UC-NRLF 
 
 B M Mil 
 
 ,D-CHRiSTMAS-D 
 :\SHINGTON IRVING 
 JSTMTED-IN-COLOUR 
 
 CECIL -.A 
 
LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 CALIFORNIA 
 
 SANTA CRUZ 
 
'&'&. 
 
j 
 
 THE STAGE-COACHMAN 
 
BT 
 
 "WBSHIKGTON 
 IRVING ^*^ 
 PICTURED BY 
 
 CECIL ALDIN 
 
PR1NTED-IN 
 

 NTS 
 
 THE STAGE-COACH . 
 
 PAGE 
 
 13 
 
 II 
 CHRISTMAS EVE 
 
 III 
 
 CHRISTMAS DAY 
 
 S3 
 
 IV 
 
 THE CHRISTMAS DINNER 
 
 133 
 
IJST or 
 
 THE STAGE-COACHMAN 
 TITLE-PAGE 
 
 THE STAGE-COACH. 
 
 AT PAGE 
 . 9 
 
 WHEREVER AN ENGLISH STAGE COACHMAN MAY 
 IJE SEEN. [IE CANNOT HE MISTAKEN EOR ONE 
 OF ANY OTHER CRAFT . . . .12 
 
 THE HORN. SOUNDED AT THE ENTRANCE OF A 
 
 VILLAGE, PRODUCES A GENERAL HUSTLE . 20 
 
 OFF THEY SET AT LAST ..... 24 
 
 BROUGHT US IN SIGHT OF A NEAT COUNTRY SEAT 28 
 
 WE DROVE INTO THE GREAT GATEWAY . . 30 
 
 A POSTCHAISE DROVE UP TO THE DOOR . . ?A 
 
 CHRISTMAS EVE. ...... 37 
 
 AT THE SOUND OF HIS VOICE THE BARK WAS 
 
 CHANGED INTO A YELP OF DELIGHT . . 40 
 
 HUNG UP TO THE IMMINENT PERIL OF ALL THE 
 
 PRETTY HOUSEMAIDS . 48 
 
 HE WAS A MASTER OF THE REVELS AMONG THE 
 
 CHILDREN 64 
 
A'** 
 
Omne bene 
 
 Sine pcena 
 Tempos esi ludendi ; 
 
 Venii hora, 
 
 Absque mom 
 Libras deponendi. 
 
 Old Holiday School Song 
 
Wherever an English stage-coachman may be seen, he cannot 
 be mistaken for one of any other craft.' (Page 17) 
 
IN the course of a December tour in 
 Yorkshire, I rode for a long dis- 
 tance in one of the public coaches, 
 on the day preceding Christmas. The 
 coach was crowded, both inside and 
 out, with passengers, who, by their talk, 
 seemed principally bound to the mansions 
 of relations or friends to eat the Christ- 
 mas dinner. It was loaded also with 
 hampers of game, and baskets and boxes 
 of delicacies; and hares hung dangling 
 their long ears about the coachman's box 
 
 13 
 
presents from distant friends for the 
 impending feast. I had three fine rosy- 
 cheeked schoolboys for my fellow-passen- 
 gers inside, full of the buxom health and 
 manly spirit which I have observed in 
 the children of this country. They were 
 returning home for the holidays in high 
 glee, and promising themselves a world of 
 enjoyment. It was delightful to hear the 
 gigantic plans of pleasure of the little 
 rogues, and the impracticable feats they 
 were to perform during their six weeks' 
 emancipation from the abhorred thral- 
 dom of books, birch, and pedagogue. 
 They were full of anticipations of the 
 meeting with the family and household, 
 
 14 
 
down to the very cat and dog ; and of 
 the joy they were to give their little 
 sisters by the presents with which their 
 pockets were crammed ; but the meeting 
 to which they seemed to look forward 
 with the greatest impatience was with 
 Bantam, which I found to be a pony, 
 and, according to their talk, possessed 
 of more virtues than any steed since 
 the days of Bucephalus. How he could 
 trot ! how he could run ! and then 
 such leaps as he would take : there was 
 not a hedge in the whole country that 
 he could not clear. 
 
 They were under the particular guar- 
 dianship of the coachman, to whom, 
 
 15 
 
whenever an opportunity presented, they 
 addressed a host of questions, and pro- 
 nounced him one of the best fellows in 
 the whole world. Indeed, I could not 
 but notice the more than ordinary air of 
 bustle and importance of the coachman, 
 who wore his hat a little on one side, 
 and had a large bunch of Christmas 
 greens stuck in the buttonhole of his 
 coat. He is always a personage full of 
 mighty care and business, but he is par- 
 ticularly so during this season, having so 
 many commissions to execute in con- 
 sequence of the great interchange of 
 presents. 
 And here, perhaps, it may not be 
 
 
 16 
 
unacceptable to my untravelled readers 
 to have a sketch that may serve as 
 a general representation of this very 
 numerous and important class of func- 
 tionaries who have a dress, a manner, 
 a language, an air, peculiar to them- 
 selves, and prevalent throughout the 
 fraternity ; so that, wherever an English 
 stage-coachman may be seen, he cannot 
 be mistaken for one of any other craft 
 or mystery. 
 
 He has commonly a broad, full face, 
 curiously mottled with red, as if the 
 blood had been forced by hard feeding 
 into every vessel of the skin ; he is 
 swelled into jolly dimensions by fre- 
 
 
 17 
 
quent potations of malt liquors, and 
 his bulk is still further increased by a 
 multiplicity of coats, in which he is 
 buried like a cauliflower, the upper one 
 reaching to his heels. He wears a 
 broad -brimmed, low -crowned hat ; a 
 huge roll of coloured handkerchief 
 about his neck, knowingly knotted and 
 tucked in at the bosom ; and has in 
 summer-time a large bouquet of flowers 
 in his buttonhole ; the present, most 
 probably, of some enamoured country 
 lass. His waistcoat is commonly of 
 some bright colour, striped; and his 
 small - clothes extend far below the 
 knees, to meet a pair of jockey boots 
 
 18 
 
which reach about half-way up his 
 legs. 
 
 All this costume is maintained with 
 much precision ; he has a pride in having 
 his clothes of excellent materials ; and, 
 notwithstanding the seeming grossness 
 of his appearance, there is still dis- 
 cernible that neatness and propriety of 
 person which is almost inherent in an 
 Englishman. He enjoys great con- 
 sequence and consideration along the 
 road ; has frequent conferences with the 
 village housewives, who look upon him 
 as a man of great trust and dependence; 
 and he seems to have a good under- 
 standing with every bright-eyed country 
 
 19 
 
lass. The moment he arrives where the 
 horses are to be changed, he throws 
 down the reins with something of an air, 
 and abandons the cattle to the care of 
 the hostler; his duty being merely to 
 drive from one stage to another. 
 
 When off the box, his hands are 
 thrust in the pockets of his greatcoat, 
 and he rolls about the inn-yard with 
 an air of the most absolute lordliness. 
 Here he is generally surrounded by 
 an admiring throng of hostlers, stable- 
 boys, shoe - blacks, and those name- 
 less hangers-on that infest inns and 
 taverns, and run errands, and do all 
 kinds of odd jobs, for the privilege 
 
 20 
 
The horn, sounded at the entrance of a village, produces a 
 general bustle.' (Page 22) 
 
of battening on the drippings of the 
 kitchen and the leakage of the tap- 
 room. These all look up to him as 
 to an oracle ; treasure up his cant 
 phrases ; echo his opinions about horses 
 and other topics of jockey lore ; and, 
 above all, endeavour to imitate his 
 air and carriage. Every ragamuffin 
 that has a coat to his back thrusts 
 his hands in the pockets, rolls in his 
 gait, talks slang, and is an embryo 
 Coachey. 
 
 Perhaps it might be owing to the 
 pleasing serenity that reigned in my 
 own mind, that I fancied I saw cheer- 
 fulness in every countenance throughout 
 
 21 
 
the journey. A stage-coach, however, 
 carries animation always with it, and 
 puts the world in motion as it whirls 
 along. The horn, sounded at the en- 
 trance of a village, produces a general 
 bustle. Some hasten forth to meet 
 friends ; some with bundles and band- 
 boxes to secure places, and in the 
 hurry of the moment can hardly take 
 leave of the group that accompanies 
 them. In the meantime, the coach- 
 man has a world of small commissions 
 to execute. Sometimes he delivers 
 a hare or pheasant ; sometimes jerks 
 a small parcel or newspaper to the 
 door of a public-house ; and sometimes, 
 
 22 
 
with knowing leer and words of sly 
 import, hands to some half - blushing, 
 half-laughing housemaid an odd-shaped 
 billet-doux from some rustic admirer. 
 As the coach rattles through the village, 
 every one runs to the window, and you 
 have glances on every side of fresh 
 country faces, and blooming, giggling 
 girls. At the corners are assembled 
 juntas of village idlers and wise men, 
 who take their stations there for the 
 important purpose of seeing company 
 pass ; but the sagest knot is generally 
 at the blacksmith's, to whom the pass- 
 ing of the coach is an event fruitful 
 of much speculation. The smith, with 
 
 33 
 
the horse's heel in his lap, pauses as 
 the vehicle whirls by; the Cyclops 
 round the anvil suspend their ringing 
 hammers, and suffer the iron to 
 grow cool; and the sooty spectre in 
 brown paper cap, labouring at the 
 bellows, leans on the handle for a 
 moment, and permits the asthmatic 
 engine to heave a long-drawn sigh, 
 while he glares through the murky 
 smoke and sulphureous gleams of the 
 smithy. 
 
 Perhaps the impending holiday might 
 have given a more than usual animation 
 to the country, for it seemed to me as 
 if everybody was in good looks and 
 
 24 
 
Off they set at last.' {Page 28) 
 
good spirits. Game, poultry, and other 
 luxuries of the table, were in brisk cir- 
 culation in the villages; the grocers', 
 butchers', and fruiterers' shops were 
 thronged with customers. The house- 
 wives were stirring briskly about, put- 
 ting their dwellings in order; and the 
 glossy branches of holly, with their 
 bright red berries, began to appear at 
 the windows. The scene brought to 
 mind an old writer's account of Christ- 
 mas preparations : * Now capons and 
 hens, besides turkeys, geese, and ducks, 
 with beef and mutton must all die; 
 for in twelve days a multitude of people 
 will not be fed with a little. Now 
 
 25 
 
plums and spice, sugar and honey, 
 square it among pies and broth. Now 
 or never must 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 mar- 
 ket, 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. Dice and cards benefit 
 the butler; and if the cook do not 
 lack wit, he will sweetly lick his 
 fingers.' 
 
 I was roused from this fit of luxurious 
 meditation by a shout from my little 
 
 26 
 
travelling companions. They had been 
 looking out of the coach windows for 
 the last few miles, recognising every 
 tree and cottage as they approached 
 home, and now there was a general 
 burst of joy : 6 There 's John ! and 
 there 's old Carlo ! and there 's Bantam !' 
 cried the happy little rogues, clapping 
 their hands. 
 
 At the end of a lane there was an old 
 sober-looking servant in livery waiting 
 for them : he was accompanied by a 
 superannuated pointer, and by the 
 redoubtable Bantam, a little old rat 
 of a pony, with a shaggy mane and 
 long, rusty tail, who stood dozing 
 
 27 
 
quietly by the roadside, little dream- 
 ing of the bustling times that awaited 
 him. 
 
 I was pleased to see the fondness 
 with which the little fellows leaped 
 about the steady old footman, and hug- 
 ged the pointer, who wriggled his whole 
 body for joy. But Bantam was the 
 great object of interest ; all wanted to 
 mount at once ; and it was with some 
 difficulty that John arranged that they 
 should ride by turns, and the eldest 
 should ride first. 
 
 Off they set at last ; one on the pony, 
 with the dog bounding and barking be- 
 fore him, and the others holding John's 
 
 28 
 
., < 
 
 Brought us in sight of a neat country seat.' (Page 29) 
 
hands; both talking at once, and over- 
 powering him by questions about home, 
 and with school anecdotes. I looked 
 after them with a feeling in which I 
 do not know whether pleasure or melan- 
 choly predominated: for I was re- 
 minded of those days when, like them, 
 I had neither known care nor sorrow, 
 and a holiday was the summit of earthly 
 felicity. We stopped a few moments 
 afterwards to water the horses, and on 
 resuming our route, a turn of the road 
 brought us in sight of a neat country 
 seat. I could just distinguish the forms 
 of a lady and two young girls in the 
 portico, and I saw my little comrades, 
 
 D 29 
 
with Bantam, Carlo, and old John, 
 trooping along the carriage road. I 
 leaned out of the coach window, in hopes 
 of witnessing the happy meeting, but a 
 grove of trees shut it from my sight. 
 
 In the evening we reached a village 
 where I had determined to pass the 
 night. As we drove into the great 
 gateway of the inn, I saw on one side 
 the light of a rousing kitchen fire beam- 
 ing through a window. I entered, and 
 admired, for the hundredth time, that 
 picture of convenience, neatness, and 
 broad, honest enjoyment, the kitchen 
 of an English inn. It was of spacious 
 dimensions, hung round with copper 
 
 30 
 
'We drove into the great gateway.' (Page 30) 
 
and tin vessels, highly polished, and 
 decorated here and there with a Christ- 
 mas green. Hams, tongues, and flitches 
 of bacon were suspended from the ceil- 
 ing; a smoke-jack made its ceaseless 
 clanking beside the fireplace, and a 
 clock ticked in one corner. A well- 
 scoured deal table extended along one 
 side of the kitchen, with a cold round 
 of beef and other hearty viands upon 
 it, over which two foaming tankards of 
 ale seemed mounting guard. 
 
 Travellers of inferior order were pre- 
 paring to attack this stout repast, while 
 others sat smoking and gossiping over 
 their ale on two high -backed oaken 
 
 31 
 
seats beside the fire. Trim housemaids 
 were hurrying backwards and forwards 
 under the directions of a fresh, bustling 
 landlady ; but still seizing an occasional 
 moment to exchange a flippant word, 
 and have a rallying laugh, witli the 
 group round the fire. The scene com- 
 pletely realised Poor Robin's humble 
 idea of the comforts of midwinter. 
 
 Now trees their leafy hats do bare, 
 To reverence Winter's silver hair ; 
 A handsome hostess, merry host, 
 A pot of ale now and a toast, 
 Tobacco and a good coal fire, 
 Are things this season doth require. 1 
 
 1 Poor Robin's Almanack, 1684. 
 
 32 
 
I had not been long at the inn when 
 a postchaise drove up to the door. A 
 young gentleman stepped out, and by 
 the light of the lamps I caught a 
 glimpse of a countenance which I 
 thought I knew. I moved forward to 
 get a nearer view, when his eye caught 
 mine. I was not mistaken ; it was 
 Frank Bracebridge, a sprightly, good- 
 humoured young fellow, with whom I 
 had once travelled on the Continent. 
 Our meeting was extremely cordial ; 
 for the countenance of an old fellow- 
 traveller always brings up the recollec- 
 tion of a thousand pleasant scenes, odd 
 adventures, and excellent jokes. To 
 
discuss all these in a transient inter- 
 view at an inn was impossible ; and 
 finding that I was not pressed for time, 
 and was merely making a tour of ob- 
 servation, he insisted that I should give 
 him a day or two at his father's country 
 seat, to which he was going to pass the 
 holidays, and which lay at a few miles' 
 distance. ' It is better than eating a 
 solitary Christmas dinner at an inn,' 
 said he ; ' and I can assure you of a 
 hearty welcome in something of the 
 old-fashion style.' His reasoning was 
 cogent ; and I must confess the pre- 
 paration I had seen for universal 
 festivity and social enjoyment had made 
 
 34 
 
'A postchaise drove up to the door.' (Page 33) 
 
me feel a little impatient of my loneli- 
 ness. I closed, therefore, at once with 
 his invitation: the chaise drove up to 
 the door ; and in a few moments I was 
 on my way to the family mansion of the 
 Bracebridges. 
 
 35 
 
t ,fc- 1 
 
 CHWSTHAS 
 
SAIMT FRANCIS AND SAIKT JBEN&DTGJIT 
 
 BLESS THIb HOUSE FROn WICKED 
 FRPM TJiC Nl GJIT-HARE. AMD TJ1E 
 
 TkAT-is-JiiGHT &OOD-FELLOW 
 
 KEEP ]T PROK ALL EVIL 5pJRlT<S. 
 TAIR1E5 WEBZEL5 , RATS, AND FER.RET5 : 
 
 TROn CVRFEW- 
 
 TO THE J^EXT 
 
' At the sound of his voice the bark was changed into a 
 yelp of delight.' (Page 50) 
 
IT was a brilliant moonlight night, 
 but extremely cold ; our chaise 
 whirled rapidly over the frozen 
 ground ; the post-boy smacked his whip 
 incessantly, and a part of the time his 
 horses were on a gallop. ' He knows 
 where he is going,' said my companion, 
 laughing, * and is eager to arrive in time 
 for some of the merriment and good 
 cheer of the servants' hall. My father, 
 you must know, is a bigoted devotee 
 of the old school, and prides himself 
 
 41 
 
upon keeping up something of old 
 English hospitality. He is a tolerable 
 specimen of what you will rarely meet 
 with nowadays in its purity, the old 
 English country gentleman ; for our 
 men of fortune spend so much of their 
 time in town, and fashion is carried so 
 much into the country, that the strong, 
 rich peculiarities of ancient rural life 
 are almost polished away. My father, 
 however, from early years, took honest 
 Peacham 1 for his text-book, instead 
 of Chesterfield : he determined, in 
 his own mind, that there was no 
 condition more truly honourable and 
 
 1 Peacham's Complete Gentleman, 1622. 
 
MJ18 * HH 
 
 enviable than that of a country 
 gentleman on his paternal lands, and, 
 therefore, passes the whole of his time 
 on his estate. He is a strenuous 
 advocate for the revival of the old 
 rural games and holiday observances, 
 and is deeply read in the writers, 
 ancient and modern, who have treated 
 on the subject. Indeed, his favourite 
 range of reading is among the authors 
 who flourished at least two centuries 
 since ; who, he insists, wrote and thought 
 more like true Englishmen than any of 
 their successors. He even regrets some- 
 times that he had not been born a few 
 centuries earlier, when England was 
 
 43 
 
CM E ISTHAS * BYB 
 
 itself, and had its peculiar manners 
 and customs. As he lives at some dis- 
 tance from the main road, in rather a 
 lonely part of the country, without any 
 rival gentry near him, he has that most 
 enviable of all blessings to an English- 
 man, an opportunity of indulging the 
 bent of his own humour without molesta- 
 tion. Being representative of the oldest 
 family in the neighbourhood, and a 
 great part of the peasantry being his 
 tenants, he is much looked up to, 
 and, in general, is known simply by 
 the appellation of The Squire ; a title 
 which has been accorded to the head 
 of the familv since time immemorial. 
 
 44 
 
fOx CT^D T^I R cr^ w ^w IP 
 
 II T II Jl II &wm 
 
 I think it best to give you these 
 hints about my worthy old father, to 
 prepare you for any little eccen- 
 tricities that might otherwise appear 
 absurd.' 
 
 We had passed for some time along 
 the wall of a park, and at length the 
 chaise stopped at the gate. It was in a 
 heavy, magnificent old style, of iron bars, 
 fancifully wrought at top into flourishes 
 and flowers. The huge square columns 
 that supported the gate were surmounted 
 by the family crest. Close adjoining was 
 the porter's lodge, sheltered under dark 
 fir-trees, and almost buried in shrub- 
 bery. 
 
 45 
 
a 
 
 The post-boy rang a large porter's bell, 
 which resounded through the still, frosty 
 air, and was answered by the distant 
 barking of dogs, with which the mansion- 
 house seemed garrisoned. An old 
 woman immediately appeared at the 
 gate. As the moonlight fell strongly 
 upon her, I had full view of a little primi- 
 tive dame, dressed very much in the 
 antique taste, with a neat kerchief and 
 stomacher, and her silver hair peeping 
 from under a cap of snowy whiteness. 
 She came curtseying forth, with many 
 expressions of simple joy at seeing her 
 young master. Her husband, it seems, 
 was up at the house keeping Christmas 
 
 46 
 
ME IftTMAS - 
 
 eve in the servants' hall ; they could not 
 do without him, as he was the best hand 
 at a song and story in the house- 
 hold. 
 
 My friend proposed that we should 
 alight and walk through the park to the 
 hall, which was at no great distance, 
 while the chaise should follow on. Our 
 road wound through a noble avenue of 
 trees, among the naked branches of 
 which the moon glittered as she rolled 
 through the deep vault of a cloudless 
 sky. The lawn beyond was sheeted with 
 a slight covering of snow, which here 
 and there sparkled as the moonbeams 
 caught a frosty crystal; and at a dis- 
 
 47 
 
tance might be seen a thin, transparent 
 vapour, stealing up from the low grounds, 
 and threatening gradually to shroud the 
 landscape. 
 
 My companion looked round him with 
 transport : ' How often,' said he, * have 
 I scampered up this avenue, on return- 
 ing home on school vacations! How 
 often have I played under these trees 
 when a boy ! I feel a degree of filial 
 reverence for them, as we look up to 
 those who have cherished us in child- 
 hood. My father was always scrupulous 
 in exacting our holidays, and having us 
 around him on family festivals. He 
 used to direct and superintend our 
 
 48 
 
' Hung up to the imminent peril of all the pretty housemaids. 
 (Page 55) 
 
EW (T^ crp T^i is QL HP *s\^ IP 
 
 1 1) T Irti Ji e5 SijiS 
 
 games with the strictness that some 
 parents do the studies of their children. 
 He was very particular that we should 
 play the old English games according 
 to their original form ; and consulted 
 old books for precedent and authority 
 for every " merrie disport " ; yet I 
 assure you there never was pedantry 
 so delightful. It was the policy of 
 the good old gentleman to make his 
 children feel that home was the hap- 
 piest place in the world ; and I value 
 this delicious home feeling as one of 
 the choicest gifts a parent can bestow.' 
 
 We were interrupted by the clamour 
 of a troop of dogs of all sorts and sizes, 
 
 F 49 
 
' mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound, and 
 curs of low degree,' that, disturbed by 
 the ringing of the porter's bell, and the 
 rattling of the chaise, came bounding, 
 open-mouthed, across the lawn. 
 
 ' The little dogs and all, 
 Tray, Blanch, and Sweetheart see, they 
 bark at me ! ' 
 
 cried Bracebridge, laughing. At the 
 sound of his voice the bark was changed 
 into a yelp of delight, and in a moment 
 he was surrounded and almost over- 
 powered by the caresses of the faithful 
 animals. 
 
 We had now come in full view of the 
 old family mansion, partly thrown in 
 
 50 
 
IiT M Aft * 
 
 deep shadow, and partly lit up by the 
 cold moonshine. It was an irregular 
 building of some magnitude, and seemed 
 to be of the architecture of different 
 periods. One wing was evidently very 
 ancient, with heavy stone-shafted bow 
 windows jutting out and overrun with 
 ivy, from among the foliage of which the 
 small diamond-shaped panes of glass 
 glittered with the moonbeams. The rest 
 of the house was in the French taste of 
 Charles the Second's time, having been 
 repaired and altered, as my friend told 
 me, by one of his ancestors, who re- 
 turned with that monarch at the 
 Restoration. The grounds about the 
 
 51 
 
house were laid out in the old formal 
 manner of artificial flower-beds, clipped 
 shrubberies, raised terraces, and heavy 
 stone balustrades, ornamented with urns, 
 a leaden statue or two, and a jet of 
 water. The old gentleman, I was told, 
 was extremely careful to preserve this 
 obsolete finery in all its original state. 
 He admired this fashion in gardening; 
 it had an air of magnificence, was courtly 
 and noble, and befitting good old family 
 style. The boasted imitation of nature 
 in modern gardening had sprung up 
 with modern republican notions, but did 
 not suit a monarchical government; it 
 smacked of the levelling system. I 
 
 52 
 
could not help smiling at this introduc- 
 tion of politics into gardening, though 
 I expressed some apprehension that I 
 should find the old gentleman rather 
 intolerant in his creed. Frank assured 
 me, however, that it was almost the 
 only instance in which he had ever 
 heard his father meddle with politics; 
 and he believed that he had got this 
 notion from a member of Parliament 
 who once passed a few weeks with him. 
 The Squire was glad of any argument 
 to defend his clipped yew-trees and 
 formal terraces, which had been occa- 
 sionally attacked by modern landscape 
 gardeners. 
 
 53 
 
CKR IftTMA* EVE 
 
 As we approached the house, we 
 heard the sound of music, and now and 
 then a burst of laughter from one end 
 of the building. This, Bracebridge said, 
 must proceed from the servants' hall, 
 where a great deal of revelry was per- 
 mitted, and even encouraged, by the 
 Squire throughout the twelve days of 
 Christmas, provided everything was done 
 conformably to ancient usage. Here 
 were kept up the old games of hood- 
 man blind, shoe the wild mare, hot 
 cockles, steal the white loaf, bob 
 apple and snapdragon: the Yule-log 
 and Christmas candle were regularly 
 burnt, and the mistletoe, with its 
 
 54 
 
M H I 8TM A SVS 
 
 white berries, hung up to the immi- 
 nent peril of all the pretty house- 
 maids. 
 
 So intent were the servants upon their 
 sports, that we had to ring repeatedly 
 before we could make ourselves heard. 
 On our arrival being announced, the 
 Squire came out to receive us, accom- 
 panied by his two other sons ; one a 
 young officer in the army, home on leave 
 of absence; the other an Oxonian, just 
 from the University. The Squire was 
 a fine healthy-looking old gentleman, 
 with silver hair curling lightly round 
 an open, florid countenance ; in which 
 a physiognomist, with the advantage, 
 
 55 
 
like myself, of a previous hint or two, 
 might discover a singular mixture of 
 whim and benevolence. 
 
 The family meeting was warm and 
 affectionate ; as the evening was far 
 advanced, the Squire would not permit 
 us to change our travelling dresses, but 
 ushered us at once to the company, 
 which was assembled in a large old- 
 fashioned hall. It was composed of 
 different branches of a numerous family 
 connection, where there were the usual 
 proportion of old uncles and aunts, 
 comfortably married dames, super- 
 annuated spinsters, blooming country 
 cousins, half -fledged striplings, and 
 
 56 
 
bright-eyed boarding-school hoydens. 
 They were variously occupied ; some 
 at a round game of cards ; others con- 
 versing around the fireplace ; at one 
 end of the hall was a group of the 
 young folks, some nearly grown up, 
 others of a more tender and budding 
 age, fully engrossed by a merry game ; 
 and a profusion of wooden horses, 
 penny trumpets, and tattered dolls, 
 about the floor, showed traces of a 
 troop of little fairy beings, who, having 
 frolicked through a happy day, had 
 been carried off to slumber through a 
 peaceful night. 
 
 While the mutual greetings were 
 
 G 
 
 57 
 
going on between Bracebridge and his 
 relatives, I had time to scan the apart- 
 ment. I have called it a hall, for so 
 it had certainly been in old times, and 
 the Squire had evidently endeavoured 
 to restore it to something of its primi- 
 tive state. Over the heavy projecting 
 fireplace was suspended a picture of a 
 warrior in armour standing by a white 
 horse, and on the opposite wall hung 
 helmet, buckler, and lance. At one 
 end an enormous pair of antlers were 
 inserted in the wall, the branches 
 serving as hooks on which to suspend 
 hats, whips, and spurs ; and in the 
 corners of the apartment were fowling- 
 
 58 
 
pieces, fishing-rods, and other sporting 
 implements. The furniture was of the 
 cumbrous workmanship of former days, 
 though some articles of modern con- 
 venience had been added, and the 
 oaken floor had been carpeted ; so that 
 the whole presented an odd mixture of 
 parlour and hall. 
 
 The grate had been removed from 
 the wide overwhelming fireplace, to 
 make way for a fire of wood, in the 
 midst of which was an enormous log 
 glowing and blazing, and sending forth 
 a vast volume of light and heat; this 
 I understand was the Yule-log, which 
 the Squire was particular in having 
 
 59 
 
E ISTMA* * El 
 
 brought in and illumined on a Christ- 
 mas eve, according to ancient custom. 
 
 It was really delightful to see the old 
 Squire seated in his hereditary elbow- 
 chair by the hospitable fireside of his 
 ancestors, and looking around him like 
 the sun of a system, beaming warmth 
 and gladness to every heart. Even the 
 very dog that lay stretched at his feet, as 
 he lazily shifted his position and yawned, 
 would look fondly up in his master's 
 face, wag his tail against the floor, and 
 stretch himself again to sleep, confident 
 of kindness and protection. There is 
 an emanation from the heart in genuine 
 hospitality which cannot be described, 
 
 60 
 
but is immediately felt, and puts the 
 stranger at once at his ease. I had 
 not been seated many minutes by the 
 comfortable hearth of the worthy cava- 
 lier before I found myself as much at 
 home as if I had been one of the family. 
 Supper was announced shortly after 
 our arrival. It was served up in a 
 spacious oaken chamber, the panels of 
 which shone with wax, and around 
 which were several family portraits 
 decorated with holly and ivy. Beside 
 the accustomed lights, two great wax 
 tapers, called Christmas candles, 
 wreathed with greens, were placed on 
 a highly - polished buffet among the 
 
 61 
 
MEISTKAB - I S 
 
 family plate. The table was abundantly 
 spread with substantial fare ; but the 
 Squire made his supper of frumenty, 
 a dish made of wheat cakes boiled in 
 milk with rich spices, being a standing 
 dish in old times for Christmas eve. 
 I was happy to find my old friend, 
 minced-pie, in the retinue of the feast ; 
 and finding him to be perfectly ortho- 
 dox, and that I need not be ashamed 
 of my predilection, I greeted him with 
 all the warmth wherewith we usually 
 greet an old and very genteel acquaint- 
 ance. 
 
 The mirth of the company was greatly 
 promoted by the humours of an eccentric 
 
 62 
 
personage whom Mr. Bracebridge always 
 addressed with the quaint appellation 
 of Master Simon. He was a tight, 
 brisk little man, with the air of an 
 arrant old bachelor. His nose was 
 shaped like the bill of a parrot; his 
 face slightly pitted with the smallpox, 
 with a dry perpetual bloom on it, like 
 a frost-bitten leaf in autumn. He had 
 an eye of great quickness and vivacity, 
 with a drollery and lurking waggery of 
 expression that was irresistible. He 
 was evidently the wit of the family, 
 dealing very much in sly jokes and 
 innuendoes with the ladies, and making 
 infinite merriment by harpings upon 
 
 63 
 
KR IftTK JTB MVH 
 
 old themes; which, unfortunately, my 
 ignorance of the family chronicles did 
 not permit me to enjoy. It seemed to 
 be his delight during supper to keep 
 a young girl next him in a continual 
 agony of stifled laughter, in spite of 
 her awe of the reproving looks of her 
 mother, who sat opposite. Indeed, he 
 was the idol of the younger part of the 
 company, who laughed at everything 
 he said or did, and at every turn of 
 his countenance. I could not wonder 
 at it ; for he must have been a miracle 
 of accomplishments in their eyes. He 
 could imitate Punch and Judy; make 
 an old woman of his hand, with the 
 
 64 
 
Hs was a master of the revels among the children.' 
 (Page 66) 
 
assistance of a burnt cork and pocket- 
 handkerchief: and cut an orange into 
 such a ludicrous caricature, that the 
 young folks were ready to die with 
 laughing. 
 
 I was let briefly into his history by 
 Frank Bracebridge. He was an old 
 bachelor of a small independent income, 
 which by careful management was suffi- 
 cient for all his wants. He revolved 
 through the family system like a vagrant 
 comet in its orbit; sometimes visiting 
 one branch, and sometimes another 
 quite remote ; as is often the case with 
 gentlemen of extensive connections and 
 small fortunes in England. He had a 
 
 65 
 
chirping, buoyant disposition, always 
 enjoying the present moment; and his 
 frequent change of scene and company 
 prevented his acquiring those rusty un- 
 accommodating habits with which old 
 bachelors are so uncharitably charged. 
 He was a complete family chronicle, 
 being versed in the genealogy, history, 
 and intermarriages of the whole house 
 of Bracebridge, which made him a great 
 favourite with the old folks ; he was a 
 beau of all the elder ladies and super- 
 annuated spinsters, among whom he was 
 habitually considered rather a young 
 fellow, and he was a master of the 
 revels among the children ; so that 
 
 66 
 
there was not a more popular being in 
 the sphere in which he moved than Mr. 
 Simon Bracebridge. Of late years he had 
 resided almost entirely with the Squire, 
 to whom he had become a factotum, 
 and whom he particularly delighted by 
 jumping with his humour in respect to 
 old times, and by having a scrap of an 
 old song to suit every occasion. We 
 had presently a specimen of his last- 
 mentioned talent ; for no sooner was 
 supper removed, and spiced wines and 
 other beverages peculiar to the season 
 introduced, than Master Simon was 
 called on for a good old Christmas song. 
 He bethought himself for a moment, 
 
 67 
 
H E I o 
 
 and then, with a sparkle of the eye, 
 and a voice that was by no means bad, 
 excepting that it ran occasionally into 
 a falsetto, like the notes of a split 
 reed, he quavered forth a quaint old 
 ditty : 
 
 Now Christmas is come, 
 
 Let us beat up the drum, 
 And call all our neighbours together ; 
 
 And when they appear, 
 
 Let us make them such cheer 
 As will keep out the wind and the weather, etc. 
 
 The supper had disposed every one to 
 gaiety, and an old harper was summoned 
 from the servants' hall, where he had 
 been strumming all the evening, and 
 
 68 
 
to all appearance comforting himself 
 with some of the Squire's home-brewed. 
 He was a kind of hanger-on, I was 
 told, of the establishment, and though 
 ostensibly a resident of the village, was 
 oftener to be found in the Squire's 
 kitchen than his own home, the old 
 gentleman being fond of the sound of 
 ' harp in hall.' 
 
 The dance, like most dances after 
 supper, was a merry one ; some of the 
 older folks joined in it, and the Squire 
 himself figured down several couples 
 with a partner with whom he affirmed 
 he had danced at every Christmas for 
 nearly half a century. Master Simon, 
 
 69 
 
MjLS 1 E 
 
 who seemed to be a kind of connect- 
 ing link between the old times and 
 the new, and to be withal a little anti- 
 quated in the taste of his accomplish- 
 ments, evidently piqued himself on his 
 dancing, and was endeavouring to gain 
 credit by the heel and toe, rigadoon, 
 and other graces of the ancient school ; 
 but he had unluckily assorted himself 
 with a little romping girl from boarding- 
 school, who, by her wild vivacity, kept 
 him continually on the stretch, and de- 
 feated all his sober attempts at elegance 
 such are the ill-assorted matches to 
 which antique gentlemen are unfor- , 
 tunately prone ! 
 
 70 
 
The young Oxonian, on the contrary, 
 had led out one of his maiden aunts, 
 on whom the rogue played a thousand 
 little knaveries with impunity ; he was 
 full of practical jokes, and his delight 
 was to tease his aunts and cousins ; 
 yet, like all madcap youngsters, he 
 was a universal favourite among the 
 women. The most interesting couple 
 in the dance was the young officer 
 and a ward of the Squire's, a beauti- 
 ful blushing girl of seventeen. From 
 several shy glances which I had no- 
 ticed in the course of the evening, 
 I suspected there was a little kind- 
 ness growing up between them ; and, 
 
 71 
 
IS E 2 S 
 
 indeed, the young soldier was just 
 the hero to captivate a romantic 
 girl. He was tall, slender, and hand- 
 some, and like most young British 
 officers of late years, had picked up 
 various small accomplishments on the 
 Continent he could talk French and 
 Italian draw landscapes sing very 
 tolerably dance divinely ; but above 
 all he had been wounded at Waterloo ; 
 what girl of seventeen, well read in 
 poetry and romance, could resist such a 
 mirror of chivalry and perfection ! 
 
 The moment the dance was over, he 
 caught up a guitar, and lolling against 
 the old marble fireplace, in an attitude 
 
' With whom he affirmed he had danced at every Christmas 
 for nearly half a century.' (Page 69) 
 
which I am half inclined to suspect 
 was studied, began the little French 
 air of the Troubadour. The Squire, 
 however, exclaimed against having any- 
 thing on Christmas eve but good old 
 English ; upon which the young minstrel, 
 casting up his eye for a moment, as if 
 in an effort of memory, struck into 
 another strain, and, with a charming 
 air of gallantry, gave Herrick's Night- 
 Piece to Julia : 
 
 Her eyes the glow-worm lend thee, 
 The shooting stars attend thee, 
 
 And the elves also, 
 
 Whose little eyes glow 
 Like the sparks of fire, befriend thee. 
 
 73 
 
X It I S T 
 
 No Will-o'-the-Wisp mislight thee ; 
 Nor snake or glow-worm bite thee ; 
 
 But on, on thy way, 
 
 Not making a stay, 
 Since ghost there is none to affright thee. 
 
 Then let not the dark thee cumber : 
 What though the moon does slumber. 
 
 The stars of the night 
 
 Will lend thee their light, 
 Like tapers clear without number. 
 
 Then, Julia, let me woo thee, 
 Thus, thus to come unto me ; 
 
 And when I shall meet 
 
 Thy silvery feet, 
 My soul I '11 pour into thee. 
 
 The song might have been intended 
 in compliment to the fair Julia, for so 
 
 74 
 
I found his partner was called, or it 
 might not; she, however, was certainly 
 unconscious of any such application, for 
 she never looked at the singer, but 
 kept her eyes cast upon the floor. Her 
 face was suffused, it is true, with a 
 beautiful blush, and there was a gentle 
 heaving of the bosom, but all that was 
 doubtless caused bv the exercise of the 
 
 */ 
 
 dance ; indeed, so great was her in- 
 difference, that she was amusing her- 
 self with plucking to pieces a choice 
 bouquet of hothouse flowers, and by 
 the time the song was concluded, the 
 nosegay lay in ruins on the floor. 
 
 The party now broke up for the 
 
 75 
 
E I T ! 
 
 night with the kind-hearted old custom 
 of shaking hands. As I passed through 
 the hall, on the way to my chamber, 
 the dying embers of the Yule-clog still 
 sent forth a dusky glow; and had it 
 not been the season when 'no spirit 
 dares stir abroad,' I should have been 
 half tempted to steal from my room at 
 midnight, and peep whether the fairies 
 might not be at their revels about the 
 hearth. 
 
 My chamber was in the old part of 
 the mansion, the ponderous furniture of 
 which might have been fabricated in 
 the days of the giants. The room was 
 panelled with cornices of heavy carved 
 
 76 
 
'They went round the house, playing under the windows.' 
 (Page 77) 
 
work, in which flowers and grotesque 
 faces were strangely intermingled ; and 
 a row of black-looking portraits stared 
 mournfully at me from the walls. The 
 bed was of rich though faded damask, 
 with a lofty tester, and stood in a niche 
 opposite a bow window. I had scarcely 
 got into bed when a strain of music 
 seemed to break forth in the air just 
 below the window. I listened, and found 
 it proceeded from a band, which I con- 
 cluded to be the waits from some neigh- 
 bouring village. They went round the 
 house, playing under the windows. 
 
 I drew aside the curtains to hear 
 them more distinctly. The moonbeams 
 
 77 
 
fell through the upper part of the case- 
 ment, partially lighting up the anti- 
 quated apartment. The sounds, as they 
 receded, became more soft and aerial, 
 and seemed to accord with quiet and 
 moonlight. I listened and listened 
 they became more and more tender 
 and remote, and, as they gradually died 
 away, my head sank upon the pillow 
 and I fell asleep. 
 
 78 
 
DARK -AND DULL MGKT FLIE- HENCE AWAY, 
 AND OJVE1 TttE J-IQNOUK Tto THJ5 DAY 
 
 THAT SGGS DECEMBEJK-TUKNT'D T 
 
 OR 
 
 DOE5 TJtE- CJllLLiKO "WJNTEK5 
 
 LIKE A FIELD BE5ET N/lTJl 
 5MELL LIKE TO A nEADE NEW-5KORKB 
 ON THE-5VDDEN ? ConE AMD ^)EE 
 
 CAUSE \W TK1NG5 TMUS FRAGRANT BE 
 
 KERRICK: 
 
'We were escorted by a number of gentleman-like dogs.' 
 (Page 91) 
 
WHEN I awoke the next morn- 
 ing, it seemed as if all the 
 events of the preceding even- 
 ing had been a dream, and nothing but 
 the identity of the ancient chamber con- 
 vinced me of their reality. While I lay 
 musing on my pillow, I heard the sound 
 of little feet pattering outside of the door, 
 and a whispering consultation. Pre- 
 sently a choir of small voices chanted 
 forth an old Christmas carol, the burden 
 of which was : 
 
 Rejoice, our Saviour he was born 
 On Christmas Day in the morning. 
 
 83 
 
I rose softly, slipped on my clothes, 
 opened the door suddenly, and beheld 
 one of the most beautiful little fairy 
 groups that a painter could imagine. 
 
 It consisted of a boy and two girls, 
 the eldest not more than six, and lovely 
 as seraphs. They were going the rounds 
 of the house, and singing at every cham- 
 ber door; but my sudden appearance 
 frightened them into mute bashful- 
 ness. They remained for a moment 
 playing on their lips with their fingers, 
 and now and then stealing a shy glance 
 from under their eyebrows, until, as if 
 by one impulse, they scampered away, 
 and as they turned an angle of the 
 
 84 
 
gallery, I heard them laughing in tri- 
 umph at their escape. 
 
 Everything conspired to produce kind 
 and happy feelings in this stronghold of 
 old-fashioned hospitality. The window 
 of my chamber looked out upon what 
 in summer would have been a beautiful 
 landscape. There was a sloping lawn, 
 a fine stream winding at the foot of it, 
 and a tract of park beyond, with noble 
 clumps of trees, and herds of deer. At 
 a distance was a neat hamlet, with the 
 smoke from the cottage chimneys hang- 
 ing over it ; and a church with its dark 
 spire in strong relief against the clear, 
 cold sky. The house was surrounded 
 
 85 
 
with evergreens, according to the English 
 custom, which would have given almost 
 an appearance of summer ; but the morn- 
 ing was extremely frosty ; the light 
 vapour of the preceding evening had 
 been precipitated by the cold, and 
 covered all the trees and every blade 
 of grass with its fine crystallisations. 
 The rays of a bright morning sun had 
 a dazzling effect among the glittering 
 foliage. A robin, perched upon the top 
 of a mountain ash that hung its clusters 
 of red berries just before my window, 
 was basking himself in the sunshine, 
 and piping a few querulous notes ; and 
 a peacock was displaying all the glories 
 
 86 
 
of his train, and strutting with the pride 
 and gravity of a Spanish grandee on 
 the terrace-walk below. 
 
 I had scarcely dressed myself, when a 
 servant appeared to invite me to family 
 prayers. He showed me the way to a 
 small chapel in the old wing of the 
 house, where I found the principal part 
 of the family already assembled in a 
 kind of gallery, furnished with cushions, 
 hassocks, and large prayer-books ; the 
 servants were seated on benches below. 
 The old gentleman read prayers from a 
 desk in front of the gallery, and Master 
 Simon acted as clerk, and made the re- 
 sponses ; and I must do him the justice 
 
 87 
 
to say that he acquitted himself with 
 great gravity and decorum. 
 
 The service was followed by a Christ- 
 mas carol, which Mr. Bracebridge him- 
 self had constructed from a poem of his 
 favourite author, Herrick ; and it had 
 been adapted to an old church melody 
 by Master Simon. As there were several 
 good voices among the household, the 
 effect was extremely pleasing ; but I was 
 particularly gratified by the exaltation 
 of heart, and sudden sally of grateful 
 feeling, with which the worthy Squire 
 delivered one stanza: his eyes glisten- 
 ing, and his voice rambling out of all the 
 bounds of time and tune : 
 
 88 
 
Tis thou that crown'st my glittering hearth 
 
 With guiltlesse mirth, 
 And giv'st me wassaile bowles to drink, 
 
 Spiced to the brink : 
 Lord, 'tis Thy plenty-dropping hand, 
 
 That soiles my land ; 
 And giv'st me for my bushell sowne, 
 
 Twice ten for one. 
 
 I afterwards understood that early 
 morning service was read on every Sun- 
 day morning and saint's day throughout 
 the year, either by Mr. Bracebridge or 
 by some member of the family. It was 
 once almost universally the case at the 
 seats of the nobility and gentry of Eng- 
 land, and it is much to be regretted that 
 
 89 
 
BAY 
 
 the custom is fallen into neglect; for 
 the dullest observer must be sensible 
 of the order and serenity prevalent in 
 those households, where the occasional 
 exercise of a beautiful form of worship 
 in the morning gives, as it were, the 
 keynote to every temper for the day, 
 and attunes every spirit to harmony. 
 
 Our breakfast consisted of what the 
 Squire denominated true old English 
 fare. He indulged in some bitter 
 lamentations over modern breakfasts 
 of tea and toast, which he censured as 
 among the causes of modern effeminacy 
 and weak nerves, and the decline of 
 old English heartiness ; and though he 
 
 90 
 
admitted them to his table to suit 
 the palates of his guests, yet there was 
 a brave display of cold meats, wine, and 
 ale, on the sideboard. 
 
 After breakfast I walked about the 
 grounds with Frank Bracebridge and 
 Master Simon, or Mr. Simon as he was 
 called by everybody but the Squire. We 
 were escorted by a number of gentle- 
 manlike dogs, that seemed loungers 
 about the establishment ; from the frisk- 
 ing spaniel to the steady old staghound ; 
 the last of which was of a race that had 
 been in the family time out of mind : 
 they were all obedient to a dog-whistle 
 which hung to Master Simon's button- 
 
 91 
 
hole, and in the midst of their gambols 
 would glance an eye occasionally upon 
 a small switch he carried in his hand. 
 
 The old mansion had a still more 
 venerable look in the yellow sunshine 
 than by pale moonlight; and I could 
 not but feel the force of the Squire's 
 idea, that the formal terraces, heavily 
 moulded balustrades, and clipped yew 
 trees, carried with them an air of proud 
 aristocracy. There appeared to be an 
 unusual number of peacocks about the 
 place, and I was making some remarks 
 upon what I termed a flock of them, 
 that were basking under a sunny wall, 
 when I was gently corrected in my 
 
 92 
 
The editions of Caxton and Wynkin de Worde were his 
 delight.' (Page 102) 
 
phraseology by Master Simon, who told 
 me that, according to the most ancient 
 and approved treatise on hunting, I 
 must say a muster of peacocks. 'In 
 the same way,' added he, with a slight 
 air of pedantry, 'we say a flight of 
 doves or swallows, a bevy of quails, a 
 herd of deer, of wrens, or cranes, a 
 skulk of foxes, or a building of rooks/ 
 He went on to inform me, that, accord- 
 ing to Sir Anthony Fitzherbert, we 
 ought to ascribe to this bird 'both 
 understanding and glory; for, being 
 praised, he will .presently set up his 
 tail chiefly against the sun, to the 
 intent you may the better behold 
 
 93 
 
the beauty thereof. But at the fall of 
 the leaf, when his tail falleth, he will 
 mourn and hide himself in corners, till 
 his tail come again as it was.' 
 
 I could not help smiling at this dis- 
 play of small erudition on so whim- 
 sical a subject; but I found that the 
 peacocks were birds of some conse- 
 quence at the Hall, for Frank Brace- 
 bridge informed me that they were 
 great favourites with his father, who 
 was extremely careful to keep up the 
 breed ; partly because they belonged 
 to chivalry, and were in great request 
 at the stately banquets of the olden 
 time ; and partly because they had a 
 
pomp and magnificence about them, 
 highly becoming an old family mansion. 
 Nothing, he was accustomed to say, 
 had an air of greater state and dignity 
 than a peacock perched upon an 
 antique stone balustrade. 
 
 Master Simon had now to hurry 
 off, having an appointment at the 
 parish church with the village choris- 
 ters, who were to perform some music 
 of his selection. There was something 
 extremely agreeable in the cheerful 
 flow of animal spirits of the little 
 man; and I confess I had been some- 
 what surprised at his apt quotations 
 from authors who certainly were not 
 
 95 
 
* ID AY 
 
 in the range of everyday reading. I 
 mentioned this last circumstance to 
 Frank Bracebridge, who told me with 
 a smile that Master Simon's whole 
 stock of erudition was confined to 
 some half a dozen old authors, which 
 the Squire had put into his hands, 
 and which he read over and over, 
 whenever he had a studious fit; as 
 he sometimes had on a rainy day, or 
 a long winter evening. Sir Anthony 
 Fitzherbert's Book of Husbandry, Mark- 
 ham's Country Contentments ; the Tretyse 
 of Hunting, by Sir Thomas Cockayne 
 Knight; Izaak Walton's Angler, and 
 two or three more such ancient worthies 
 
 96 
 
of the pen, were his standard autho- 
 rities ; and, like all men who know 
 but a few books, he looked up to 
 them with a kind of idolatry, and 
 quoted them on all occasions. As to 
 his songs, they were chiefly picked 
 out of old books in the Squire's library, 
 and adapted to tunes that were popu- 
 lar among the choice spirits of the 
 last century. His practical applica- 
 tion of scraps of literature, however, 
 had caused him to be looked upon 
 as a prodigy of book - knowledge by 
 all the grooms, huntsmen, and small 
 sportsmen of the neighbourhood. 
 
 While we were talking we heard 
 
 97 
 
the distant toll of the village bell, 
 and I was told that the Squire was 
 a little particular in having his house- 
 hold at church on a Christmas morn- 
 ing; considering it a day of pouring 
 out of thanks and rejoicing; for, as 
 old Tusser observed : 
 
 At Christmas be merry, and thankful withal, 
 And feast thy poor neighbours, the great and 
 the small. 
 
 * If you are disposed to go to church/ 
 said Frank Bracebridge, 'I can pro- 
 mise you a specimen of my cousin 
 Simon's musical achievements. As the 
 church is destitute of an organ, he 
 
 98 
 
has formed a band from the village 
 amateurs, and established a musical 
 club for their improvement; he has 
 also sorted a choir, as he sorted my 
 father's pack of hounds, according to 
 the directions of Jervaise Markham, in 
 his Country Contentments ; for the bass 
 he has sought out all the " deep solemn 
 mouths," and for the tenor the "loud 
 ringing mouths," among the country 
 bumpkins ; and for " sweet mouths" he 
 has culled with curious taste among 
 the prettiest lasses in the neighbour- 
 hood ; though these last, he affirms, 
 are the most difficult to keep in tune ; 
 your pretty female singer being ex- 
 
 99 
 
ceedingly wayward and capricious, and 
 very liable to accident. 
 
 As the morning, though frosty, was 
 remarkably fine and clear, the most of 
 the family walked to the church, which 
 was a very old building of grey stone, 
 and stood near a village, about half a 
 mile from the park gate. Adjoining- 
 it was a low snug parsonage, which 
 seemed coeval with the church. The 
 front of it was perfectly matted with a 
 yew-tree that had been trained against 
 its walls, through the dense foliage of 
 which apertures had been formed to 
 admit light into the small antique lat- 
 tices. As we passed this sheltered 
 
 100 
 
Beating time with much gesticulation and emphasis. 
 (Page 107) 
 
nest, the parson issued forth and pre- 
 ceded us. 
 
 I had expected to see a sleek, well- 
 conditioned pastor, such as is often 
 found in a snug living in the vicinity 
 of a rich patron's table ; but I was 
 disappointed. The parson was a little, 
 meagre, black -looking man, with a 
 grizzled wig that was too wide, and 
 stood off from each ear; so that his 
 head seemed to have shrunk away 
 within it, like a dried filbert in its 
 shell. He wore a rusty coat, with 
 great skirts, and pockets that would 
 have held the church Bible and prayer- 
 book; and his small legs seemed still 
 
 
 M 
 
 101 
 
7 TD 17 SP ISf /^ 
 L Mi M ii JOl^u 
 
 smaller, from being planted in large 
 shoes decorated with enormous buckles. 
 I was informed by Frank Brace- 
 bridge that the parson had been a 
 chum of his father's at Oxford, and 
 had received this living shortly after 
 the latter had come to his estate. He 
 was a complete black-letter hunter, 
 and would scarcely read a work printed 
 in the Roman character. The editions 
 of Caxton and Wynkin de Worde were 
 his delight; and he was indefatigable 
 in his researches after such old English 
 writers as have fallen into oblivion 
 from their worthlessness. In defer- 
 ence, perhaps, to the notions of Mr. 
 
 102 
 
Bracebridge, he had made diligent in- 
 vestigations into the festive rites and 
 holiday customs of former times ; and 
 had been as zealous in the inquiry as 
 if he had been a boon companion ; 
 but it was merely with that plodding 
 spirit with which men of adust tempera- 
 ment follow up any track of study, 
 merely because it is denominated learn- 
 ing; indifferent to its intrinsic nature, 
 whether it be the illustration of the 
 wisdom, or of the ribaldry and ob- 
 scenity of antiquity. He had pored 
 over these old volumes so intensely, that 
 they seemed to have been reflected 
 into his countenance indeed ; which, 
 
 103 
 
if the face be an index of the mind, 
 might be compared to a title-page of 
 black-letter. 
 
 On reaching the church porch, we 
 found the parson rebuking the grey- 
 headed sexton for having used mistle- 
 toe among the greens with which the 
 church was decorated. It was, he ob- 
 served, an unholy plant, profaned by 
 having been used by the Druids in 
 their mystic ceremonies ; and though 
 it might be innocently employed in 
 the festive ornamenting of halls and 
 kitchens, yet it had been deemed by 
 the Fathers of the Church as un- 
 hallowed, and totally unfit for sacred 
 
 104 
 
purposes. So tenacious was he on this 
 point, that the poor sexton was obliged 
 to strip down a great part of the 
 humble trophies of his taste, before 
 the parson would consent to enter upon 
 the service of the day. 
 
 The interior of the church was vener- 
 able but simple ; on the walls were 
 several mural monuments of the Brace- 
 bridges, and just beside the altar was 
 a tomb of ancient workmanship, on 
 which lay the effigy of a warrior in 
 armour, with his legs crossed, a sign 
 of his having been a crusader. I was 
 told it was one of the family who had 
 signalised himself in the Holy Land, 
 
 105 
 
BAY 
 
 and the same whose picture hung over 
 the fireplace in the hall. 
 
 During service, Master Simon stood 
 up in the pew, and repeated the re- 
 sponses very audibly ; evincing that 
 kind of ceremonious devotion punctu- 
 ally observed by a gentleman of the 
 old school, and a man of old family 
 connections. I observed, too, that he 
 turned over the leaves of a folio prayer- 
 book with something of a flourish ; pos- 
 sibly to show off an enormous seal-ring 
 which enriched one of his fingers, and 
 which had the look of a family relic. 
 But he was evidently most solicitous 
 about the musical part of the service, 
 
 106 
 
keeping his eye fixed intently on the 
 choir, and beating time with much 
 gesticulation and emphasis. 
 
 The orchestra was in a small gallery, 
 and presented a most whimsical group- 
 ing of heads, piled one above the 
 other, among which I particularly 
 noticed that of the village tailor, a 
 pale fellow with a retreating forehead 
 and chin, who played on the clarionet, 
 and seemed to have blown his face to 
 a point ; and there was another, a 
 short pursy man, stooping and labour- 
 ing at a bass viol, so as to show nothing 
 but the top of a round bald head, like 
 the egg of an ostrich. There were two 
 
 107 
 
STHAS* * AY 
 
 * 'k 
 
 or three pretty faces among the female 
 singers, to which the keen air of a 
 frosty morning had given a bright rosy 
 tint; but the gentlemen choristers had 
 evidently been chosen like old Cremona 
 fiddles, more for tone than looks ; and 
 as several had to sing from the same 
 book, there were clusterings of odd 
 physiognomies, not unlike those groups 
 of cherubs we sometimes see on country 
 tombstones. 
 
 The usual services of the choir were 
 managed tolerably well, the vocal parts 
 generally lagging a little behind the 
 instrumental, and some loitering fiddler 
 now and then making up for lost time 
 
 108 
 
'Winding all up by a nasal solo.' (Page 110) 
 
by travelling over a passage with pro- 
 digious celerity, and clearing more bars 
 than the keenest fox-hunter to be in 
 at the death. But the great trial was 
 an anthem that had been prepared 
 and arranged by Master Simon, and 
 on which he had founded great ex- 
 pectation. Unluckily there was a 
 blunder at the very outset ; the 
 musicians became flurried ; Master 
 Simon was in a fever; everything went 
 on lamely and irregularly until they 
 came to a chorus beginning 'Now let 
 us sing with one accord,' which seemed 
 to be a signal for parting company : 
 all became discord and confusion ; each 
 
 N 
 
 109 
 
shifted for himself, and got to the end 
 as well, or rather as soon, as he could, 
 except one old chorister in a pair of 
 horn spectacles bestriding and pinch- 
 ing a long sonorous nose ; who, happen- 
 ing to stand a little apart, and being 
 wrapped up in his own melody, kept on 
 a quavering course, wriggling his head, 
 ogling his book, and winding all up by a 
 nasal solo of at least three bars' duration. 
 The parson gave us a most erudite 
 sermon on the rites and ceremonies 
 of Christmas, and the propriety of ob- 
 serving it not merely as a day of 
 thanksgiving, but of rejoicing; sup- 
 porting the correctness of his opinions 
 
 110 
 
!AY 
 
 by the earliest usages of the Church, 
 and enforcing them by the authorities 
 of Theophilus of Cesarea, St. Cyprian, 
 St. Chrysostom, St. Augustine, and a 
 cloud more of Saints and Fathers, from 
 whom he made copious quotations. I 
 was a little at a loss to perceive the 
 necessity of such a mighty array of 
 forces to maintain a point which no 
 one present seemed inclined to dis- 
 pute ; but I soon found that the good 
 man had a legion of ideal adversaries 
 to contend with ; having, in the course 
 of his researches on the subject of 
 Christmas, got completely embroiled 
 in the sectarian controversies of the 
 
 111 
 
DAY 
 
 Revolution, when the Puritans made 
 such a fierce assault upon the cere- 
 monies of the Church, and poor old 
 Christmas was driven out of the land 
 by proclamation of Parliament. The 
 worthy parson lived but with times past, 
 and knew but a little of the present. 
 
 Shut up among worm-eaten tomes in 
 the retirement of his antiquated little 
 study, the pages of old times were to 
 him as the gazettes of the day; while 
 the era of the Revolution was mere 
 modern history. He forgot that nearly 
 two centuries had elapsed since the 
 fiery persecution of poor mince -pie 
 throughout the land; when plum-por- 
 
 112 
 
ridge was denounced as 'mere popery/ 
 and roast beef as antichristian ; and 
 that Christmas had been brought in 
 again triumphantly with the merry court 
 of King Charles at the Restoration. 
 He kindled into warmth with the 
 ardour of his contest, and the host of 
 imaginary foes with whom he had to 
 combat; had a stubborn conflict with 
 old Prynne and two or three other 
 forgotten champions of the Round- 
 heads, on the subject of Christmas 
 festivity ; and concluded by urging his 
 hearers, in the most solemn and affect- 
 ing manner, to stand to the tradition- 
 ary customs of their fathers, arid feast 
 
 113 
 
AY 
 
 and make merry on this joyful anni- 
 versary of the Church. 
 
 I have seldom known a sermon at- 
 tended apparently with more immedi- 
 ate effects; for, on leaving the church, 
 the congregation seemed one and all 
 possessed with the gaiety of spirit so 
 earnestly enjoined by their pastor. The 
 elder folks gathered in knots in the 
 churchyard, greeting and shaking 
 hands ; and the children ran about cry- 
 ing, TJle ! Ule ! and repeating some 
 uncouth rhymes : 
 
 Ule ! Ule ! 
 
 Three puddings in a pule ; 
 
 Crack imts and cry ule ! 
 
 114 
 
which the parson, who had joined us, 
 informed me had been handed down 
 from days of yore. The villagers doffed 
 their hats to the Squire as he passed, 
 giving him the good wishes of the 
 season with every appearance of heart- 
 felt sincerity, and were invited by him 
 to the Hall, to take something to keep 
 out the cold of the weather; and I 
 heard blessings uttered by several of the 
 poor, which convinced me that, in the 
 midst of his enjoyments, the worthy 
 old cavalier had not forgotten the true 
 Christmas virtue of charity. 
 
 On our way homeward his heart 
 seemed overflowing with generous and 
 
 115 
 
happy feelings. As we passed over a 
 rising ground which commanded some- 
 thing of a prospect, the sounds of 
 rustic merriment now and then reached 
 our ears; the Squire paused for a few 
 moments, and looked around with an 
 air of inexpressible benignity. The 
 beauty of the day was of itself suffi- 
 cient to inspire philanthropy. Not- 
 withstanding the frostiness of the morn- 
 ing, the sun in his cloudless journey 
 had acquired sufficient power to melt 
 away the thin covering of snow from 
 every southern declivity, and to bring 
 out the living green which adorns an 
 English landscape even in midwinter. 
 
 116 
 
Tolled the sweets from all 
 around.' 
 
 the rosy lips of the country 
 (Page 126) 
 
Large tracts of smiling verdure con- 
 trasted with the dazzling whiteness of 
 the shaded slopes and hollows. Every 
 sheltered bank on which the broad 
 rays rested yielded its silver rill of 
 cold and limpid water, glittering through 
 the dripping grass; and sent up slight 
 exhalations to contribute to the thin 
 haze that hung just above the surface 
 of the earth. There was something 
 truly cheering in this triumph of warmth 
 and verdure over the frosty thraldom 
 of winter; it was, as the Squire ob- 
 served, an emblem of Christmas hospi- 
 tality, breaking through the chills of 
 ceremony and selfishness, and thawing 
 
 117 
 
every heart into a flow. He pointed 
 with pleasure to the indications of good 
 cheer reeking from the chimneys of 
 the comfortable farmhouses and low, 
 thatched cottages. 'I love,' said he, 
 'to see this day well kept by rich and 
 poor; it is a great thing to have one 
 day in the year, at least, when you are 
 sure of being welcome wherever you 
 go, and of having, as it were, the world 
 all thrown open to you ; and I am 
 almost disposed to join with poor Robin 
 in his malediction of every churlish 
 enemy to this honest festival : 
 
 Those who at Christmas do repine, 
 And would fain hence despatch him, 
 
 118 
 
May they with old Duke Humphry dine, 
 Or else may Squire Ketch catch 'em. 
 
 The Squire went on to lament the 
 deplorable decay of the games and 
 amusements which were once preva- 
 lent at this season among the lower 
 orders, and countenanced by the higher : 
 when the old halls of castles and manor- 
 houses were thrown open at daylight ; 
 when the tables were covered with 
 brawn, and beef, and humming ale ; 
 when the harp and the carol resounded 
 all day long, and when rich and poor 
 were alike welcome to enter and make 
 merry. 'Our old games and local cus- 
 toms,' said he 'had a great effect in 
 
 
 119 
 
AY 
 
 making the peasant fond of his home, 
 and the promotion of them by the 
 gentry made him fond of his lord. 
 They made the times merrier, and 
 kinder, and better; and I can truly 
 say, with one of our old poets : 
 
 I like them well the curious preciseness 
 And all-pretended gravity of those 
 
 That seek to banish hence these harmless 
 
 sports, 
 Have thrust away much ancient honesty.' 
 
 ' The nation,' continued he, * is altered ; 
 we have almost lost our simple, true- 
 hearted peasantry. They have broken 
 asunder from the higher classes, and 
 seem to think their interests are sepa- 
 
 !! 
 
 120 
 
I DAY 
 
 rate. They have become too knowing, 
 and begin to read newspapers, listen to 
 alehouse politicians, and talk of reform. 
 I think one mode to keep them in good 
 humour in these hard times would be for 
 the nobility and gentry to pass more 
 time on their estates, mingle more 
 among the country people, and set the 
 merry old English games going again.' 
 
 Such was the good Squire's project 
 for mitigating public discontent ; and, 
 indeed, he had once attempted to put 
 his doctrine in practice, and a few 
 years before had kept open house 
 during the holidays in the old style. 
 The country people, however, did not 
 
 121 
 
AY 
 
 understand how to play their parts in 
 the scene of hospitality ; many uncouth 
 circumstances occurred ; the manor was 
 overrun by all the vagrants of the 
 country, and more beggars drawn into 
 the neighbourhood in one week than 
 the parish officers could get rid of in 
 a year. Since then, he had contented 
 himself with inviting the decent part 
 of the neighbouring peasantry to call 
 at the Hall on Christmas Day, and 
 distributing beef, and bread, arid ale, 
 among the poor, that they might make 
 merry in their own dwellings. 
 
 We had not been long home when 
 the sound of music was heard from a 
 
 122 
 
distance. A band of country lads, with- 
 out coats, their shirt-sleeves fancifully 
 tied with ribands, their hats decorated 
 with greens, and clubs in their hands, 
 were seen advancing up the avenue, 
 followed by a large number of villagers 
 and peasantry. They stopped before 
 the hall door, where the music struck 
 up a peculiar air, and the lads per- 
 formed a curious and intricate dance, 
 advancing, retreating, and striking their 
 clubs together, keeping exact time to 
 the music ; while one, whimsically 
 crowned with a fox's skin, the tail of 
 which flaunted down his back, kept 
 capering around the skirts of the dance, 
 
 123 
 
and rattling a Christmas box with many 
 antic gesticulations. 
 
 The Squire eyed this fanciful exhibi- 
 tion with great interest and delight, and 
 gave me a full account of its origin, 
 which he traced to the times when the 
 Romans held possession of the islands 
 plainly proving that this was a 
 descendant of the sword-dance of 
 
 ancients. 'It was now,' he said, "nearly" 
 extinct, but he had accidentally met 
 with traces of it in the neighbourhood, 
 and had encouraged its revival ; though, 
 to tell the truth, it was too apt to be 
 followed up by rough cudgel-play and 
 broken heads in the evening.' 
 
 124 
 
Who appeared to be the wit of the village.' (Pags 127) 
 
After the dance was concluded, the 
 whole party was entertained with brawn 
 and beef, and stout home-brewed. The 
 Squire himself mingled among the 
 rustics, and was received with awkward 
 demonstrations of deference and regard. 
 
 It is true, I perceived two or three 
 of the younger peasants, as they were 
 raising their tankards to their mouths 
 when the Squire's back was turned, 
 making something of a grimace, and 
 giving each other the wink ; but the 
 moment they caught my eye they pulled 
 grave faces, and were exceedingly 
 demure. With Master Simon, however, 
 they all seemed more at their ease. 
 
 125 
 
His varied occupations and amuse- 
 ments had made him well known 
 throughout the neighbourhood. He was 
 a visitor at every farmhouse and cottage ; 
 gossiped with the farmers and their 
 wives ; romped with their daughters ; 
 and like that type of a vagrant bachelor, 
 the bumblebee, tolled the sweets from 
 all the rosy lips of the country around. 
 
 The bashfulness of the guests soon 
 gave way before good cheer and affa- 
 bility. There is something genuine and 
 affectionate in the gaiety of the lower 
 orders, when it is excited by the bounty 
 and familiarity of those above them ; 
 the warm glow of gratitude enters into 
 
 126 
 
HAY 
 
 their mirth, and a kind word or a small 
 pleasantry, frankly uttered by a patron, 
 gladdens the heart of the dependant 
 more than oil and wine. When the 
 Squire had retired, the merriment in- 
 creased, and there was much joking and 
 laughter, particularly between Master 
 Simon and a hale, ruddy-faced, white- 
 headed farmer, who appeared to be the 
 wit of the village : for I observed all his 
 companions to wait with open mouths 
 for his retorts, and burst into a gratui- 
 tous laugh before they could well under- 
 stand them. 
 
 The whole house, indeed, seemed 
 abandoned to merriment. As I passed 
 
 127 
 
to my room to dress for dinner, I heard 
 the sound of music in a small court, and, 
 looking through a window that com- 
 manded it, I perceived a band of 
 wandering musicians, with pandean pipes 
 and tambourine ; a pretty, coquettish 
 housemaid was dancing a jig with a 
 smart country lad, while several of the 
 other servants were looking on. In the 
 midst of her sport the girl caught a 
 glimpse of my face at the window, and, 
 colouring up, ran off with an air of 
 roguish affected confusion. 
 
 128 
 
Lo NOW )5 GOMEL THE JOYFUL 5T FEAbT 
 
 LET EVERY n AN BE JOLLY. 
 
 EACH Roon "WITH yvic LEAVES is DREST. 
 
 AND EVERY POST WITJI J^OILY 
 
 NOW ALL OUR NEIGHBOUR^ CHIMNEYS dllPKE 
 
 AND CHR15THA5 BLOCKS ARE BURNING: 
 TKEIK OVENS TEY WITH BAKT nEAT5 C>[OXE. 
 AND ALL TtfElR. 5PJT5 ARE TURNING. 
 
 WITHOUT THE DOQFL LET SORROW LIE 
 
 AND IF FOR COLD, IT MAP TO DIE., 
 
 WE'LL 'BUKY'T IN A CKRisTnAs PIE . 
 AND EVERnoRE BEL nERRY. 
 
 WITHERS 5 
 
to, MO*, is cone YttE-TOYriH.' ST 
 
 UT tVERY MAM Bt TOUY, , 
 EACH ROOM t WtTH VIE. LAv5 IJ 
 AND EVERT POST- WTtt -.HOU.Y. 
 
 AU." OUR^ NElOHftOURS CHIHNEY5 
 
 ANQ CHRISTMAS 6Loc<s /^R 
 
 IR OVENS THEY WITH- &AK.V MAT3 CHOKE 
 AND ALL 'THEIR.' 5P'T5 -ARE - TURNING- . 
 
 'The dinner was served up in the great hall.' (Paga 134) 
 
I HAD finished my toilet, and was 
 loitering with Frank Bracebridge 
 in the library, when we heard a 
 distant thwacking sound, which he in- 
 formed me was a signal for the serving 
 up of the dinner. The Squire kept up 
 old customs in kitchen as well as hall ; 
 and the rolling-pin, struck upon the 
 dresser by the cook, summoned the 
 servants to carry in the meats. 
 
 Just in this nick the cook knocked thrice, 
 And all the waiters in a trice 
 His summons did obey ; 
 
 133 
 
Each serving man, with dish in hand, 
 March'd boldly up, like our train-band, 
 Presented and away. 1 
 
 The dinner was served up in the 
 great hall, where the Squire always 
 held his Christmas banquet. A blaz- 
 ing, crackling fire of logs had been 
 heaped on to warm the spacious 
 apartment, and the flame went spark- 
 ling and wreathing up the wide-mouthed 
 chimney. The great picture of the 
 crusader and his white horse had 
 been profusely decorated with greens 
 for the occasion ; and holly and ivy 
 
 had likewise been wreathed around 
 
 / 
 
 1 Sir John Suckling. 
 
 134 
 
the helmet and weapons on the oppo- 
 site wall, which I understood were 
 the arms of the same warrior. T 
 must own, by the bye, I had strong 
 doubts about the authenticity of paint- 
 ing and armour as having belonged 
 to the crusader, they certainly hav- 
 ing the stamp of more recent days ; 
 but I was told that the painting had 
 been so considered time out of mind ; 
 and that as to the armour, it had 
 been found in a lumber room, and 
 elevated to its present situation by 
 the Squire, who at once determined 
 it to be the armour of the family 
 hero ; and as he was absolute autho- 
 
 135 
 
rity on all such subjects to his own 
 household, the matter had passed 
 into current acceptation. A side- 
 board was set out just under this 
 chivalric trophy, on which was a dis- 
 play of plate that might have vied 
 (at least in variety) with Belshazzar's 
 parade of the vessels of the Temple : 
 'flagons, cans, cups, beakers, goblets, 
 basins, and ewers ' ; the gorgeous uten- 
 sils of good companionship, that had 
 gradually accumulated through many 
 generations of jovial housekeepers. 
 Before these stood the two Yule 
 candles, beaming like two stars of the 
 first magnitude : other lights were dis- 
 
 136 
 
' He bore a silver dish, on which was an enormous pig's 
 head.' (Page 140) 
 
tributed in branches, and the whole 
 array glittered like a firmament of 
 silver. 
 
 We were ushered into this banquet- 
 ing scene with the sound of minstrelsy, 
 the old harper being seated on a 
 stool beside the fireplace, and twang- 
 ing his instrument with a vast deal 
 more power than melody. Never did 
 Christmas board display a more goodly 
 and gracious assemblage of counten- 
 ances ; those who were not handsome 
 were, at least, happy ; and happiness is 
 a rare improver of your hard-favoured 
 visage. 
 
 I always consider an old English 
 
 Q 
 
 137 
 
family as well worth studying as a 
 collection of Holbein's portraits or 
 Albert Durer's prints. There is much 
 antiquarian lore to be acquired; much 
 knowledge of the physiognomies of 
 former times. Perhaps it may be 
 from having continually before their 
 eyes those rows of old family por- 
 traits, with which the mansions of 
 this country are stocked ; certain it 
 is, that the quaint features of anti- 
 quity are often most faithfully per- 
 petuated in these ancient lines ; and 
 I have traced an old family nose 
 through a whole picture-gallery, legi- 
 timately handed down from generation 
 
 138 
 
to generation, almost from the time 
 of the Conquest. Something of the 
 kind was to be observed in the 
 worthy company around me. Many 
 of their faces had evidently originated 
 in a Gothic age, and been merely 
 copied by succeeding generations ; and 
 there was one little girl, in particu- 
 lar, of staid demeanour, with a high 
 Roman nose, and an antique vinegar 
 aspect, who was a great favourite of 
 the Squire's, being, as he said, a Brace- 
 bridge all over, and the very coun- 
 terpart of one of his ancestors who 
 figured in the court of Henry vin. 
 The parson said grace, which was 
 
 139 
 
not a short, familiar one, such as is 
 commonly addressed to the Deity in 
 these unceremonious days ; but a long, 
 courtly, well-worded one of the ancient 
 school. 
 
 There was now a pause, as if some- 
 thing was expected; when suddenly 
 the butler entered the hall with some 
 degree of bustle ; he was attended 
 by a servant on each side with a large 
 wax-light, and bore a silver dish, on 
 which was an enormous pig's head, 
 decorated with rosemary, with a lemon 
 in its mouth, which was placed with 
 great formality at the head of the 
 table. The moment this pageant made 
 
 140 
 
raS-3 
 
 its appearance, the harper struck up 
 a flourish ; at the conclusion of which 
 the young Oxonian, on receiving a hint 
 from the Squire, gave, with an air of the 
 most comic gravity, an old carol, the 
 first verse of which was as follows : 
 
 Caput apri defero 
 
 Reddens laudes Domino. 
 The boar's head in hand bring I, 
 With garlands gay and rosemary. 
 
 I pray you all synge merily 
 
 Qui estis in convivio. 
 
 Though prepared to witness many 
 of these little eccentricities, from being 
 apprised of the peculiar hobby of mine 
 
 141 
 
host; yet, I confess, the parade with 
 which so odd a dish was introduced 
 somewhat perplexed me, until I 
 gathered from the conversation of the 
 Squire and the parson that it was 
 meant to represent the bringing in of 
 the boar's head : a dish formerly served 
 up with much ceremony, and the sound 
 of minstrelsy and song, at great tables 
 on Christmas Day. ' I like the old cus- 
 tom,' said the Squire, 'not merely be- 
 cause it is stately and pleasing in itself, 
 but because it was observed at the 
 College of Oxford, at which I was 
 educated. When I hear the old song 
 chanted, it brings to mind the time 
 
 142 
 
when I was young and gamesome 
 and the noble old college-hall and my 
 fellow-students loitering about in their 
 black gowns : many of whom, poor lads, 
 are now in their graves ! ' 
 
 The parson, however, whose mind 
 was not haunted by such associations, 
 and who was always more taken up 
 with the text than the sentiment, ob- 
 jected to the Oxonian's version of the 
 carol : which he affirmed was different 
 from that sung at college. He went 
 on, with the dry perseverance of a 
 commentator, to give the college read- 
 ing, accompanied by sundry annota- 
 tions : addressing himself at first to 
 
 143 
 
the company at large ; but finding their 
 attention gradually diverted to other 
 talk, and other objects, he lowered his 
 tone as his number of auditors dimin- 
 ished, until he concluded his remarks, 
 in an under voice, to a fat-headed old 
 gentleman next him, who was silently 
 engaged in the discussion of a huge 
 plateful of turkey. 
 
 The table was literally loaded with 
 good cheer, and presented an epitome 
 of country abundance, in this season 
 of overflowing larders. A distinguished 
 post was allotted to 'ancient sirloin/ 
 as mine host termed it; being, as he 
 added, 'the standard of old English 
 
 144 
 
A sly story of the parson and a pretty milkmaid.' (Page 156) 
 
hospitality, and a joint of goodly pre- 
 sence, and full of expectation.' 
 
 There were several dishes quaintly 
 decorated, and which had evidently 
 something traditionary in their embell- 
 ishments ; but about which, as I did not 
 like to appear over curious, I asked no 
 questions. I could not, however, but 
 notice a pie, magnificently decorated 
 with peacocks' feathers, in imitation of 
 the tail of that bird, which over- 
 shadowed a considerable tract of the 
 table. This, the Squire confessed, with 
 some little hesitation, was a pheasant- 
 pie, though a peacock-pie was certainly 
 the most authentical ; but there had 
 
 145 
 
been such a mortality among the pea- 
 cocks this season, that he could not 
 prevail upon himself to have one killed. 
 
 It would be tedious, perhaps, to my 
 wiser readers, who may not have that 
 foolish fondness for odd and obsolete 
 things to which I am a little given, were 
 I to mention the other makeshifts of 
 this worthy old humorist, by which he 
 was endeavouring to follow up, though 
 at humble distance, the quaint customs 
 of antiquity. I was pleased, however, 
 to see the respect shown to his whims 
 by his children and relatives; who, 
 indeed, entered readily into the full 
 spirit of them, and seemed all well 
 
 146 
 
versed in their parts ; having doubtless 
 been present at many a rehearsal. I 
 was amused, too, at the air of profound 
 gravity with which the butler and other 
 servants executed the duties assigned 
 them, however eccentric. They had an 
 old-fashioned look ; having, for the most 
 part, been brought up in the household, 
 and grown into keeping with the anti- 
 quated mansion, and the humours of its 
 lord ; and most probably looked upon 
 all his whimsical regulations as the 
 established laws of honourable house- 
 keeping. When the cloth was removed, 
 the butler brought in a huge silver 
 vessel of rare and curious workmanship, 
 
 147 
 
which he placed before the Squire. Its 
 appearance was hailed with acclama- 
 tion ; being the Wassail Bowl, so re- 
 nowned in Christmas festivity. The 
 contents had been prepared by the 
 Squire himself; for it was a beverage in 
 the skilful mixture of which he particu- 
 larly prided himself, alleging that it was 
 too abstruse and complex for the com- 
 prehension of an ordinary servant. It 
 was a potation, indeed, that might well 
 make the heart of a toper leap within 
 him ; being composed of the richest 
 and raciest wines, highly spiced and 
 sweetened, with roasted apples bobbing 
 about the surface. 
 
 148 
 
The old gentleman's whole counten- 
 ance beamed with a serene look of in- 
 dwelling delight, as he stirred this 
 mighty bowl. Having raised it to his 
 lips, with a hearty wish of a merry 
 Christmas to all present, he sent it 
 brimming, around the board, for every 
 one to follow his example, according 
 to the primitive style; pronouncing it 
 'the ancient fountain of good feeling, 
 where all hearts met together.' 
 
 There was much laughing and rally- 
 ing, as the honest emblem of Christmas 
 joviality circulated, and was kissed 
 rather coyly by the ladies. When it 
 reached Master Simon he raised it in 
 
 149 
 
both hands, and with the air of a 
 boon companion, struck up an old 
 Wassail chanson: 
 
 The browne bowle, 
 
 The merry browne bowle. 
 
 As it goes round about-a, 
 
 Fill 
 
 Still, 
 
 Let the world say what it will, 
 And drink your fill all out-a. 
 
 The deep canne, 
 
 The merry deep canne, 
 
 As thou dost freely quaff-a, 
 
 Sing, 
 
 Fling, 
 
 Be as merry as a king, 
 And sound a lusty laugh-a. 1 
 
 1 From Poor Robin's Almanack. 
 
 150 
 
Much of the conversation during 
 dinner turned upon family topics, to 
 which I was a stranger. There was, 
 however, a great deal of rallying of 
 Master Simon about some gay widow, 
 with whom he was accused of having a 
 flirtation. This attack was commenced 
 by the ladies ; but it was continued 
 throughout the dinner by the fat-headed 
 old gentleman next the parson, with the 
 persevering assiduity of a slow-hound ; 
 being one of those long-winded jokers, 
 who, though rather dull at starting game, 
 are unrivalled for their talents in hunt- 
 ing it down. At every pause in the 
 general conversation, he renewed his 
 
 151 
 
THE 
 
 bantering in pretty much the same 
 terms; winking hard at me with both 
 eye whenever he gave Master Simon 
 what he considered a home-thrust. The 
 latter, indeed, seemed fond of being 
 teased on the subject, as old bachelors 
 are apt to be ; and he took occasion to 
 inform me, in an undertone, that the 
 lady in question was a prodigiously fine 
 woman, and drove her own curricle. 
 
 The dinner-time passed away in this 
 flow of innocent hilarity ; and, though the 
 old hall may have resounded in its time 
 with many a scene of broader rout and 
 revel, yet I doubt whether it ever wit- 
 nessed more honest and genuine enjoy- 
 
 152 
 

 ' He was dealing forth strange accounts of popular 
 superstitions.' (Page 161) 
 
ment. How easy it is for one benevolent 
 being to diffuse pleasure around him ; 
 and how truly is a kind heart a fountain 
 of gladness, making everything in its 
 vicinity to freshen into smiles ! The 
 joyous disposition of the worthy Squire 
 was perfectly contagious ; he was happy 
 himself, and disposed to make all the 
 world happy ; and the little eccentricities 
 of his humour did but season, in a man- 
 ner, the sweetness of his philanthropy. 
 
 When the ladies had retired, the con- 
 versation, as usual, became still more 
 animated; many good things were 
 broached which had been thought of 
 during dinner, but which would not 
 
 153 
 
exactly do for a lady's ear ; and though 
 I cannot positively affirm that there was 
 much wit uttered, yet I have certainly 
 heard many contests of rare wit produce 
 much less laughter. Wit, after all, is a 
 mighty tart, pungent ingredient, and 
 much too acid for some stomachs ; but 
 honest good humour is the oil and wine 
 of a merry meeting, and there is no 
 jovial companionship equal to that 
 where the jokes are rather small, and 
 the laughter abundant. The Squire told 
 several long stories of early college 
 pranks and adventures, in some of 
 which the parson had been a sharer; 
 though in looking at the latter, it re- 
 
 154 
 
quired some effort of imagination to 
 figure such a little dark anatomy of a 
 man into the perpetrator of a madcap 
 gambol. Indeed, the two college chums 
 presented pictures of what men may be 
 made by their different lots in life. The 
 Squire had left the university to live 
 lustily on his paternal domains, in the 
 vigorous enjoyment of prosperity and 
 sunshine, and had flourished on to a 
 hearty and florid old age ; whilst the 
 poor parson, on the contrary, had dried 
 and withered away, among dusty tomes, 
 in the silence and shadows of his study. 
 
 Still there seemed to be a spark 
 of almost extinguished fire, feebly 
 
 
 155 
 
glimmering in the bottom of his soul; 
 and as the Squire hinted at a sly story 
 of the parson and a pretty milk-maid, 
 whom they once met on the banks 
 of the Isis, the old gentleman made 
 an 'alphabet of faces,' which, as far 
 as I could decipher his physiognomy, 
 I verily believe was indicative of 
 laughter; indeed, I have rarely met 
 with an old gentleman who took 
 absolutely offence at the imputed 
 gallantries of his youth. 
 
 I found the tide of wine and wassail 
 fast gaining on the dry land of sober 
 judgment. The company grew merrier 
 and louder as their jokes grew duller. 
 
 156 
 
Master Simon was in as chirping a 
 humour as a grasshopper filled with 
 dew; his old songs grew of a warmer 
 complexion, and he began to talk maud- 
 lin about the widow. He even gave a 
 long song about the wooing of a widow, 
 which he informed me he had gathered 
 from an excellent black-letter work, en- 
 titled Cupid's Solicitor for Love, contain- 
 ing store of good advice for bachelors, 
 and which he promised to lend me. The 
 first verse was to this effect : 
 
 He that will woo a widow must not dally, 
 He must make hay while the sun doth shine ; 
 
 He must not stand with her, Shall I, Shall I ? 
 But boldly say, Widow, thou must be mine. 
 
 157 
 

 This song inspired the fat-headed 
 old gentleman, who made several at- 
 tempts to tell a rather broad story 
 out of Joe Miller, that was pat to 
 the purpose ; but he always stuck in 
 the middle, everybody recollecting the 
 latter part excepting himself. The par- 
 son, too, began to show the effects of 
 good cheer, having gradually settled 
 down into a dose, and his wig sitting 
 most suspiciously on one side. Just 
 at this juncture we were summoned 
 to the drawing-room, and, I suspect, 
 at the private instigation of mine host, 
 whose joviality seemed always tempered 
 with a proper love of decorum. 
 
 158 
 
After the dinner-table was removed, 
 the hall was given up to the younger 
 members of the family, who, prompted 
 to all kinds of noisy mirth by the 
 Oxonian and Master Simon, made its 
 old walls ring with their merriment, 
 as they played at romping games. I 
 delight in witnessing the gambols of 
 children, and particularly at this happy 
 holiday- season, and could not help 
 stealing out of the drawing-room on 
 hearing one of their peals of laughter. 
 I found them at the game of blind- 
 man's buff. Master Simon, who was 
 the leader of their revels, and seemed 
 on all occasions to fulfil the office of 
 
 159 
 
THE 
 
 that ancient potentate, the Lord of 
 Misrule, was blinded in the midst of 
 the hall. The little beings were as 
 busy about him as the mock fairies 
 about FalstafF; pinching him, plucking 
 at the skirts of his coat, and tickling 
 him with straws. One fine blue-eyed 
 girl of about thirteen, with her flaxen 
 hair all in beautiful confusion, her frolic 
 face in a glow, her frock half torn off 
 her shoulders, a complete picture of a 
 romp, was the chief tormentor ; and 
 from the slyness with which Master 
 Simon avoided the smaller game, and 
 hemmed this wild little nymph in corners, 
 and obliged her to jump shrieking over 
 
 1GO 
 
chairs, I suspected the rogue of being not 
 a whit more blinded than was convenient. 
 When I returned to the drawing-room, 
 I found the company seated around the 
 fire, listening to the parson, who was 
 deeply ensconced in a high-backed oaken 
 chair, the work of some cunning artificer 
 of yore, which had been brought from 
 the library for his particular accommoda- 
 tion. From this venerable piece of furni- 
 ture, with which his shadowy figure and 
 dark weazen face so admirably accorded, 
 he was dealing forth strange accounts of 
 popular superstitions and legends of the 
 surrounding country, with which he had 
 become acquainted in the course of his 
 
 T 161 
 
antiquarian researches. I am half in- 
 clined to think that the old gentleman 
 was himself somewhat tinctured with 
 superstition, as men are very apt to be 
 who live a recluse and studious life in a 
 sequestered part of the country, and pore 
 over black-letter tracts, so often filled 
 with the marvellous and supernatural. 
 He gave us several anecdotes of the 
 fancies of the neighbouring peasantry, 
 concerning the effigy of the crusader 
 which lay on the tomb by the church 
 altar. As it was the only monument of 
 the kind in that part of the country, it 
 had always been regarded with feel- 
 ings of superstition by the goodwives 
 
 162 
 
of the village. It was said to get up 
 from the tomb and walk the rounds 
 of the churchyard in stormy nights, 
 particularly when it thundered ; and 
 one old woman, whose cottage bordered 
 on the churchyard, had seen it, through 
 the windows of the church, when the 
 moon shone, slowly pacing up and 
 down the aisles. It was the belief 
 that some wrong had been left unre- 
 dressed by the deceased, or some trea- 
 sure hidden, which kept the spirit in a 
 state of trouble and restlessness. Some 
 talked of gold and jewels buried in the 
 tomb, over which the spectre kept watch ; 
 and there was a story current of a sexton 
 
 163 
 
TE3 
 
 in old times who endeavoured to break 
 his way to the coffin at night ; but just 
 as he reached it, received a violent blow 
 from the marble hand of the effigy, which 
 stretched him senseless on the pave- 
 ment. These tales were often laughed 
 at by some of the sturdier among the 
 rustics, yet when night came on, there 
 were many of the stoutest unbelievers 
 that were shy of venturing alone in 
 the footpath that led across the church- 
 yard. From these and other anecdotes 
 that followed, the crusader appeared to 
 be the favourite hero of ghost stories 
 throughout the vicinity. His picture, 
 which hung up in the hall, was thought 
 
 164 
 
by the servants to have something super- 
 natural about it ; for they remarked that, 
 in whatever part of the hall you went, 
 the eyes of the warrior were still fixed 
 on you. The old porter's wife, too, at the 
 lodge, who had been born and brought 
 up in the family, and was a great gossip 
 among the maid-servants, affirmed that 
 in her young days she had often heard 
 say that on Midsummer eve, when it is 
 well known all kinds of ghosts, goblins, 
 and fairies become visible and walk 
 abroad, the crusader used to mount his 
 horse, come down from his picture, ride 
 about the house, down the avenue, and 
 so to the church to visit the tomb ; on 
 
 IG5 
 
which occasion the church door most 
 civilly swung open of itself: not that he 
 needed it ; for he rode through closed 
 gates and even stone walls, and had 
 been seen by one of the dairymaids to 
 pass between two bars of the great park 
 gate, making himself as thin as a sheet 
 of paper. 
 
 All these superstitions, I found, had 
 been very much countenanced by the 
 Squire, who, though not superstitious 
 himself, was very fond of seeing others 
 so. He listened to every goblin tale of 
 the neighbouring gossips with infinite 
 gravity, and held the porter's wife in 
 high favour on account of her talent for 
 
 166 
 
the marvellous. He was himself a great 
 reader of old legends and romances, and 
 often lamented that he could not believe 
 in them ; for a superstitious person, he 
 thought, must live in a kind of fairyland. 
 Whilst we were all attention to the 
 parson's stories, our ears were suddenly 
 assailed by a burst of heterogeneous 
 sounds from the hall, in which was 
 mingled something like the clang of 
 rude minstrelsy, with the uproar of 
 many small voices and girlish laughter. 
 The door suddenly flew open, and a 
 train came trooping into the room, that 
 might almost have been mistaken for 
 the breaking up of the court of Fairy. 
 
 167 
 
That indefatigable spirit, Master Simon, 
 in the faithful discharge of his duties 
 as Lord of Misrule, had conceived the 
 idea of a Christmas mummery, or mask- 
 ing; and having called in to his assist- 
 ance the Oxonian and the young officer, 
 who were equally ripe for anything that 
 should occasion romping and merriment, 
 they had carried it into instant effect. 
 The old housekeeper had been con- 
 sulted; the antique clothes-presses and 
 wardrobes rummaged and made to yield 
 up the relics of finery that had not seen 
 the light for several generations; the 
 younger part of the company had been 
 privately convened from the parlour and 
 
 168 
 
Master Simon led the van.' (Page 169) 
 
hall, and the whole had been bedizened 
 out, into a burlesque imitation of an 
 antique masque. 
 
 Master Simon led the van, as * ancient 
 Christmas,' quaintly apparelled in a ruff, 
 a short cloak, which had very much the 
 aspect of one of the old housekeeper's 
 petticoats, and a hat that might have 
 served for a village steeple, and must 
 indubitably have figured in the days of 
 the Covenanters. From under this his 
 nose curved boldly forth, flushed with a 
 frost-bitten bloom, that seemed the very 
 trophy of a December blast. He was 
 accompanied by the blue-eyed romp, 
 dished up as * Dame Mince-Pie,' in the 
 
 u 
 
 169 
 
venerable magnificence of faded bro- 
 cade, long stomacher, peaked hat, and 
 high-heeled shoes. The young officer 
 appeared as Robin Hood, in a sporting 
 dress of Kendal green and a foraging 
 cap with a gold tassel. The costume, to 
 be sure, did not bear testimony to deep 
 research, and there was an evident eye 
 to the picturesque, natural to a young 
 gallant in the presence of his mistress. 
 The fair Julia hung on his arm in a 
 pretty rustic dress, as 'Maid Marian.' 
 The rest of the train had been meta- 
 morphosed in various ways ; the girls 
 trussed up in the finery of the ancient 
 belles of the Bracebridge line, and the 
 
 170 
 
MKIEJI1IE 
 
 striplings bewhiskered with burnt cork, 
 and gravely clad in broad skirts, hang- 
 ing sleeves, and full-bottomed wigs, to 
 represent the characters of Roast Beef, 
 Plum Pudding, and other worthies cele- 
 brated in ancient maskings. The whole 
 was under the control of the Oxonian, 
 in the appropriate character of Misrule ; 
 and I observed that he exercised rather 
 a mischievous sway with his wand over 
 the smaller personages of the pageant 
 The irruption of this motley crew, 
 with beat of drum, according to ancient 
 custom, was the consummation of up- 
 roar and merriment. Master Simon 
 covered himself with glory by the state- 
 
 171 
 
liness with which, as Ancient Christmas, 
 he walked a minuet with the peerless, 
 though giggling, Dame Mince-Pie. It 
 was followed by a dance of all the char- 
 acters, which, from its medley of cos- 
 tumes, seemed as though the old family 
 portraits had skipped down from their 
 frames to join in the sport. Different 
 centuries were figuring at cross hands 
 and right and left ; the dark ages were 
 cutting pirouettes and rigadoons ; and 
 the days of Queen Bess jigging merrily 
 down the middle, through a line of 
 succeeding generations. 
 
 The worthy Squire contemplated these 
 fantastic sports, and the resurrection of 
 
 172 
 
TO! 
 
 his old wardrobe, with the simple relish 
 of childish delight. He stood chuckling 
 and rubbing his hands, and scarcely 
 hearing a word the parson said, notwith- 
 standing that the latter was discoursing 
 most authentically on the ancient and 
 stately dance at the Paon, or Peacock, 
 from which he conceived the minuet to 
 be derived. For my part, I was in a 
 continual excitement, from the varied 
 scenes of whim and innocent gaiety 
 passing before me. It was inspiring to 
 see wild-eyed frolic and warm-hearted 
 hospitality breaking out from among 
 the chills and glooms of winter, and old 
 age throwing off* his apathy and catching 
 
 173 
 
once more the freshness of youthful en- 
 joyment. I felt also an interest in the 
 scene, from the consideration that these 
 fleeting customs were posting fast into 
 oblivion, and that this was, perhaps, the 
 only family in England in which the 
 whole of them were still punctiliously 
 observed. There was a quaintness, too, 
 mingled with all this revelry that gave 
 it a peculiar zest; it was suited to the 
 time and place ; and as the old Manor 
 House almost reeled with mirth and 
 wassail, it seemed echoing back the 
 joviality of long-departed years. 
 
 But enough of Christmas and its 
 gambols ; it is time for me to pause in 
 
 174 
 
TE3I 
 
 this garrulity. Methinks I hear the 
 questions asked by my graver readers, 
 6 To what purpose is all this ? how is 
 the world to be made wiser by this 
 talk ?' Alas ! is there not wisdom enough 
 extant for the instruction of the world ? 
 And if not, are there not thousands of 
 abler pens labouring for its improve- 
 ment? It is so much pleasanter to 
 please than to instruct to play the 
 companion rather than the preceptor. 
 
 What, after all, is the mite of wisdom 
 that I could throw into the mass of 
 knowledge ? or how am I sure that my 
 sagest deductions may be safe guides for 
 the opinions of others ? But in writing 
 
 175 
 
THE 
 
 to amuse, if I fail, the only evil is my 
 own disappointment. ., If, however, I can 
 by any lucky chance, in these days of 
 evil, rub out one wrinkle from the brow 
 of care, or beguile the heavy heart of 
 one moment of sorrow; if I can now 
 and then penetrate through the gather- 
 ing film of misanthropy, prompt a bene- 
 volent view of human nature, and make 
 my reader more in good humour with 
 his fellow-beings and himself, surely, 
 surely, I shall not then have written 
 entirely in vain. 
 
 THE END 
 
 Edinburgh : T. and A. CONSTABLE, Printers to His Majesty 
 
THE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, SANTA CRUZ 
 
 This book is due on the last DATE stamped below. 
 
 NOV 6 1974 
 OCT31 
 
 DEC 26 1974 
 
 OV1 76 
 
 NOV 
 DEC U '76 
 
 NOV 3 '80 
 
 NOV 2 4 1980 REC'D 
 
 DEC 
 
 50m-6,'67(H25^s8)2 
 
 D EC 2 8 1981 
 
 
 
 JAN271986REC'D 
 7 1985REC'D 
 
 DEC - '86 
 
 NOV301985REC 
 
 
 
 JAN-81993REC'D 
 
I 
 
 PS2069.C4 1908 
 
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