Vernon Lee.= Baldwin, 12mo, $2.00; Euphorion, 2 vols.,\n demy 8vo, $4.00; Countess of Albany, 16mo, $1.00; A\n Phantom Lover, 16mo, 50 cents; Juvenilia, 12mo, $2.00.\n\n =Madame Lenormant.= Memoirs of Madame R\u00e9camier, with\n Portrait, 16mo, $1.50; Madame R\u00e9camier and Her Friends,\n 16mo, $1.50.\n\n =Mrs. D. A. Lincoln.= Boston Cook Book, Illustrated, 12mo,\n half bound, $2.00; Carving and Serving, square 12mo, 60\n cents.\n\n =W. J. Linton.= Rare Poems of Sixteenth and Seventeenth\n Centuries, 16mo, $2.00.\n\n =A Little Pilgrim.= 16mo, 60 cents.\n\n =Abiel A. Livermore.= Anti-Tobacco, 16mo, 50 cents.\n\n =Living English Poets= (MDCCCLXXXII), 12mo, $2.00.\n\n =Margaret Lonsdale.= Sister Dora, with Portrait, 16mo,\n $1.25.\n\n =Robert T. S. Lowell.= Antony Brade, 16mo, $1.75; A Story\n or Two from an Old Dutch Town, 16mo, $1.25.\n\n =W. M. Lupton.= A Concise English History, 12mo, $1.50.\n\n =Hamilton W. Mabie.= Norse Stories, 16mo, $1.00.\n\n =Lord Macaulay.= Lays of Ancient Rome, with \"Ivry\" and\n \"Armada,\" Illustrated, 16mo, $1.00.\n\n =John MacGregor.= Thousand Miles in the Rob Roy Canoe,\n 16mo, $1.25; Rob Roy on the Baltic, 16mo, $1.25; Voyage\n Alone in the Yawl Rob Roy, 16mo, $1.25; Three vols. in\n one, $2.00.\n\n =George MacDonald.= The Vicar's Daughter, Illustrated,\n 16mo, $1.50.\n\n =Gerardine Macpherson.= Memoirs of Anna Jameson, with\n Portrait, 8vo, $2.50.\n\n =James Martineau.= Hours of Thought on Sacred Things, 1st\n series, 16mo, $1.50; 2d series, 12mo, $2.00.\n\n =George Meredith.= Ordeal of Richard Feverel, uncut,\n English cloth, 12mo, $2.00; Evan Harrington, uncut,\n English cloth, 12mo, $2.00; Harry Richmond, uncut,\n English cloth, 12mo, $2.00; Sandra Belloni, uncut,\n English cloth, 12mo, $2.00; Vittoria, uncut, English\n cloth, 12mo, $2.00; Rhoda Fleming, uncut, English cloth,\n 12mo, $2.00; Beauchamp's Career, uncut, English cloth,\n 12mo, $2.00; Diana of the Crossways, uncut, English\n cloth, 12mo, $2.00; The Egoist, uncut, English cloth,\n 12mo, $2.00; Shaving of Shagpat, and Farina, uncut,\n English cloth, 12mo, $2.00; Ballads and Poems of Tragic\n Life, 16mo, $1.50.\n\n =Joaquin Miller.= Songs of the Sierras, 16mo, $1.50; Songs\n of the Sun Lands, 16mo, $1.50; Ship in the Desert, 16mo,\n $1.50; Songs of Italy, 16mo, $1.25; Four vols. in one,\n $2.00; Songs of the Mexican Seas, 16mo, $1.00.\n\n =Miss Toosey's Mission=, and Laddie, 1 vol., 16mo, 50\n cents.\n\n =J. L. Molloy.= Our Autumn Holiday on French Rivers, 16mo.\n $1.00.\n\n =Lady Mary Wortley Montagu.= Letters, 12mo, $1.50.\n\n =John Morley.= Life of Richard Cobden, with Portrait, 8vo.\n $1.50.\n\n =Lewis Morris.= The Epic of Hades, 16mo, $1.50; Gwen,\n 16mo, $1.50; Songs Unsung, 16mo, $1.50; The Ode of Life,\n 16mo, $1.00.\n\n =William Morris.= The Earthly Paradise, 3 vols., 16mo,\n gilt, $6.00; Popular edition, $4.50; Sigurd the Volsung,\n 8vo, $2.50; \u00c6neids of Virgil, 8vo, $2.50; Defence of\n Guenevere, 12mo, $2.00; Life and Death of Jason, 16mo,\n $1.50; Lovers of Gudrun, 16mo, $1.00; Love is Enough,\n 16mo, $1.25; Hopes and Fears for Art, 16mo, $1.25.\n\n =Louise Chandler Moulton.= Poems, square 18mo, $1.00; Some\n Women's Hearts, 16mo, $1.50; Random Rambles, 18mo,\n $1.25; Ourselves and Our Neighbors, 16mo, $1.00.\n\n =William A. Mowry.= Talks with My Boys, 16mo, $1.00.\n\n =My Marriage.= A Novel, 16mo, $1.00.\n\n =May Alcott Nieriker.= Studying Art Abroad, 16mo, 50\n cents.\n\n =No Name Novels.= First Series: Afterglow, $1.00; Deirdr\u00e8,\n $1.00; Is That All? $1.00; Will Denbigh, Nobleman,\n $1.00; Kismet, $1.00; Wolf at the Door, $1.00; The Great\n Match, $1.00; Marmorne, $1.00; Mirage, $1.00; A Modern\n Mephistopheles, $1.00; Gemini, $1.00; A Masque of Poets,\n $1.00.\n\n _Second Series:_ Signor Monaldini's Niece, $1.00; The\n Colonel's Opera Cloak, $1.00; His Majesty, Myself,\n $1.00; Mrs. Beauchamp Brown, $1.00; Salvage, $1.00; Don\n John, $1.00; Tsar's Window, $1.00; Manuela Par\u00e9des,\n $1.00; Baby Rue, $1.00; My Wife and My Wife's Sister,\n $1.00; Her Picture, $1.00; Aschenbroedel, $1.00.\n\n _Third Series:_ Her Crime, $1.00; Little Sister, $1.00;\n Barrington's Fate, $1.00; Daughter of the Philistines,\n $1.00; Princess Am\u00e9lie, $1.00; Diane Coryval, $1.00;\n Almost a Duchess, $1.00; A Superior Woman, $1.00;\n Justina, $1.00; Question of Identity, $1.00; Cracker\n Joe, $1.00.\n\n =Mrs. Power O'Donoghue.= Riding for Ladies, 12mo, $3.50.\n\n =Old Lady Mary.= A Tale of the Seen and the Unseen, 16mo,\n 60 cents.\n\n =Kathleen O'Meara.= Madame Mohl, 16mo, $1.25 (crown 8vo,\n $2.50); Mabel Stanhope, 16mo, $1.25.\n\n =Old Colony Series of Novels.= Constance of Acadia, 12mo,\n $1.50; Agatha and the Shadow, 12mo, $1.50.\n\n =Onesimus=, Memoirs of a Disciple of Saint Paul, 16mo,\n $1.50.\n\n =Open Door and The Portrait=, 1 vol., 16mo, 60 cents.\n\n =Dr. H. Oort and Dr. I. Hooykaas.= The Bible for Learners,\n 3 vols., 12mo, $6.00.\n\n =John Boyle O'Reilly.= Moondyne, a Novel, 16mo, $1.00;\n Statues in the Block, 16mo, $1.00; paper covers, 50\n cents.\n\n =Our Little Ann.= By the author of \"Tip Cat.\" 16mo, $1.00.\n\n =Joseph Parker, D.D.= Ecce Deus, 16mo, $1.00; Ad Clerum,\n 16mo, $1.50.\n\n =Theodore Parker.= Prayers, 16mo, $1.00; Lessons from the\n World of Matter, 12mo, $1.25.\n\n =Charles E. Pascoe.= London of To-day, 1888, Illustrated,\n 12mo, $1.50.\n\n =C. Kegan Paul.= William Godwin, 2 vols., 8vo, $6.00; Mary\n Wollstonecraft's Letters to Gilbert Imlay, square 12mo,\n $2.00.\n\n =Paul of Tarsus=, 16mo, $1.50.\n\n =Elizabeth P. Peabody.= Reminiscences of William Ellery\n Channing, 16mo, $2.00.\n\n =A. P. Peabody, D.D.= Christian Belief and Life, 16mo,\n $1.50.\n\n =Frances M. Peard.= The Rose Garden, 16mo, $1.50; Thorpe\n Regis, 16mo, $1.50; Unawares, 16mo, $1.50.\n\n =Silvio Pellico.= My Prisons, Illustrated, 16mo, $1.25.\n\n =\"Pembridge.\"= Whist, or Bumblepuppy? 16mo, 50 cents.\n\n =J. and E. R. Pennell.= Two Pilgrims' Progress,\n Illustrated, 12mo, $2.00; paper covers, 50 cents.\n\n =Philochristus=, Memoirs of a Disciple of Our Lord, 16mo,\n $1.50.\n\n =Edward L. Pierce.= Memoir and Letters of Charles Sumner,\n with Portraits, 2 vols., 8vo, $6.00.\n\n =Margaret J. Preston.= Cartoons, 16mo, $1.00.\n\n =Laura Elizabeth Poor.= Sanskrit and its Kindred\n Literatures, 16mo, $2.00.\n\n =Harriet W. Preston.= A Year in Eden, a Novel, 12mo,\n $1.50; Troubadours and Trouv\u00e8res, 12mo, $2.00;\n Aspendale, 16mo, $1.00; Love in Nineteenth Century,\n 16mo, $1.00; Translations: Mistral's Mir\u00e8io, 16mo,\n $1.25; Writings of Madame Swetchine, 16mo, $1.25; Life\n and Letters of Madame Swetchine, 16mo, $1.50; Portraits\n of Celebrated Women, 16mo, $1.50; Memoirs of Madame\n Desbordes-Valmore, 16mo, $1.50; Biography of Alfred de\n Musset, 12mo, $2.00.\n\n =Bryan Waller Procter.= An Autobiographical Fragment, with\n Portrait, 12mo, $2.00.\n\n =Alfred P. Putnam.= Singers and Songs of the Liberal\n Faith, 8vo, $3.00.\n\n =Josiah Quincy.= Figures of the Past, 16mo, $1.50.\n\n =Josiah P. Quincy.= Protection of Majorities, 16mo, $1.00.\n\n =Harriet H. Robinson.= Massachusetts in the Woman Suffrage\n Movement, 16mo, $1.25.\n\n =A. Mary P. Robinson.= The New Arcadia, 16mo, $1.50; An\n Italian Garden, 16mo, $1.00; Emily Bront\u00eb, 16mo, $1.00.\n\n =Phil. Robinson.= Under the Sun, 16mo, $1.50; Sinners and\n Saints: Three Months Among the Mormons, 16mo, $1.50.\n\n =Edwards Roberts.= Santa Barbara, Illustrated, 16mo, 75\n cents.\n\n =Christina G. Rossetti.= Poems, 16mo, $1.50; Red Line\n edition, 12mo, $2.00; A Pageant, 16mo, $1.25; Time\n Flies, 18mo, $1.00; Annus Domini, square 18mo, $1.50;\n Commonplace, 16mo, $1.50.\n\n =Dante Gabriel Rossetti.= Blessed Damozel, 16mo, $1.50;\n Ballads and Sonnets, 16mo, $1.50; Complete Poems, with\n Portrait, 12mo, $2.00; Dante and His Circle, 12mo,\n $2.00.\n\n =Maria Francesca Rossetti.= A Shadow of Dante,\n Illustrated, 12mo, $1.50.\n\n =Earl John Russell.= Recollections, 8vo, $3.00.\n\n =Bernardin de Sainte-Pierre.= Paul and Virginia,\n Illustrated, 16mo, $1.00.\n\n =C. A. Sainte-Beuve.= Portraits of Celebrated Women, 16mo,\n $1.50; Memoirs of Madame Desbordes-Valmore, 16mo, $1.50.\n\n =Frank B. Sanborn.= Life and Letters of John Brown, with\n Portraits, 8vo, $3.00.\n\n =George Sand.= Mauprat, 12mo, half Russia, $1.50; Antonia,\n 12mo, half Russia, $1.50; Monsieur Sylvestre, 12mo, half\n Russia, $1.50; Snow Man, 12mo, half Russia, $1.50;\n Miller of Angibault, 12mo, half Russia, $1.50.\n\n =Epes Sargent.= Planchette; or, The Despair of Science,\n 16mo, $1.25; The Woman who Dared, 16mo, $1.50.\n\n =Sir Walter Scott.= Lay of the Last Minstrel, Lady of the\n Lake, and Marmion, 1 vol., 16mo, $1.00.\n\n =Sea and Shore=, a Collection of Poems, 18mo, $1.00.\n\n =J. R. Seeley, M. A.= Ecce Homo, 16mo, $1.00; Roman\n Imperialism, 16mo, $1.50; Short History of Napoleon,\n with Portrait, 16mo, $1.50; Life and Times of Stein, 2\n vols., with Portrait, 8vo, $6.00; Natural Religion,\n 16mo, $1.25; Expansion of England, crown 8vo, $1.75.\n\n =Flora L. Shaw.= Colonel Cheswick's Campaign, a Novel,\n 16mo, $1.25; Castle Blair, 16mo, $1.00; Hector, 16mo,\n $1.00; Phyllis Browne, 16mo, $1.00; A Sea Change, 16mo,\n $1.00.\n\n =Six of One by Half-a-Dozen of the Other=, 16mo, $1.50.\n\n =Julian K. Smyth.= Footprints of the Saviour, 16mo, gilt\n top, $1.00.\n\n =Mary Somerville.= Personal Recollections, Portrait, 12mo,\n $1.50.\n\n =Robert Southey.= Life of Nelson, Illustrated, 16mo,\n $1.00.\n\n =Harriet Prescott Spofford.= The Marquis of Carabas, 16mo,\n $1.00; Hester Stanley at St. Marks, 12mo, $1.25.\n\n =\"A Square.\"= Flatland, Illustrated. 16mo, 75 cents.\n\n =Robert Louis Stevenson.= Travels with a Donkey, 16mo,\n $1.00; An Inland Voyage, 16mo, $1.00; Treasure Island,\n 16mo, $1.00; The Silverado Squatters, 16mo, $1.00;\n Prince Otto, 16mo, $1.00.\n\n =Harriet Beecher Stowe.= Pink and White Tyranny, 16mo,\n $1.25.\n\n =Charles Swain.= Poems, with Portrait, 18mo, $1.00.\n\n =Andrew James Symington.= William Wordsworth, with\n Portrait, 2 vols., 16mo, $2.00.\n\n =Jane and Ann Taylor.= Tales, Essays, and Poems.\n Biographical Sketch, by Grace A. Oliver. 16mo, $1.00.\n\n =Connop Thirlwall.= Letters to a Friend, 12mo, $1.50.\n\n =Mary W. 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By the author of \"Miss Toosey's\n Mission.\" 16mo, $1.00.\n\n =George M. Towle.= Certain Men of Mark, 16mo, $1.00.\n\n =W. Steuart Trench.= Realities of Irish Life, 12mo, $1.00.\n\n =R. St. John Tyrwhitt.= Our Sketching Club, Illustrated,\n 8vo, $2.50.\n\n =Sarah Tytler.= The Old Masters, 16mo, $1.50; Modern\n Painters, 16mo, $1.50; Musical Composers, 16mo, $1.50.\n\n =May Alden Ward.= Dante, a Sketch of his Life, 16mo,\n $1.25.\n\n =M. de Voltaire.= Charles XII., King of Sweden, with\n Portrait, 16mo, $1.00.\n\n =William B. Weeden.= Morality of Prohibitory Liquor Laws,\n 16mo, $1.25; The Social Law of Labor, 12mo, $1.50.\n\n =Rev. John Weiss.= American Religion, 16mo, $1.50; Wit,\n Humor, and Shakspeare, 12mo, $2.00.\n\n =Oscar Wilde.= Poems, 16mo, $1.25.\n\n =A Week Away from Time=, 16mo, $1.25.\n\n =Rev. J. G. 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For example, \"Edward Lear\" was left above \"Walter Savage\nLandor\" and \"Francis Jacox\" was left after \"Richard Jeffries.\"","title":"The book of Christmas : $b descriptive of the customs, ceremonies, traditions, superstitions, fun, feeling, and festivities of the Christmas season","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":86793}