feelings. As we passed over a rising ground which commanded something of
a prospect, the sounds of rustic merriment now and then reached our
ears; the Squire paused for a few moments, and looked around with an air
of inexpressible benignity. The beauty of the day was of itself
sufficient to inspire philanthropy. Notwithstanding the frostiness of
the morning, the sun in his cloudless journey had acquired sufficient
power to melt away the thin covering of snow from every southern
declivity, and to bring out the living green which adorns an English
landscape even in mid-winter. Large tracts of smiling verdure contrasted
with the dazzling whiteness of the shaded slopes and hollows. Every
sheltered bank, on which the broad rays rested, yielded its silver rill
of cold and limpid water, glittering through the dripping grass; and
sent up slight exhalations to contribute to the thin haze that hung just
above the surface of the earth. There was something truly cheering in
this triumph of warmth and verdure over the frosty thraldom of winter;
it was, as the Squire observed, an emblem of Christmas hospitality,
breaking through the chills of ceremony and selfishness, and thawing
every heart into a flow. He pointed with pleasure to the indications of
good cheer reeking from the chimneys of the comfortable farm-houses and
low thatched cottages. "I love," said he, "to see this day well kept by
rich and poor; it is a great thing to have one day in the year, at
least, when you are sure of being welcome wherever you go, and of
having, as it were, the world all thrown open to you; and I am almost
disposed to join with Poor Robin, in his malediction of every churlish
enemy to this honest festival:--
"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 and
amusements which were once prevalent at this season among the lower
orders, and countenanced by the higher: when the old halls of castles
and manor-houses were thrown open at daylight; when the tables were
covered with brawn, and beef, and humming ale; when the harp and the
carol resounded all day long, and when rich and poor were alike welcome
to enter and make merry.[G] "Our old games and local customs," said he,
"had a great effect in making the peasant fond of his home, and the
promotion of them by the gentry made him fond of his lord. They made the
times merrier, and kinder, and better; and I can truly say, with one of
our old poets,--
"I like them well--the curious preciseness
And all-pretended gravity of those
That seek to banish hence these harmless sports,
Have thrust away much ancient honesty.
[Illustration]
"The nation," continued he, "is altered; we have almost lost our simple
true-hearted peasantry. They have broken asunder from the higher
classes, and seem to think their interests are separate. They have
become too knowing, and begin to read newspapers, listen to alehouse
politicians, and talk of reform. I think one mode to keep them in good
humour in these hard times would be for the nobility and gentry to pass
more time on their estates, mingle more among the country people, and
set the merry old English games going again."
Such was the good Squire's project for mitigating public discontent;
and, indeed, he had once attempted to put his doctrine in practice, and
a few years before had kept open house during the holidays in the old
style. The country people, however, did not understand how to play their
parts in the scene of hospitality; many uncouth circumstances occurred;
the manor was overrun by all the vagrants of the country, and more
beggars drawn into the neighbourhood in one week than the parish
officers could get rid of in a year. Since then he had contented himself
with inviting the decent part of the neighbouring peasantry to call at
the hall on Christmas day, and distributing beef, and bread, and ale,
among the poor, that they might make merry in their own dwellings.
[Illustration]
We had not been long home when the sound of music was heard from a
distance. A band of country lads without coats, their shirt-sleeves
fancifully tied with ribands, their hats decorated with greens, and
clubs in their hands, were seen advancing up the avenue, followed by a
large number of villagers and peasantry. They stopped before the hall
door, where the music struck up a peculiar air, and the lads performed a
curious and intricate dance, advancing, retreating, and striking their
clubs together, keeping exact time to the music; while one, whimsically
crowned with a fox's skin, the tail of which flaunted down his back,
kept capering round the skirts of the dance, and rattling a
Christmas-box with many antic gesticulations.
[Illustration]
The Squire eyed this fanciful exhibition with great interest and
delight, and gave me a full account of its origin, which he traced to
the times when the Romans held possession of the island; plainly proving
that this was a lineal descendant of the sword-dance of the ancients.
"It was now," he said, "nearly extinct, but he had accidentally met
with traces of it in the neighbourhood, and had encouraged its revival;
though, to tell the truth, it was too apt to be followed up by rough
cudgel-play and broken heads in the evening."
[Illustration]
After the dance was concluded, the whole party was entertained with
brawn and beef, and stout home-brewed. The Squire himself mingled among
the rustics, and was received with awkward demonstrations of deference
and regard. It is true I perceived two or three of the younger peasants,
as they were raising their tankards to their mouths when the Squire's
back was turned, making something of a grimace, and giving each other
the wink; but the moment they caught my eye they pulled grave faces, and
were exceedingly demure. With Master Simon, however, they all seemed
more at their ease. His varied occupations and amusements had made him
well known throughout the neighbourhood. He was a visitor at every
farm-house and cottage; gossiped with the farmers and their wives;
romped with their daughters; and, like that type of a vagrant bachelor,
the humble bee, tolled the sweets from all the rosy lips of the country
round.
The bashfulness of the guests soon gave way before good cheer and
affability. There is something genuine and affectionate in the gaiety of
the lower orders, when it is excited by the bounty and familiarity of
those above them; the warm glow of gratitude enters into their mirth,
and a kind word or a small pleasantry, frankly uttered by a patron,
gladdens the heart of the dependant more than oil and wine. When the
Squire had retired the merriment increased, and there was much joking
and laughter, particularly between Master Simon and a hale, ruddy-faced,
white-headed farmer, who appeared to be the wit of the village; for I
observed all his companions to wait with open mouths for his retorts,
and burst into a gratuitous laugh before they could well understand
them.
[Illustration]
The whole house indeed seemed abandoned to merriment. As I passed to my
room to dress for dinner, I heard the sound of music in a small court,
and, looking through a window that commanded it, I perceived a band of
wandering musicians, with pandean pipes and tambourine; a pretty
coquettish housemaid was dancing a jig with a smart country lad, while
several of the other servants were looking on. In the midst of her sport
the girl caught a glimpse of my face at the window, and, colouring up,
ran off with an air of roguish affected confusion.
[Illustration]
FOOTNOTES:
[E] See Note C.
[F] "Ule! Ule!
Three puddings in a pule;
Crack nuts and cry ule!"
[G] See Note D.
[Illustration: The Christmas Dinner]
[Illustration]
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._
[Illustration: THE CHRISTMAS DINNER]
I had finished my toilet, and was loitering with Frank Bracebridge in
the library, when we heard a distant thwacking sound, which he informed
me was a signal for the serving up of the dinner. The Squire kept up
old customs in kitchen as well as hall; and the rolling-pin, struck upon
the dresser by the cook, summoned the servants to carry in the meats.
[Illustration]
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.[H]
[Illustration]
The dinner was served up in the great hall, where the Squire always held
his Christmas banquet. A blazing crackling fire of logs had been heaped
on to warm the spacious apartment, and the flame went sparkling and
wreathing up the wide-mouthed chimney. The great picture of the crusader
and his white horse had been profusely decorated with greens for the
occasion; and holly and ivy had likewise been wreathed round the helmet
and weapons on the opposite wall, which I understood were the arms of
the same warrior. I must own, by the by, I had strong doubts about the
authenticity of the painting and armour as having belonged to the
crusader, they certainly having the stamp of more recent days; but I
was told that the painting had been so considered time out of mind; and
that as to the armour, it had been found in a lumber room, and elevated
to its present situation by the Squire, who at once determined it to be
the armour of the family hero; and as he was absolute authority on all
such subjects in his own household, the matter had passed into current
acceptation. A sideboard was set out just under this chivalric trophy,
on which was a display of plate that might have vied (at least in
variety) with Belshazzar's parade of the vessels of the temple;
"flagons, cans, cups, beakers, goblets, basins, and ewers;" the gorgeous
utensils of good companionship, that had gradually accumulated through
many generations of jovial housekeepers. Before these stood the two Yule
candles beaming like two stars of the first magnitude; other lights were
distributed in branches, and the whole array glittered like a firmament
of silver.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: "Never did Christmas board display a more goodly and
gracious assemblage of countenances."--PAGE 123.]
[Illustration]
We were ushered into this banqueting scene with the sound of minstrelsy,
the old harper being seated on a stool beside the fireplace, and
twanging his instrument with a vast deal more power than melody. Never
did Christmas board display a more goodly and gracious assemblage of
countenances: those who were not handsome were, at least, happy; and
happiness is a rare improver of your hard-favoured visage. I always
consider an old English family as well worth studying as a collection of
Holbein's portraits or Albert Durer's prints. There is much antiquarian
lore to be acquired; much knowledge of the physiognomies of former
times. Perhaps it may be from having continually before their eyes those
rows of old family portraits, with which the mansions of this country
are stocked; certain it is, that the quaint features of antiquity are
often most faithfully perpetuated in these ancient lines; and I have
traced an old family nose through a whole picture gallery, legitimately
handed down from generation to generation, almost from the time of the
Conquest. Something of the kind was to be observed in the worthy company
around me. Many of their faces had evidently originated in a Gothic age,
and been merely copied by succeeding generations; and there was one
little girl, in particular, of staid demeanour, with a high Roman nose,
and an antique vinegar aspect, who was a great favourite of the
Squire's, being, as he said, a Bracebridge all over, and the very
counterpart of one of his ancestors who figured in the court of Henry
VIII.
[Illustration]
The parson said grace, which was not a short familiar one, such as is
commonly addressed to the Deity, in these unceremonious days; but a
long, courtly, well-worded one of the ancient school. There was now a
pause, as if something was expected; when suddenly the butler entered
the hall with some degree of bustle: he was attended by a servant on
each side with a large wax-light, and bore a silver dish, on which was
an enormous pig's head decorated with rosemary, with a lemon in its
mouth, which was placed with great formality at the head of the table.
The moment this pageant made its appearance, the harper struck up a
flourish; at the conclusion of which the young Oxonian, on receiving a
hint from the Squire, gave, with an air of the most comic gravity, an
old carol, the first verse of which was as follows:--
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.
[Illustration]
Though prepared to witness many of these little eccentricities, from
being apprised of the peculiar hobby of mine host; yet, I confess, the
parade with which so odd a dish was introduced somewhat perplexed me,
until I gathered from the conversation of the Squire and the parson that
it was meant to represent the bringing in of the boar's head: a dish
formerly served up with much ceremony, and the sound of minstrelsy and
song, at great tables on Christmas day. "I like the old custom," said
the Squire, "not merely because it is stately and pleasing in itself,
but because it was observed at the College of Oxford, at which I was
educated. When I hear the old song chanted, it brings to mind the time
when I was young and gamesome--and the noble old college-hall--and my
fellow-students loitering about in their black gowns; many of whom, poor
lads, are now in their graves!"
The parson, however, whose mind was not haunted by such associations,
and who was always more taken up with the text than the sentiment,
objected to the Oxonian's version of the carol; which he affirmed was
different from that sung at college. He went on, with the dry
perseverance of a commentator, to give the college reading, accompanied
by sundry annotations: addressing himself at first to the company at
large; but finding their attention gradually diverted to other talk, and
other objects, he lowered his tone as his number of auditors diminished,
until he concluded his remarks, in an under voice, to a fat-headed old
gentleman next him, who was silently engaged in the discussion of a huge
plateful of turkey.[I]
[Illustration]
The table was literally loaded with good cheer, and presented an epitome
of country abundance, in this season of overflowing larders. A
distinguished post was allotted to "ancient sirloin," as mine host
termed it; being, as he added, "the standard of old English hospitality,
and a joint of goodly presence, and full of expectation." There were
several dishes quaintly decorated, and which had evidently something
traditionary in their embellishments; but about which, as I did not like
to appear over-curious, I asked no questions.
[Illustration]
I could not, however, but notice a pie, magnificently decorated with
peacocks' feathers, in imitation of the tail of that bird, which
overshadowed a considerable tract of the table. This the Squire
confessed, with some little hesitation, was a pheasant-pie, though a
peacock-pie was certainly the most authentical; but there had been such
a mortality among the peacocks this season, that he could not prevail
upon himself to have one killed.[J]
It would be tedious, perhaps, to my wiser readers, who may not have that
foolish fondness for odd and obsolete things to which I am a little
given, were I to mention the other makeshifts of this worthy old
humorist, by which he was endeavouring to follow up, though at humble
distance, the quaint customs of antiquity. I was pleased, however, to
see the respect shown to his whims by his children and relatives; who,
indeed, entered readily into the full spirit of them, and seemed all
well versed in their parts; having doubtless been present at many a
rehearsal. I was amused, too, at the air of profound gravity with which
the butler and other servants executed the duties assigned them, however
eccentric. They had an old-fashioned look; having, for the most part,
been brought up in the household, and grown into keeping with the
antiquated mansion, and the humours of its lord; and most probably
looked upon all his whimsical regulations as the established laws of
honourable housekeeping.
[Illustration]
When the cloth was removed, the butler brought in a huge silver vessel
of rare and curious workmanship, which he placed before the Squire. Its
appearance was hailed with acclamation; being the Wassail Bowl, so
renowned in Christmas festivity. The contents had been prepared by the
Squire himself; for it was a beverage in the skilful mixture of which he
particularly prided himself; alleging that it was too abstruse and
complex for the comprehension of an ordinary servant. It was a potation,
indeed, that might well make the heart of a toper leap within him; being
composed of the richest and raciest wines, highly spiced and sweetened,
with roasted apples bobbing about the surface.[K]
The old gentleman's whole countenance beamed with a serene look of
indwelling delight, as he stirred this mighty bowl. Having raised it to
his lips, with a hearty wish of a merry Christmas to all present, he
sent it brimming round the board, for every one to follow his example,
according to the primitive style; pronouncing it "the ancient fountain
of good feeling, where all hearts met together."[L]
[Illustration]
There was much laughing and rallying as the honest emblem of Christmas
joviality circulated, and was kissed rather coyly by the ladies. When
it reached Master Simon he raised it in both hands, and with the air of
a boon companion struck up an old Wassail chanson:
The 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.[M]
Much of the conversation during dinner turned upon family topics, to
which I was a stranger. There was, however, a great deal of rallying of
Master Simon about some gay widow, with whom he was accused of having a
flirtation. This attack was commenced by the ladies; but it was
continued throughout the dinner by the fat-headed old gentleman next the
parson, with the persevering assiduity of a slow-hound; being one of
those long-winded jokers, who, though rather dull at starting game, are
unrivalled for their talents in hunting it down. At every pause in the
general conversation, he renewed his bantering in pretty much the same
terms; winking hard at me with both eyes whenever he gave Master Simon
what he considered a home thrust. The latter, indeed, seemed fond of
being teased on the subject, as old bachelors are apt to be; and he took
occasion to inform me, in an under-tone, that the lady in question was a
prodigiously fine woman, and drove her own curricle.
[Illustration]
The dinner-time passed away in this flow of innocent hilarity; and,
though the old hall may have resounded in its time with many a scene of
broader rout and revel, yet I doubt whether it ever witnessed more
honest and genuine enjoyment. How easy it is for one benevolent being to
diffuse pleasure around him; and how truly is a kind heart a fountain of
gladness, making everything in its vicinity to freshen into smiles! the
joyous disposition of the worthy Squire was perfectly contagious; he was
happy himself, and disposed to make all the world happy; and the little
eccentricities of his humour did but season, in a manner, the sweetness
of his philanthropy.
[Illustration]
When the ladies had retired, the conversation, as usual, became still
more animated; many good things were broached which had been thought of
during dinner, but which would not exactly do for a lady's ear; and
though I cannot positively affirm that there was much wit uttered, yet I
have certainly heard many contests of rare wit produce much less
laughter. Wit, after all, is a mighty tart, pungent ingredient, and much
too acid for some stomachs; but honest good humour is the oil and wine
of a merry meeting, and there is no jovial companionship equal to that
where the jokes are rather small, and the laughter abundant. The Squire
told several long stories of early college pranks and adventures, in
some of which the parson had been a sharer; though in looking at the
latter, it required some effort of imagination to figure such a little
dark anatomy of a man into the perpetrator of a madcap gambol. Indeed,
the two college chums presented pictures of what men may be made by
their different lots in life. The Squire had left the university to live
lustily on his paternal domains, in the vigorous enjoyment of
prosperity and sunshine, and had flourished on to a hearty and florid
old age; whilst the poor parson, on the contrary, had dried and withered
away, among dusty tomes, in the silence and shadows of his study. Still
there seemed to be a spark of almost extinguished fire, feebly
glimmering in the bottom of his soul; and as the Squire hinted at a sly
story of the parson and a pretty milkmaid, whom they once met on the
banks of the Isis, the old gentleman made an "alphabet of faces," which,
as far as I could decipher his physiognomy, I verily believe was
indicative of laughter;--indeed, I have rarely met with an old
gentleman who took absolutely offence at the imputed gallantries of his
youth.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
I found the tide of wine and wassail fast gaining on the dry land of
sober judgment. The company grew merrier and louder as their jokes grew
duller. Master Simon was in as chirping a humour as a grasshopper filled
with dew; his old songs grew of a warmer complexion, and he began to
talk maudlin about the widow. He even gave a long song about the wooing
of a widow, which he informed me he had gathered from an excellent
black-letter work, entitled "Cupid's Solicitor for Love," containing
store of good advice for bachelors, and which he 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 several
attempts to tell a rather broad story out of Joe Miller, that was pat to
the purpose; but he always stuck in the middle, everybody recollecting
the latter part excepting himself. The parson, too, began to show the
effects of good cheer, having gradually settled down into a doze, and
his wig sitting most suspiciously on one side. Just at this juncture we
were summoned to the drawing-room, and, I suspect, at the private
instigation of mine host, whose joviality seemed always tempered with a
proper love of decorum.
[Illustration]