OLD CHRISTMAS

By Washington Irving

But is old, old, good old Christmas gone? Nothing but the hair of hisgood, gray, old head and beard left? Well, I will have that, seeing thatI cannot have more of him. 

Hue and Cry after Christmas. 

CONTENTS

CHRISTMAS

THE STAGE-COACH

CHRISTMAS EVE

CHRISTMAS DAY

THE CHRISTMAS DINNER

 A man might then behold At Christmas, in each hall Good fires to curb the cold, And meat for great and small. The neighbours were friendly bidden, And all had welcome true, The poor from the gates were not chidden, When this old cap was new. 

 Old Song

Christmas

There is nothing in England that exercises a more delightful spell overmy imagination than the lingerings of the holiday customs and ruralgames of former times. They recall the pictures my fancy used to drawin the May morning of life, when as yet I only knew the world throughbooks, and believed it to be all that poets had painted it; and theybring with them the flavour of those honest days of yore, in which, perhaps with equal fallacy, I am apt to think the world was morehome-bred, social, and joyous than at present. I regret to say thatthey are daily growing more and more faint, being gradually worn away bytime, but still more obliterated by modern fashion. They resemble thosepicturesque morsels of Gothic architecture which we see crumbling invarious parts of the country, partly dilapidated by the waste of ages, and partly lost in the additions and alterations of latter days. Poetry, however, clings with cherishing fondness about the rural game andholiday revel, from which it has derived so many of its themes, --as theivy winds its rich foliage about the Gothic arch and mouldering tower, gratefully repaying their support by clasping together their totteringremains, and, as it were, embalming them in verdure. 

Of all the old festivals, however, that of Christmas awakens thestrongest and most heartfelt associations. There is a tone of solemn andsacred feeling that blends with our conviviality, and lifts the spiritto a state of hallowed and elevated enjoyment. The services of thechurch about this season are extremely tender and inspiring. They dwellon the beautiful story of the origin of our faith, and the pastoralscenes that accompanied its announcement. They gradually increase infervour and pathos during the season of Advent, until they break forthin full jubilee on the morning that brought peace and good-will to men. I do not know a grander effect of music on the moral feelings than tohear the full choir and the pealing organ performing a Christmas anthemin a cathedral, and filling every part of the vast pile with triumphantharmony. 

It is a beautiful arrangement, also derived from days of yore, that thisfestival, which commemorates the announcement of the religion of peaceand love, has been made the season for gathering together of familyconnections, and drawing closer again those bands of kindred heartswhich the cares and pleasures and sorrows of the world are continuallyoperating to cast loose; of calling back the children of a family whohave launched forth in life, and wandered widely asunder, once moreto assemble about the paternal hearth, that rallying-place of theaffections, there to grow young and loving again among the endearingmementoes of childhood. 

There is something in the very season of the year that gives a charm tothe festivity of Christmas. At other times we derive a great portion ofour pleasures from the mere beauties of nature. Our feelings sally forthand dissipate themselves over the sunny landscape, and we "live abroadand everywhere. " The song of the bird, the murmur of the stream, thebreathing fragrance of spring, the soft voluptuousness of summer, thegolden pomp of autumn; earth with its mantle of refreshing green, andheaven with its deep delicious blue and its cloudy magnificence, allfill us with mute but exquisite delight, and we revel in the luxury ofmere sensation. But in the depth of winter, when nature lies despoiledof every charm, and wrapped in her shroud of sheeted snow, we turn forour gratifications to moral sources. The dreariness and desolation ofthe landscape, the short gloomy days and darksome nights, while theycircumscribe our wanderings, shut in our feelings also from ramblingabroad, and make us more keenly disposed for the pleasures of the socialcircle. Our thoughts are more concentrated; our friendly sympathies morearoused, we feel more sensibly the charm of each other's society, and are brought more closely together by dependence on each other forenjoyment. Heart calleth unto heart; and we draw our pleasures from thedeep wells of living kindness, which lie in the quiet recesses of ourbosoms: and which when resorted to, furnish forth the pure element ofdomestic felicity. 

The pitchy gloom without makes the heart dilate on entering the roomfilled with the glow and warmth of the evening fire. The ruddy blazediffuses an artificial summer and sunshine through the room, and lightsup each countenance into a kindlier welcome. Where does the honest faceof hospitality expand into a broader and more cordial smile--whereis the shy glance of love more sweetly eloquent--than by the winterfireside? and as the hollow blast of wintry wind rushes through thehall, claps the distant door, whistles about the casement, and rumblesdown the chimney, what can be more grateful than that feeling of soberand sheltered security with which we look around upon the comfortablechamber and the scene of domestic hilarity?

The English, from the great prevalence of rural habits throughout everyclass of society, have always been fond of those festivals and holidayswhich agreeably interrupt the stillness of country life; and they were, in former days, particularly observant of the religious and social ritesof Christmas. It is inspiring to read even the dry details which someantiquarians have given of the quaint humours, the burlesque pageants, the complete abandonment to mirth and good-fellowship with which thisfestival was celebrated. It seemed to throw open every door, and unlockevery heart. It brought the peasant and the peer together, and blendedall ranks in one warm generous flow of joy and kindness. The old hallsof castles and manor-houses resounded with the harp and the Christmascarol, and their ample boards groaned under the weight of hospitality. Even the poorest cottage welcomed the festive season with greendecorations of bay and holly--the cheerful fire glanced its rays throughthe lattice, inviting the passenger to raise the latch, and join thegossip knot huddled around the hearth, beguiling the long evening withlegendary jokes and oft-told Christmas tales. 

One of the least pleasing effects of modern refinement is the havoc ithas made among the hearty old holiday customs. It has completely takenoff the sharp touchings and spirited reliefs of these embellishmentsof life, and has worn down society into a more smooth and polished, but certainly a less characteristic surface. Many of the games andceremonials of Christmas have entirely disappeared, and like the sherrissack of old Falstaff, are become matters of speculation and disputeamong commentators. They flourished in times full of spirit andlustihood, when men enjoyed life roughly, but heartily and vigorously;times wild and picturesque, which have furnished poetry with its richestmaterials, and the drama with its most attractive variety of charactersand manners. The world has become more worldly. There is more ofdissipation, and less of enjoyment. Pleasure has expanded into abroader, but a shallower stream, and has forsaken many of those deepand quiet channels where it flowed sweetly through the calm bosom ofdomestic life. Society has acquired a more enlightened and elegant tone;but it has lost many of its strong local peculiarities, its homebredfeelings, its honest fireside delights. The traditionary customsof golden-hearted antiquity, its feudal hospitalities, and lordlywassailings, have passed away with the baronial castles and statelymanor-houses in which they were celebrated. They comported with theshadowy hall, the great oaken gallery, and the tapestried parlour, butare unfitted to the light showy saloons and gay drawing-rooms of themodern villa. 

Shorn, however, as it is, of its ancient and festive honours, Christmasis still a period of delightful excitement in England. It is gratifyingto see that home feeling completely aroused which seems to hold sopowerful a place in every English bosom. The preparations making onevery side for the social board that is again to unite friends andkindred; the presents of good cheer passing and repassing, those tokensof regard, and quickeners of kind feelings; the evergreens distributedabout houses and churches, emblems of peace and gladness; all these havethe most pleasing effect in producing fond associations, and kindlingbenevolent sympathies. Even the sound of the waits, rude as may betheir minstrelsy, breaks upon the mid-watches of a winter night with theeffect of perfect harmony. As I have been awakened by them in that stilland solemn hour, "when deep sleep falleth upon man, " I have listenedwith a hushed delight, and, connecting them with the sacred and joyousoccasion, have almost fancied them into another celestial choir, announcing peace and good-will to mankind. 

How delightfully the imagination, when wrought upon by these moralinfluences, turns everything to melody and beauty: The very crowing ofthe cock, who is sometimes heard in the profound repose of the country, "telling the night-watches to his feathery dames, " was thought by thecommon people to announce the approach of this sacred festival:

 "Some say that ever 'gainst that season comes Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated, This bird of dawning singeth all night long: And then, they say, no spirit dares stir abroad; The nights are wholesome--then no planets strike, No fairy takes, no witch hath power to charm, So hallow'd and so gracious is the time. "

Amidst the general call to happiness, the bustle of the spirits, andstir of the affections, which prevail at this period, what bosom canremain insensible? It is, indeed, the season of regenerated feeling--theseason for kindling, not merely the fire of hospitality in the hall, butthe genial flame of charity in the heart. 

The scene of early love again rises green to memory beyond the sterilewaste of years; and the idea of home, fraught with the fragrance ofhome-dwelling joys, reanimates the drooping spirit, --as the Arabianbreeze will sometimes waft the freshness of the distant fields to theweary pilgrim of the desert. 

Stranger and sojourner as I am in the land, --though for me no socialhearth may blaze, no hospitable roof throw open its doors, nor thewarm grasp of friendship welcome me at the threshold, --yet I feel theinfluence of the season beaming into my soul from the happy looks ofthose around me. Surely happiness is reflective, like the light ofheaven; and every countenance, bright with smiles, and glowing withinnocent enjoyment, is a mirror transmitting to others the rays of asupreme and ever shining benevolence. He who can turn churlishly awayfrom contemplating the felicity of his fellow beings, and sit downdarkling and repining in his loneliness when all around is joyful, mayhave his moments of strong excitement and selfish gratification, but hewants the genial and social sympathies which constitute the charm of amerry Christmas. 

The Stage-coach

 Omne bene Sine poena Tempus est ludendi; Venit hora, Absque mora Libros deponendi. 

 --Old Holiday School Song. 

In the preceding paper I have made some general observations on theChristmas festivities of England, and am tempted to illustrate them bysome anecdotes of a Christmas passed in the country; in perusing which, I would most courteously invite my reader to lay aside the austerity ofwisdom, and to put on that genuine holiday spirit which is tolerant offolly, and anxious only for amusement. 

In the course of a December tour in Yorkshire, I rode for a longdistance in one of the public coaches, on the day preceding Christmas. The coach was crowded, both inside and out, with passengers, who, bytheir talk, seemed principally bound to the mansions of relations orfriends to eat the Christmas dinner. It was loaded also with hampers ofgame, and baskets and boxes of delicacies; and hares hung dangling theirlong ears about the coachman's box, --presents from distant friends forthe impending feast. I had three fine rosy-cheeked schoolboys for myfellow passengers inside, full of the buxom health and manly spiritwhich I have observed in the children of this country. They werereturning home for the holidays in high glee, and promising themselvesa world of enjoyment. It was delightful to hear the gigantic plans ofpleasure of the little rogues, and the impracticable feats they were toperform during their six weeks' emancipation from the abhorred thraldomof book, birch, and pedagogue. They were full of anticipations of themeeting with the family and household, down to the very cat and dog; andof the joy they were to give their little sisters by the presents withwhich their pockets were crammed; but the meeting to which they seemedto look forward with the greatest impatience was with Bantam, whichI found to be a pony, and, according to their talk, possessed of morevirtues than any steed since the days of Bucephalus. How he could trot!how he could run! and then such leaps as he would take--there was not ahedge in the whole country that he could not clear. 

They were under the particular guardianship of the coachman, to whom, whenever an opportunity presented, they addressed a host of questions, and pronounced him one of the best fellows in the whole world. Indeed, Icould not but notice the more than ordinary air of bustle and importanceof the coachman, who wore his hat a little on one side, and had a largebunch of Christmas greens stuck in the button-hole of his coat. Heis always a personage full of mighty care and business, but he isparticularly so during this season, having so many commissions toexecute in consequence of the great interchange of presents. 

And here, perhaps, it may not be unacceptable to my untravelled readersto have a sketch that may serve as a general representation of thisvery numerous and important class of functionaries who have a dress, a manner, a language, an air, peculiar to themselves, and prevalentthroughout the fraternity; so that, wherever an English stage-coachmanmay be seen, he cannot be mistaken for one of any other craft ormystery. 

He has commonly a broad, full face, curiously mottled with red, as ifthe blood had been forced by hard feeding into every vessel of theskin; he is swelled into jolly dimensions by frequent potations of maltliquors, and his bulk is still further increased by a multiplicity ofcoats, in which he is buried like a cauliflower, the upper one reachingto his heels. He wears a broad-brimmed, low-crowned hat; a huge roll ofcoloured handkerchief about his neck, knowingly knotted and tucked inat the bosom; and has in summer-time a large bouquet of flowers in hisbuttonhole; the present, most probably, of some enamoured countrylass. His waistcoat is commonly of some bright colour, striped; and hissmall-clothes extend far below the knees, to meet a pair of jockey bootswhich reach about half-way up his legs. 

All this costume is maintained with much precision; he has a pride inhaving his clothes of excellent materials; and, notwithstanding theseeming grossness of his appearance, there is still discerniblethat neatness and propriety of person which is almost inherent in anEnglishman. He enjoys great consequence and consideration along theroad; has frequent conferences with the village housewives, who lookupon him as a man of great trust and dependence; and he seems to havea good understanding with every bright-eyed country lass. The momenthe arrives where the horses are to be changed, he throws down the reinswith something of an air, and abandons the cattle to the care of thehostler; his duty being merely to drive from one stage to another. 

When off the box, his hands are thrust in the pockets of his greatcoat, and he rolls about the inn-yard with an air of the most absolutelordliness. Here he is generally surrounded by an admiring throng ofhostlers, stable-boys, shoe-blacks, and those nameless hangers-on thatinfest inns and taverns, and run errands, and do all kinds of odd jobs, for the privilege of battening on the drippings of the kitchen andthe leakage of the tap-room. These all look up to him as to an oracle;treasure up his cant phrases; echo his opinions about horses and othertopics of jockey lore; and, above all, endeavour to imitate his air andcarriage. Every ragamuffin that has a coat to his back thrusts hishands in the pockets, rolls in his gait, talks slang, and is an embryoCoachey. 

Perhaps it might be owing to the pleasing serenity that reigned inmy own mind, that I fancied I saw cheerfulness in every countenancethroughout the journey. A stage-coach, however, carries animation alwayswith it, and puts the world in motion as it whirls along. The horn, sounded at the entrance of a village, produces a general bustle. Somehasten forth to meet friends; some with bundles and bandboxes to secureplaces, and in the hurry of the moment can hardly take leave of thegroup that accompanies them. In the meantime, the coachman has aworld of small commissions to execute. Sometimes he delivers a hare orpheasant; sometimes jerks a small parcel or newspaper to the door of apublic-house; and sometimes, with knowing leer and words of sly import, hands to some half-blushing, half-laughing housemaid an odd-shapedbillet-doux from some rustic admirer. As the coach rattles through thevillage, every one runs to the window, and you have glances on everyside of fresh country faces, and blooming, giggling girls. At thecorners are assembled juntas of village idlers and wise men, who taketheir stations there for the important purpose of seeing company pass;but the sagest knot is generally at the blacksmith's, to whom thepassing of the coach is an event fruitful of much speculation. Thesmith, with the horse's heel in his lap, pauses as the vehicle whirlsby; the Cyclops round the anvil suspend their ringing hammers, andsuffer the iron to grow cool; and the sooty spectre in brown paper cap, labouring at the bellows, leans on the handle for a moment, and permitsthe asthmatic engine to heave a long-drawn sigh, while he glares throughthe murky smoke and sulphureous gleams of the smithy. 

Perhaps the impending holiday might have given a more than usualanimation to the country, for it seemed to me as if everybody was ingood looks and good spirits. Game, poultry, and other luxuries ofthe table, were in brisk circulation in the villages; the grocers', butchers', and fruiterers' shops were thronged with customers. Thehousewives were stirring briskly about, putting their dwellings inorder; and the glossy branches of holly, with their bright red berries, began to appear at the windows. The scene brought to mind an oldwriter's account of Christmas preparations:--"Now capons and hens, besides turkeys, geese, and ducks, with beef and mutton--must all die;for in twelve days a multitude of people will not be fed with a little. Now plums and spice, sugar and honey, square it among pies and broth. Now or never must music be in tune, for the youth must dance and sing toget them a heat, while the aged sit by the fire. The country maid leaveshalf her market, and must be sent again, if she forgets a pack of cardson Christmas eve. Great is the contention of Holly and Ivy, whethermaster or dame wears the breeches. Dice and cards benefit the butler;and if the cook do not lack wit, he will sweetly lick his fingers. "

I was roused from this fit of luxurious meditation by a shout frommy little travelling companions. They had been looking out of thecoach-windows for the last few miles, recognising every tree andcottage as they approached home, and now there was a general burst ofjoy--"There's John! and there's old Carlo! and there's Bantam!" criedthe happy little rogues, clapping their hands. 

At the end of a lane there was an old sober-looking servant in liverywaiting for them: he was accompanied by a superannuated pointer, and bythe redoubtable Bantam, a little old rat of a pony, with a shaggy maneand long, rusty tail, who stood dozing quietly by the roadside, littledreaming of the bustling times that awaited him. 

I was pleased to see the fondness with which the little fellows leapedabout the steady old footman, and hugged the pointer, who wriggled hiswhole body for joy. But Bantam was the great object of interest; allwanted to mount at once; and it was with some difficulty that Johnarranged that they should ride by turns, and the eldest should ridefirst. 

Off they set at last; one on the pony, with the dog bounding and barkingbefore him, and the others holding John's hands; both talking at once, and overpowering him by questions about home, and with school anecdotes. I looked after them with a feeling in which I do not know whetherpleasure or melancholy predominated: for I was reminded of those dayswhen, like them, I had neither known care nor sorrow, and a holiday wasthe summit of earthly felicity. We stopped a few moments afterward towater the horses, and on resuming our route, a turn of the road broughtus in sight of a neat country seat. I could just distinguish the formsof a lady and two young girls in the portico, and I saw my littlecomrades, with Bantam, Carlo, and old John, trooping along the carriageroad. I leaned out of the coach-window, in hopes of witnessing the happymeeting, but a grove of trees shut it from my sight. 

In the evening we reached a village where I had determined to pass thenight. As we drove into the great gateway of the inn, I saw on one sidethe light of a rousing kitchen fire beaming through a window. I entered, and admired, for the hundredth time, that picture of convenience, neatness, and broad, honest enjoyment, the kitchen of an English inn. It was of spacious dimensions, hung round with copper and tin vessels, highly polished, and decorated here and there with a Christmas green. Hams, tongues, and flitches of bacon were suspended from the ceiling; asmoke-jack made its ceaseless clanking beside the fireplace, and a clockticked in one corner. A well scoured deal table extended along one sideof the kitchen, with a cold round of beef and other hearty viands uponit, over which two foaming tankards of ale seemed mounting guard. 

Travellers of inferior order were preparing to attack this stout repast, while others sat smoking and gossiping over their ale on two high-backedoaken seats beside the fire. Trim house-maids were hurrying backwardsand forwards under the directions of a fresh, bustling landlady; butstill seizing an occasional moment to exchange a flippant word, and havea rallying laugh, with the group round the fire. The scene completelyrealised Poor Robin's humble idea of the comforts of midwinter. 

 "Now trees their leafy hats do bare, To reverence Winter's silver hair; A handsome hostess, merry host, A pot of ale now and a toast, Tobacco and a good coal fire, Are things this season doth require. "*

 * Poor Robin's Almanack, 1684. 

I had not been long at the inn when a postchaise drove up to the door. A young gentleman stepped out, and by the light of the lamps I caught aglimpse of a countenance which I thought I knew. I moved forward toget a nearer view, when his eye caught mine. I was not mistaken; it wasFrank Bracebridge, a sprightly, good-humoured young fellow, with whom Ihad once travelled on the Continent. Our meeting was extremely cordial;for the countenance of an old fellow traveller always brings upthe recollection of a thousand pleasant scenes, odd adventures, andexcellent jokes. To discuss all these in a transient interview at aninn was impossible; and finding that I was not pressed for time, and wasmerely making a tour of observation, he insisted that I should give hima day or two at his father's country-seat, to which he was going to passthe holidays, and which lay at a few miles' distance. "It is betterthan eating a solitary Christmas dinner at an inn, " said he; "and I canassure you of a hearty welcome in something of the old-fashion style. "His reasoning was cogent; and I must confess the preparation I had seenfor universal festivity and social enjoyment had made me feel a littleimpatient of my loneliness. I closed, therefore, at once with hisinvitation: the chaise drove up to the door; and in a few moments I wason my way to the family mansion of the Bracebridges. 

Christmas Eve

 Saint Francis and Saint Benedight Blesse this house from wicked wight, From the night-mare and the goblin, That is hight good-fellow Robin; Keep it from all evil spirits. Fairies, weezels, rats, and ferrets: From curfew time To the next prime. 

 --CARTWRIGHT. 

It was a brilliant moonlight night, but extremely cold; our chaisewhirled rapidly over the frozen ground; the post-boy smacked his whipincessantly, and a part of the time his horses were on a gallop. "Heknows where he is going, " said my companion, laughing, "and is eager toarrive in time for some of the merriment and good cheer of the servants'hall. My father, you must know, is a bigoted devotee of the old school, and prides himself upon keeping up something of old English hospitality. He is a tolerable specimen of what you will rarely meet with nowadaysin its purity, the old English country gentleman; for our men of fortunespend so much of their time in town, and fashion is carried so much intothe country, that the strong, rich peculiarities of ancient rural lifeare almost polished away. My father, however, from early years, took honest Peacham* for his textbook, instead of Chesterfield: hedetermined, in his own mind, that there was no condition more trulyhonourable and enviable than that of a country gentleman on his paternallands, and, therefore, passes the whole of his time on his estate. He isa strenuous advocate for the revival of the old rural games and holidayobservances, and is deeply read in the writers, ancient and modern, whohave treated on the subject. Indeed, his favourite range of reading isamong the authors who flourished at least two centuries since; who, heinsists, wrote and thought more like true Englishmen than any of theirsuccessors. He even regrets sometimes that he had not been born a fewcenturies earlier, when England was itself, and had its peculiar mannersand customs. As he lives at some distance from the main road, in rathera lonely part of the country, without any rival gentry near him, he hasthat most enviable of all blessings to an Englishman, an opportunityof indulging the bent of his own humour without molestation. Beingrepresentative of the oldest family in the neighbourhood, and a greatpart of the peasantry being his tenants, he is much looked up to, and, in general, is known simply by the appellation of 'The Squire;' a titlewhich has been accorded to the head of the family since time immemorial. I think it best to give you these hints about my worthy old father, toprepare you for any little eccentricities that might otherwise appearabsurd. "

 * Peacham's "Complete Gentleman, " 1622. 

We had passed for some time along the wall of a park, and at length thechaise stopped at the gate. It was in a heavy, magnificent old style, of iron bars, fancifully wrought at top into flourishes and flowers. The huge square columns that supported the gate were surmounted by thefamily crest. Close adjoining was the porter's lodge, sheltered underdark fir-trees, and almost buried in shrubbery. 

The post-boy rang a large porter's bell, which resounded through thestill, frosty air, and was answered by the distant barking of dogs, with which the mansion-house seemed garrisoned. An old woman immediatelyappeared at the gate. As the moonlight fell strongly upon her, I hadfull view of a little primitive dame, dressed very much in the antiquetaste, with a neat kerchief and stomacher, and her silver hair peepingfrom under a cap of snowy whiteness. She came curtseying forth, withmany expressions of simple joy at seeing her young master. Her husband, it seems, was up at the house keeping Christmas eve in the servants'hall; they could not do without him, as he was the best hand at a songand story in the household. 

My friend proposed that we should alight and walk through the park tothe hall, which was at no great distance, while the chaise should followon. Our road wound through a noble avenue of trees, among the nakedbranches of which the moon glittered as she rolled through the deepvault of a cloudless sky. The lawn beyond was sheeted with a slightcovering of snow, which here and there sparkled as the moonbeams caughta frosty crystal; and at a distance might be seen a thin, transparentvapour, stealing up from the low grounds, and threatening gradually toshroud the landscape. 

My companion looked round him with transport:--"How often, " said he, "have I scampered up this avenue, on returning home on school vacations!How often have I played under these trees when a boy! I feel a degree offilial reverence for them, as we look up to those who have cherished usin childhood. My father was always scrupulous in exacting our holidays, and having us around him on family festivals. He used to direct andsuperintend our games with the strictness that some parents do thestudies of their children. He was very particular that we should playthe old English games according to their original form and consultedold books for precedent and authority for every 'merrie disport;' yet Iassure you there never was pedantry so delightful. It was the policyof the good old gentleman to make his children feel that home was thehappiest place in the world; and I value this delicious home-feeling asone of the choicest gifts a parent can bestow. "

We were interrupted by the clangour of a troop of dogs of all sorts andsizes, "mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound, and curs of low degree, " that, disturbed by the ringing of the porter's bell, and the rattling of thechaise, came bounding, open-mouthed, across the lawn. 

 "The little dogs and all, Tray, Blanch, and Sweetheart--see, they bark at me!"

cried Bracebridge, laughing. At the sound of his voice the bark waschanged into a yelp of delight, and in a moment he was surrounded andalmost overpowered by the caresses of the faithful animals. 

We had now come in full view of the old family mansion, partly thrownin deep shadow, and partly lit up by the cold moonshine. It wasan irregular building of some magnitude, and seemed to be of thearchitecture of different periods. One wing was, evidently very ancient, with heavy stone-shafted bow windows jutting out and overrun with ivy, from among the foliage of which the small diamond-shaped panes of glassglittered with the moonbeams. The rest of the house was in the Frenchtaste of Charles the Second's time, having been repaired and altered, as my friend told me, by one of his ancestors, who returned with thatmonarch at the Restoration. The grounds about the house were laid outin the old formal manner of artificial flower-beds, clipped shrubberies, raised terraces, and heavy stone balustrades, ornamented with urns, aleaden statue or two, and a jet of water. The old gentleman, I wastold, was extremely careful to preserve this obsolete finery in all itsoriginal state. He admired this fashion in gardening; it had an airof magnificence, was courtly and noble, and befitting good old familystyle. The boasted imitation of nature in modern gardening had sprungup with modern republican notions, but did not suit a monarchicalgovernment; it smacked of the levelling system. I could not help smilingat this introduction of politics into gardening, though I expressed someapprehension that I should find the old gentleman rather intolerantin his creed. Frank assured me, however, that it was almost the onlyinstance in which he had ever heard his father meddle with politics; andhe believed that he had got this notion from a member of Parliament whoonce passed a few weeks with him. The Squire was glad of any argumentto defend his clipped yew-trees and formal terraces, which had beenoccasionally attacked by modern landscape gardeners. 

As we approached the house, we heard the sound of music, and now andthen a burst of laughter from one end of the building. This, Bracebridgesaid, must proceed from the servants' hall, where a great deal ofrevelry was permitted, and even encouraged, by the Squire throughout thetwelve days of Christmas, provided everything was done comformably toancient usage. Here were kept up the old games of hoodman blind, shoe the wild mare, hot cockles, steal the white loaf, bob apple andsnapdragon: the Yule log and Christmas candle were regularly burnt, andthe mistletoe, with its white berries, hung up to the imminent peril ofall the pretty housemaids. *

 *[1] See Note A. 

So intent were the servants upon their sports, that we had to ringrepeatedly before we could make ourselves heard. On our arrival beingannounced, the Squire came out to receive us, accompanied by his twoother sons; one a young officer in the army, home on leave of absence;the other an Oxonian, just from the University. The Squire was a fine, healthy-looking old gentleman, with silver hair curling lightly round anopen, florid countenance; in which a physiognomist, with the advantage, like myself, of a previous hint or two, might discover a singularmixture of whim and benevolence. 

The family meeting was warm and affectionate; as the evening was faradvanced, the Squire would not permit us to change our travellingdresses, but ushered us at once to the company, which was assembled ina large old-fashioned hall. It was composed of different branches of anumerous family connection, where there were the usual proportion of olduncles and aunts, comfortably married dames, superannuated spinsters, blooming country cousins, half-fledged striplings, and bright-eyedboarding-school hoydens. They were variously occupied; some at a roundgame of cards; others conversing around the fireplace; at one end of thehall was a group of the young folks, some nearly grown up, others ofa more tender and budding age, fully engrossed by a merry game; and aprofusion of wooden horses, penny trumpets, and tattered dolls, aboutthe floor, showed traces of a troop of little fairy beings, who, havingfrolicked through a happy day, had been carried off to slumber through apeaceful night. 

While the mutual greetings were going on between Bracebridge and hisrelatives, I had time to scan the apartment. I have called it a hall, for so it had certainly been in old times, and the Squire had evidentlyendeavoured to restore it to something of its primitive state. Overthe heavy projecting fireplace was suspended a picture of a warrior inarmour standing by a white horse, and on the opposite wall hung helmet, buckler, and lance. At one end an enormous pair of antlers were insertedin the wall, the branches serving as hooks on which to suspendhats, whips, and spurs; and in the corners of the apartment werefowling-pieces, fishing-rods, and other sporting implements. Thefurniture was of the cumbrous workmanship of former days, though somearticles of modern convenience had been added, and the oaken floor hadbeen carpeted; so that the whole presented an odd mixture of parlour andhall. 

The grate had been removed from the wide overwhelming fireplace, tomake way for a fire of wood, in the midst of which was an enormous logglowing and blazing, and sending forth a vast volume of light and heat;this I understood was the Yule-log, which the Squire was particular inhaving brought in and illumined on a Christmas eve, according to ancientcustom. *

 *[2] See Note B. 

It was really delightful to see the old Squire seated in his hereditaryelbow-chair by the hospitable fireside of his ancestors, and lookingaround him like the sun of a system, beaming warmth and gladness toevery heart. Even the very dog that lay stretched at his feet, as helazily shifted his position and yawned, would look fondly up in hismaster's face, wag his tail against the floor, and stretch himself againto sleep, confident of kindness and protection. There is an emanationfrom the heart in genuine hospitality which cannot be described, but isimmediately felt, and puts the stranger at once at his ease. I hadnot been seated many minutes by the comfortable hearth of the worthycavalier before I found myself as much at home as if I had been one ofthe family. 

Supper was announced shortly after our arrival. It was served up in aspacious oaken chamber, the panels of which shone with wax, and aroundwhich were several family portraits decorated with holly and ivy. Besidethe accustomed lights, two great wax tapers, called Christmas candles, wreathed with greens, were placed on a highly-polished buffet among thefamily plate. The table was abundantly spread with substantial fare;but the Squire made his supper of frumenty, a dish made of wheat cakesboiled in milk with rich spices, being a standing dish in old times forChristmas eve. I was happy to find my old friend, minced-pie, in theretinue of the feast; and finding him to be perfectly orthodox, and thatI need not be ashamed of my predilection, I greeted him with all thewarmth wherewith we usually greet an old and very genteel acquaintance. 

The mirth of the company was greatly promoted by the humours of aneccentric personage whom Mr. Bracebridge always addressed with thequaint appellation of Master Simon. He was a tight, brisk little man, with the air of an arrant old bachelor. His nose was shaped like thebill of a parrot; his face slightly pitted with the smallpox, with a dryperpetual bloom on it, like a frost-bitten leaf in autumn. He had an eyeof great quickness and vivacity, with a drollery and lurking waggeryof expression that was irresistible. He was evidently the wit of thefamily, dealing very much in sly jokes and innuendoes with the ladies, and making infinite merriment by harpings upon old themes; which, unfortunately, my ignorance of the family chronicles did not permitme to enjoy. It seemed to be his great delight during supper to keep ayoung girl next him in a continual agony of stifled laughter, in spiteof her awe of the reproving looks of her mother, who sat opposite. Indeed, he was the idol of the younger part of the company, who laughedat everything he said or did, and at every turn of his countenance. I could not wonder at it; for he must have been a miracle ofaccomplishments in their eyes. He could imitate Punch and Judy; makean old woman of his hand, with the assistance of a burnt cork andpocket-handkerchief: and cut an orange into such a ludicrous caricature, that the young folks were ready to die with laughing. 

I was let briefly into his history by Frank Bracebridge. He was an oldbachelor of a small independent income, which by careful management wassufficient for all his wants. He revolved through the family systemlike a vagrant comet in its orbit; sometimes visiting one branch, andsometimes another quite remote; as is often the case with gentlemen ofextensive connections and small fortunes in England. He had a chirping, buoyant disposition, always enjoying the present moment; and hisfrequent change of scene and company prevented his acquiring thoserusty unaccommodating habits with which old bachelors are so uncharitablycharged. He was a complete family chronicle, being versed inthe genealogy, history, and intermarriages of the whole house ofBracebridge, which made him a great favourite with the old folks; he wasa beau of all the elder ladies and superannuated spinsters, among whomhe was habitually considered rather a young fellow, and he was a masterof the revels among the children; so that there was not a more popularbeing in the sphere in which he moved than Mr. Simon Bracebridge. Oflate years he had resided almost entirely with the Squire, to whom hehad become a factotum, and whom he particularly delighted by jumpingwith his humour in respect to old times, and by having a scrap of anold song to suit every occasion. We had presently a specimen of his lastmentioned talent; for no sooner was supper removed, and spiced wines andother beverages peculiar to the season introduced, than Master Simonwas called on for a good old Christmas song. He bethought himself for amoment, and then, with a sparkle of the eye, and a voice that was by nomeans bad, excepting that it ran occasionally into a falsetto, like thenotes of a split reed, he quavered forth a quaint old ditty:

 "Now Christmas is come, Let us beat up the drum, And call all our neighbours together; And when they appear, Let us make them such cheer As will keep out the wind and the weather, " etc. 

The supper had disposed every one to gaiety, and an old harper wassummoned from the servants' hall, where he had been strumming all theevening, and to all appearance comforting himself with some of theSquire's home-brewed. He was a kind of hanger-on, I was told, of theestablishment, and though ostensibly a resident of the village, wasoftener to be found in the Squire's kitchen than his own home, the oldgentleman being fond of the sound of "harp in hall. "

The dance, like most dances after supper, was a merry one; some of theolder folks joined in it, and the Squire himself figured down severalcouples with a partner with whom he affirmed he had danced at everyChristmas for nearly half a century. Master Simon, who seemed to be akind of connecting link between the old times and the new, and tobe withal a little antiquated in the taste of his accomplishments, evidently piqued himself on his dancing, and was endeavouring to gaincredit by the heel and toe, rigadoon, and other graces of the ancientschool; but he had unluckily assorted himself with a little romping girlfrom boarding-school, who, by her wild vivacity, kept him continually onthe stretch, and defeated all his sober attempts at elegance;--such arethe ill-assorted matches to which antique gentlemen are unfortunatelyprone!

The young Oxonian, on the contrary, had led out one of his maiden aunts, on whom the rogue played a thousand little knaveries with impunity; hewas full of practical jokes, and his delight was to tease his aunts andcousins; yet, like all madcap youngsters, he was a universal favouriteamong the women. The most interesting couple in the dance was theyoung officer and a ward of the Squire's, a beautiful blushing girl ofseventeen. From several shy glances which I had noticed in the course ofthe evening, I suspected there was a little kindness growing up betweenthem; and, indeed, the young soldier was just the hero to captivate aromantic girl. He was tall, slender, and handsome, and like mostyoung British officers of late years, had picked up various smallaccomplishments on the Continent--he could talk French and Italian--drawlandscapes, --sing very tolerably--dance divinely; but above all he hadbeen wounded at Waterloo;--what girl of seventeen, well read in poetryand romance, could resist such a mirror of chivalry and perfection!

The moment the dance was over, he caught up a guitar, and lollingagainst the old marble fireplace, in an attitude which I am halfinclined to suspect was studied, began the little French air of theTroubadour. The Squire, however, exclaimed against having anythingon Christmas eve but good old English; upon which the young minstrel, casting up his eye for a moment, as if in an effort of memory, struckinto another strain, and, with a charming air of gallantry, gaveHerrick's "Night-Piece to Julia:"

 "Her eyes the glow-worm lend thee, The shooting stars attend thee, And the elves also, Whose little eyes glow Like the sparks of fire, befriend thee. 

 "No Will-o'-the-Wisp mislight thee; Nor snake or glow-worm bite thee; But on, on thy way, Not making a stay, Since ghost there is none to affright thee. 

 "Then let not the dark thee cumber; What though the moon does slumber, The stars of the night Will lend thee their light, Like tapers clear without number. 

 "Then, Julia, let me woo thee, Thus, thus to come unto me; And when I shall meet Thy silvery feet, My soul I'll pour into thee. "

The song might have been intended in compliment to the fair Julia, forso I found his partner was called, or it might not; she, however, wascertainly unconscious of any such application, for she never lookedat the singer, but kept her eyes cast upon the floor. Her face wassuffused, it is true, with a beautiful blush, and there was a gentleheaving of the bosom, but all that was doubtless caused by the exerciseof the dance; indeed, so great was her indifference, that she wasamusing herself with plucking to pieces a choice bouquet of hothouseflowers, and by the time the song was concluded, the nosegay lay inruins on the floor. 

The party now broke up for the night with the kind-hearted old custom ofshaking hands. As I passed through the hall, on the way to my chamber, the dying embers of the Yule-clog still sent forth a dusky glow; and hadit not been the season when "no spirit dares stir abroad, " I should havebeen half tempted to steal from my room at midnight, and peep whetherthe fairies might not be at their revels about the hearth. 

My chamber was in the old part of the mansion, the ponderous furnitureof which might have been fabricated in the days of the giants. The roomwas panelled with cornices of heavy carved work, in which flowers andgrotesque faces were strangely intermingled; and a row of black lookingportraits stared mournfully at me from the walls. The bed was of richthough faded damask, with a lofty tester, and stood in a niche oppositea bow window. I had scarcely got into bed when a strain of music seemedto break forth in the air just below the window. I listened, and foundit proceeded from a band, which I concluded to be the waits from someneighbouring village. They went round the house, playing under thewindows. 

I drew aside the curtains, to hear them more distinctly. The moonbeamsfell through the upper part of the casement, partially lighting up theantiquated apartment. The sounds, as they receded, became more soft andaerial, and seemed to accord with quiet and moonlight. I listened andlistened--they became more and more tender and remote, and, as theygradually died away, my head sank upon the pillow and I fell asleep. 

Christmas Day

 Dark and dull night, flie hence away, And give the honour to this day That Sees December turn'd to May. . . . . . . . . Why does the chilling winter's morne Smile like a field beset with corn? Or smell like to a meade new-shorne, Thus on the sudden?--Come and see The cause why things thus fragrant be. 

 --HERRICK. 

When I awoke the next morning, it seemed as if all the events of thepreceding evening had been a dream, and nothing but the identity of theancient chamber convinced me of their reality. While I lay musing on mypillow, I heard the sound of little feet pattering outside of the door, and a whispering consultation. Presently a choir of small voices chantedforth an old Christmas carol, the burden of which was:

 "Rejoice, our Saviour he was born On Christmas Day in the morning. "

I rose softly, slipped on my clothes, opened the door suddenly, andbeheld one of the most beautiful little fairy groups that a paintercould imagine. 

It consisted of a boy and two girls, the eldest not more than six, andlovely as seraphs. They were going the rounds of the house, and singingat every chamber-door; but my sudden appearance frightened them intomute bashfulness. They remained for a moment playing on their lips withtheir fingers, and now and then stealing a shy glance, from under theireyebrows, until, as if by one impulse, they scampered away, and as theyturned an angle of the gallery, I heard them laughing in triumph attheir escape. 

Everything conspired to produce kind and happy feelings in thisstronghold of old-fashioned hospitality. The window of my chamber lookedout upon what in summer would have been a beautiful landscape. There wasa sloping lawn, a fine stream winding at the foot of it, and a tractof park beyond, with noble clumps of trees, and herds of deer. At adistance was a neat hamlet, with the smoke from the cottage chimneyshanging over it; and a church with its dark spire in strong reliefagainst the clear, cold sky. The house was surrounded with evergreens, according to the English custom, which would have given almost anappearance of summer; but the morning was extremely frosty; the lightvapour of the preceding evening had been precipitated by the cold, and covered all the trees and every blade of grass with its finecrystallisations. The rays of a bright morning sun had a dazzlingeffect among the glittering foliage. A robin, perched upon the top ofa mountain-ash that hung its clusters of red berries just before mywindow, was basking himself in the sunshine, and piping a few querulousnotes; and a peacock was displaying all the glories of his train, and strutting with the pride and gravity of a Spanish grandee on theterrace-walk below. 

I had scarcely dressed myself, when a servant appeared to invite me tofamily prayers. He showed me the way to a small chapel in the old wingof the house, where I found the principal part of the family alreadyassembled in a kind of gallery, furnished with cushions, hassocks, andlarge prayer-books; the servants were seated on benches below. The oldgentleman read prayers from a desk in front of the gallery, and MasterSimon acted as clerk, and made the responses; and I must do him thejustice to say that he acquitted himself with great gravity and decorum. 

The service was followed by a Christmas carol, which Mr. Bracebridgehimself had constructed from a poem of his favourite author, Herrick;and it had been adapted to an old church melody by Master Simon. Asthere were several good voices among the household, the effect wasextremely pleasing; but I was particularly gratified by the exaltationof heart, and sudden sally of grateful feeling, with which the worthySquire delivered one stanza: his eyes glistening, and his voice ramblingout of all the bounds of time and tune:

 "'Tis thou that crown'st my glittering hearth With guiltlesse mirth, And giv'st me wassaile bowles to drink, Spiced to the brink: Lord, 'tis Thy plenty-dropping hand, That soiles my land; And giv'st me for my bushell sowne, Twice ten for one. "

I afterwards understood that early morning service was read on everySunday and saint's day throughout the year, either by Mr. Bracebridge orby some member of the family. It was once almost universally the caseat the seats of the nobility and gentry of England, and it is much tobe regretted that the custom is fallen into neglect; for the dullestobserver must be sensible of the order and serenity prevalent in thosehouseholds, where the occasional exercise of a beautiful form of worshipin the morning gives, as it were, the key-note to every temper for theday, and attunes every spirit to harmony. 

Our breakfast consisted of what the Squire denominated true old Englishfare. He indulged in some bitter lamentations over modern breakfastsof tea-and-toast, which he censured as among the causes of moderneffeminacy and weak nerves, and the decline of old English heartiness;and though he admitted them to his table to suit the palates of hisguests, yet there was a brave display of cold meats, wine, and ale, onthe sideboard. 

After breakfast I walked about the grounds with Frank Bracebridge andMaster Simon, or Mr. Simon as he was called by everybody but theSquire. We were escorted by a number of gentleman-like dogs, that seemedloungers about the establishment; from the frisking spaniel to thesteady old staghound; the last of which was of a race that had been inthe family time out of mind: they were all obedient to a dog-whistlewhich hung to Master Simon's buttonhole, and in the midst of theirgambols would glance an eye occasionally upon a small switch he carriedin his hand. 

The old mansion had a still more venerable look in the yellow sunshinethan by pale moonlight; and I could not but feel the force of theSquire's idea, that the formal terraces, heavily moulded balustrades, and clipped yew-trees, carried with them an air of proud aristocracy. There appeared to be an unusual number of peacocks about the place, andI was making some remarks upon what I termed a flock of them, thatwere basking under a sunny wall, when I was gently corrected in myphraseology by Master Simon, who told me that, according to the mostancient and approved treatise on hunting, I must say a MUSTER ofpeacocks. "In the same way, " added he, with a slight air of pedantry, "we say a flight of doves or swallows, a bevy of quails, a herd of deer, of wrens, or cranes, a skulk of foxes, or a building of rooks. " He wenton to inform me, that, according to Sir Anthony Fitzherbert, we ought toascribe, to this bird "both understanding and glory; for, being praised, he will presently set up his tail chiefly against the sun, to the intentyou may the better behold the beauty thereof. But at the fall of theleaf, when his tail falleth, he will mourn and hide himself in corners, till his tail come again as it was. "

I could not help smiling at this display of small erudition on sowhimsical a subject; but I found that the peacocks were birds of someconsequence at the Hall, for Frank Bracebridge informed me that theywere great favourites with his father, who was extremely careful tokeep up the breed; partly because they belonged to chivalry, and werein great request at the stately banquets of the olden time; and partlybecause they had a pomp and magnificence about them, highly becomingan old family mansion. Nothing, he was accustomed to say, had an air ofgreater state and dignity than a peacock perched upon an antique stonebalustrade. 

Master Simon had now to hurry off, having an appointment at the parishchurch with the village choristers, who were to perform some music ofhis selection. There was something extremely agreeable in the cheerfulflow of animal spirits of the little man; and I confess I had beensomewhat surprised at his apt quotations from authors who certainlywere not in the range of every-day reading. I mentioned this lastcircumstance to Frank Bracebridge, who told me with a smile that MasterSimon's whole stock of erudition was confined to some half-a-dozen oldauthors, which the Squire had put into his hands, and which he read overand over, whenever he had a studious fit; as he sometimes had on arainy day, or a long winter evening. Sir Anthony Fitzherbert's "Book ofHusbandry;" Markham's "Country Contentments;" the "Tretyse of Hunting, "by Sir Thomas Cockayne, Knight; Izaak Walton's "Angler, " and twoor three more such ancient worthies of the pen, were his standardauthorities; and, like all men who know but a few books, he looked upto them with a kind of idolatry, and quoted them on all occasions. Asto his songs, they were chiefly picked out of old books in the Squire'slibrary, and adapted to tunes that were popular among the choice spiritsof the last century. His practical application of scraps of literature, however, had caused him to be looked upon as a prodigy of book-knowledgeby all the grooms, huntsmen, and small sportsmen of the neighbourhood. 

While we were talking we heard the distant toll of the village bell, and I was told that the Squire was a little particular in having hishousehold at church on a Christmas morning; considering it a day ofpouring out of thanks and rejoicing; for, as old Tusser observed:

 "At Christmas be merry, and thankful withal, And feast thy poor neighbours, the great and the small. "

"If you are disposed to go to church, " said Frank Bracebridge, "I canpromise you a specimen of my cousin Simon's musical achievements. As thechurch is destitute of an organ, he has formed a band from the villageamateurs, and established a musical club for their improvement; he hasalso sorted a choir, as he sorted my father's pack of hounds, accordingto the directions of Jervaise Markham, in his 'Country Contentments;'for the bass he has sought out all the 'deep solemn mouths, ' and forthe tenor the 'loud ringing mouths, ' among the country bumpkins; andfor 'sweet mouths, ' he has culled with curious taste among the prettiestlasses in the neighbourhood; though these last, he affirms, are the mostdifficult to keep in tune; your pretty female singer being exceedinglywayward and capricious, and very liable to accident. "

As the morning, though frosty, was remarkably fine and clear, the mostof the family walked to the church, which was a very old building ofgray stone, and stood near a village, about half a mile from the parkgate. Adjoining it was a low snug parsonage, which seemed coeval withthe church. The front of it was perfectly matted with a yew-tree thathad been trained against its walls, through the dense foliage ofwhich apertures had been formed to admit light into the small antiquelattices. As we passed this sheltered nest, the parson issued forth andpreceded us. 

I had expected to see a sleek, well-conditioned pastor, such as is oftenfound in a snug living in the vicinity of a rich patron's table; but Iwas disappointed. The parson was a little, meagre, black-looking man, with a grizzled wig that was too wide, and stood off from each ear; sothat his head seemed to have shrunk away within it, like a dried filbertin its shell. He wore a rusty coat, with great skirts, and pockets thatwould have held the church Bible and prayer-book; and his small legsseemed still smaller, from being planted in large shoes decorated withenormous buckles. 

I was informed by Frank Bracebridge that the parson had been a chum ofhis father's at Oxford, and had received this living shortly after thelatter had come to his estate. He was a complete black-letter hunter, and would scarcely read a work printed in the Roman character. Theeditions of Caxton and Wynkin de Worde were his delight; and he wasindefatigable in his researches after such old English writers as havefallen into oblivion from their worthlessness. In deference, perhaps, tothe notions of Mr. Bracebridge, he had made diligent investigations intothe festive rites and holiday customs of former times; and had been aszealous in the inquiry as if he had been a boon companion; but it wasmerely with that plodding spirit with which men of adust temperamentfollow up any track of study, merely because it is denominated learning;indifferent to its intrinsic nature, whether it be the illustration ofthe wisdom, or of the ribaldry and obscenity of antiquity. He had poredover these old volumes so intensely, that they seemed to have beenreflected into his countenance indeed; which, if the face be an index ofthe mind, might be compared to a title-page of black-letter. 

On reaching the church porch, we found the parson rebuking thegray-headed sexton for having used mistletoe among the greens with whichthe church was decorated. It was, he observed, an unholy plant, profanedby having been used by the Druids in their mystic ceremonies; and thoughit might be innocently employed in the festive ornamenting of hallsand kitchens, yet it had been deemed by the Fathers of the Church asunhallowed, and totally unfit for sacred purposes. So tenacious was heon this point, that the poor sexton was obliged to strip down a greatpart of the humble trophies of his taste, before the parson wouldconsent to enter upon the service of the day. 

The interior of the church was venerable but simple; on the walls wereseveral mural monuments of the Bracebridges, and just beside the altarwas a tomb of ancient workmanship, on which lay the effigy of a warriorin armour, with his legs crossed, a sign of his having been a crusader. I was told it was one of the family who had signalised himself in theHoly Land, and the same whose picture hung over the fireplace in thehall. 

During service, Master Simon stood up in the pew, and repeated theresponses very audibly; evincing that kind of ceremonious devotionpunctually observed by a gentleman of the old school, and a man of oldfamily connections. I observed, too, that he turned over the leaves of afolio prayer-book with something of a flourish; possibly to show off anenormous seal-ring which enriched one of his fingers, and which had thelook of a family relic. But he was evidently most solicitous aboutthe musical part of the service, keeping his eye fixed intently on thechoir, and beating time with much gesticulation and emphasis. 

The orchestra was in a small gallery, and presented a most whimsicalgrouping of heads, piled one above the other, among which I particularlynoticed that of the village tailor, a pale fellow with a retreatingforehead and chin, who played on the clarionet, and seemed to have blownhis face to a point; and there was another, a short pursy man, stoopingand labouring at a bass viol, so as to show nothing but the top of around bald head, like the egg of an ostrich. There were two or threepretty faces among the female singers, to which the keen air of a frostymorning had given a bright rosy tint; but the gentlemen choristers hadevidently been chosen, like old Cremona fiddles, more for tone thanlooks; and as several had to sing from the same book, there wereclusterings of odd physiognomies, not unlike those groups of cherubs wesometimes see on country tombstones. 

The usual services of the choir were managed tolerably well, the vocalparts generally lagging a little behind the instrumental, and someloitering fiddler now and then making up for lost time by travellingover a passage with prodigious celerity, and clearing more bars thanthe keenest fox-hunter to be in at the death. But the great trial was ananthem that had been prepared and arranged by Master Simon, and on whichhe had founded great expectation. Unluckily there was a blunder at thevery outset; the musicians became flurried; Master Simon was in a fever;everything went on lamely and irregularly until they came to a chorusbeginning "Now let us sing with one accord, " which seemed to be a signalfor parting company: all became discord and confusion; each shifted forhimself, and got to the end as well, or rather as soon, as he could, excepting one old chorister in a pair of horn spectacles bestriding andpinching a long sonorous nose; who, happening to stand a little apart, and being wrapped up in his own melody, kept on a quavering course, wriggling his head, ogling his book, and winding all up by a nasal soloof at least three bars' duration. 

The parson gave us a most erudite sermon on the rites and ceremoniesof Christmas, and the propriety of observing it not merely as a dayof thanksgiving, but of rejoicing; supporting the correctness of hisopinions by the earliest usages of the Church, and enforcing them by theauthorities of Theophilus of Cesarea, St. Cyprian, St. Chrysostom, St. Augustine, and a cloud more of Saints and Fathers, from whom he madecopious quotations. I was a little at a loss to perceive the necessityof such a mighty array of forces to maintain a point which no onepresent seemed inclined to dispute; but I soon found that the good manhad a legion of ideal adversaries to contend with; having, in the courseof his researches on the subject of Christmas, got completely embroiledin the sectarian controversies of the Revolution, when the Puritans madesuch a fierce assault upon the ceremonies of the Church, and poor oldChristmas was driven out of the land by proclamation of Parliament. * Theworthy parson lived but with times past, and knew but a little of thepresent. 

 *[3] See Note C. 

Shut up among worm-eaten tomes in the retirement of his antiquatedlittle study, the pages of old times were to him as the gazettes of theday; while the era of the Revolution was mere modern history. He forgotthat nearly two centuries had elapsed since the fiery persecution ofpoor mince-pie throughout the land; when plum-porridge was denounced as"mere popery, " and roast beef as antichristian; and that Christmas hadbeen brought in again triumphantly with the merry court of King Charlesat the Restoration. He kindled into warmth with the ardour of hiscontest, and the host of imaginary foes with whom he had to combat; hada stubborn conflict with old Prynne and two or three other forgottenchampions of the Round-heads, on the subject of Christmas festivity;and concluded by urging his hearers, in the most solemn and affectingmanner, to stand to the traditionary customs of their fathers, and feastand make merry on this joyful anniversary of the Church. 

I have seldom known a sermon attended apparently with more immediateeffects; for, on leaving the church, the congregation seemed one andall possessed with the gaiety of spirit so earnestly enjoined by theirpastor. The elder folks gathered in knots in the churchyard, greetingand shaking hands; and the children ran about crying, Ule! Ule! andrepeating some uncouth rhymes, * which the parson, who had joined us, informed me had been handed down from days of yore. The villagers doffedtheir hats to the Squire as he passed, giving him the good wishes of theseason with every appearance of heartfelt sincerity, and were invited byhim to the Hall, to take something to keep out the cold of the weather;and I heard blessings uttered by several of the poor, which convincedme that, in the midst of his enjoyments, the worthy old cavalier had notforgotten the true Christmas virtue of charity. 

 * "Ule! Ule! Three puddings in a pule; Crack nuts and cry ule!"

On our way homeward his heart seemed overflowing with generous and happyfeelings. As we passed over a rising ground which commanded somethingof a prospect, the sounds of rustic merriment now and then reached ourears; the Squire paused for a few moments, and looked around with anair of inexpressible benignity. The beauty of the day was of itselfsufficient to inspire philanthropy. Notwithstanding the frostiness ofthe morning, the sun in his cloudless journey had acquired sufficientpower to melt away the thin covering of snow from every southerndeclivity, and to bring out the living green which adorns an Englishlandscape even in midwinter. Large tracts of smiling verdure contrastedwith the dazzling whiteness of the shaded slopes and hollows. Everysheltered bank on which the broad rays rested yielded its silver rill ofcold and limpid water, glittering through the dripping grass; and sentup slight exhalations to contribute to the thin haze that hung justabove the surface of the earth. There was something truly cheering inthis triumph of warmth and verdure over the frosty thraldom of winter;it was, as the Squire observed, an emblem of Christmas hospitality, breaking through the chills of ceremony and selfishness, and thawingevery heart into a flow. He pointed with pleasure to the indications ofgood cheer reeking from the chimneys of the comfortable farmhouses andlow, thatched cottages. "I love, " said he, "to see this day well keptby rich and poor; it is a great thing to have one day in the year, at least, when you are sure of being welcome wherever you go, and ofhaving, as it were, the world all thrown open to you; and I am almostdisposed to join with Poor Robin, in his malediction of every churlishenemy to this honest festival:

 "'Those who at Christmas do repine, And would fain hence despatch him, May they with old Duke Humphry dine, Or else may Squire Ketch catch 'em. '"

The Squire went on to lament the deplorable decay of the games andamusements which were once prevalent at this season among the lowerorders, and countenanced by the higher: when the old halls of castlesand manor-houses were thrown open at daylight; when the tables werecovered with brawn, and beef, and humming ale; when the harp and thecarol resounded all day long, and when rich and poor were alike welcometo enter and make merry. * "Our old games and local customs, " said he, "had a great effect in making the peasant fond of his home, and thepromotion of them, by the gentry made him fond of his lord. They madethe times merrier, and kinder, and better; and I can truly say, with oneof our old poets:

 "'I like them well--the curious preciseness And all-pretended gravity of those That seek to banish hence these harmless sports, Have thrust away much ancient honesty. '

 *[4] See Note D. 

"The nation, " continued he, "is altered; we have almost lost oursimple, true-hearted peasantry. They have broken asunder from the higherclasses, and seem to think their interests are separate. They havebecome too knowing, and begin to read newspapers, listen to alehousepoliticians, and talk of reform. I think one mode to keep them in goodhumour in these hard times would be for the nobility and gentry to passmore time on their estates, mingle more among the country people, andset the merry old English games going again. "

Such was the good Squire's project for mitigating public discontent;and, indeed, he had once attempted to put his doctrine in practice, anda few years before had kept open house during the holidays in the oldstyle. The country people, however, did not understand how to play theirparts in the scene of hospitality; many uncouth circumstances occurred;the manor was overrun by all the vagrants of the country, and morebeggars drawn into the neighbourhood in one week than the parishofficers could get rid of in a year. Since then, he had contentedhimself with inviting the decent part of the neighbouring peasantry tocall at the Hall on Christmas Day, and distributing beef, and bread, andale, among the poor, that they might make merry in their own dwellings. 

We had not been long home when the sound of music was heard from adistance. A band of country lads, without coats, their shirt-sleevesfancifully tied with ribands, their hats decorated with greens, andclubs in their hands, were seen advancing up the avenue, followed by alarge number of villagers and peasantry. They stopped before the halldoor, where the music struck up a peculiar air, and the lads performeda curious and intricate dance, advancing, retreating, and striking theirclubs together, keeping exact time to the music; while one, whimsicallycrowned with a fox's skin, the tail of which flaunted down hisback, kept capering around the skirts of the dance, and rattling aChristmas-box with many antic gesticulations. 

The Squire eyed this fanciful exhibition with great interest anddelight, and gave me a full account of its origin, which he traced tothe times when the Romans held possession of the island; plainly provingthat this was a lineal descendant of the sword-dance of the ancients. "It was now, " he said, "nearly extinct, but he had accidentally metwith traces of it in the neighbourhood, and had encouraged its revival;though, to tell the truth, it was too apt to be followed up by roughcudgel-play and broken heads in the evening. "

After the dance was concluded, the whole party was entertained withbrawn and beef, and stout home-brewed. The Squire himself mingled amongthe rustics, and was received with awkward demonstrations of deferenceand regard. 

It is true, I perceived two or three of the younger peasants, as theywere raising their tankards to their mouths when the Squire's back wasturned, making something of a grimace, and giving each other the wink;but the moment they caught my eye they pulled grave faces, and wereexceedingly demure. With Master Simon, however, they all seemed more attheir ease. 

His varied occupations and amusements had made him well known throughoutthe neighbourhood. He was a visitor at every farmhouse and cottage;gossiped with the farmers and their wives; romped with their daughters;and, like that type of a vagrant bachelor, the bumblebee, tolled thesweets from all the rosy lips of the country around. 

The bashfulness of the guests soon gave way before good cheer andaffability. There is something genuine and affectionate in the gaietyof the lower orders, when it is excited by the bounty and familiarityof those above them; the warm glow of gratitude enters into their mirth, and a kind word or a small pleasantry, frankly uttered by a patron, gladdens the heart of the dependant more than oil and wine. When theSquire had retired, the merriment increased, and there was much jokingand laughter, particularly between Master Simon and a hale, ruddy-faced, white-headed farmer, who appeared to be the wit of the village; for Iobserved all his companions to wait with open mouths for his retorts, and burst into a gratuitous laugh before they could well understandthem. 

The whole house, indeed, seemed abandoned to merriment. As I passedto my room to dress for dinner, I heard the sound of music in a smallcourt, and, looking through a window that commanded it, I perceiveda band of wandering musicians, with pandean pipes and tambourine; apretty, coquettish housemaid was dancing a jig with a smart country lad, while several of the other servants were looking on. In the midst of hersport the girl caught a glimpse of my face at the window, and, colouringup, ran off with an air of roguish affected confusion. 

The Christmas Dinner

 Lo, now is come the joyful'st feast! Let every man be jolly, Eache roome with yvie leaves is drest, And every post with holly. Now all our neighbours' chimneys smoke, And Christmas blocks are burning; Their ovens they with bak't meats choke, And all their spits are turning. Without the door let sorrow lie, And if, for cold, it hap to die, We'll bury't in a Christmas pye, And evermore be merry. 

 --WITHERS'S Juvenilia. 

I had finished my toilet, and was loitering with Frank Bracebridge inthe library, when we heard a distant thwacking sound, which he informedme was a signal for the serving up of the dinner. The Squire kept up oldcustoms in kitchen as well as hall; and the rolling-pin, struck upon thedresser by the cook, summoned the servants to carry in the meats. 

 "Just in this nick the cook knock'd thrice, And all the waiters in a trice His summons did obey; Each serving man, with dish in hand, March'd boldly up, like our train-band, Presented and away. "*

 * Sir John Suckling. 

The dinner was served up in the great hall, where the Squire always heldhis Christmas banquet. A blazing, crackling fire of logs had been heapedon to warm the spacious apartment, and the flame went sparkling andwreathing up the wide-mouthed chimney. The great picture of the crusaderand his white horse had been profusely decorated with greens for theoccasion; and holly and ivy had likewise been wreathed around the helmetand weapons on the opposite wall, which I understood were the arms ofthe same warrior. I must own, by the by, I had strong doubts about theauthenticity of painting and armour as having belonged to the crusader, they certainly having the stamp of more recent days; but I was told thatthe painting had been so considered time out of mind; and that as to thearmour, it had been found in a lumber room, and elevated to its presentsituation by the Squire, who at once determined it to be the armour ofthe family hero; and as he was absolute authority on all such subjectsto his own household, the matter had passed into current acceptation. Asideboard was set out just under this chivalric trophy, on which wasa display of plate that might have vied (at least in variety) withBelshazzar's parade of the vessels of the Temple: "flagons, cans, cups, beakers, goblets, basins, and ewers;" the gorgeous utensils of goodcompanionship, that had gradually accumulated through many generationsof jovial housekeepers. Before these stood the two Yule candles, beaminglike two stars of the first magnitude: other lights were distributed inbranches, and the whole array glittered like a firmament of silver. 

We were ushered into this banqueting scene with the sound of minstrelsy, the old harper being seated on a stool beside the fireplace, andtwanging his instrument with a vast deal more power than melody. Neverdid Christmas board display a more goodly and gracious assemblage ofcountenances; those who were not handsome were, at least, happy; andhappiness is a rare improver of your hard-favoured visage. 

I always consider an old English family as well worth studying as acollection of Holbein's portraits or Albert Durer's prints. Thereis much antiquarian lore to be acquired; much knowledge of thephysiognomies of former times. Perhaps it may be from having continuallybefore their eyes those rows of old family portraits, with which themansions of this country are stocked; certain it is, that the quaintfeatures of antiquity are often most faithfully perpetuated in theseancient lines; and I have traced an old family nose through a wholepicture-gallery, legitimately handed down from generation to generation, almost from the time of the Conquest. Something of the kind was tobe observed in the worthy company around me. Many of their faceshad evidently originated in a Gothic age, and been merely copied bysucceeding generations; and there was one little girl, in particular, ofstaid demeanour, with a high Roman nose, and an antique vinegaraspect, who was a great favourite of the Squire's, being, as he said, aBracebridge all over, and the very counterpart of one of his ancestorswho figured in the court of Henry VIII. 

The parson said grace, which was not a short, familiar one, such asis commonly addressed to the Deity, in these unceremonious days; but along, courtly, well-worded one of the ancient school. 

There was now a pause, as if something was expected; when suddenly thebutler entered the hall with some degree of bustle; he was attended by aservant on each side with a large wax-light, and bore a silver dish, onwhich was an enormous pig's head, decorated with rosemary, with a lemonin its mouth, which was placed with great formality at the head of thetable. The moment this pageant made its appearance, the harper struck upa flourish; at the conclusion of which the young Oxonian, on receivinga hint from the Squire, gave, with an air of the most comic gravity, anold carol, the first verse of which was as follows:

 "Caput apri defero Reddens laudes Domino. The boar's head in hand bring I, With garlands gay and rosemary. I pray you all synge merily Qui estis in convivio. "

Though prepared to witness many of these little eccentricities, frombeing apprised of the peculiar hobby of mine host; yet, I confess, theparade with which so odd a dish was introduced somewhat perplexed me, until I gathered from the conversation of the Squire and the parson thatit was meant to represent the bringing in of the boar's head: a dishformerly served up with much ceremony, and the sound of minstrelsy andsong, at great tables on Christmas Day. "I like the old custom, " saidthe Squire, "not merely because it is stately and pleasing in itself, but because it was observed at the College of Oxford, at which I waseducated. When I hear the old song chanted, it brings to mind the timewhen I was young and gamesome--and the noble old college-hall--and myfellow students loitering about in their black gowns; many of whom, poorlads, are now in their graves!"

The parson, however, whose mind was not haunted by such associations, and who was always more taken up with the text than the sentiment, objected to the Oxonian's version of the carol: which he affirmedwas different from that sung at college. He went on, with the dryperseverance of a commentator, to give the college reading, accompaniedby sundry annotations: addressing himself at first to the company atlarge; but finding their attention gradually diverted to other talk, andother objects, he lowered his tone as his number of auditors diminished, until he concluded his remarks, in an under voice, to a fat-headed oldgentleman next him, who was silently engaged in the discussion of a hugeplateful of turkey. *

 *[5] See Note E. 

The table was literally loaded with good cheer, and presented anepitome of country abundance, in this season of overflowing larders. A distinguished post was allotted to "ancient sirloin, " as mine hosttermed it; being, as he added, "the standard of old English hospitality, and a joint of goodly presence, and full of expectation. "

There were several dishes quaintly decorated, and which had evidentlysomething traditionary in their embellishments; but about which, as Idid not like to appear over curious, I asked no questions. I couldnot, however, but notice a pie, magnificently decorated with peacocks'feathers, in imitation of the tail of that bird, which overshadowed aconsiderable tract of the table. This, the Squire confessed, withsome little hesitation, was a pheasant-pie, though a peacock-pie wascertainly the most authentical; but there had been such a mortalityamong the peacocks this season, that he could not prevail upon himselfto have one killed. *

 *[6] See Note F. 

It would be tedious, perhaps, to my wiser readers, who may not havethat foolish fondness for odd and obsolete things to which I am alittle given, were I to mention the other makeshifts of this worthy oldhumourist, by which he was endeavouring to follow up, though at humbledistance, the quaint customs of antiquity. I was pleased, however, tosee the respect shown to his whims by his children and relatives; who, indeed, entered readily into the full spirit of them, and seemed allwell versed in their parts; having doubtless been present at many arehearsal. I was amused, too, at the air of profound gravity with whichthe butler and other servants executed the duties assigned them, howevereccentric. They had an old-fashioned look; having, for the most part, been brought up in the household, and grown into keeping with theantiquated mansion, and the humours of its lord; and most probablylooked upon all his whimsical regulations as the established laws ofhonourable housekeeping. When the cloth was removed, the butler broughtin a huge silver vessel of rare and curious workmanship, which he placedbefore the Squire. Its appearance was hailed with acclamation; being theWassail Bowl, so renowned in Christmas festivity. The contents had beenprepared by the Squire himself; for it was a beverage in the skilfulmixture of which he particularly prided himself, alleging that it wastoo abstruse and complex for the comprehension of an ordinary servant. It was a potation, indeed, that might well make the heart of a toperleap within him; being composed of the richest and raciest wines, highlyspiced and sweetened, with roasted apples bobbing about the surface. *

 *[7] See Note G. 

The old gentleman's whole countenance beamed with a serene look ofindwelling delight, as he stirred this mighty bowl. Having raised itto his lips, with a hearty wish of a merry Christmas to all present, hesent it brimming, around the board, for every one to follow his example, according to the primitive style; pronouncing it "the ancient fountainof good feeling, where all hearts met together. "*

 *[8] See Note H. 

There was much laughing and rallying, as the honest emblem of Christmasjoviality circulated, and was kissed rather coyly by the ladies. When itreached Master Simon he raised it in both hands, and with the air of aboon companion struck up an old Wassail chanson:

 The browne bowle, The merry browne bowle, As it goes round about-a, Fill Still, Let the world say what it will, And drink your fill all out-a. 

 The deep canne, The merry deep canne, As thou dost freely quaff-a, Sing, Fling, Be as merry as a king, And sound a lusty laugh-a. *

 * From "Poor Robin's Almanack. "

Much of the conversation during dinner turned upon family topics, towhich I was a stranger. There was, however, a great deal of rallying ofMaster Simon about some gay widow, with whom he was accused of havinga flirtation. This attack was commenced by the ladies; but it wascontinued throughout the dinner by the fat-headed old gentleman nextthe parson, with the persevering assiduity of a slow-hound; being one ofthose long-winded jokers, who, though rather dull at starting game, areunrivalled for their talents in hunting it down. At every pause in thegeneral conversation, he renewed his bantering in pretty much the sameterms; winking hard at me with both eyes whenever he gave Master Simonwhat he considered a home thrust. The latter, indeed, seemed fond ofbeing teased on the subject, as old bachelors are apt to be; and he tookoccasion to inform me, in an undertone, that the lady in question was aprodigiously fine woman, and drove her own curricle. 

The dinner-time passed away in this flow of innocent hilarity; and, though the old hall may have resounded in its time with many a sceneof broader rout and revel, yet I doubt whether it ever witnessed morehonest and genuine enjoyment. How easy it is for one benevolent being todiffuse pleasure around him; and how truly is a kind heart a fountain ofgladness, making everything in its vicinity to freshen into smiles! Thejoyous disposition of the worthy Squire was perfectly contagious; he washappy himself, and disposed to make all the world happy; and the littleeccentricities of his humour did but season, in a manner, the sweetnessof his philanthropy. 

When the ladies had retired, the conversation, as usual, became stillmore animated; many good things were broached which had been thoughtof during dinner, but which would not exactly do for a lady's ear; andthough I cannot positively affirm that there was much wit uttered, yetI have certainly heard many contests of rare wit produce much lesslaughter. Wit, after all, is a mighty tart, pungent ingredient, and muchtoo acid for some stomachs; but honest good humour is the oil and wineof a merry meeting, and there is no jovial companionship equal to thatwhere the jokes are rather small, and the laughter abundant. The Squiretold several long stories of early college pranks and adventures, insome of which the parson had been a sharer; though in looking at thelatter, it required some effort of imagination to figure such a littledark anatomy of a man into the perpetrator of a madcap gambol. Indeed, the two college chums presented pictures of what men may be made bytheir different lots in life. The Squire had left the university to livelustily on his paternal domains, in the vigorous enjoyment of prosperityand sunshine, and had flourished on to a hearty and florid old age;whilst the poor parson, on the contrary, had dried and withered away, among dusty tomes, in the silence and shadows of his study. 

Still there seemed to be a spark of almost extinguished fire, feeblyglimmering in the bottom of his soul; and as the Squire hinted at a slystory of the parson and a pretty milkmaid, whom they once met on thebanks of the Isis, the old gentleman made an "alphabet of faces, "which, as far as I could decipher his physiognomy, I verily believe wasindicative of laughter;--indeed, I have rarely met with an old gentlemanwho took absolutely offence at the imputed gallantries of his youth. 

I found the tide of wine and wassail fast gaining on the dry land ofsober judgment. The company grew merrier and louder as their jokes grewduller. Master Simon was in as chirping a humour as a grasshopper filledwith dew; his old songs grew of a warmer complexion, and he began totalk maudlin about the widow. He even gave a long song about the wooingof a widow, which he informed me he had gathered from an excellentblack-letter work, entitled "Cupid's Solicitor for Love, " containingstore of good advice for bachelors, and which he promised to lend me. The first verse was to this effect:

 "He that will woo a widow must not dally, He must make hay while the sun doth shine; He must not stand with her, Shall I, Shall I? But boldly say, Widow, thou must be mine. "

This song inspired the fat-headed old gentleman, who made severalattempts to tell a rather broad story out of Joe Miller, that was pat tothe purpose; but he always stuck in the middle, everybody recollectingthe latter part excepting himself. The parson, too, began to show theeffects of good cheer, having gradually settled down into a doze, andhis wig sitting most suspiciously on one side. Just at this juncturewe were summoned to the drawing-room, and, I suspect, at the privateinstigation of mine host, whose joviality seemed always tempered with aproper love of decorum. 

After the dinner-table was removed, the hall was given up to the youngermembers of the family, who, prompted to all kind of noisy mirth by theOxonian and Master Simon, made its old walls ring with their merriment, as they played at romping games. I delight in witnessing the gambols ofchildren, and particularly at this happy holiday-season, and could nothelp stealing out of the drawing-room on hearing one of their peals oflaughter. I found them at the game of blind-man's buff. Master Simon, who was the leader of their revels, and seemed on all occasions tofulfil the office of that ancient potentate, the Lord of Misrule, * wasblinded in the midst of the hall. The little beings were as busy abouthim as the mock fairies about Falstaff; pinching him, plucking at theskirts of his coat, and tickling him with straws. One fine blue-eyedgirl of about thirteen, with her flaxen hair all in beautiful confusion, her frolic face in a glow, her frock half torn off her shoulders, a complete picture of a romp, was the chief tormentor; and from theslyness with which Master Simon avoided the smaller game, and hemmedthis wild little nymph in corners, and obliged her to jump shriekingover chairs, I suspected the rogue of being not a whit more blinded thanwas convenient. 

 *[9] See Note I. 

When I returned to the drawing-room, I found the company seated aroundthe fire, listening to the parson, who was deeply ensconced in ahigh-backed oaken chair, the work of some cunning artificer ofyore, which had been brought from the library for his particularaccommodation. From this venerable piece of furniture, with whichhis shadowy figure and dark weazen face so admirably accorded, he wasdealing forth strange accounts of popular superstitions and legendsof the surrounding country, with which he had become acquainted in thecourse of his antiquarian researches. I am half inclined to think thatthe old gentleman was himself somewhat tinctured with superstition, as men are very apt to be who live a recluse and studious life in asequestered part of the country, and pore over black-letter tracts, sooften filled with the marvellous and supernatural. He gave us severalanecdotes of the fancies of the neighbouring peasantry, concerning theeffigy of the crusader which lay on the tomb by the church altar. As itwas the only monument of the kind in that part of the country, it hadalways been regarded with feelings of superstition by the goodwives ofthe village. It was said to get up from the tomb and walk the rounds ofthe churchyard in stormy nights, particularly when it thundered; andone old woman, whose cottage bordered on the churchyard, had seen it, through the windows of the church, when the moon shone, slowly pacingup and down the aisles. It was the belief that some wrong had been leftunredressed by the deceased, or some treasure hidden, which kept thespirit in a state of trouble and restlessness. Some talked of gold andjewels buried in the tomb, over which the spectre kept watch; and therewas a story current of a sexton in old times who endeavoured to breakhis way to the coffin at night; but just as he reached it, received aviolent blow from the marble hand of the effigy, which stretched himsenseless on the pavement. These tales were often laughed at by some ofthe sturdier among the rustics, yet when night came on, there were manyof the stoutest unbelievers that were shy of venturing alone in thefootpath that led across the churchyard. From these and other anecdotesthat followed, the crusader appeared to be the favourite hero of ghoststories throughout the vicinity. His picture, which hung up in the hall, was thought by the servants to have something supernatural about it; forthey remarked that, in whatever part of the hall you went, the eyes ofthe warrior were still fixed on you. The old porter's wife, too, at thelodge, who had been born and brought up in the family, and was a greatgossip among the maid servants, affirmed that in her young days she hadoften heard say that on Midsummer eve, when it is well known all kindsof ghosts, goblins, and fairies become visible and walk abroad, thecrusader used to mount his horse, come down from his picture, ride aboutthe house, down the avenue, and so to the church to visit the tomb; onwhich occasion the church door most civilly swung open of itself: notthat he needed it; for he rode through closed gates and even stonewalls, and had been seen by one of the dairymaids to pass between twobars of the great park gate, making himself as thin as a sheet of paper. 

All these superstitions, I found, had been very much countenanced by theSquire, who, though not superstitious himself, was very fond of seeingothers so. He listened to every goblin tale of the neighbouring gossipswith infinite gravity, and held the porter's wife in high favour onaccount of her talent for the marvellous. He was himself a great readerof old legends and romances, and often lamented that he could notbelieve in them; for a superstitious person, he thought, must live in akind of fairyland. 

Whilst we were all attention to the parson's stories, our ears weresuddenly assailed by a burst of heterogeneous sounds from the hall, inwhich was mingled something like the clang of rude minstrelsy, with theuproar of many small voices and girlish laughter. The door suddenly flewopen, and a train came trooping into the room, that might almosthave been mistaken for the breaking up of the court of Fairy. Thatindefatigable spirit, Master Simon, in the faithful discharge ofhis duties as Lord of Misrule, had conceived the idea of a Christmasmummery, or masking; and having called in to his assistance the Oxonianand the young officer, who were equally ripe for anything that shouldoccasion romping and merriment, they had carried it into instant effect. The old housekeeper had been consulted; the antique clothes-presses andwardrobes rummaged and made to yield up the relics of finery that hadnot seen the light for several generations; the younger part of thecompany had been privately convened from the parlour and hall, and thewhole had been bedizened out, into a burlesque imitation of an antiquemasque. *

 *[10] See Note J. 

Master Simon led the van, as "Ancient Christmas, " quaintly apparelled ina ruff, a short cloak, which had very much the aspect of one of the oldhousekeeper's petticoats, and a hat that might have served for avillage steeple, and must indubitably have figured in the days of theCovenanters. From under this his nose curved boldly forth, flushed witha frost-bitten bloom, that seemed the very trophy of a December blast. He was accompanied by the blue-eyed romp, dished up as "Dame Mince-Pie, "in the venerable magnificence of faded brocade, long stomacher, peakedhat, and high-heeled shoes. The young officer appeared as Robin Hood, ina sporting dress of Kendal green and a foraging cap with a gold tassel. The costume, to be sure, did not bear testimony to deep research, andthere was an evident eye to the picturesque, natural to a young gallantin the presence of his mistress. The fair Julia hung on his arm in apretty rustic dress, as "Maid Marian. " The rest of the train had beenmetamorphosed in various ways; the girls trussed up in the finery of theancient belles of the Bracebridge line, and the striplings bewhiskeredwith burnt cork, and gravely clad in broad skirts, hanging sleeves, and full-bottomed wigs, to represent the characters of Roast Beef, PlumPudding, and other worthies celebrated in ancient maskings. The wholewas under the control of the Oxonian, in the appropriate character ofMisrule; and I observed that he exercised rather a mischievous sway withhis wand over the smaller personages of the pageant. 

The irruption of this motley crew, with beat of drum, according toancient custom, was the consummation of uproar and merriment. MasterSimon covered himself with glory by the stateliness with which, as Ancient Christmas, he walked a minuet with the peerless, thoughgiggling, Dame Mince-Pie. It was followed by a dance of all thecharacters, which, from its medley of costumes, seemed as though theold family portraits had skipped down from their frames to join in thesport. Different centuries were figuring at cross hands and right andleft; the dark ages were cutting pirouettes and rigadoons; and thedays of Queen Bess jigging merrily down the middle, through a line ofsucceeding generations. 

The worthy Squire contemplated these fantastic sports, and thisresurrection of his old wardrobe, with the simple relish of childishdelight. He stood chuckling and rubbing his hands, and scarcely hearinga word the parson said, notwithstanding that the latter was discoursingmost authentically on the ancient and stately dance at the Paon, orPeacock, from which he conceived the minuet to be derived. * For my part, I was in a continual excitement, from the varied scenes of whim andinnocent gaiety passing before me. It was inspiring to see wild-eyedfrolic and warm-hearted hospitality breaking out from among the chillsand glooms of winter, and old age throwing off his apathy, and catchingonce more the freshness of youthful enjoyment. I felt also an interestin the scene, from the consideration that these fleeting customs wereposting fast into oblivion, and that this was, perhaps, the only familyin England in which the whole of them were still punctiliously observed. There was a quaintness, too, mingled with all this revelry that gaveit a peculiar zest; it was suited to the time and place; and as the oldManor House almost reeled with mirth and wassail, it seemed echoing backthe joviality of long-departed years. 

 *[11] See Note K. 

But enough of Christmas and its gambols; it is time for me to pausein this garrulity. Methinks I hear the questions asked by my graverreaders, "To what purpose is all this?--how is the world to be madewiser by this talk?" Alas! is there not wisdom enough extant for theinstruction of the world? And if not, are there not thousands of ablerpens labouring for its improvement?--It is so much pleasanter to pleasethan to instruct--to play the companion rather than the preceptor. 

What, after all, is the mite of wisdom that I could throw into the massof knowledge? or how am I sure that my sagest deductions may be safeguides for the opinions of others? But in writing to amuse, if I fail, the only evil is my own disappointment. If, however, I can by any luckychance, in these days of evil, rub out one wrinkle from the brow ofcare, or beguile the heavy heart of one moment of sorrow; if I can nowand then penetrate through the gathering film of misanthropy, prompt abenevolent view of human nature, and make my reader more in good humourwith his fellow beings and himself, surely, surely, I shall not thenhave written entirely in vain. 

THE END. 

Notes

[Footnote 1: NOTE A. 

The misletoe is still hung up in farmhouses and kitchens at Christmas;and the young men have the privilege of kissing the girls under it, plucking each time a berry from the bush. When the berries are allplucked, the privilege ceases. ]

[Footnote 2: NOTE B. 

The Yule-clog is a great log of wood, sometimes the root of a tree, brought into the house with great ceremony, on Christmas eve, laid inthe fireplace, and lighted with the brand of last year's clog. Whileit lasted there was great drinking, singing, and telling of tales. Sometimes it was accompanied by Christmas candles, but in the cottagesthe only light was from the ruddy blaze of the great wood fire. TheYule-clog was to burn all night; if it went out, it was considered asign of ill luck. 

Herrick mentions it in one of his songs:

 "Come, bring with a noise My merrie, merrie boyes, The Christmas log to the firing: While my good dame, she Bids ye all be free, And drink to your hearts' desiring. "

The Yule-clog is still burnt in many farmhouses and kitchens in England, particularly in the north, and there are several superstitions connectedwith it among the peasantry. If a squinting person come to the housewhile it is burning, or a person barefooted, it is considered an illomen. The brand remaining from the Yule-clog is carefully put away tolight the next year's Christmas fire. ]

[Footnote 3: NOTE C. 

From the Flying Eagle, a small gazette, published December 24, 1652:"The House spent much time this day about the business of the Navy, forsettling the affairs at sea; and before they rose, were presented witha terrible remonstrance against Christmas day, grounded upon divineScriptures, 2 Cor. V. 16; 1 Cor. Xv. 14, 17; and in honour of the Lord'sDay, grounded upon these Scriptures, John xx. I; Rev. I. 10; Psalmcxviii. 24; Lev. Xxiii. 7, 11; Mark xvi. 8; Psalm lxxxiv. 10, in whichChristmas is called Anti-Christ's masse, and those Mass-mongers andPapists who observe it, etc. In consequence of which Parliament spentsome time in consultation about the abolition of Christmas day, passedorders to that effect, and resolved to sit on the following day, whichwas commonly called Christmas day. "]

[Footnote 4: NOTE D. 

An English gentleman at the opening of the great day, i. E. On Christmasday in the morning, had all his tenants and neighbours enter his hallby daybreak. The strong beer was broached, and the black jacks wentplentifully about with toast, sugar, nutmeg, and good Cheshire cheese. The hackin (the great sausage) must be boiled by daybreak, or else twoyoung men must take the maiden (i. E. The cook) by the arms and run herround the market-place till she is shamed of her laziness. --Round aboutour Sea-coal Fire. ]

[Footnote 5: NOTE E. 

The old ceremony of serving up the boar's head on Christmas day is stillobserved in the hall of Queen's College, Oxford. I was favoured by theparson with a copy of the carol as now sung, and as it may be acceptableto such of my readers as are curious in these grave and learned matters, I give it entire. 

 "The boar's head in hand bear I, Bedeck'd with bays and rosemary; And I pray you, my masters, be merry, Quot estia in convivio. Caput apri defero Reddens laudes Domino. 

 "The boar's head, as I understand, Is the rarest dish in all this land, Which thus bedeck'd with a gay garland Let us servire cantico. Caput apri defero, etc. 

 "Our Steward hath provided this In honour of the King of Bliss, Which on this day to be served is In Reginensi Atrio. Caput apri defero, " Etc. , etc. , etc. ]

[Footnote 6: NOTE F. 

The peacock was anciently in great demand for stately entertainments. Sometimes it was made into a pie, at one end of which the head appearedabove the crust in all its plumage, with the beak richly gilt; at theother end the tail was displayed. Such pies were served up at thesolemn banquets of chivalry, when knights-errant pledged themselves toundertake any perilous enterprise; whence came the ancient oath, used byJustice Shallow, "by cock and pie. "

The peacock was also an important dish for the Christmas feast; andMassinger, in his "City Madam, " gives some idea of the extravagancewith which this, as well as other dishes, was prepared for the gorgeousrevels of the olden times:

"Men may talk of country Christmasses, Their thirty pound butter'd eggs, their pies of carps' tongues: Their pheasants drench'd with ambergris;the carcases of three fat wethers bruised for gravy, to make sauce for asingle peacock!"]

[Footnote 7: NOTE G. 

The Wassail Bowl was sometimes composed of ale instead of wine; withnutmeg, sugar, toast, ginger, and roasted crabs; in this way thenut-brown beverage is still prepared in some old families, and round thehearths of substantial farmers at Christmas. It is also called Lambs'Wool, and is celebrated by Herrick in his "Twelfth Night:"

 "Next crowne the bowle full With gentle Lambs' Wool, Add sugar, nutmeg, and ginger, With store of ale too; And thus ye must doe To make the Wassaile a swinger. "]

[Footnote 8: NOTE H. 

The custom of drinking out of the same cup gave place to each having hiscup. When the steward came to the doore with the Wassel, he was to crythree times, Wassel, Wassel, Wassel, and then the chappel (chaplain) wasto answer with a song. --Archaeologia. ]

[Footnote 9: NOTE I. 

At Christmasse there was in the Kings's house, wheresoever hee waslodged, a lorde of misrule, or mayster of merry disportes; and the likehad ye in the house of every nobleman of honour, or good worshippe, werehe spirituall or temporall. --Stow. ]

[Footnote 10: NOTE J. 

Maskings or mummeries were favourite sports at Christmas in old times;and the wardrobes at halls and manor-houses were often laid undercontribution to furnish dresses and fantastic disguisings. I stronglysuspect Master Simon to have taken the idea of his from Ben Jonson's"Masque of Christmas. "]

[Footnote 11: NOTE K. 

Sir John Hawkins, speaking of the dance called the Pavon, from pavo, apeacock, says: "It is a grave and majestic dance; the method of dancingit anciently was by gentlemen dressed with caps and swords, by those ofthe long robe in their gowns, by the peers in their mantles, and bythe ladies in gowns with long trains, the motion whereof, in dancing, resembled that of a peacock. "--History of Music. ]