December 26.

‘Wisest, virtuousest, discreetest, best;’

and Milton’s Eve, who suggested those epithets to her husband, would have thought so too, if we are to judge by the poet’s account of her hospitality.”

ANCIENT CHRISTMAS.And well our christian sires of oldLoved, when the year its course had roll’dAnd brought blithe Christmas back again,With all its hospitable train.Domestic and religious riteGave honour to the holy night:On Christmas-eve the bells were rung;On Christmas-eve the mass was sung;That only night, in all the year,Saw the stoled priest the chalice rear.The damsel donn’d her kirtle sheen;The hall was dress’d with holly green;Forth to the wood did merry men go,To gather in the misletoe.Then open wide the baron’s hall,To vassal, tenant, serf, and all;Power laid his rod of rule aside,And ceremony doff’d his pride.The heir, with roses in his shoes,That night might village partner choose:The lord, underogating, shareThe vulgar game of “post and pair.”All hailed, with uncontrouled delight,And general voice, the happy night,That to the cottage, as the crown,Brought tidings of salvation down.The fire, with well-dried logs supply’d,Went, roaring, up the chimney wide;The huge hall table’s oaken face,Scrubb’d till it shone, the day to grace,Bore then upon its massive boardNo mark to part the squire and lord.Then was brought in the lusty brawn,By old blue-coated serving man;Then the grim boar’s-head frown’d on high,Crested with bays and rosemary.Well can the green-garb’d ranger tell,How, when, and where the monster fell,What dogs before his death he tore,And all the baiting of the boar;While round the merry wassel bowl,Garnish’d with ribbons, blithe did trowl.There the huge sirloin reek’d; hard byPlum-porridge stood, and Christmas pie;Nor fail’d old Scotland to produce,At such high tide her savoury goose.Then came the merry maskers in,And carols roar’d with blithsome din;If unmelodious was the song,It was a hearty note and strong.Who lists may in their mumming seeTraces of ancient mystery;White shirts supply the masquerade,And smutted cheeks the visor made;But, oh! what masquers, richly dight,Can boast of bosoms half so light!England was merry England whenOld Christmas brought his sports again.’Twas Christmas broach’d the mightiest ale;’Twas Christmas told the merriest tale;A Christmas gambol oft would cheerA poor man’s heart through half the year.Sir Walter Scott.

ANCIENT CHRISTMAS.

And well our christian sires of oldLoved, when the year its course had roll’dAnd brought blithe Christmas back again,With all its hospitable train.Domestic and religious riteGave honour to the holy night:On Christmas-eve the bells were rung;On Christmas-eve the mass was sung;That only night, in all the year,Saw the stoled priest the chalice rear.The damsel donn’d her kirtle sheen;The hall was dress’d with holly green;Forth to the wood did merry men go,To gather in the misletoe.Then open wide the baron’s hall,To vassal, tenant, serf, and all;Power laid his rod of rule aside,And ceremony doff’d his pride.The heir, with roses in his shoes,That night might village partner choose:The lord, underogating, shareThe vulgar game of “post and pair.”All hailed, with uncontrouled delight,And general voice, the happy night,That to the cottage, as the crown,Brought tidings of salvation down.The fire, with well-dried logs supply’d,Went, roaring, up the chimney wide;The huge hall table’s oaken face,Scrubb’d till it shone, the day to grace,Bore then upon its massive boardNo mark to part the squire and lord.Then was brought in the lusty brawn,By old blue-coated serving man;Then the grim boar’s-head frown’d on high,Crested with bays and rosemary.Well can the green-garb’d ranger tell,How, when, and where the monster fell,What dogs before his death he tore,And all the baiting of the boar;While round the merry wassel bowl,Garnish’d with ribbons, blithe did trowl.There the huge sirloin reek’d; hard byPlum-porridge stood, and Christmas pie;Nor fail’d old Scotland to produce,At such high tide her savoury goose.Then came the merry maskers in,And carols roar’d with blithsome din;If unmelodious was the song,It was a hearty note and strong.Who lists may in their mumming seeTraces of ancient mystery;White shirts supply the masquerade,And smutted cheeks the visor made;But, oh! what masquers, richly dight,Can boast of bosoms half so light!England was merry England whenOld Christmas brought his sports again.’Twas Christmas broach’d the mightiest ale;’Twas Christmas told the merriest tale;A Christmas gambol oft would cheerA poor man’s heart through half the year.

The fire, with well-dried logs supply’d,Went, roaring, up the chimney wide;The huge hall table’s oaken face,Scrubb’d till it shone, the day to grace,Bore then upon its massive boardNo mark to part the squire and lord.Then was brought in the lusty brawn,By old blue-coated serving man;Then the grim boar’s-head frown’d on high,Crested with bays and rosemary.Well can the green-garb’d ranger tell,How, when, and where the monster fell,What dogs before his death he tore,And all the baiting of the boar;While round the merry wassel bowl,Garnish’d with ribbons, blithe did trowl.There the huge sirloin reek’d; hard byPlum-porridge stood, and Christmas pie;Nor fail’d old Scotland to produce,At such high tide her savoury goose.Then came the merry maskers in,And carols roar’d with blithsome din;If unmelodious was the song,It was a hearty note and strong.Who lists may in their mumming seeTraces of ancient mystery;White shirts supply the masquerade,And smutted cheeks the visor made;But, oh! what masquers, richly dight,Can boast of bosoms half so light!England was merry England whenOld Christmas brought his sports again.’Twas Christmas broach’d the mightiest ale;’Twas Christmas told the merriest tale;A Christmas gambol oft would cheerA poor man’s heart through half the year.

Sir Walter Scott.

The musicians who play by night in the streets at Christmas are calledwaits. It has been presumed, thatwaitsin very ancient times meant watchmen; they were minstrels at first attached to the king’s court, who sounded the watch every night, and paraded the streets during winter to prevent depredations.

In London, thewaitsare remains of the musicians attached to the corporation of the city under that denomination. They cheer the hours of the long nights before Christmas with instrumental music. To denote that they were “the lord mayor’s music,” they anciently wore acognizance, or badge on the arm, similar to that represented in theengravingbelow, from a picture by A. Bloemart.

The Piper.

He blows his bagpipe soft or strong,Or high or low, to hymn or song,Or shrill lament, or solemn groan,Or dance, or reel, or sad o-hone!Or ballad gay, or well-a-day—To all he gives due melody.

Preparatory to Christmas, the bellman of every parish in London rings his bell at dead midnight, that his “worthy masters and mistresses” may listen, and be assured by his vocal intonation that he is reciting “a copy of verses” in praise of their several virtues, especially their liberality; and, when the festival is over, he calls with his bell, and hopes he shall be “remembered.”

At the good town of Bungay, in Suffolk, the “watch” of the year 1823 circulated the following, headed by a representation of a moiety of their dual body:—

YOUR pardon, Gentles, while we thus implore,In strains not lessawakeningthan of yore,Those smiles we deem our best reward to catch,And for the which we’ve long been on theWatch;Well pleas’d if we that recompence obtain,Which we have ta’en so manystepsto gain.Think of the perils in ourcalling past,The chilling coldness of the midnight blast,The beating rain, the swiftly-driving snow,The various ills that we must undergo,Who roam, the glow-worms of the human race,The living Jack-a-lanthorns of the place.’Tis said by some, perchance, to mock our toil,That we are prone to “waste the midnight oil!”And that, a task thus idle to pursue,Would be an idlewaste of moneytoo!How hard, that we thedarkdesigns should rueOf those who’d fain makelightof all we do!But such the fate which oft doth merit greet,And which now drives us fairly off our beat!Thus it appears from this our dismal plight,Thatsomelovedarkness, rather than thelight.Henceforth let riot and disorder reign,With all the ills that follow in their train;LetTomsandJerrysunmolested brawl,(NoCharlieshave they now tofloorwithal,)And “rogues and vagabonds” infest the Town,For cheaper ’tis tosavethancrackacrown!To brighter scenes we now direct our view—And first, fair Ladies, let us turn to you.May eachNew Yearnew joys, new pleasures bring,And Life for you be one delightful spring!No summer’s sun annoy with fev’rish rays,No winter chill the evening of your days!To you, kind Sirs, we next our tribute pay:May smiles and sunshine greet you on your way!If married, calm and peaceful be your lives;If single, may you forthwith get you wives!Thus, whether Male or Female, Old or Young,Or Wed or Single, be this burden sung:Long may you live to hear, and we to call,A Happy Christmas and New Year to all!J. and R. Childs, Printers, Bungay.

May eachNew Yearnew joys, new pleasures bring,And Life for you be one delightful spring!No summer’s sun annoy with fev’rish rays,No winter chill the evening of your days!To you, kind Sirs, we next our tribute pay:May smiles and sunshine greet you on your way!If married, calm and peaceful be your lives;If single, may you forthwith get you wives!Thus, whether Male or Female, Old or Young,Or Wed or Single, be this burden sung:Long may you live to hear, and we to call,A Happy Christmas and New Year to all!

J. and R. Childs, Printers, Bungay.

Previous to Christmas 1825, a trio of foreign minstrels appeared in London, ushering the season with melody from instruments seldom performed on in the streets. These were Genoese with their guitars. Musicians of this order are common in Naples and all over Italy; at the carnival time they are fully employed, and at other periods are hired to assist in those serenades whereof English ladies hear nothing, unless they travel, save by the reports of those who publish accounts of their adventures. The three now spoken of took up their abode in London, at the King’s-head public-house, in Leather-lane, from whence ever and anon, to wit, daily, they sallied forth to “discourse most excellent music.” They are represented in theengravingbelow, from a sketch hastily taken by a gentleman who was of a dinner party, by whom they were called into the house of a street in the suburbs.

Italian Minstrels in London,AT CHRISTMAS, 1825.

Ranged in a row, with guitars slungBefore them thus, they played and sung:Their instruments and choral voiceDid each glad guest still more rejoice;And each guest wish’d again to hearTheir wild guitars and voices clear.

There was much of character in the men themselves. One was tall, and had that kind of face which distinguishes the Italian character; his complexion a clear pale cream colour, with dark eyes, black hair, and a manner peculiarly solemn: the second was likewise tall, and of more cheerful feature; but the third was a short thick-set man, with an Oxberry countenance of rich waggery, heightened by large whiskers: this was the humorist. With a bit of cherry-tree held between the finger and thumb, they rapidly twirled the wires in accompaniment of various airs, which they sung with unusual feeling and skill. They were acquainted with every foreign tune that was called for. That Italian minstrels of this class should venture here for the purpose of perambulating our streets, is evidence that the refinement in our popular manners is known in the “land of song,” and they will bear testimony to it from the fact that their performances are chiefly in the public-houses of the metropolis, from whence thirty years ago such aspirants to entertain John Bull would have been expelled with expressions of abhorrence.

To the accounts of Christmas keeping in old times, old George Wither adds amusing particulars in rhime.

Christmas.So now is come our joyfulst feast;Let every man be jolly;Each room with ivy leaves is drest,And every post with holly.Though some churls at our mirth repine,Round your foreheads garlands twine;Drown sorrow in a cup of wine,And let us all be merry.Now all our neighbours’ chimnies smoke,And Christmas blocks are burning;Their ovens they with baked meat choke,And all their spits are turning.Without the door let sorrow lye;And if for cold it hap to die,We’ll bury’t in a Christmas pie,And evermore be merry.Now every lad is wond’rous trim,And no man minds his labour;Our lasses have provided themA bagpipe and a tabor;Young men and maids, and girls and boys,Give life to one another’s joys;And you anon shall by their noisePerceive that they are merry.Rank misers now do sparing shun;Their hall of music soundeth;And dogs thence with whole shoulders run,So all things there aboundeth.The country folks, themselves advance,With crowdy-muttons out of France;And Jack shall pipe and Jyll shall dance,And all the town be merry.Ned Squash hath fetcht his bands from pawn,And all his best apparel;Brisk Nell hath bought a ruff of lawnWith dropping of the barrel.And those that hardly all the yearHad bread to eat, or rags to wear,Will have both clothes and dainty fare,And all the day be merry.Now poor men to the justicesWith capons make their errants;And if they hap to fail of these,They plague them with their warrants:But now they feed them with good cheer,And what they want, they take in beer,For Christmas comes but once a year,And then they shall be merry.Good farmers in the country nurseThe poor, that else were undone;Some landlords spend their money worse,On lust and pride at London.There the roysters they do play,Drab and dice their lands away,Which may be ours another day,And therefore let’s be merry.The client now his suit forbears,The prisoner’s heart is eased;The debtor drinks away his cares,And for the time is pleased.Though others’ purses be more fat,Why should we pine, or grieve at that?Hang sorrow! care will kill a cat,And therefore let’s be merry.Hark! now the wags abroad do call,Each other forth to rambling;Anon you’ll see them in the hall,For nuts and apples scrambling.Hark! how the roofs with laughter sound,Anon they’ll think the house goes round,For they the cellar’s depth have found,And there they will be merry.The wenches with their wassel bowlsAbout the streets are singing;The boys are come to catch the owls,The wild mare in it bringing.Our kitchen boy hath broke his box,And to the dealing of the ox,Our honest neighbours come by flocks,And here they will be merry.Now kings and queens poor sheepcotes haveAnd mute with every body;The honest now may play the knave,And wise men play the noddy.Some youths will now a mumming go,Some others play at Rowland-bo,And twenty other game boys mo,Because they will be merry.Then, wherefore, in these merry daies,Should we, I pray, be duller?No, let us sing some roundelayes,To make our mirth the fuller.And, while we thus inspired sing,Let all the streets with echoes ring;Woods and hills, and every thing,Bear witness we are merry.

Christmas.

So now is come our joyfulst feast;Let every man be jolly;Each room with ivy leaves is drest,And every post with holly.Though some churls at our mirth repine,Round your foreheads garlands twine;Drown sorrow in a cup of wine,And let us all be merry.Now all our neighbours’ chimnies smoke,And Christmas blocks are burning;Their ovens they with baked meat choke,And all their spits are turning.Without the door let sorrow lye;And if for cold it hap to die,We’ll bury’t in a Christmas pie,And evermore be merry.Now every lad is wond’rous trim,And no man minds his labour;Our lasses have provided themA bagpipe and a tabor;Young men and maids, and girls and boys,Give life to one another’s joys;And you anon shall by their noisePerceive that they are merry.Rank misers now do sparing shun;Their hall of music soundeth;And dogs thence with whole shoulders run,So all things there aboundeth.The country folks, themselves advance,With crowdy-muttons out of France;And Jack shall pipe and Jyll shall dance,And all the town be merry.Ned Squash hath fetcht his bands from pawn,And all his best apparel;Brisk Nell hath bought a ruff of lawnWith dropping of the barrel.And those that hardly all the yearHad bread to eat, or rags to wear,Will have both clothes and dainty fare,And all the day be merry.Now poor men to the justicesWith capons make their errants;And if they hap to fail of these,They plague them with their warrants:But now they feed them with good cheer,And what they want, they take in beer,For Christmas comes but once a year,And then they shall be merry.Good farmers in the country nurseThe poor, that else were undone;Some landlords spend their money worse,On lust and pride at London.There the roysters they do play,Drab and dice their lands away,Which may be ours another day,And therefore let’s be merry.The client now his suit forbears,The prisoner’s heart is eased;The debtor drinks away his cares,And for the time is pleased.Though others’ purses be more fat,Why should we pine, or grieve at that?Hang sorrow! care will kill a cat,And therefore let’s be merry.Hark! now the wags abroad do call,Each other forth to rambling;Anon you’ll see them in the hall,For nuts and apples scrambling.Hark! how the roofs with laughter sound,Anon they’ll think the house goes round,For they the cellar’s depth have found,And there they will be merry.The wenches with their wassel bowlsAbout the streets are singing;The boys are come to catch the owls,The wild mare in it bringing.Our kitchen boy hath broke his box,And to the dealing of the ox,Our honest neighbours come by flocks,And here they will be merry.Now kings and queens poor sheepcotes haveAnd mute with every body;The honest now may play the knave,And wise men play the noddy.Some youths will now a mumming go,Some others play at Rowland-bo,And twenty other game boys mo,Because they will be merry.Then, wherefore, in these merry daies,Should we, I pray, be duller?No, let us sing some roundelayes,To make our mirth the fuller.And, while we thus inspired sing,Let all the streets with echoes ring;Woods and hills, and every thing,Bear witness we are merry.

Now all our neighbours’ chimnies smoke,And Christmas blocks are burning;Their ovens they with baked meat choke,And all their spits are turning.Without the door let sorrow lye;And if for cold it hap to die,We’ll bury’t in a Christmas pie,And evermore be merry.

Now every lad is wond’rous trim,And no man minds his labour;Our lasses have provided themA bagpipe and a tabor;Young men and maids, and girls and boys,Give life to one another’s joys;And you anon shall by their noisePerceive that they are merry.

Rank misers now do sparing shun;Their hall of music soundeth;And dogs thence with whole shoulders run,So all things there aboundeth.The country folks, themselves advance,With crowdy-muttons out of France;And Jack shall pipe and Jyll shall dance,And all the town be merry.

Ned Squash hath fetcht his bands from pawn,And all his best apparel;Brisk Nell hath bought a ruff of lawnWith dropping of the barrel.And those that hardly all the yearHad bread to eat, or rags to wear,Will have both clothes and dainty fare,And all the day be merry.

Now poor men to the justicesWith capons make their errants;And if they hap to fail of these,They plague them with their warrants:But now they feed them with good cheer,And what they want, they take in beer,For Christmas comes but once a year,And then they shall be merry.

Good farmers in the country nurseThe poor, that else were undone;Some landlords spend their money worse,On lust and pride at London.There the roysters they do play,Drab and dice their lands away,Which may be ours another day,And therefore let’s be merry.

The client now his suit forbears,The prisoner’s heart is eased;The debtor drinks away his cares,And for the time is pleased.Though others’ purses be more fat,Why should we pine, or grieve at that?Hang sorrow! care will kill a cat,And therefore let’s be merry.

Hark! now the wags abroad do call,Each other forth to rambling;Anon you’ll see them in the hall,For nuts and apples scrambling.Hark! how the roofs with laughter sound,Anon they’ll think the house goes round,For they the cellar’s depth have found,And there they will be merry.

The wenches with their wassel bowlsAbout the streets are singing;The boys are come to catch the owls,The wild mare in it bringing.Our kitchen boy hath broke his box,And to the dealing of the ox,Our honest neighbours come by flocks,And here they will be merry.

Now kings and queens poor sheepcotes haveAnd mute with every body;The honest now may play the knave,And wise men play the noddy.Some youths will now a mumming go,Some others play at Rowland-bo,And twenty other game boys mo,Because they will be merry.

Then, wherefore, in these merry daies,Should we, I pray, be duller?No, let us sing some roundelayes,To make our mirth the fuller.And, while we thus inspired sing,Let all the streets with echoes ring;Woods and hills, and every thing,Bear witness we are merry.

From Mr. Grant’s “Popular Superstitions of the Highlands,” we gather the following account:—

As soon as the brightening glow of the eastern sky warns the anxious housemaid of the approach of Christmas-day, she rises full of anxiety at the prospect of her morning labours. The meal, which was steeped in thesowans-bowiea fortnight ago, to make thePrechdachdan sour, orsour scones, is the first object of her attention. The gridiron is put on the fire, and the sour scones are soon followed by hard cakes, soft cakes, buttered cakes, brandered bannocks, and pannich perm. The baking being once over, the sowans pot succeeds the gridiron, full of new sowans, which are to be given to the family, agreeably to custom, this day in their beds. The sowans are boiled into the consistence of molasses, when theLagan-le-vrich, or yeast-bread, to distinguish it from boiled sowans, is ready. It is then poured into as many bickers as there are individuals to partake of it, and presently served to the whole, old and young. It would suit well the pen of a Burns, or the pencil of a Hogarth, to paint the scene which follows. The ambrosial food is despatched in aspiring draughts by the family, who soon give evident proofs of the enlivening effects of theLagan-le-vrich. As soon as each despatches his bicker, he jumps out of bed—the elder branches to examine the ominous signs of the day,[425]and the younger to enter on its amusements. Flocking to the swing, a favourite amusement on this occasion, the youngest of the family get the first “shouder,” and the next oldest to him in regular succession. In order to add the more to the spirit of the exercise, it is a common practice with the person in theswing, and the person appointed to swing him, to enter into a very warm and humorous altercation. As the swinged person approaches the swinger, he exclaims,Ei mi tu chal, “I’ll eat your kail.” To this the swinger replies, with a violent shove,Cha ni u mu chal, “You shan’t eat my kail.” These threats and repulses are sometimes carried to such a height, as to break down or capsize the threatener, which generally puts an end to the quarrel.

As the day advances, those minor amusements are terminated at the report of the gun, or the rattle of the ball-clubs—the gun inviting the marksman to the “Kiavamuchd,” or prize-shooting, and the latter to “Luchd-vouil,” or the ball combatants—both the principal sports of the day. Tired at length of the active amusements of the field, they exchange them for the substantial entertainments of the table. Groaning under the “sonsy haggis,”[426]and many other savoury dainties, unseen for twelve months before, the relish communicated to the company, by the appearance of the festive board, is more easily conceived than described. The dinner once despatched, the flowing bowl succeeds, and the sparkling glass flies to and fro like a weaver’s shuttle. As it continues its rounds, the spirits of the company become the more jovial and happy. Animated by its cheering influence, even old decrepitude no longer feels his habitual pains—the fire of youth is in his eye, as he details to the company the exploits which distinguished him in the days of “auld langsyne;” while the young, with hearts inflamed with “love and glory,” long to mingle in the more lively scenes of mirth, to display their prowess and agility. Leaving the patriarchs to finish those professions of friendship for each other, in which they are so devoutly engaged, the younger part of the company will shape their course to the ball-room, or the card-table, as their individual inclinations suggest; and the remainder of the evening is spent with the greatest pleasure of which human nature is susceptible.

Evergreens at Christmas.WhenRosemaryandBays, the poet’s crown,Are bawl’d in frequent cries through all the town;Then judge the festival of Christmass near,Christmass, the joyous period of the year!Now with brightHollyall the temples strow,WithLawrelgreen, and sacredMisletoe.From ev’ry hedge is pluck’d by eager handsTheHolly branchwith prickly leaves replete,And fraught with berries of a crimson hue;Which, torn asunder from its parent trunk,Is straightway taken to the neighb’ring towns,Where windows, mantels, candlesticks, and shelves,Quarts, pints, decanters, pipkins, basins, jugs,And other articles of household ware,The verdant garb confess.R. J. Thorn.

Evergreens at Christmas.

WhenRosemaryandBays, the poet’s crown,Are bawl’d in frequent cries through all the town;Then judge the festival of Christmass near,Christmass, the joyous period of the year!Now with brightHollyall the temples strow,WithLawrelgreen, and sacredMisletoe.From ev’ry hedge is pluck’d by eager handsTheHolly branchwith prickly leaves replete,And fraught with berries of a crimson hue;Which, torn asunder from its parent trunk,Is straightway taken to the neighb’ring towns,Where windows, mantels, candlesticks, and shelves,Quarts, pints, decanters, pipkins, basins, jugs,And other articles of household ware,The verdant garb confess.

From ev’ry hedge is pluck’d by eager handsTheHolly branchwith prickly leaves replete,And fraught with berries of a crimson hue;Which, torn asunder from its parent trunk,Is straightway taken to the neighb’ring towns,Where windows, mantels, candlesticks, and shelves,Quarts, pints, decanters, pipkins, basins, jugs,And other articles of household ware,The verdant garb confess.

R. J. Thorn.

The old and pleasant custom of decking our houses and churches at Christmas with evergreens is derived from ancient heathen practices. Councils of the church forbad christians to deck their houses with bay leaves and green boughs at the same time with the pagans; but this was after the church had permitted such doings in order to accommodate its ceremonies to those of the old mythology. Where druidism had existed, “the houses were decked with evergreens in December, that the sylvan spirits might repair to them, and remain unnipped with frost and cold winds, until a milder season had renewed the foliage of their darling abodes.”[427]

Polydore Vergil says that, “Trimmyng of the Temples, with hangynges, floures, boughes, and garlondes, was taken of the heathen people, whiche decked their idols and houses with suche array.” In old church calendars Christmas-eve is marked “Templa exornantur.”Churches are decked.

The holly and the ivy still maintain some mastery at this season. At the two universities, the windows of the college chapels are decked with laurel. The old Christmas carol in MS. at the British Museum,quotedatp. 1598, continues in the following words:—

Ivy hath a lybe; she laghtit with the cold,So mot they all hafe that wyth Ivy hold.Nay, Ivy! Nay, hyt, &c.Holy hat berys as red as any Rose,The foster the hunters, kepe hem from the doo.Nay, Ivy! Nay, hyt, &c.Ivy hath berys as black as any slo;Ther com the oule and ete hym as she goo.Nay, Ivy! Nay, hyt, &c.Holy hath byrdys, aful fayre flok,The Nyghtyngale, the Poppyngy, the gayntyl Lavyrok.Nay, Ivy! Nay, hyt, &c.Good Ivy! what byrdys ast thou!Non but the howlet that kreye ‘How! How!’Nay, Ivy! Nay, hyt shall not, &c.

Mr. Brand infers from this, “thathollywas used only to deck the inside of houses at Christmas: while ivy was used not only as a vintner’s sign, but also among the evergreens at funerals.” He also cites from the old tract, “Round about our Coal-fire, or Christmas Entertainments,” that formerly “the rooms were embowered with holly, ivy,cyprus, bays, laurel, and misletoe, and a burning Christmas log in the chimney;” but he remarks, that “in this account thecyprusis quite a new article. Indeed I should as soon have expected to have seen theyewas the cypress used on this joyful occasion.”

Mr. Brand is of opinion that “although Gay mentions themisletoeamong those evergreens that were put up inchurches, it never entered those sacred edifices butby mistake, or ignorance of the sextons; for it was the heathenish and profane plant, as having been of such distinction in the pagan rites of druidism, and it therefore had its place assigned it in kitchens, where it was hung up in great state with its white berries, and whatever female chanced to stand under it, the young man present either had a right or claimed one of saluting her, and of plucking off a berry at each kiss.” He adds “I have made many diligent inquiries after the truth of this. I learnt at Bath that it never came intochurchesthere. An old sexton at Teddington, in Middlesex, informed me that some misletoe was once put up in the church there, but was by the clergyman immediately ordered to be taken away.” He quotes from the “Medallic History of Carausius,” by Stukeley, who speaking of the winter solstice, our Christmas, says: “This was the most respectable festival of our druids called yule-tide; whenmisletoe, which they calledall-heal, was carried in their hands and laid on their altars, as an emblem of the salutiferous advent of Messiah. The misletoe they cut off the trees with their upright hatchets of brass, called celts, put upon the ends of their staffs, which they carried in their hands. Innumerable are these instruments found all over the British Isles. The custom is still preserved in the north, and was lately atYork. On the eve of Christmas-daythey carry misletoe to the high altar of the cathedral and proclaim a public and universal liberty, pardon, and freedom to all sorts of inferior and even wicked people at the gates of the city towards the four quarters of heaven.” This is only a century ago.

In an “Inquiry into the ancient Greek Game, supposed to have been invented by Palamedes,” Mr. Christie speaks of the respect the northern nations entertained for themistletoe, and of theCeltsandGothsbeing distinct in the instance of their equally venerating the misletoe about the time of the year when the sun approached the winter solstice. He adds, “we find by the allusion of Virgil, who comparedthe golden bough in infernis, to themisletoe, that theuse of this plant was not unknown in the religious ceremonies of the ancients, particularly the Greeks, of whose poets he was the acknowledged imitator.”

The cutting of themisletoewas a ceremony of great solemnity with our ancient ancestors. The people went in procession. The bards walked first singing canticles and hymns, a herald preceded three druids with implements for the purpose. Then followed the prince of the druids accompanied by all the people. He mounted the oak, and cutting the misletoe with a golden sickle, presented it to the other druids, who received it with great respect, and on the first day of the year distributed it among the people as a sacred and holy plant, crying, “The misletoe for the new year.” Mr. Archdeacon Nares mentions, “the custom longest preserved was the hanging up of a bush of misletoe in the kitchen or servant’s hall, with thecharmattached to it, that the maid, who was not kissed under it at Christmas, would not be married in that year.” Thisnaturalsuperstition still prevails.

The season offers its

————— customary treat,A mixture strange of suet, currants, meat,Where various tastes combine.Oxford Sausage.

————— customary treat,A mixture strange of suet, currants, meat,Where various tastes combine.

Oxford Sausage.

Yule-dough, ordow, a kind of baby, or little image of paste, was formerly baked at Christmas, and presented by bakers to their customers, “in the same manner as the chandlers gave Christmas candles.” They are calledyule cakesin the county of Durham. Anciently, “at Rome, on the vigil of the nativity,sweetmeatswere presented to the fathers in the Vatican, and all kinds oflittle images(no doubt ofpaste) were to be found at the confectioners’ shops.” Mr. Brand, who mentions these usages, thinks, “there is the greatest probability that we have had from hence both our yule-doughs, plum-porridge, and mince-pies, the latter of which are still in common use at this season. Theyule-doughhas perhaps been intended for an image of the child Jesus, with the Virgin Mary:” he adds, “it is now, if I mistake not, pretty generally laid aside, or at most retained only by children.”

It is inquired by a writer in the “Gentleman’s Magazine,” 1783, “may not theminced pye, a compound of the choicest productions of the east, have in view the offerings made by the wise men, who came from afar to worship, bringingspices,” &c. These were also calledshrid-pies.

Christmasse Day.No matter for plomb-porridge, orshrid-pieOr a whole oxe offered in sacrificeTo Comus, not to Christ, &c.Sheppard’s Epigrams, 1651.

Christmasse Day.

No matter for plomb-porridge, orshrid-pieOr a whole oxe offered in sacrificeTo Comus, not to Christ, &c.

Sheppard’s Epigrams, 1651.

Mr. Brand, from a tract in his library printed about the time of queen Elizabeth or James I. observes, that they were likewise called “minchedpies.”

According to Selden’s “Table Talk,” the coffin shape of our Christmas pies, is in imitation of thecratch, or manger wherein the infant Jesus was laid. The ingredients and shape of the Christmas pie is mentioned in a satire of 1656, against the puritans:—

Christ-mass? give me my beads: the word impliesA plot, by its ingredients, beef and pyes.The cloyster’d steaks with salt and pepper lyeLike Nunnes with patches in a monastrie.Prophaneness in a conclave? Nay, much more,Idolatrie in crust!———————— and bak’d by hanches, thenServ’d up incoffinsto unholy men;Defil’d, with superstition, like the GentilesOf old, that worship’d onions, roots, and lentiles!R. Fletcher.

R. Fletcher.

There is a further account in Misson’s “Travels in England.” He says, “Every family against Christmass makes a famous pye, which they call Christmas pye. It is a great nostrum; the composition of this pasty is a most learned mixture of neat’s-tongues, chicken, eggs, sugar, raisins, lemon and orange peel, various kinds of spicery,” &c. The most notably familiar poet of our seasonable customs interests himself for its safety:—

Come guard this night the Christmas-pieThat the thiefe, though ne’r so slie,With his flesh hooks 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.Herrick.

Come guard this night the Christmas-pieThat the thiefe, though ne’r so slie,With his flesh hooks 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.

Herrick.

Mr. Brand observes, of his own knowledge, that “in the north of England,a gooseis always the chief ingredient in the composition of a Christmas pye;” and to illustrate the usage, “further north,” he quotes, that the Scottish poet Allan Ramsay, in his “Elegy on lucky Wood,” tells us, that among other baits by which the good ale-wife drew customers to her house, she never failed to tempt them atYule(Christmas,) with

“A bra’ Goose Pye.”

Further, from “Round about our Coal-fire,” we likewise find that “An English gentleman at the opening of the great day,i. e.on Christmass day in the morning, had all his tenants and neighbours enter his hall by day-break. The strong beer was broached, and the black jacks went plentifully about with toast, sugar, nutmegg, and good Cheshire cheese. The hackin (the great sausage) must be boiled by day-break, or else two young men must take the maiden (i. e.) the cook, by the arms and run her round the market-place till she is ashamed of her laziness.

“In Christmas holidays, the tables were all spread from the first to the last; the sirloins of beef, the minced pies, theplumb porridge, the capons, turkeys, geese, and plum-puddings, were all brought upon the board: every one eat heartily, and was welcome, which gave rise to the proverb, ‘merry in the hall when beards wag all.’”

Misson adds of our predecessors in his time, that besides the “famous pye” at Christmas, “they also make a sort of soup with plums which is not at all inferior to the pye, which is in their language called plum-porridge.”

Lastly, Mr. Brand makes this important note from personal regard. “Memorandum. I dined at the chaplain’s table at St. James’s on Christmas-day, 1801, and partook of the first thing served and eaten on that festival at that table,i. e.a tureen full of rich luscious plum-porridge. I do not know that the custom is any where else retained.”

Thus has been brought together so much as, for the present, seems sufficient to describe the ancient and present estimation and mode of keeping Christmas.

Holly.Ilex bacciflora.Dedicated tothe Nativity of Jesus Christ.

It ought not, however, to be forgotten, that a scene of awful grandeur, hitherto misrepresented on the stage by the meanest of “his majesty’s servants,” opens the tragedy of Hamlet, wherein our everlasting bard refers to ancient and still existing tradition, that at the time ofcock-crowing, the midnight spirits forsake these lower regions, and go to their proper places; and that the cocks crow throughout the live-long nights of Christmas—a circumstance observable at no other time of the year. Horatio, the friend of Hamlet, discourses at midnight with Francisco, a sentry on the platform before the Danish palace, and Bernardo and Marcellus, two officers of the guard, respecting the ghost of the deceased monarch of Denmark, which had appeared to the military on watch.

Mar.Horatio says, ’tis but our fantasy,And will not let belief take hold of him,Touching this dreaded sight, twice seen of us;Therefore I have entreated him, alongWith us, to watch the minutes of this night;That, if again this apparition come,He may approve our eyes, and speak to it.Hor.Tush! tush! ’twill not appear.Ber.Sit down awhile;And let us once again assail your ears,That are so fortified against our story,What we two nights have seen.———— Last night of all,When yon same star, that’s westward from the pole,Had made his course to illume that part of heavenWhere now it burns, Marcellus and myself,The bell then beating one,———Mar.Peace, break thee off; look, where it comes again!

Hor.Tush! tush! ’twill not appear.

Ber.Sit down awhile;And let us once again assail your ears,That are so fortified against our story,What we two nights have seen.———— Last night of all,When yon same star, that’s westward from the pole,Had made his course to illume that part of heavenWhere now it burns, Marcellus and myself,The bell then beating one,———

Mar.Peace, break thee off; look, where it comes again!

The ghost enters. Horatio is harrowed with fear and wonder. His companions urge him to address it; and somewhat recovered from astonishment, he urges “the majesty of bury’d Denmark” to speak. It is offended, and stalks away.

Mar.Thus, twice before, and just at this dead hour,With martial stalk he hath gone by our watch.

Horatio discourses with his companions on the disturbed state of the kingdom, and the appearance they have just witnessed; whereof he says, “a mote it is, to trouble the mind’s eye.” He is interrupted by its re-entry, and invokes it, but the apparition remains speechless; the “cock crows,” and the ghost is about to disappear, when Horatio says,

———Stay, and speak.—Stop it, Marcellus.Mar.Shall I strike at it with my partizan?Hor.Do, if it will not stand.Ber.’Tis here!Hor.’Tis here!Mar.’Tis gone![Exit Ghost.We do it wrong, being so majestical,To offer it the show of violence;For it is, as the air, invulnerable,And our vain blows malicious mockery.Ber.It was about to speak, when thecock crew.Hor.Andthenit started, like a guilty thingUpon a fearful summons. I have heard,Thecock, that is the trumpet of the morn,Doth with his lofty and shrill-sounding throatAwake the god of day; and, atthiswarning,Whether in sea or fire, in earth or air,The extravagant and erring spirit hiesTo his confine: and of the truth hereinThis present object makes probation.

———Stay, and speak.—Stop it, Marcellus.

Mar.Shall I strike at it with my partizan?

Hor.Do, if it will not stand.

Ber.’Tis here!

Hor.’Tis here!

Mar.’Tis gone![Exit Ghost.We do it wrong, being so majestical,To offer it the show of violence;For it is, as the air, invulnerable,And our vain blows malicious mockery.

Ber.It was about to speak, when thecock crew.

Hor.Andthenit started, like a guilty thingUpon a fearful summons. I have heard,Thecock, that is the trumpet of the morn,Doth with his lofty and shrill-sounding throatAwake the god of day; and, atthiswarning,Whether in sea or fire, in earth or air,The extravagant and erring spirit hiesTo his confine: and of the truth hereinThis present object makes probation.

Marcellus answers, “It faded on the crowing of the cock,” and concludes on the vigilance of this bird, previous to the solemn festival, in a strain of superlative beauty:—

Some say, that ever ’gainst that season comesWherein our Saviour’s birth is celebrated,This bird of dawning singeth all night long:And then, they say, no spirit stirs abroad;The nights are wholesome; then no planet strikes;No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm,So hallow’d and so gracious is the time.

[422]Dugdale’s Orig. Jurid.[423]Grose.[424]Ibid.[425]“A black Christmas makes a fat kirk-yard.” A windy Christmas and a calm Candlemas are signs of a good year.[426]The “savoury haggis” (fromhagto chop) is a dish commonly made in a sheep’s maw, of its lungs, heart, and liver, mixed with suet, onions, salt and pepper; or of oatmeal mixed with the latter, without any animal food.[427]Brand.

[422]Dugdale’s Orig. Jurid.

[423]Grose.

[424]Ibid.

[425]“A black Christmas makes a fat kirk-yard.” A windy Christmas and a calm Candlemas are signs of a good year.

[426]The “savoury haggis” (fromhagto chop) is a dish commonly made in a sheep’s maw, of its lungs, heart, and liver, mixed with suet, onions, salt and pepper; or of oatmeal mixed with the latter, without any animal food.

[427]Brand.

Back to Index Next