Ranged in a row, with guitars slung
Before them thus, they played and sung:
Their instruments and choral voice
Did each glad guest still more rejoice;
And each guest wish’d again to hear
Their wild guitars and voices clear.
There was much of character in the men themselves. One was tall, and had
that kind of face which distinguishes the Italian character; his
complexion a clear pale cream colour, with dark eyes, black hair, and a
manner peculiarly solemn: the second was likewise tall, and of more
cheerful feature; but the third was a short thick-set man, with an
Oxberry countenance of rich waggery, heightened by large whiskers: this
was the humorist. With a bit of cherry-tree held between the finger and
thumb, they rapidly twirled the wires in accompaniment of various airs,
which they sung with unusual feeling and skill. They were acquainted
with every foreign tune that was called for. That Italian minstrels of
this class should venture here for the purpose of perambulating our
streets, is evidence that the refinement in our popular manners is known
in the “land of song,” and they will bear testimony to it from the fact
that their performances are chiefly in the public-houses of the
metropolis, from whence thirty years ago such aspirants to entertain
John Bull would have been expelled with expressions of abhorrence.
* * * * *
To the accounts of Christmas keeping in old times, old George Wither
adds amusing particulars in rhime.
_Christmas._
So now is come our joyfulst feast;
Let every man be jolly;
Each room with ivy leaves is drest,
And every post with holly.
Though some churls at our mirth repine,
Round your foreheads garlands twine;
Drown sorrow in a cup of wine,
And let us all be merry.
Now all our neighbours’ chimnies smoke,
And Christmas blocks are burning;
Their ovens they with baked meat choke,
And all their spits are turning.
Without the door let sorrow lye;
And if for cold it hap to die,
We’ll bury’t in a Christmas pie,
And evermore be merry.
Now every lad is wond’rous trim,
And no man minds his labour;
Our lasses have provided them
A bagpipe and a tabor;
Young men and maids, and girls and boys,
Give life to one another’s joys;
And you anon shall by their noise
Perceive that they are merry.
Rank misers now do sparing shun;
Their hall of music soundeth;
And dogs thence with whole shoulders run,
So all things there aboundeth.
The country folks, themselves advance,
With crowdy-muttons out of France;
And Jack shall pipe and Jyll shall dance,
And all the town be merry.
Ned Squash hath fetcht his bands from pawn,
And all his best apparel;
Brisk Nell hath bought a ruff of lawn
With dropping of the barrel.
And those that hardly all the year
Had bread to eat, or rags to wear,
Will have both clothes and dainty fare,
And all the day be merry.
Now poor men to the justices
With capons make their errants;
And if they hap to fail of these,
They plague them with their warrants:
But now they feed them with good cheer,
And what they want, they take in beer,
For Christmas comes but once a year,
And then they shall be merry.
Good farmers in the country nurse
The poor, that else were undone;
Some landlords spend their money worse,
On lust and pride at London.
There the roysters they do play,
Drab and dice their lands away,
Which may be ours another day,
And therefore let’s be merry.
The client now his suit forbears,
The prisoner’s heart is eased;
The debtor drinks away his cares,
And for the time is pleased.
Though others’ purses be more fat,
Why should we pine, or grieve at that?
Hang sorrow! care will kill a cat,
And therefore let’s be merry.
Hark! now the wags abroad do call,
Each other forth to rambling;
Anon you’ll see them in the hall,
For nuts and apples scrambling.
Hark! how the roofs with laughter sound,
Anon they’ll think the house goes round,
For they the cellar’s depth have found,
And there they will be merry.
The wenches with their wassel bowls
About the streets are singing;
The boys are come to catch the owls,
The wild mare in it bringing.
Our kitchen boy hath broke his box,
And to the dealing of the ox,
Our honest neighbours come by flocks,
And here they will be merry.
Now kings and queens poor sheepcotes have
And mute with every body;
The honest now may play the knave,
And wise men play the noddy.
Some youths will now a mumming go,
Some others play at Rowland-bo,
And twenty other game boys mo,
Because they will be merry.
Then, wherefore, in these merry daies,
Should we, I pray, be duller?
No, let us sing some roundelayes,
To make our mirth the fuller.
And, while we thus inspired sing,
Let all the streets with echoes ring;
Woods and hills, and every thing,
Bear witness we are merry.
* * * * *
From Mr. Grant’s “Popular Superstitions of the Highlands,” we gather the
following account:--
_Highland Christmas._
As soon as the brightening glow of the eastern sky warns the anxious
housemaid of the approach of Christmas-day, she rises full of anxiety at
the prospect of her morning labours. The meal, which was steeped in the
_sowans-bowie_ a fortnight ago, to make the _Prechdachdan sour_, or
_sour scones_, is the first object of her attention. The gridiron is put
on the fire, and the sour scones are soon followed by hard cakes, soft
cakes, buttered cakes, brandered bannocks, and pannich perm. The baking
being once over, the sowans pot succeeds the gridiron, full of new
sowans, which are to be given to the family, agreeably to custom, this
day in their beds. The sowans are boiled into the consistence of
molasses, when the _Lagan-le-vrich_, or yeast-bread, to distinguish it
from boiled sowans, is ready. It is then poured into as many bickers as
there are individuals to partake of it, and presently served to the
whole, old and young. It would suit well the pen of a Burns, or the
pencil of a Hogarth, to paint the scene which follows. The ambrosial
food is despatched in aspiring draughts by the family, who soon give
evident proofs of the enlivening effects of the _Lagan-le-vrich_. As
soon as each despatches his bicker, he jumps out of bed--the elder
branches to examine the ominous signs of the day,[425] and the younger
to enter on its amusements. Flocking to the swing, a favourite amusement
on this occasion, the youngest of the family get the first “_shouder_,”
and the next oldest to him in regular succession. In order to add the
more to the spirit of the exercise, it is a common practice with the
person in the _swing_, and the person appointed to swing him, to enter
into a very warm and humorous altercation. As the swinged person
approaches the swinger, he exclaims, _Ei mi tu chal_, “I’ll eat your
kail.” To this the swinger replies, with a violent shove, _Cha ni u mu
chal_, “You shan’t eat my kail.” These threats and repulses are
sometimes carried to such a height, as to break down or capsize the
threatener, which generally puts an end to the quarrel.
As the day advances, those minor amusements are terminated at the report
of the gun, or the rattle of the ball-clubs--the gun inviting the
marksman to the “_Kiavamuchd_,” or prize-shooting, and the latter to
“_Luchd-vouil_,” or the ball combatants--both the principal sports of
the day. Tired at length of the active amusements of the field, they
exchange them for the substantial entertainments of the table. Groaning
under the “_sonsy haggis_,”[426] and many other savoury dainties, unseen
for twelve months before, the relish communicated to the company, by the
appearance of the festive board, is more easily conceived than
described. The dinner once despatched, the flowing bowl succeeds, and
the sparkling glass flies to and fro like a weaver’s shuttle. As it
continues its rounds, the spirits of the company become the more jovial
and happy. Animated by its cheering influence, even old decrepitude no
longer feels his habitual pains--the fire of youth is in his eye, as he
details to the company the exploits which distinguished him in the days
of “_auld langsyne_;” while the young, with hearts inflamed with “_love
and glory_,” long to mingle in the more lively scenes of mirth, to
display their prowess and agility. Leaving the patriarchs to finish
those professions of friendship for each other, in which they are so
devoutly engaged, the younger part of the company will shape their
course to the ball-room, or the card-table, as their individual
inclinations suggest; and the remainder of the evening is spent with the
greatest pleasure of which human nature is susceptible.