"There is a tender hue that tips the first young leaves of spring,A trembling beauty in their notes when young birds learn to singA purer look when first on earth the gushing brook appears,A liquid depth in infant eyes that fades with summer years."
"There is a tender hue that tips the first young leaves of spring,A trembling beauty in their notes when young birds learn to singA purer look when first on earth the gushing brook appears,A liquid depth in infant eyes that fades with summer years."
"There is a tender hue that tips the first young leaves of spring,A trembling beauty in their notes when young birds learn to singA purer look when first on earth the gushing brook appears,A liquid depth in infant eyes that fades with summer years."
"There is a tender hue that tips the first young leaves of spring,
A trembling beauty in their notes when young birds learn to sing
A purer look when first on earth the gushing brook appears,
A liquid depth in infant eyes that fades with summer years."
In the early days of ecumenical councils it was a mooted point when Easter should be celebrated. The Christian Jews kept the feast on the same day as their Passover, the fourteenth of Nisan, the month corresponding to our March or April; but the Gentile church observed the first Sunday following this, because Christ rose from the dead on that day. It was not until the fourth century that the Council of Nice decided upon the first Sunday after the full moon which follows the twenty-first of March. The contest was waged long and heavily, but the Western churches were victorious; a vote settled it.
Perhaps this victory decided the later and more splendid religious ceremonials of Easter, which are much more observed in Rome and in all Catholic countries than those of Christmas. Constantine gratified his love of display by causing Easter to be celebrated with unusual pomp and parade. Vigils and night watches were instituted, people remaining all night in the churches in Rome, and carrying high wax tapers through the streets in processions.
People in the North, glad of an escape from four months of darkness, watch to see the sun dawn on an Easter morning. They have a superstitious feeling about this observance, which came originally from Egypt, and is akin to the legend that the statue of Memnon sings when the first ray of the sun touches it.
It is the queen of feasts in all Catholic churches, the world over. In early days, the fasting of Lent was restricted to one day, the Friday of Passion Week, Good Friday; then it extended to forty hours, then to forty days,—showing how much fashion, even in churchly affairs, has to do with these matters. One witty author says that, "people who do not believe in anything will observe Lent, for it is the fashion."
Certainly, the little dinners of Lent, in fashionable society, are amongst the most agreeable of all entertainments. Thecrème d'écrevisse, the oyster and clam soups, the newly arrived shad, the codfishà la royaleand other tempting dainties are very good, and the dinner being small, and at eight o'clock, there is before it a long twilight for the drive in the Park.
A pope of Rome once offered a prize to the man who would invent one thousand ways of cooking eggs, for eggs can always be eaten in Lent, and let us hope that he found them. The greatest coxcomb of all cooks, Louis Ude, who was prone to demand a carriage and five thousand a year, was famous for his little Lentenmenus, and could cook fish and eggs marvellously. The amusements of Lent have left one joke in New York. Roller skates were once a very fashionable amusement for Lenten afternoons, though now gone out, and a club had rented Irving Hall for their playground and chosenFestina lente, "Make haste slowly," for their motto. It was a verywitty motto, but some wise Malaprop remarked, "What a very happy selection, 'Festivals of Lent!'"
However, Lent once passed, with its sewing circles and small whist-parties, then comes the brilliant Easter, with its splendid dinners, its weddings, its christenings and caudle parties, its ladies' lunches, its Meadow Brook hunt, its asparagus parties, and the chickens of gayety which are hatched out of Easter eggs. It is a great day for the confectioner. In Paris, that city full of gold and misery, the splendour and luxury of the Easter eggbonbonnièreis fabulous. A few years since a Paris house furnished an Easter egg for a Spanish infanta, which cost eight hundred pounds sterling.
Easter dinners can be made delightful. They are simple, less heavy, hot, and stuffy, than those of mid-winter. That enemy of the feminine complexion, the furnace, is put out. It no longer sends up its direful sirocco behind one's back. Spring lamb and mint sauce, asparagus and fresh dandelion salad, replace the heavy joint and the canned vegetables. A foreigner said of us that we have everything canned, even the canvas-back duck and the American opera. Everything should be fresh. The ice-cream man devises allegorical allusions in his forms, and there are white dinners for young brides, and roseate dinners fordébutantes.
For a gorgeous ladies' lunch, behold amenu. This is for Easter Monday:—
Of course, a season of such rejoicing, when "Christians stand praying, each in an exalted attitude, with outstretched hands and uplifted faces, expressing joy and gladness," is thought to be very propitious for marriage. There is generally a wedding every day, excepting Friday, during Easter week. A favourite spring travelling-dress for an Easter bride is fawn coloured cashmere, with a little round hat and bunch of primroses.
For a number of choir boys to sing an epithalamium, walking up the aisle before the bride, is a new and very beautiful Easter fashion.
A favourite entertainment for Easter is a christening. Christening parties are becoming very important functions in the art of entertaining. Many Roman Catholics are so anxious for the salvation of the little new soul, that they have their children baptized as soon as possible, but others put off this important ceremony until mamma can go to church, when little master is five weeks old. Then friends are invited to the ceremony very much in this fashion:—
Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton request the pleasure of your company at the baptism of their infant daughter at the Cathedral, Monday, March 30, at 12 o'clock. At home, after the ceremony, 14 W. Ellicott Square.
Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton request the pleasure of your company at the baptism of their infant daughter at the Cathedral, Monday, March 30, at 12 o'clock. At home, after the ceremony, 14 W. Ellicott Square.
Many wealthy Roman Catholics have private chapels where the ceremony may be performed earlier.
Presents are sent to the mamma, of flowers and bonbonnières shaped like an altar, a cradle, a powder-box; and there may be gold tea-scoops, pap-spoons and a caudle-cup. Gifts of old Dutch silver and the inevitable posy or couplet are very favourite gifts for the baby and mamma on these auspicious occasions.
Caudle is a very succulent porridge made of oatmeal, raisins, spices, and rum, all boiled together for several days until it becomes a jelly gruel. It is very much sweetened, and is served hot in cups. The caudle-cup designed by Albrecht Dürer for some member of the family of Maximilian is still shown. Caudle cards are very often stamped with a cameo resemblance of these cups, and the invitation reads:—
Mrs. James Hamilton,at Home,Thursday, March 30, from three to six.Caudle.
Mrs. James Hamilton,at Home,Thursday, March 30, from three to six.Caudle.
These do not require an answer.
Very pretty tea-gowns are worn by mamma and the ladies of her family for this entertainment, but the guests come in bonnets and street dresses. There is no objection to having the afternoon tea-table with its silver tea-kettle, alcohol-lamp, pretty silver tea-set, plates of bread and butter, and little cakes ready for those ladies who prefer tea. Caudle is sometimes added to the teas of a winter afternoon, by the remnants of old Dutch families, even when there is no little master as araison d'être, and delicious it is.
There is a pretty account of the marriage of Marguerite of Austria with Philibert, the handsome Duke ofSavoy. It is calledMariage aux œufs. She had come to the Castle of Brae, in the charming district of Bresse lying on the western slopes of the Alps. Here the rich princess kept open house, and Philibert, who was hunting in the neighbourhood, came to pay his court to her. It was Easter Monday, and high and low danced together on the green. The old men drew their bows on a barrel filled with wine, and when one succeeded in planting his arrow firmly in it he was privileged to drink as much as he pleasedjusqu'à merci.
A hundred eggs were scattered in a level place, covered with sand, and a lad and lass, holding each other by the hand, came forward to execute a dance of the country. According to the ancient custom, if they succeeded in finishing thebranlewithout breaking a single egg they became affianced, and even the will of their parents might not avail to break their union. Three couples had already tried it unsuccessfully and shouts of laughter derided their attempts, when the sound of a horn was heard, and Philibert of Savoy, radiant with youth and happiness, appeared on the scene. He bent his knees before the noblechâtelaineand besought her hospitality. He proposed to her to try the egg fortune. She accepted. Their grace and beauty charmed the lookers-on and they succeeded, without a single crash, in treading the perilous maze.
"Savoy and Austria!" shouted the crowd. And she said, "Let us adopt the custom of Bresse."
They were married, and enjoyed a few years of exquisite happiness; then the beloved husband died. Marguerite survived him long, but never forgot him. She built in his memory a beautiful church. Travellers go to-day to see their magnificent tomb.
The egg has been in all ages and in all countries the subject of infinite mystery, legend, and history. The ancient Finns believed that a mystic bird laid an egg in the lap of Vaimainon, who hatched it in his bosom. He let it fall in the water, and it broke. The lower portion of the shell formed the earth, the upper the sky, the liquid white became the sun, the yolk the moon, while little bits of egg-shells became the stars.
Old English and Irish nurses instruct the children, when they have eaten a boiled egg, to push the spoon through the bottom of the shell to hinder the witches from making a boat of it.
It is difficult to ascertain the precise origin of the custom of offering eggs at the festival of Easter. The Persians, the Russians, and the Jews all follow it.
Amongst the Romans the year began at Easter, as it did amongst the Franks under the Capets. Many presents are exchanged, and as an egg is the beginning of all things, nothing better could be found as an offering. Its symbolic meaning is striking. We offer our friends all the blessings contained under that fragile shell, whose fragility represents that of happiness here below. The Romans commenced their repasts with an egg; hence the proverbial phrase, "ab ovo usque ad mala," or, as we still say, "beginningab ovo."
Another reason given for the Easter egg is that, about the fourth century, the Church forbade the use of eggs in Lent. But as the heretical hens would go on laying, the eggs accumulated to such a degree that they were boiled hard and given away. They were given to the children for playthings, and they dyed them of gay colours. In certain churches in Belgium the priests, at the beginning of a glad anthem, threw the eggs at thechoristers who threw them back again, dancing to the music whilst catching the frail eggs that they might not break.
In Germany, where means are more limited than in France, the Easter eggbonbonnièreis rare. There are none of the eight-hundred-pound kind, which was made of enamel, and which on its inside had engraved the gospel for the day, while by an ingenious mechanism a little bird, lodged in this pretty cage, sang twelve airs from as many operas.
But in Germany, to make up for this poverty, they have transformed the hare into an oviparous animal, and in the pastry cook's windows one sees this species of hen sitting upright in a nest surrounded by eggs. I have often wondered if that inexplicable saying "a mare's nest," might not have been "a hare's nest." As alucus a non lucendoit would have done as well. When a German child, at any season of the year, sees a hare run across the field, he says, "Hare, good little hare, lay plenty of eggs for me on Easter day." It is the custom of German families, on Easter eve, to place sugar-eggs and real eggs, the former filled with sugar plums, in a nest, and then to conceal it with dried leaves in the garden that the joyous children may hunt for them on Easter morning.
It is a superstition all over the world that we should wear new clothes on Easter Day. Bad luck will follow if there is not at least one article which is new.
From the realms of old-world storyThere beckons a lily hand,That calls up the sweetness, the glory,The sounds of a magic land.Ah, many a time in my dreamingThrough that blessed region I roam!Then the morning sun comes with its beamingAnd scatters it all like foam!Heine.
From the realms of old-world storyThere beckons a lily hand,That calls up the sweetness, the glory,The sounds of a magic land.Ah, many a time in my dreamingThrough that blessed region I roam!Then the morning sun comes with its beamingAnd scatters it all like foam!Heine.
From the realms of old-world storyThere beckons a lily hand,That calls up the sweetness, the glory,The sounds of a magic land.
From the realms of old-world story
There beckons a lily hand,
That calls up the sweetness, the glory,
The sounds of a magic land.
Ah, many a time in my dreamingThrough that blessed region I roam!Then the morning sun comes with its beamingAnd scatters it all like foam!
Ah, many a time in my dreaming
Through that blessed region I roam!
Then the morning sun comes with its beaming
And scatters it all like foam!
Heine.
Heine.
In the life of Madame Swetchine we read the following account of the amusements of a clever child:—
"The occupation of a courtier did not prevent Monsieur Soymonof from bestowing the most assiduous care on the education of a daughter, who for six years was his only child. He was struck by the progress of her young intellect. She showed an aptitude for languages, music, and drawing, while she developed firmness of character,—a rare quality in a child.
"She desired a watch with an ardour which transpired in all her movements, and her father had promised her one. The watch came and was worn with the keenest enjoyment; but suddenly a new thought seized upon the little Sophia. She reflected that there was something better than a watch. To relinquish it of her own accord, she hurried to her father and restored to him the object of her passionate desires, acknowledging the motive. Herfather looked at her, took the watch, shut it up in a bureau drawer, and said no more about it.
"M. Soymonof's rooms were adorned with bronzes, medals, and costly marbles. Sophia was on terms of intimacy with these personages of fable and history; but she felt an unconquerable repugnance to a cabinet full of mummies. The poor child blushed for her weakness, and one day, when alone, opened the terrible door, ran straight to the nearest mummy, took it up, and embraced it till her strength and courage gave away, and she fell down in a swoon. At the noise of her fall, her father hastened in, raised her in his arms, and obtained from her, not without difficulty, an avowal of the terrors which she had hitherto concealed from him. But this supreme effort was as good for her as a victory. From that day the mummies were to her only common objects of interest and curiosity.
"Studious as was her education, M. Soymonof did not banish dolls. His daughter loved them as friends and preserved this taste beyond her childish years, but elevated it by the admixture of an intellectual and often dramatic interest. Her dolls were generally of the largest size. She gave them each a name and part to act, established connected relations between the different individuals, and kept up animated dialogues which occupied her imagination vividly, and became a means of instruction. Playing dolls was for her an introduction to ethics and a knowledge of the world.
"Catherine's court was a succession of continualfêtes. The fairy pantomimes performed at the Hermitage were the first to strike the imagination of the child, who as yet could not relish the tragedies of Voltaire. She composed aballetwhich she called 'The Faithful Shepherdessand the Fickle Shepherdess.' She writes in her sixtieth year: 'One of the liveliest pleasures of my childhood was to compose festive decorations which I loved to light up and arrange upon the white marble chimney-piece of my schoolroom. The ardour which I threw into designing, cutting out, and painting transparencies, and finding emblems and mottoes for them was something incredible. My heart beat high while the preparations were in progress but the moment my illumination began to fade an ineffable devouring melancholy seized me.'"
This extract is invaluable not only for its historic importance, but for the keynote which it sounds to a child's nature. The noble little Russian girl at the court of Catherine of Russia found only those pleasures lasting which came from herself, and when she could invest the fairy pantomime with her own personality.
A fairy pantomime is possible to the poorest child if some superior intelligence, an older sister or aunt, will lend her help. The fairies can all be of pasteboard, with strings as the motive power. There can be no cheapercorps de ballet, nor any so amusing.
"You have done much for your child" is an expression we often hear. "You have had a nurse, a nursery governess, a fine pony for your boy, you take your children often to the play and give them dancing parties, and yet they are not happy." It is the sincere regret of many a mamma that she cannot make her children happy. Yet in a large town, in a house shut up from our cold winter blasts, what can she do? A good dog and a kind-hearted set of servants will solve the problem better than all the intellect in the world. Grandmamma brings a doll to the little girl, who looks it over andsays: "The dolly cannot be undressed, I do not want it." It is the dressing and the undressing which are the delights of her heart.
A boy wants to make a noise, first of all things. Let him have a large upper room, a drum, a tambourine, a ball, and there he should be allowed to kick out the effervescence of early manhood. Do not follow him with all manner of prohibitions. Constant nagging and fault-finding is an offence against a child's paradise. Put him in a room for certain hours of the day where no one need say, "Get down! don't do that! don't make so much noise!" Let him roar, and shout, and climb over chairs and tables, and tear his gown, and work off his exuberance, and then he will be very glad to have his hands and face washed and listen to a story, or come down to meet papa with a smiling countenance.
Children should be allowed to have pet birds, kittens, dogs, and as much live stock as the house will hold; it develops their sympathies. When a bird dies, and the floodgates of the poor little heart are opened, sympathize with it. It is cruel to laugh at childish woe. Never refuse a child sympathy in joy or sorrow. This lack of sympathy has made more criminals than anything else.
Children should never be deceived either in the taking of medicine or the administration of knowledge. One witty writer a few years ago spoke of the bad influence of good books. He declared that reading "that Tommy was a good boy and kept his pinafore clean and rose to affluence, while Harry flung stones and told fibs and was carried off by robbers," developed his sympathies for Harry; and that although he was naturally a good boy he went, for pure hatred of the virtuous Tommy, to the river's brink and helped a bad boy todrown his aunt's cat, and then went home and wrote a prize composition called "Frank the Friendless, or Honesty is Best." All this was because the boy saw that Tommy was a prig, that his virtue was of that kind mentioned in Jane Eyre, in which the charity child was asked whether she would rather learn a hymn or receive a cake; she said "Learn a hymn," whereupon she received "two cakes as a reward for her infant piety." Children cannot be humbugged; they can be made into hypocrites, however, by too many good books.
The best entertainment for children is to let them play at being useful. Let the little girl get papa's slippers, brush his hat, even if the wrong way, find his walking stick, hold the yarn for grandma's knitting, or rock her brother's cradle, and she will be happy. Give the boy a printing-press or some safe tools, let him make a garden, feed his chickens, or clean out the cage of his pet robin, and he will be happy. Try to make them think and decide for themselves. A little girl says, "I don't know which dress to put on my dolly, Mamma, which shall I?" The mamma will be wise if she says, "You must decide, you know dolly best."
When a child is ill or nervous, the great hour of despair comes to the mamma. A person without nerves, generally a good coloured mammy, is the best playmate, and a dog is invaluable. It is touching to see the smile come to the poor bloodless lips in a hospital ward, as a great, big, kindly dog puts his cold nose out to reach a little feverish hand. There is a sympathy in nature which intellect loses.
Madame Swetchine's fear of the mummies has another lesson in it. Children are born with pet aversions, as well as with that terrible fear which is so muchbigger than they are. The first of their rights to be respected is that they shall not be frightened, and shall not be too seriously blamed for their aversions. Buffalo Bill, who knows more about horses than most people, says that no horse is born bad; that he is made a bucking horse, a skittish horse, or a stumbling horse by being badly trained,—misunderstood when he was young. How true this is of human nature! How many villains are developed by an unhappy childhood! How many scoundrels does the boys' hall turn out! We must try to find these skeletons in the closet, this imprisoned spectre which haunts the imaginative child, and lay the ghost by sympathy and by common-sense. Cultivating the imagination, not over-feeding it or starving it, would seem to be the right way.
Perhaps there are no better ways of entertaining children than by a juggler, the magic lantern, and simple scientific experiments. We use the term advisedly. Jugglery was the oldest of the sciences. Aaron and Moses tried it. One of the most valuable solaces for an invalid child—one with a broken leg, or some complaint which necessitates bed and quiet—is an experiment in natural magic.
One of these simple tricks is called "The Balanced Coin." Procure a bottle, cork it, and in the cork place a needle. Take another cork, and cut a slit in it, so that the edge of a dollar will fit into it; then put two forks into the upper cork. Place the edge of the coin, which holds the upper cork and forks, on the point of the needle, and it will revolve without falling. This will amuse an imprisoned boy all the afternoon.
The revolving image is a most amusing gentleman. Let poor Harry make this himself. Cut a little manout of a thin bit of wood, making him end in one leg, like a peg-top, instead of in two. Give him a pair of long arms, shaped like oars. Then place him on the tip of your finger, and blow; he will stand there and rotate, like an undecided politician.
The Spanish dancer is another nice experiment. Cut a figure out of pasteboard, and gum one foot on the inverted side of a watch-glass; then place the watch-glass on a Japan waiter or a clean plate. Hold the plate slanting, and they will slide down; but drop a little water on the waiter or plate, and instead of the watch-glass sliding, it will begin to revolve, and continue to revolve with increased velocity as the experimentalist chooses. This is in consequence of the cohesion of water to the two surfaces, by which a new force is introduced. These experiments are endless, and will serve a variety of purposes, the principal being that of entertaining.
To take children to the pantomime at Christmas is the universal law in England. We have seldom the pantomime here. We have the circus, the menagerie, and the play. A real play is better for children than a burlesque, and it is astonishing to see how soon a child can understand even Hamlet.
To allow children to play themselves in a fairy tale, such as "Cinderella," is a doubtful practice. The exposure, the excitement, the late hours, the rehearsals, are all bad for young nerves; but they can play at home if it is in the daytime.
When boys and girls get old enough for dancing-parties, nothing can be more amusing than the sight of the youthful followers of Terpsichore. It is a healthy amusement, and if kept within proper hours, and followedby a light supper only, is the most fitting of all children's amusements. Do not, however, make little men and women of them too soon. That is lamentable.
As for ruses and catch-games like "The Slave Despoiled," "The Pigeon Flies," "The Sorcerer behind the Screen," "The Knight of the Whistle," "The Witch," "The Tombola," one should buy one of the cheap manuals of games found at any bookstore, and a clever boy should read up, and put himself in touch with this very easy way of passing an evening.
The games requiring wit and intelligence are many; as "The Bouquet," "The Fool's Discourse," which has a resemblance to "Cross Questions," "The Secretary," "The Culprit's Seat." All these need a good memory and a ready wit. All mistakes are to be redeemed by forfeit.
Of the games to be played with pencil and paper, none is funnier than "The Narrative," in which the leader decides on the title, and gives it out to the company. It may be called "The Fortunate and Unfortunate Adventures of Miss Palmer." The words to be used may be "history," "reading," "railway accident," "nourishment," "pleasures," "four-in-hand," etc. The paper has a line written, and is folded and handed thus to the next,—each writer giving Miss Palmer whatever adventures he pleases, only bringing in the desired word. The result is incoherent, but amusing, and Miss Palmer becomes a heroine of romance.
There are some children, as there are some grown people, who have a natural talent for games. It is a great help in entertaining children to get hold of a born leader.
The game called "The Language of Animals" isone for philosophers. Each player takes his pencil and paper, and describes the feelings, emotions, and passions of an animal as if he were one. As, for instance, the dog would say: "I feel anger, like a human being. I am sometimes vindictive, but generally forgiving. I suffer terribly from jealousy. My envy leads me to eat more than I want, because I do not wish Tray to get it. Gluttony is my easily besetting sin, but I never got drunk in my life. I love my master better than any one; and if he dies, I mourn him till death. My worst sorrow is being lost; but my delights are never chilled by expectation, so I never lose the edge of my enjoyments by over-raised hopes. I want to run twenty miles a day, but I like to be with my master in the evening. I love children dearly, and would die for any boy: I would save him from drowning. I cannot wag my tongue, but I can wag my tail to express my emotion."
The cat says: "I am a natural diplomatist, and I carry on a great secret service so that nobody knows anything about it. I do not care for my master or mistress, but for the house and the hearth-rug. I am very frugal, and have very little appetite. I kill mice because I dislike them, not that I like them for food. Oh, no! give me the cream-jug for that. I am always ready to do any mischief on the sly; and so if any one else does anything, always say, 'It was the cat.' I have no heart, by which I escape much misery. I have a great advantage over the dog, as he lives but a few years and has but one life. I have a long life, and nine of them; but why the number nine is always connected with me, I do not know. Why 'cat-o-nine-tails?' Why 'A cat has nine lives,' etc.?"
Thus, for children's entertaining we have the same necessities as for grown people. Some one must begin; some one must suggest; some one must tell how. All society needs a leader. It may be for that reason our own grown-up society is a little chaotic.
Perhaps the story of Madame Swetchine and her watch conveys a needed moral. Do not deluge children with costly gifts. Do not thus deprive them of the pleasures of hope. Anticipation is the dearest part of a child's life, and an overfed child, suffering from the pangs of dyspepsia, is no more to be pitied than the poor little gorged, overburdened child, who has more books than he can read and more toys than he can ever play with. Remember, too, "Dr. Blimber's Young Gentlemen," and their longing jealousy of the boy in the gutter.
"Then I stooped for a bunch of hollyWhich had fallen on the floor,And there fell to the ground as I lifted itA berry—or something more;And after it fell my eyes could seeMore clearly than before!But oh! for the red ChristingleThat never was missing of yore,And oh! for the red ChristingleThat I miss forever more!"
"Then I stooped for a bunch of hollyWhich had fallen on the floor,And there fell to the ground as I lifted itA berry—or something more;And after it fell my eyes could seeMore clearly than before!But oh! for the red ChristingleThat never was missing of yore,And oh! for the red ChristingleThat I miss forever more!"
"Then I stooped for a bunch of hollyWhich had fallen on the floor,And there fell to the ground as I lifted itA berry—or something more;And after it fell my eyes could seeMore clearly than before!But oh! for the red ChristingleThat never was missing of yore,And oh! for the red ChristingleThat I miss forever more!"
"Then I stooped for a bunch of holly
Which had fallen on the floor,
And there fell to the ground as I lifted it
A berry—or something more;
And after it fell my eyes could see
More clearly than before!
But oh! for the red Christingle
That never was missing of yore,
And oh! for the red Christingle
That I miss forever more!"
Christingles are not much known in this country. They are made by piercing a hole in an orange, putting a piece of quill three or four inches long, set upright, in the hole, and usually a second piece inside this. Each quill is divided into several slips, each one of which is loaded with a raisin. The weight of the raisins bends down the little boughs, giving two circles of pendants. A coloured taper is placed in the upper quill and lighted on Christmas Eve. The custom is a German one.
The harbinger of Christmas, in Holland, is a Star of Bethlehem carried along through the cities by the young men who pick up alms for the poor. They gather much money, for all come to welcome this symbol of peace. They then betake themselves to the head burgomaster of the town, who is bound to give them a good meal.
The little Russian, amid the snows, looks for the red candle and the Christmas Tree, and the ice is all alightwith gay illuminations. The little Roman boy watches with delight the preparation for theBeffanain the public squares of Rome. For theBeffanais the witch who rides on a broomstick; she is a female Santa Claus, who brings presents to a good child and a bunch of rods to a bad one. Her worship is celebrated on Christmas Eve to the sound of trumpets and all manner of unearthly noises. Then the boy goes to the Church of the Augustins, to see the little Jesus Child lying in the lap of his Holy Mother. He hears the most charming music, and singing choristers swing the censer before the Host. Above his head Saint Michael fights with the dragon. He sees the splendid procession of the cardinals in their gorgeous red and white robes, and as he goes down the broad marble steps, on each side of which beautiful statues stand in niches, his mother, poor Dominica, peasant of the Campagna, kneels and makes the sign of the cross, and tells her boy that this is Christmas, the day on which the Jesus Child was born to take his sins away. Again he wanders with her through the market-place; every one gives him playthings, fruits, and cakes; a rich foreigner tosses him a coin. The little Antonio asks why, and his mother tells him it is Christmas, but not so gay as when she was a little girl, for then thepifferari, the shepherds from the mountains, came, in their short cloaks with ribbons around their pointed hats, to play on their bagpipes before every image of the Virgin. Then they go again to the Church, the beautiful Church of Ara Coeli, to hear the angel girls make Christmas speeches to welcome the little Christ-child, and as he looks at the image of the Madonna, all hung with jewels, he wishes it were Christmas all the year round.
The Christmas tree dates back to the Druids, butseems to have disappeared from England for several centuries. Meantime, it blossomed in Germany, where, under the tender and soft Scandinavian influence which has such an admirable and ameliorating effect on homely German life, it has continued to bear its fruit for six hundred years. It came back to England in the days of Queen Charlotte, who, true to her German associations, had a tree dressed at Kew Palace in the rooms of her German attendant. It was hung, writes the Hon. Amelia Murray, with gifts for the children, "who were invited to see it; and I remember," she says, "what a pleasure it was to hunt for one's name."
The "Mayflower," which brought much else that was good, forgot the Christmas tree. It was not until the beginning of the present century that one could be seen near Plymouth Rock. Men and women now living can remember when Washington Irving's "Sketch-book" told to them the first story of an English Christmas, and some brave women determined to hang a few boughs and red berries around the cold, barren church.
Then the tree began to bud and burgeon with gifts, and the rare glories of colour crept in upon the snows of winter. The red fire on the hearth, the red berries on the mantel, brought in the light which grew pale in winter, the hospitality and the cheer of the turkey and plum-pudding went around, and Christmas carols began to be sung by men of Puritan antecedents. Old Christmas, frightened away at first by a few fanatics, came at last to America to stay, and the mistletoe, prettiest, most weird, most artistic of parasites, was removed from dreary Druidical associations, and no longer assists at human sacrifices,—unless some misogynist may so consider the getting of husbands.
The English Christmas is the typical one in the art of entertaining. In every country neighbourhood, public county balls are conducted with great pomp during the twelve days of Christmas. From all the great houses within ten or fifteen miles come large parties, dressed in the latest London fashions, among them the most distinguished lights of the London world. Country residents are also conspicuous, and for people who live altogether in the country this is the chosen occasion for the first introduction of a daughter into society. The town hall or any other convenient building is beautifully dressed with holly and mistletoe. The band is at the upper end and the different sets form exclusive groups about the room, seldom mixing even in the Virginia Reel and other country dances.
The private festivities of Christmas consist of a dinner to the tenantry and a large one to the family, all of whose members are expected. The mistletoe is hung conspicuously from the great lantern in the hall, or over the stag's head at the door. The rooms are wreathed with holly, each picture is framed in it, and the ladies put the red berries in their hair and all over their dresses. The customary turkey, a mighty bird, enters, making an event at the dinner, while later on, a plum-pudding, all ablaze, with a sprig of holly in the midst, makes another sensation. Mince-pies are set on fire with the aid of a little alcohol, which is poured over them from a small silver ladle. After the dinner, is passed the loving cup, a silver cup with two handles, containing a hot, spiced, sweetened ale. It has two mouths, and as it is lifted its weight requires both hands.
In England, Christmas and New Year's still keep some of the mediæval village customs. Men go about inmotley, imitating quacks and fortune-tellers, and there is much noise and tooting of horns. These mummers are sent to the servants' hall, where a plentiful supper and horns of ale await them. The waits, or carol singers, are another remnant of old Christmas. In remote parts of England the stables are lighted, to prove that man has not forgotten the Child born and laid in a manger. As for the parish festivities, in which the hall has so prominent a part, the school feasts, the blankets for the poor, the clothing-club meetings at Martinmas, all has been told us in novels, which have also given us many a picture of comfortable and stately English life.
The modern English squire does not, however, eat, drink, and make merry for twelve days, as he used. The wassail-bowl is broken at the fountain, and mince-pies and goose-pies and yule-cakes are thought to be heavy for modern digestion. But the good cheer remains.
The noblest as well as the humblest of all English houses, especially in Yorkshire, keep up the old superstition of lighting the Yule log, "the ponderous ashen fagot from the yard," and great ill-luck is foretold if its flame dies out before Twelfth Night. Frumenty, which is a porridge boiled with milk, sugar, wine, spices, and raisins, is served. It was in a cup of frumenty, as every conscientious reader of fairy stories will remember, that Tom Thumb was dropped by his careless nurse. The Christmas pie of Yorkshire, is a "brae goose-pie" which Herrick in one of his delightful verses thus defends:
"Come guard this night the Christmas pie,That the thiefe, though ne'er so slie,With his fleshhooks, don't come nieTo catch it."From him who all alone sits there,Having his eyes still in his eare,And a deale of nightly feareTo watch it."
"Come guard this night the Christmas pie,That the thiefe, though ne'er so slie,With his fleshhooks, don't come nieTo catch it."From him who all alone sits there,Having his eyes still in his eare,And a deale of nightly feareTo watch it."
"Come guard this night the Christmas pie,That the thiefe, though ne'er so slie,With his fleshhooks, don't come nieTo catch it.
"Come guard this night the Christmas pie,
That the thiefe, though ne'er so slie,
With his fleshhooks, don't come nie
To catch it.
"From him who all alone sits there,Having his eyes still in his eare,And a deale of nightly feareTo watch it."
"From him who all alone sits there,
Having his eyes still in his eare,
And a deale of nightly feare
To watch it."
In America, the young people are utilizing Christmas day as they do in England, if there is no frost, to go a-hunting. Afternoon tea, under the mistletoe in the hall of a country house, is generally taken in a riding habit.
In most families it is a purely domestic festival; although, as the tree has been enjoyed the night before, when Santa Claus, the great German sprite, has held his revels, there is no reason why a grand dinner to one's friends should not be given. And let us plead that the turkey, our great national bird, may not be cooked by gas. He is so much better roasted before a wood fire.
There are some difficulties in giving a Christmas dinner in a large city, as nearly all the waiters are sure to be drunk, and the cook has also, perhaps, been at the frumenty. Being a religious as well as a social festival, it is apt to bring about a confusion of ideas. But, everything else apart, it is Children's Day; it is the day when, as Dickens says, we should remember the time when its great Founder was a child Himself. It is especially the day for the friendless young, the children in hospitals, the lame, the sick, the weary, the blind. No child should be left alone on Christmas Day, for loneliness with children means brooding. A child growing up with no child friend is not a child at all, but a premature man or woman.
The best Christmas present to a boy is a box of tools, the best to a girl any number of dolls. After dressing and undressing them, giving them a bath, taking them through a fit of sickness, punishing them, and givingthem an airing in the park,—for little maidens begin to imitate mamma at a very early age,—the next best amusement is to manufacture a doll's house. The brother must plane the box,—an old wine box will do,—and fit in it four compartments, each of which must be elaborately papered. Then a "real carpet" must be nailed down and pictures hung on the wall. These bits, framed with gold paper, usually require mamma's help. The kitchen must be fitted up with tins, which perhaps had better be bought, but after thebatterie de cuisineis finished, then the chairs and beds should be made at home. Cardboard boxes can be cut into excellent doll's beds. Pillows, bolsters, mattress, sheets, pillow-cases, will keep little fingers busy for many days.
When they get older, and can write letters, a post-office is a delightful boon. These are to be bought, but they are far more amusing if made at home. Any good-sized card-box will do for this purpose. The lid should be fastened to it so that when it stands up it will open like a door. A slit must be cut out about an inch wide, and from five to six inches long, so as to allow the postage of small parcels, yet not large enough even to admit the smallest hand. Children should learn to respect the inviolate character of the post from the earliest age.
On the door should be written the times of the post. Most children are fond of writing letters to one another, and this will of course give rise to a grand manufacture of note paper, envelopes, and post-cards, and will call forth ingenuity in designing and colouring monograms and crests, for their note paper and envelopes. An envelope must be taken carefully to pieces, to form a flat pattern. Then those cut from it have to be folded,gummed together, a touch of gum put on the flap and the monogram made to correspond. It is wonderful what occupation this gives for weeks. A paint-box should be also amongst the Christmas gifts.
Capital scrap-books can be made by children. Old railway guides may be the foundation, and every illustrated paper the magazine of art. A paste-pot, next to a paint-box, is a most serviceable toy.
Children like to imitate their elders. A little boy of two years enjoys smoking a pipe as he sees grandpapa smoke, and knocks out imaginary ashes, as he does, against the door.
Hobby horses are profitable steeds, and can be made to go through any amount of paces. But mechanical toys are more amusing to his elders than to the child, who wishes to do his own mechanism. A boy can be amused by turning him out of the house, giving him a ball or a kite, or letting him dig in the ground for the unhappy mole. Little girls, who must be kept in, on a rainy day, or invalid children, are very hard to amuse and recourse must be had to story-telling, to the dear delightful thousand and one books now written for children, of which "Alice in Wonderland" is the flower and perfection.
For communities of children, as in asylums and schools, there is nothing like music, songs, and marches; anything to keep them in time and tune. It removes for a moment that institutionized look which has so unhappy an effect.
Happy is the child who has inherited a garret full of old trunks, old furniture, old pictures, any kind of old things. It is a precious inheritance. Given the dramatic instinct and a garret, and a family of quick-wittedboys and girls will have amusement long after the Christmas holidays are passed.
It would be a great amusement for weeks before Christmas, if children were taught to make the ornaments for the tree, as is done in economical Germany. Here the ideas of secrecy and mystery are so associated with Santa Claus that such an idea would be rejected. But a thing is twice as interesting if we put ourselves into it.
At Christmas time let us invoke the fairies. They, the gentry, the wee people, the good people, are very dear to the real little wee people, who see the fun and do not believe too much in them. The fairies who make their homes under old trees and resort to toadstools for shelter, and who make invisible excursions into farmhouses have afforded the Irish nurse no end of legends. An old nurse once held a magnificent position in the nursery because she had seen a fairy.
The Christmas green was once the home of the peace-loving wood-sprite. Christmas evergreens and red berries make the most effective interior decorations, their delightful fragrance, their splendid colour renders the palace more beautiful, and the humble house attractive. Before Twelfth Night, January 6, they must all be taken down. The festivities of this great day were much celebrated in mediæval times, and the picture by Rubens, "The King Drinks," recalls the splendour of these feasts. It is called Kings' Day to commemorate the three kings of Orient, who paid their visit to the humble manger, bringing those first Christmas gifts of which we have any account.
The negroes from Africa, who were brought as slaves to the West Indian Islands, always celebrate this daywith queer and fetich rites. It is in honour of the black king Melchior whom we see in the pictures "from Afric's sunny fountains."
The Twelfth-Night cake, crowned with candles, is cut and eaten with many ceremonies on this occasion. The universality of Christmas is its most remarkable feature. Trace it as one will to the ancient Saturnalia, this universality is still inexplicable. It long antedates the Christian era. The distinctly modern customs are the giving of gifts, and the good eating, which, if followed back, we find to have been gluttony among the Norsemen.
To the older members of the family the day is a sad one. The little verse at the head of the chapter recalls the fact that for every child gone back to heaven, there is one Christingle less. But if it will bring the rich to the poor, if it will not forget a single legend or grace, if the holly and evergreen will breathe the sweetest and highest significance, if we can remember that every simple festival at Christmas which makes the hearth-stone brighter is a tribute to the highest wisdom, if we connect Christmas and humanity, then shall we keep it aright. For the world unlocks its heart on every Christmas Day as it has done for eighteen Christian centuries. The cairn of Christmas memories rises higher and higher as the dear procession of children, those constantly arriving, precious pilgrims from the unknown world, halts by the majestic mountain to receive gifts, giving more than they take. For what would Christmas be without the children?
The rules laid down in books of etiquette may seem preposterously elaborate and absurd to the denizens of cities, and to those who have had the manual of society at their fingers' ends from childhood, but they may be like the grammar of an unknown tongue to the youth or maiden whose life has been spent in seclusion or a rustic neighbourhood. As it is the aim of this unpretending volume to assist such young people, a few hints to young men coming fresh from life on the plains, or from an Eastern or Western college, from any life which has separated them from the society of ladies, may not be considered impertinent.
A young man on coming into a great city, or into a new place where he is not known, should try to bring a few letters of introduction. If he can bring such a letter to any lady of good social position, he has nothing further to do but deliver it, and if she takes him up and introduces him, his social position is made. But this good fortune cannot always be commanded. Young men often pass through a lonely life in a great city, never finding that desired opportunity.
To some it comes through a friendship on the tennis ground, at the clubs, or through business. If a friend says to some ladies that Tilden is a good fellow, Tilden will be sought out and invited. It is hardly creditable to any young man to live in a great city without knowingthe best ladies' society. He should seek to do so, and perhaps the simplest way would be for him to ask some friend to take him about and to introduce him. Once introduced, Tilden should be particular not to transcend the delicate outlines of social suffrance. He must not immediately rush into an intimacy.
A call should never be too long. A woman of the world says that one hour is all that should be granted to a caller. This rule is a good one for an evening visit. It is much better to have one's hostess wishing for a longer visit than to have her sigh that you should go. In a first visit, a gentleman should always send in his card. After that he may dispense with that ceremony.
A gentleman, for an evening visit, should always be in evening dress, black cloth dress-coat, waistcoat, and trousers, faultless linen and white cravat, silk stockings, and polished low shoes. A black cravat is permissible, but it is not full dress. He should carry a crush hat in his hand, and a cane if he likes. For a dinner-party a white cravat is indispensable; a man must wear it then. No jewelry of any kind is fashionable, excepting rings. Men hide their watch chains, in evening dress.
The hands should be especially cared for, the nails carefully cut and trimmed. No matter how big or how red the hand is, the more masculine the better. Women like men to look manly, as if they could drive, row, play ball, cricket, perhaps even handle the gloves.
A gentleman's dress should be so quiet and so perfect that it will not excite remark or attention. Thackeray used to advise that a watering-pot should be applied to a new hat to take off the gloss. The suspicion of being dressed up defeats an otherwise good toilet.
We will suppose that Tilden becomes sufficiently wellacquainted to be asked to join a theatre party. He must be punctual at the rendezvous, and take as a partner whomever the hostess may assign him, but in the East he must not offer to send a carriage; that must come from the giver of the party. In this, Eastern and Western etiquette are at variance, for in certain cities in the West and South a gentleman is expected to call in a carriage, and take a young lady to a party. To do this would be social ruin in Europe, nor is it allowed in Boston or New York. If, however, Tilden wishes to give a theatre party, he must furnish everything. He first asks a lady tochaperonhis party. He must arrange that all meet at his room, or a friend's house. He must charter an omnibus or send carriages for the whole party; he must buy the tickets. He is then expected to invite his party to sup with him after the theatre, making the feast as handsome as his means allow. This is a favourite and proper manner for a young man to return the civilities offered him. It is indispensable that he should have the mother of one of the young ladies present. The custom of having such a party with only a very youngchaperonhas fallen, properly, into disrepute. And it seems almost unnecessary to say so, except that the offence has been committed.
A man should never force himself into any society, or go anywhere unasked. Of course, if he be taken by a lady, she assumes the responsibility, and it is an understood thing that a leader of society can take a young man anywhere. She is his sponsor.
In the early morning a young man should wear the heavy, loosely fitting English clothes now so fashionable, but for an afternoon promenade with a lady, or for a reception,a frock coat tightly buttoned, gray trousers, a neat tie, and plain gold pin is very good form. This dress is allowed at a small dinner in the country, or for a Sunday tea.
If men are in the Adirondacks, if flannel is the only wear, there is no dressing for dinner; but in a country house, where there are guests, it is better to make a full evening toilet, unless the hostess gives absolution. There should always be some change, and clean linen, a fresh coat, fresh shoes, etc., donned even in the quiet retirement of one's own home. Neatness, a cold bath every morning, and much exercise in the open air are among the admirable customs of young gentlemen of the present day. If every one of them, no matter how busy, how hard-worked, could come home and dress for dinner, it would be a good habit. Indeed, if all American men, like all English men, would show this attention to their wives, society would be far more elegant. A man always expects his wife to dress for him; why should he not dress for her? He is then ready for evening visits, operas, parties, theatres, wherever he may wish to go. No man should sit down to a seven o'clock dinner unless freshly dressed.
If Tilden can afford to keep a tilbury, or a dog-cart, and fine horses, so much the better for him. He can take a young girl to drive, if her mamma consents; but a servant should sit behind; that is indispensable. The livery and the whole turnout should be elegant, but not flashy, if Tilden would succeed. As true refinement comes from within, let him read the noble description of Thackeray:—
"What is it to be a gentleman? Is it to be honest, to be gentle, to be generous, to be true, to be brave, to bewise, and possessing all these qualities to exercise them in the most gentle manner? Ought a gentleman to be a loyal son, a true husband, and honest father? Ought his life to be decent, his bills to be paid, his tastes to be high and elegant? Yes, a thousand times yes!"
Young men who come to a great city to live are sometimes led astray by the success of gaudy adventurers who do not fall within the lines of the above description, men who get on by means of enormous impudence, self-assurance, audacity, and plausible ways. But if they have patience and hold to the right, the gentleman will succeed, and the adventurer will fail. No such man lasts long. Give him rope enough, and he will soon hang himself.
It is not necessary here to refer to the etiquette of clubs. They are self-protecting. A man soon learns their rules and limitations. A man of honesty and character seldom gets into difficulty at his club. If his club rejects or pronounces against him, however, it is a social stigma which it is hard to wipe out.
A young man should lose no opportunity of improving himself. Works of art are a fine means of instruction. He should read and study in his leisure hours, and frequent picture galleries and museums. A young man becomes the most agreeable of companions if he brings a keen fresh intelligence, refined tastes, and a desire to be agreeable into society. Success in society is like electricity,—it makes itself felt, and yet is unseen and indescribable.
It is a nice thing if a man has some accomplishment, such as music or elocution, and to be a good dancer is almost indispensable. Yet many a man gets on without any of these.
It is a work-a-day world that we live in, and the whole formation of our society betrays it. Then dress plainly, simply, and without display. A gentleman's servants often dress better than their master, and yet nothing is so distinctive as the dress of a gentleman. It is as much a costume of nobility as if it were the velvet coat which Sir Walter Raleigh threw down before Queen Elizabeth.
It may not be inappropriate here to say a word or two on minor points. In addressing a note to a lady, whom he does not know well, Tilden should use the third person, as follows:—