The Sketch-Book of Geoffrey Crayon
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 permitted, 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 hoodman blind, shoe
the wild mare, hot cockles, steal the white loaf, bob apple, and snap
dragon; the Yule-clog and Christmas candle were regularly burnt, and the
mistletoe with its white berries hung up, to the imminent peril of all
the pretty housemaids.*
* The mistletoe is still hung up in farm-houses and kitchens
at Christmas, and the young men have the privilege of
kissing the girls under it, plucking each time a berry from
the bush. When the berries are all plucked the privilege
ceases.
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, accompanied by his two
other sons--one a young officer in the army, home on a 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 the physiognomist, with the advantage,
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, comfortable married dames, superannuated spinsters,
blooming country cousins, half-fledged striplings, and bright-eyed
boarding-school hoydens. They were variously occupied--some at a round
game of cards; others conversing 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 going on between young Bracebridge and
his relatives I had time to scan the apartment. I have called it a hall,
for so it had certainly been in old times, and the squire had evidently
endeavored to restore it to something of its primitive state. Over
the heavy projecting fireplace was suspended a picture of a warrior
in armor, standing by a white horse, and on the opposite wall hung a
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-pieces, fishing-rods, and other sporting implements. The
furniture was of the cumbrous workmanship of former days, though some
articles of modern convenience had been added and the oaken floor had
been carpeted, so that the whole presented an odd mixture of parlor 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 understood, was the Yule-clog, which the squire was particular
in having brought in and illumined on a Christmas Eve, according to
ancient custom.*
* The Yule-clog is a great log of wood, sometimes the root
of a tree, brought into the house with great ceremony on
Christmas Eve, laid in the fireplace, and lighted with the
brand of last year’s clog. While it lasted there was great
drinking, singing, and telling of tales. Sometimes it was
accompanied by Christmas candles; but in the cottages the
only light was from the ruddy blaze of the great wood fire.
The Yule-clog was to burn all night; if it went out, it was
considered a sign of ill luck.
Herrick mentions it in one of his songs:
Come, bring with a noise,
My metric, merrie boys,
The Christmas Log to the firing;
While my good dame, she
Bids ye all be free,
And drink to your hearts’ desiring.
The Yule-clog is still burnt in many farm-houses and kitchens in
England, particularly in the north, and there are several superstitions
connected with it among the peasantry. If a squinting person come to the
house while it is burning, or a person barefooted, it is considered an
ill omen. The brand remaining from the Yule-clog is carefully put away
to light the next year’s Christmas fire.
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, 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 old
cavalier 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.
Besides the accustomed lights, two great wax tapers, called Christmas
candles, wreathed with greens, were placed on a highly polished beaufet
among the 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 orthodox,
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
acquaintance.
The mirth of the company was greatly promoted by the humors of an
eccentric 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 small-pox, with a
dry perpetual bloom on it, like a frostbitten 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 harping upon old themes, which,
unfortunately, my ignorance of the family chronicles did not permit
me to enjoy. It seemed to be his great delight during supper to keep
a young girl next to 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 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
sufficient 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 chirping,
buoyant disposition, always enjoying the present moment; and his
frequent change of scene and company prevented his acquiring those
rusty, unaccommodating 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 favorite with the old folks; he was
a beau of all the elder ladies and superannuated spinsters, among whom
he was habitually considered rather a young fellow; and he was master
of the revels among the children, so that 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 humor 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, 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 neighbors together;
And when they appear,
Let us make them such cheer,
As will keep out the wind and the weather, &c.
The supper had disposed every one to gayety, and an old harper was
summoned from the servants’ hall, where he had been strumming all the
evening, and 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
couple with a partner with whom he affirmed he had danced at every
Christmas for nearly half a century. Master Simon, who seemed to be a
kind of connecting link between the old times and the new, and to
be withal a little antiquated in the taste of his accomplishments,
evidently piqued himself on his dancing, and was endeavoring 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 defeated all his sober attempts at elegance: such are
the ill-sorted matches to which antique gentlemen are unfortunately
prone.
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 favorite
among the women. The most interesting couple in the dance was the