December 25.

“To a saint let us not pray, to a pope let us not kneel;On Jesu let us depend, and let us discreetly watchTo preserve our souls from Satan with his snares;Let us not in morning invoke any one else.”

With the succeeding translation of aWelsh wassail song, the observer of manners will, perhaps, be pleased. In Welsh, the lines of each couplet, repeated inversely, still keep the same sense.

A Carol for the Eve of St. Mary’s Day.This is the season when, agreeably to custom,That it was an honour to sendwassailBy the old people who were happyIn their time, and loved pleasure;And we are now purposingTo be like them, every one merry:Merry and foolish, youths are wont to be,Being reproached for squandering abroad.I know that every mirth will endToo soon of itself;Before it is ended, here comesThewassailof Mary, for the sake of the time:N ———[420]place the maid immediatelyIn the chair before us;And let every body in the house be content that weMay drinkwassailto virginity,To remember the time, in faithfulness,When fair Mary was at the sacrifice,After the birth to her of a son,Who delivered every one, through his good willFrom their sins, without doubt.Should there be an inquiry who made the carol,He is a man whose trust is fully on God,That he shall go to heaven to the effulgent Mary,Towards filling the orders where she also is.Thomas Evans.

A Carol for the Eve of St. Mary’s Day.

This is the season when, agreeably to custom,That it was an honour to sendwassailBy the old people who were happyIn their time, and loved pleasure;And we are now purposingTo be like them, every one merry:Merry and foolish, youths are wont to be,Being reproached for squandering abroad.I know that every mirth will endToo soon of itself;Before it is ended, here comesThewassailof Mary, for the sake of the time:N ———[420]place the maid immediatelyIn the chair before us;And let every body in the house be content that weMay drinkwassailto virginity,To remember the time, in faithfulness,When fair Mary was at the sacrifice,After the birth to her of a son,Who delivered every one, through his good willFrom their sins, without doubt.Should there be an inquiry who made the carol,He is a man whose trust is fully on God,That he shall go to heaven to the effulgent Mary,Towards filling the orders where she also is.

And let every body in the house be content that weMay drinkwassailto virginity,To remember the time, in faithfulness,When fair Mary was at the sacrifice,After the birth to her of a son,Who delivered every one, through his good willFrom their sins, without doubt.Should there be an inquiry who made the carol,He is a man whose trust is fully on God,That he shall go to heaven to the effulgent Mary,Towards filling the orders where she also is.

Thomas Evans.

In the rage for “collecting” almost every thing, it is surprising that “collectors” have almost overlooked carols as a class of popular poetry. To me they have been objects of interest from circumstances which occasionally determine the direction of pursuit. The wood-cuts round the annual sheets, and the melody of “God rest you merry gentlemen,” delighted my childhood; and I still listen with pleasure to the shivering carolist’s evening chant towards the clean kitchen window decked with holly, the flaring fire showing the whitened hearth, and reflecting gleams of light from the surfaces of the dresser utensils.

Davies Gilbert, Esq. F.R.S. F.A.S. &c. has published “Ancient Christmas carols, with thetunesto which they were formerly sung in the west of England.” Mr. Gilbert says, that “on Christmas-day these carols took the place of psalms in all the churches, especially at afternoon service, the whole congregation joining: and at the end it was usual for the parish clerk, to declare in a loud voice, his wishes for a merry Christmas and a happy new year.”

In “Poor Robin’s Almanac,” for 1695, there is a Christmas carol, which is there called, “A Christmas Song,” beginning thus:—

Now thrice welcome, Christmas,Which brings us good cheer,Minced-pies and plumb-porridge,Good ale and strong beer;With pig, goose, and capon,The best that may be,So well doth the weatherAnd our stomachs agree.Observe how the chimneysDo smoak all about,The cooks are providingFor dinner, no doubt;But those on whose tablesNo victuals appear,O, may they keep LentAll the rest of the year!With holly and ivySo green and so gay;We deck up our housesAs fresh as the day.With bays and rosemaryAnd laurel compleat,And every one nowIs a king in conceit.

Observe how the chimneysDo smoak all about,The cooks are providingFor dinner, no doubt;But those on whose tablesNo victuals appear,O, may they keep LentAll the rest of the year!

With holly and ivySo green and so gay;We deck up our housesAs fresh as the day.With bays and rosemaryAnd laurel compleat,And every one nowIs a king in conceit.

So much only concerning carols for the present. But more shall be said hereon in the year 1826, if the editor of theEvery-Day Booklive, and retain his faculties to that time. He now, however, earnestly requests of every one of its readers in every part of England, to collect every carol that may be singing at Christmas time in the year 1825, and convey these carols to him at their earliest convenience, with accounts of manners and customs peculiar to their neighbourhood, which are not already noticed in this work. He urges and solicits this most earnestly and anxiously, and prays his readers not to forget that he is a serious and needy suitor. They see the nature of the work, and he hopes that any thing and every thing that they think pleasant or remarkable, they will find some means of communicating to him without delay. The most agreeable presents he can receive at any season, will be contributions and hints that may enable him to blend useful information with easy and cheerful amusement.

Mr. Coleridge writing his “Friend,” from Ratzeburg, in the north of Germany, mentions a practice on Christmas-eve very similar to some on December the 6th, St. Nicholas’-day. Mr. Coleridge says, “There is a Christmas custom here which pleased and interested me. The children make little presents to their parents, and to each other, and the parents to their children. For three or fourmonths before Christmas the girls are all busy, and the boys save up their pocket-money to buy these presents. What the present is to be is cautiously kept secret; and the girls have a world of contrivances to conceal it—such as working when they are out on visits, and the others are not with them—getting up in the morning before day-light, &c. Then, on the evening before Christmas-day, one of the parlours is lighted up by the children, into which the parents must not go; a great yew bough is fastened on the table at a little distance from the wall, a multitude of little tapers are fixed in the bough, but not so as to burn it till they are nearly consumed, and coloured paper, &c. hangs and flutters from the twigs. Under this bough the children lay out in great order the presents they mean for their parents, still concealing in their pockets what they intend for each other. Then the parents are introduced, and each presents his little gift; they then bring out the remainder one by one, from their pockets, and present them with kisses and embraces. Where I witnessed this scene, there were eight or nine children, and the eldest daughter and the mother wept aloud for joy and tenderness; and the tears ran down the face of the father, and he clasped all his children so tight to his breast, it seemed as if he did it to stifle the sob that was rising within it. I was very much affected. The shadow of the bough and its appendages on the wall, and arching over on the ceiling, made a pretty picture; and then the raptures of theverylittle ones, when at last the twigs and their needles began to take fire andsnap—O it was a delight to them!—On the next day, (Christmas-day) in the great parlour, the parents lay out on the table the presents for the children; a scene of more sober joy succeeds; as on this day, after an old custom, the mother says privately to each of her daughters, and the father to his sons, that which he has observed most praiseworthy and that which was most faulty in their conduct. Formerly, and still in all the smaller towns and villages throughout North Germany, these presents were sent by all the parents to some one fellow, who, in high buskins, a white robe, a mask, and an enormous flax wig, personatesKnecht Rupert,i. e.the servant Rupert. On Christmas-night he goes round to every house, and says, that Jesus Christ, his master, sent him thither. The parents and elder children receive him with great pomp and reverence, while the little ones are most terribly frightened. He then inquires for the children, and, according to the character which he hears from the parents, he gives them the intended present, as if they came out of heaven from Jesus Christ. Or, if they should have been bad children, he gives the parents a rod, and, in the name of his master, recommends them to use it frequently. About seven or eight years old the children are let into the secret, and it is curious how faithfully they keep it.”

A correspondent to the “Gentleman’s Magazine,” says, that when he was a school-boy, it was a practice on Christmas-eve to roast apples on a string till they dropt into a large bowl of spiced ale, which is the whole composition oflamb’s wool. Brand thinks, that this popular beverage obtained its name from the softness of the composition, and he quotes from Shakspeare’s “Midsummer-Night’s Dream,”

————“Sometimes lurk I in a gossip’s bowl,In very likeness of a roasted crab;And, when she drinks, against her lips I bob,And on her wither’d dew-lap pour the ale.”

It was formerly a custom in England on Christmas-eve towassail, or wish health to the apple-tree. Herrick enjoins to—

“Wassaile the trees, that they may beareYou many a plum, and many a peare;For more or lesse fruits they will bring,And you do give them wassailing.”

In 1790, it was related to Mr. Brand, by sir Thomas Acland, at Werington, that in his neighbourhood on Christmas-eve it was then customary for the country people to sing a wassail or drinking-song, and throw the toast from the wassail-bowl to the apple-trees in order to have a fruitful year.

“Pray remember,” says T. N. of Cambridge, to the editor of theEvery-Day Book, “that it is a Christmas custom from time immemorial to send and receive presents and congratulations from one friend to another; and, could the number ofbasketsthat enter London at this season be ascertained, it would be astonishing; exclusive of those for sale, the number and weight of turkeys only, would surpass belief. From a historical account of Norwich it appears, that between Saturdaymorning and the night of Sunday, December 22, 1793, one thousand seven hundred turkeys, weighing 9 tons, 2 cwt. 2 lbs. value 680l.were sent from Norwich to London; and two days after half as many more.”

“Now,” says Stevenson, in hisTwelve Months, 1661, “capons and hens, besides turkeys, geese, ducks, with beef and mutton, must all die; for in twelve days a multitude of people will not be fed with a little. Now plums and spice, sugar and honey, square it among pies and broth. Now a journeyman cares not a rush for his master, though he begs his plum-porridge all the twelve days. Now or never must the music be in tune, for the youth must dance and sing to get them a heat, while the aged sit by the fire. The country-maid leaves half her market, and must be sent again if she forgets a pack of cards on Christmas-eve. Great is the contention of holly and ivy, whether master or dame wears the breeches; and if the cook do not lack wit, he will sweetly lick his fingers.”

Mr. Leigh Hunt’sIndicatorpresents this Christmas picture to our contemplation—full of life and beauty:—

One of the most pleasing sights at this festive season is the group of boys and girls returned from school. Go where you will, a cluster of their joyous chubby faces present themselves to our notice. In the streets, at the panorama, or playhouse, our elbows are constantly assailed by some eager urchin whose eyes just peep beneath to get a nearer view.

I am more delighted in watching the vivacious workings of their ingenuous countenances at these Christmas shows, than at the sights themselves.

From the first joyous huzzas, and loud blown horns which announce their arrival, to the faint attempts at similar mirth on their return, I am interested in these youngsters.

Observe the line of chaises with their swarm-like loads hurrying to tender and exulting parents, the sickly to be cherished, the strong to be amused; in a few mornings you shall see them, new clothes, warm gloves, gathering around their mother at every toy-shop, claiming the promised bat, hoop, top, or marbles; mark her kind smile at their ecstacies; her prudent shake of the head at their multitudinous demands; her gradual yielding as they coaxingly drag her in; her patience with their whims and clamour while they turn and toss over the play-things, as now a sword, and now a hoop is their choice, and like their elders the possession ofonebauble does but make them sigh for another.

View the fond father, his pet little girl by the hand, his boys walking before on whom his proud eye rests, while ambitious views float o’er his mind for them, and make him but half attentive to their repeated inquiries; while at the Museum or Picture-gallery, his explanations are interrupted by the rapture of discovering that his children are already well acquainted with the different subjects exhibited.

Stretching half over the boxes at the theatre, adorned by maternal love, see their enraptured faces now turned to the galleries wondering at their height and at the number of regular placed heads contained in them, now directed towards the green cloud which is so lingeringly kept between them and their promised bliss. The half-peeled orange laid aside when the play begins; their anxiety for that which they understand; their honest laughter which runs through the house like a merry peal of sweet bells; the fear of the little girl lest they should discover the person hid behind the screen; the exultation of the boy when the hero conquers.

But, oh, the rapture when the pantomime commences! Ready to leap out of the box, they joy in the mischief of the clown, laugh at the thwacks he gets for his meddling, and feel no small portion of contempt for his ignorance in not knowing that hot water will scald and gunpowder explode; while with head aside to give fresh energy to the strokes, they ring their little palms against each other in testimony of exuberant delight.

Who can behold them without reflecting on the many passions that now lie dormant in their bosoms, to be in a few years agitating themselves and the world. Here the coquet begins to appear in the attention paid to a lace frock or kid gloves for the first time displayed, or the domestic tyrant in the selfish boy, who snatches the largest cake, or thrusts his younger brother and sister from the best place.

At no season of the year are their holidaysso replete with pleasures; the expected Christmas-box from grand-papa and grand-mamma; plum-pudding and snap-dragon, with blindman’s-buff and forfeits; perhaps to witness a juvenile play rehearsed and ranted; galantée-show and drawing for twelfth-cake; besides Christmas gambols in abundance, new and old.

Even the poor charity-boy at this season feels a transient glow of cheerfulness, as with pale blue face, frost-nipped hands and ungreatcoated, from door to door, he timidly displays the unblotted scutcheon of his graphic talents, and feels that the pence bestowed are hisown, and that for once in his life he may taste the often desired tart, or spin a top which no one can snatch from him in capricious tyranny.

Ancient Representation of the Nativity.

According to Mr. Brand, “a superstitious notion prevails in the western parts of Devonshire, that at twelve o’clock at night on Christmas-eve, the oxen in their stalls are always found on their knees, as in an attitude of devotion; and that (which is still more singular) sincethe alteration of the style, they continue to do this only on the eve of old Christmas-day. An honest countryman, living on the edge of St. Stephen’s Down, near Launceston, Cornwall, informed me, October 28, 1790, that he once, with some others, made a trial of the truth of the above, and watching several oxen in their stalls at the above time, at twelve o’clock at night, they observed the two oldest oxen only fall upon their knees, and, as he expressed it in the idiom of the country, make ‘a cruel moan like christian creatures.’ I could not but with great difficulty keep my countenance: he saw, and seemed angry that I gave so little credit to his tale, and, walking off in a pettish humour, seemed to ‘marvel at my unbelief.’ There is an old print of the Nativity, in which the oxen in the stable, near the virgin and the child, are represented upon their knees, as in a suppliant posture. This graphic representation has probably given rise to the above superstitious notion on this head.” Mr. Brand refers to “an old print,” as if he had only observedonewith this representation; whereas, they abound, and to the present day the ox and the ass are in the wood-cuts of the nativity on our common Christmas carols. Sannazarius, a Latin poet of the fifteenth century, in his poemDe Partu Virginis, which he was several years in composing, and twenty years in revising, and which chiefly contributed to the celebrity of his name among the Italians, represents that the virgin wrapped up the new-born infant, and put him into her bosom; that the cattle cherished him with their breath, an ox fell on his knees, and an ass did the same. He declares them both happy, promises they shall be honoured at all the altars in Rome, and apostrophizes the virgin on occasion of the respect the ox and ass have shown her. To a quarto edition of this Latin poem, with an Italian translation by Gori, printed at Florence in 1740, there is a print inscribed “Sacrum monumentum in antiquo vitro Romæ in Museo Victorio,” from whence the precedingengravingis presented, as a curious illustration of the obviously ancient mode of delineating the subject.

In the edition just mentioned of Sannazarius’s exceedingly curious poem, which is described in the editor’s often cited volume on “Ancient Mysteries,” there are other engravings of the nativity with the ox and the ass, from sculptures on ancient sarcophagi at Rome. This introduction of the ox and the ass warming the infant in the crib with their breath, is a fanciful construction by catholic writers on Isaiah i. 3; “The ox knoweth his owner, and the ass his master’s crib.”

Sannazarius was a distinguished statesman in the kingdom of Naples. His superb tomb in the church of St. Mark is decorated with two figures originally executed for and meant to represent Apollo and Minerva; but as it appeared indecorous to admit heathen divinities into a christian church, and the figures were thought too excellent to be removed, the person who shows the church is instructed to call them David and Judith: “You mistake,” said a sly rogue who was one of a party surveying the curiosities, “the figures are St. George, and the queen of Egypt’s daughter.” The demonstrator made a low bow, and thanked him.[421]

Frankincense.Pinus Tæda.Dedicated toSts. ThrasillaandEmiliana.

[414]Bourne in Brand’s Antiquities.[415]Bib. Reg. 16. E. VIII.[416]Gascoigne and Anjou, being at this time under the dominion of the English sovereigns, were not regarded as part of France.[417]Harl. Coll. 5346.[418]Leland, Collect. vol. iv. p. 237.[419]Biog. Hist. Engl. ed. 1804, vol. iv. p. 356.[420]Here the master or mistress of the house was called on by name.[421]Lounger’s Com. Place Book.

[414]Bourne in Brand’s Antiquities.

[415]Bib. Reg. 16. E. VIII.

[416]Gascoigne and Anjou, being at this time under the dominion of the English sovereigns, were not regarded as part of France.

[417]Harl. Coll. 5346.

[418]Leland, Collect. vol. iv. p. 237.

[419]Biog. Hist. Engl. ed. 1804, vol. iv. p. 356.

[420]Here the master or mistress of the house was called on by name.

[421]Lounger’s Com. Place Book.

The Nativity of Christ, orChristmas-day.St. Anastasia,A. D.304. AnotherSt. Anastasia.St. Eugenia,A. D.257.

The festival of the nativity was anciently kept by different churches in April, May, and in this month. It is now kept on this day by every established church of christian denomination; and is a holiday all over England, observed by the suspension of all public and private business, and the congregating of friends and relations for “comfort and joy.”

Our countryman, Barnaby Googe, from the Latin of Naogeorgus, gives us some lines descriptive of the old festival:—

Then comes the day wherein the Lorde did bring his birth to passe;Whereas at midnight up they rise, and every man to Masse.This time so holy counted is, that divers earnestlyDo thinke the waters all to wine are chaunged sodainly;In that same houre that Christ himselfe was borne, and came to light,And unto water streight againe transformde and altred quight.There are beside that mindfully the money still do watch,That first to aultar commes, which then they privily do snatch.The priestes, least other should it have, takes oft the same away,Whereby they thinke throughout the yeare to have good lucke in play,And not to lose: then straight at game till day-light do they strive,To make some present proofe how well their hallowde pence wil thrive.Three Masses every priest doth sing, upon that solemne day,With offrings unto every one, that so the more may play.This done, a woodden child in clowtes is on the aultar set,About the which both boyes and gyrles do daunce and trymly jet,And Carrols sing in prayse of Christ, and, for to helpe them heare,The organs aunswere every verse with sweete and solemne cheare.The priestes doe rore aloude; and round about the parentes standeTo see the sport, and with their voyce do helpe them and their hande.

The commemorations in our own times vary from the account in these versifyings. An accurate observer, with a hand powerful to seize, and a hand skilled in preserving manners, offers us a beautiful sketch of Christmas-tide in the “New Monthly Magazine,” of December 1, 1825. Foremost in his picture is the most estimable, because the most useful and ornamental character in society,—a good parish priest.

“Our pastor was told one day, in argument, that the interests of christianity were opposed to universal enlightenment. I shall not easily forget his answer. ‘The interests of christianity,’ said he, ‘are the same as the interests of society. It has no other meaning. Christianity is that very enlightenment you speak of. Let any man find out that thing, whatever it be, which is to perform the very greatest good to society, even to its own apparent detriment, and I saythatis christianity, or I know not the spirit of its founder. What?’ continued he, ‘shall we take christianity for an arithmetical puzzle, or a contradiction in terms, or the bitterness of a bad argument, or the interests, real or supposed, of any particular set of men? God forbid. I wish to speak with reverence (this conclusion struck me very much)—I wish to speak with reverence of whatever has taken place in the order of Providence. I wish to think the best of the very evils that have happened; that a good has been got out of them; perhaps that they were even necessary to the good. But when once we have attained better means, and the others are dreaded by the benevolent, and scorned by the wise, then is the time come for throwing open the doors to all kindliness and to all knowledge, and the end of christianity is attained in the reign of beneficence.’

“In this spirit our pastor preaches to us always, but most particularly onChristmas-day; when he takes occasion to enlarge on the character and views of the divine person who is supposed then to have been born, and sends us home more than usually rejoicing. On the north side of the church at M. are a great many holly-trees. It is from these that our dining and bed-rooms are furnished with boughs. Families take it by turns to entertain their friends. They meet early; the beef and pudding are noble; the mince-pies—peculiar; the nuts half play-things and half-eatables; the oranges as cold and acid as they ought to be, furnishing us with a superfluity which we can afford to laugh at; the cakes indestructible; the wassail bowls generous, old English, huge, demanding ladles, threatening overflow as they come in, solid with roasted apples when set down. Towards bed-time you hear of elder-wine, and not seldom of punch. At the manor-house it is pretty much the same as elsewhere. Girls, although they be ladies, are kissed under the misletoe. If any family among us happen to have hit upon an exquisite brewing, they send some of it round about, the squire’s house included; and he does the same by the rest. Riddles, hot-cockles, forfeits, music, dances sudden and not to be suppressed, prevail among great and small; and from two o’clock in the day to midnight, M. looks like a deserted place out of doors, but is full of life and merriment within. Playing at knights and ladies last year, a jade of a charming creature must needs send me out for a piece of ice to put in her wine. It was evening and a hard frost. I shall never forget the cold, cutting, dreary, dead look of every thing out of doors, with a wind through thewiry trees, and the snow on the ground, contrasted with the sudden return to warmth, light, and joviality.

“I remember we had a discussion that time, as to what was the great point and crowning glory of Christmas. Many were for mince-pie; some for the beef and plum-pudding; more for the wassail-bowl; a maiden lady timidly said, the misletoe; but we agreed at last, that although all these were prodigious, and some of them exclusively belonging to the season, thefirewas the great indispensable. Upon which we all turned our faces towards it, and began warming our already scorched hands. A great blazing fire, too big, is the visible heart and soul of Christmas. You may do without beef and plum-pudding; even the absence of mince-pie may be tolerated; there must be a bowl, poetically speaking, but it need not be absolutely wassail. The bowl may give place to the bottle. But a huge, heaped-up,overheaped-up, all-attracting fire, with a semicircle of faces about it, is not to be denied us. It is thelarand genius of the meeting; the proof positive of the season; the representative of all our warm emotions and bright thoughts; the glorious eye of the room; the inciter to mirth, yet the retainer of order; the amalgamater of the age and sex; the universal relish. Tastes may differ even on a mince-pie; but who gainsays a fire? The absence of other luxuries still leaves you in possession of that; but

‘Who can hold a fire in his handWith thinking on the frostiest twelfth-cake?’

“Let me have a dinner of some sort, no matter what, and then give me my fire, and my friends, the humblest glass of wine, and a few penn’orths of chesnuts, and I will still make out my Christmas. What! Have we not Burgundy in our blood? Have we not joke, laughter, repartee, bright eyes, comedies of other people, and comedies of our own; songs, memories, hopes? [An organ strikes up in the street at this word, as if to answer me in the affirmative. Right, thou old spirit of harmony, wandering about in that ark of thine, and touching the public ear with sweetness and an abstraction! Let the multitude bustle on, but not unarrested by thee and by others, and not unreminded of the happiness of renewing a wise childhood.] As to our old friends the chesnuts, if any body wants an excuse to his dignity for roasting them, let him take the authority of Milton. ‘Who now,’ says he, lamenting the loss of his friend Deodati,—‘who now will help to soothe my cares for me, and make the long night seem short with his conversation; while the roasting pear hisses tenderly on the fire, and the nuts burst away with a noise,—

‘And out of doors a washing storm o’erwhelmsNature pitch-dark, and rides the thundering elms?’”

From a newspaper of 1823, (the name unfortunately not noted at the time, and not immediately ascertainable), it appears that Christmas in France is another thing from Christmas in England.

“The habits and customs of the Parisians vary much from those of our own metropolis at all times, but at no time more than at this festive season. An Englishman in Paris, who had been for some time without referring to his almanac, would not know Christmas-day from another by the appearance of the capital. It is, indeed, set down as ajour de fetein the calendar, but all the ordinary business of life is transacted; the streets are, as usual, crowded with waggons and coaches; the shops, with few exceptions, are open, although on otherfêtedays the order for closing them is rigorously enforced, and if not attended to, a fine levied; and at the churches nothing extraordinary is going forward. All this is surprising in a catholic country, which professes to pay such attention to the outward rites of religion.

“OnChristmas-eveindeed, there is some bustle for a midnight mass, to which immense numbers flock, as the priests, on this occasion, get up a showy spectacle which rivals the theatres. The altars are dressed with flowers, and the churches decorated profusely; but there is little in all this to please men who have been accustomed to the John Bull mode of spending the evening. The good English habit of meeting together to forgive offences and injuries, and to cement reconciliations, is here unknown. The French listen to the church music, and to the singing of their choirs, which is generally excellent, but they know nothing of the origin of the dayand of the duties which it imposes. The English residents in Paris, however, do not forget our mode of celebrating this day. Acts of charity from the rich to the needy, religious attendance at church, and a full observance of hospitable rites, are there witnessed. Paris furnishes all the requisites for a good pudding, and the turkeys are excellent, though the beef is not to be displayed as prize production.

“OnChristmas-dayall the English cooks in Paris are in full business. The queen of cooks, however, is Harriet Dunn, of the Boulevard.—As sir Astley Cooper among the cutters of limbs, and d’Egville among the cutters of capers, so is Harriet Dunn among the professors of one of the most necessary, and in its results, most gratifying professions of existence; her services are secured beforehand by special retainers; and happy is the peer who can point to his pudding, and declare that it is of the true “Dunn” composition. Her fame has even extended to the provinces. For some time previous to Christmas-day, she forwards puddings in cases to all parts of the country, ready cooked and fit for the table, after the necessary warming. All this is, of course, for the English. No prejudice can be stronger than that of the French against plum-pudding—a Frenchman will dress like an Englishman, swear like an Englishman, and get drunk like an Englishman; but if you would offend him for ever, compel him to eat plum-pudding. A few of the leading restaurateurs, wishing to appear extraordinary, haveplomb-poodingupon their cartes, but in no instance is it ever ordered by a Frenchman. Every body has heard the story of St. Louis—Henri Quatre, or whoever else it might be, who, wishing to regale the English ambassador on Christmas-day with a plum-pudding, procured an excellent recipe for making one, which he gave to his cook, with strict injunctions that it should be prepared with due attention to all the particulars. The weight of the ingredients, the size of the copper, the quantity of water, the duration of time, every thing was attended to except one trifle—the king forgot the cloth, and the pudding was served up like so much soup, in immense tureens, to the surprise of the ambassador, who was, however, too well bred to express his astonishment. Louis XVIII., either to show his contempt of the prejudices of his countrymen, or to keep up a custom which suits his palate, has always an enormous pudding on Christmas-day, the remains of which, when it leaves the table, he requires to be eaten by the servants,bon gré, mauvais gré; but in this instance even the commands of sovereignty are disregarded, except by the numerous English in his service, consisting of several valets, grooms, coachmen, &c., besides a great number of ladies’ maids, in the service of the duchesses of Angouleme and Berri, who very frequently partake of the dainties of the king’s table.”

The following verses from the original in old Norman French, are said to be the first drinking song composed in England. They seem to be an abridged version of the Christmas carol in Anglo-Norman French, translated by Mr Douce:—

Lordlings, from a distant home,To seek old Christmas are we come,Who loves our minstrelsy—And here, unless report mis-say,The greybeard dwells; and on this dayKeeps yearly wassel, ever gayWith festive mirth and glee.Lordlings, list, for we tell you true,Christmas loves the jolly crew,That cloudy care defy:His liberal board is deftly spread,With manchet loaves and wastel bread,His guests with fish and flesh are led,Nor lack the stately pye.Lordlings, it is our host’s command,And Christmas joins him hand in hand,To drain the brimming bowl;And I’ll be foremost to obey—Then pledge me, sirs, and drink awayFor Christmas revels here to-dayAnd sways without controul.Nowwasselto you all! and merry may you be,And foul that wight befall, whodrinksnothealthto me.

Lordlings, list, for we tell you true,Christmas loves the jolly crew,That cloudy care defy:His liberal board is deftly spread,With manchet loaves and wastel bread,His guests with fish and flesh are led,Nor lack the stately pye.

Lordlings, it is our host’s command,And Christmas joins him hand in hand,To drain the brimming bowl;And I’ll be foremost to obey—Then pledge me, sirs, and drink awayFor Christmas revels here to-dayAnd sways without controul.Nowwasselto you all! and merry may you be,And foul that wight befall, whodrinksnothealthto me.

There were anciently great doings in the halls of the inns of court at Christmas time. At the Inner-Temple early in the morning, the gentlemen of the inn went to church, and after the service they did then “presently repair into the hall to breakfast with brawn, mustard, and malmsey.” At the first course at dinner, was “served in, a fair and largeBore’s headupon a silver platter with minstralsye.”[422]

With our forefathers a soused boar’s head was borne to the principal table in the hall with great state and solemnity, as the first dish on Christmas-day.

In the book of “Christmasse Carolles” printed by Wynkyn de Worde in 1521, are thewordssung at this “chefe servyce,” or on bringing in this the boar’s head, with great ceremony, as the first dish: it is in the next column.

ACarolbryngyng in the Boar’s HeadCaput Apri deferoReddens laudes Domino.The bore’s head in hande bring I,With garlandes gay and rosemary,I pray you all synge merely,Qui estis in convivio.The bore’s head, I understande,Is the chefe servyce in this landeLoke wherever it be fandeServite cum Cantico.Be gladde, lords, both more and lasse,For this hath ordayned our stewardeTo chere you all this Christmasse,The bore’s head with mustard.

ACarolbryngyng in the Boar’s Head

Caput Apri deferoReddens laudes Domino.The bore’s head in hande bring I,With garlandes gay and rosemary,I pray you all synge merely,Qui estis in convivio.The bore’s head, I understande,Is the chefe servyce in this landeLoke wherever it be fandeServite cum Cantico.Be gladde, lords, both more and lasse,For this hath ordayned our stewardeTo chere you all this Christmasse,The bore’s head with mustard.

Caput Apri deferoReddens laudes Domino.

The bore’s head in hande bring I,With garlandes gay and rosemary,I pray you all synge merely,Qui estis in convivio.

The bore’s head, I understande,Is the chefe servyce in this landeLoke wherever it be fandeServite cum Cantico.

Be gladde, lords, both more and lasse,For this hath ordayned our stewardeTo chere you all this Christmasse,The bore’s head with mustard.

The Boar’s Head at Christmas.“With garlandes gay and rosemary.”

The Boar’s Head at Christmas.

“With garlandes gay and rosemary.”

Warton says, “This carol, yet with many innovations, is retained at Queen’s-college, in Oxford.” It is still sung in that college, somewhat altered, “to the common chant of the prose version of the psalms in cathedrals;” so, however, the rev. Mr. Dibdin says, as mentioned before.

Mr. Brand thinks it probable that Chaucer alluded to the custom of bearing the boar’s head, in the following passage of the “Franklein’s Tale:”—

“Janus sitteth by the fire with double berd,And he drinketh of his bugle-horne the wine,Before him standeth thebrawne of the tusked swine.”

In “The Wonderful Yeare, 1603,” Dekker speaks of persons apprehensive of catching the plague, and says, “they went (most bitterly) miching and muffled up and down, with rue and wormwood stuft into their eares and nosthrils, looking like so manybores headsstuck with branches of rosemary, to be served in for brawne at Christmas.”

Holinshed says, that in 1170, upon the young prince’s coronation, king Henry II. “served his son at the table as sewer, bringing up thebore’s head, with trumpets before it, according to the manner.”[423]

Anengravingfrom a clever drawing by Rowlandson, in the possession of the editor of theEvery-Day Book, may gracefully close this article.

A Boor’s Head.

“Civil as an orange.”Shakspeare.

“Civil as an orange.”

Shakspeare.

There are some just observations on the old mode of passing this season, in “The World,” a periodical paper of literary pleasantries. “Our ancestors considered Christmas in the double light of a holy commemoration, and a cheerful festival, and accordingly distinguished it by devotion, by vacation from business, by merriment, and hospitality. They seemed eagerly bent to make themselves, and every one about them happy; with what punctual zeal did they wish one another amerry Christmas!and what an omission would it have been thought, to have concluded a letter without thecompliments of the season! The great hall resounded with the tumultuous joys of servants and tenants, and the gambols they played served as amusement to the lord of the manor, and his family, who, by encouraging every art conducive to mirth and entertainment, endeavoured to soften the rigour of the season, and mitigate the influence of winter.”

The country squire of three hundred a year, an independent gentleman in the reign of queen Anne, is described as having “never played at cards but at Christmas, when the family pack was produced from the mantle-piece.” “His chief drink the year round was generally ale, except at this season, the 5th of November, or some other gala days, when he would make a bowl of strong brandy punch, garnished with a toast and nutmeg. In the corner of his hall, by the fire-side, stood a large wooden two-armed chair, with a cushion, and within the chimney corner were a couple of seats. Here, at Christmas, he entertained his tenants, assembled round a glowing fire, made of the roots of trees, and other great logs, and told and heard the traditionary tales of the village, respecting ghosts and witches, till fear made them afraid to move. In the meantime the jorum of ale was in continual circulation.”[424]

It is remarked, in the “Literary Pocket Book,” that now, Christmas-day only, or at most a day or two, are kept by people in general; the rest are school holidays; “But, formerly, there was nothing but a run of merry days from Christmas-eve to Candlemas, and the first twelve in particular were full of triumph and hospitality. We have seen but too well the cause of this degeneracy. What has saddened our summer-time has saddened our winter. What has taken us from our fields and May-flowers, and suffered them to smile and die alone, as if they were made for nothing else, has contradicted our flowing cups at Christmas. The middle classes make it a sorry business of a pudding or so extra, and a game at cards. The rich invite their friends to their country houses, but do little there but gossip and gamble; and the poor are either left out entirely, or presented with a few clothes and eatables that make up a wretched substitute for the long and hospitable intercourse of old. All this is so much the worse, inasmuch as christianity had a special eye to those feelings which should remind us of the equal rights of all; and the greatest beauty in it is not merely its charity, which we contrive to swallow up in faith, but its being alive to thesentimentof charity, which is still more opposed to these proud distances and formal dolings out.—The same spirit that vindicated the pouring of rich ointment on his feet, (because it was a homage paid to sentiment in his person,) knew how to bless the gift of a cup of water. Every face which you contribute to set sparkling at Christmas is a reflection of that goodness of nature which generosity helps to uncloud, as the windows reflect the lustre of the sunny heavens. Every holly bough and lump of berries with which you adorn your houses is a piece of natural piety as well as beauty, and will enable you to relish the green world of which you show yourselves not forgetful. Every wassail bowl which you set flowing without drunkenness, every harmless pleasure, every innocent mirth however mirthful, every forgetfulness even of serious things, when they are only swallowed up in the kindness and joy with which it is the end of wisdom to produce, is

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