the neighbourhood. He was a visitor at every farmhouse and cottage;
gossiped with the farmers and their wives; romped with their daughters;
and, like that type of a vagrant bachelor, the bumblebee, tolled the
sweets from all the rosy lips of the country around.
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.
The whole house, indeed, seemed abandoned to merriment. As I passed
to my room to dress for dinner, I heard the sound of music in a small
court, and, looking through a window that commanded it, I perceived
a band of wandering musicians, with pandean pipes and tambourine; a
pretty, coquettish housemaid was dancing a jig with a smart country lad,
while several of the other servants were looking on. In the midst of her
sport the girl caught a glimpse of my face at the window, and, colouring
up, ran off with an air of roguish affected confusion.
The Christmas Dinner
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 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.
"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 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 around 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 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
to 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.
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.
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."
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.*
*[5] See Note E.
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. 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.*
*[6] See Note F.
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
humourist, 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. 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.*
*[7] See Note G.
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, around 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."*
*[8] See Note H.
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.*
* From "Poor Robin's Almanack."
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 undertone, that the lady in question was a
prodigiously fine woman, and drove her own curricle.
The dinner-time passed away in this flow of innocent hilarity; and,
though the old hall may have resounded in its time with many a scene
of broader rout and revel, yet I doubt whether it ever witnessed more
honest and genuine enjoyment. How easy it is for one benevolent being to
diffuse pleasure around him; and how truly is a kind heart a fountain of
gladness, making everything in its vicinity to freshen into smiles! The
joyous disposition of the worthy Squire was perfectly contagious; he was
happy himself, and disposed to make all the world happy; and the little
eccentricities of his humour did but season, in a manner, the sweetness
of his philanthropy.
When the ladies had retired, the conversation, as usual, became still
more animated; many good things were broached which had been thought
of during dinner, but which would not exactly do for a lady's ear; and
though I cannot positively affirm that there was much wit uttered, yet
I have certainly heard many 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.
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.
After the dinner-table was removed, the hall was given up to the younger
members of the family, who, prompted to all kind of noisy mirth by the
Oxonian and Master Simon, made its old walls ring with their merriment,
as they played at romping games. I delight in witnessing the gambols of
children, and particularly at this happy holiday-season, and could not
help stealing out of the drawing-room on hearing one of their peals of
laughter. I found them at the game of blind-man's buff. Master Simon,
who was the leader of their revels, and seemed on all occasions to
fulfil the office of that ancient potentate, the Lord of Misrule,* was
blinded in the midst of the hall. The little beings were as busy about
him as the mock fairies about Falstaff; pinching him, plucking at the
skirts of his coat, and tickling him with straws. One fine blue-eyed
girl of about thirteen, with her flaxen hair all in beautiful confusion,
her frolic face in a glow, her frock half torn off her shoulders,
a complete picture of a romp, was the chief tormentor; and from the
slyness with which Master Simon avoided the smaller game, and hemmed
this wild little nymph in corners, and obliged her to jump shrieking
over chairs, I suspected the rogue of being not a whit more blinded than
was convenient.
*[9] See Note I.
When I returned to the drawing-room, I found the company seated around
the fire, listening to the parson, who was deeply ensconced in a
high-backed oaken chair, the work of some cunning artificer of
yore, which had been brought from the library for his particular
accommodation. From this venerable piece of furniture, with which
his shadowy figure and dark weazen face so admirably accorded, he was
dealing forth strange accounts of popular superstitions and legends
of the surrounding country, with which he had become acquainted in the
course of his antiquarian researches. I am half inclined to think that
the old gentleman was himself somewhat tinctured with superstition,
as men are very apt to be who live a recluse and studious life in a
sequestered part of the country, and pore over black-letter tracts, so
often filled with the marvellous and supernatural. He gave us several
anecdotes of the fancies of the neighbouring peasantry, concerning the
effigy of the crusader which lay on the tomb by the church altar. As it
was the only monument of the kind in that part of the country, it had
always been regarded with feelings of superstition by the goodwives of
the village. It was said to get up from the tomb and walk the rounds of
the churchyard in stormy nights, particularly when it thundered; and
one old woman, whose cottage bordered on the churchyard, had seen it,
through the windows of the church, when the moon shone, slowly pacing
up and down the aisles. It was the belief that some wrong had been left
unredressed by the deceased, or some treasure hidden, which kept the
spirit in a state of trouble and restlessness. Some talked of gold and
jewels buried in the tomb, over which the spectre kept watch; and there
was a story current of a sexton in old times who endeavoured to break
his way to the coffin at night; but just as he reached it, received a
violent blow from the marble hand of the effigy, which stretched him
senseless on the pavement. These tales were often laughed at by some of
the sturdier among the rustics, yet when night came on, there were many
of the stoutest unbelievers that were shy of venturing alone in the
footpath that led across the churchyard. From these and other anecdotes
that followed, the crusader appeared to be the favourite hero of ghost
stories throughout the vicinity. His picture, which hung up in the hall,
was thought by the servants to have something supernatural about it; for
they remarked that, in whatever part of the hall you went, the eyes of
the warrior were still fixed on you. The old porter's wife, too, at the
lodge, who had been born and brought up in the family, and was a great
gossip among the maid servants, affirmed that in her young days she had
often heard say that on Midsummer eve, when it is well known all kinds
of ghosts, goblins, and fairies become visible and walk abroad, the
crusader used to mount his horse, come down from his picture, ride about
the house, down the avenue, and so to the church to visit the tomb; on
which occasion the church door most civilly swung open of itself: not
that he needed it; for he rode through closed gates and even stone
walls, and had been seen by one of the dairymaids to pass between two
bars of the great park gate, making himself as thin as a sheet of paper.
All these superstitions, I found, had been very much countenanced by the
Squire, who, though not superstitious himself, was very fond of seeing
others so. He listened to every goblin tale of the neighbouring gossips
with infinite gravity, and held the porter's wife in high favour on
account of her talent for the marvellous. He was himself a great reader
of old legends and romances, and often lamented that he could not
believe in them; for a superstitious person, he thought, must live in a
kind of fairyland.
Whilst we were all attention to the parson's stories, our ears were
suddenly assailed by a burst of heterogeneous sounds from the hall, in
which was mingled something like the clang of rude minstrelsy, with the
uproar of many small voices and girlish laughter. The door suddenly flew
open, and a train came trooping into the room, that might almost
have been mistaken for the breaking up of the court of Fairy. That
indefatigable spirit, Master Simon, in the faithful discharge of
his duties as Lord of Misrule, had conceived the idea of a Christmas
mummery, or masking; and having called in to his assistance the Oxonian
and the young officer, who were equally ripe for anything that should
occasion romping and merriment, they had carried it into instant effect.
The old housekeeper had been consulted; the antique clothes-presses and
wardrobes rummaged and made to yield up the relics of finery that had
not seen the light for several generations; the younger part of the
company had been privately convened from the parlour and hall, and the
whole had been bedizened out, into a burlesque imitation of an antique
masque.*
*[10] See Note J.