There is nothing in England that exercises a more
delightful spell over my imagination than the lingerings
of the holiday customs and rural games of former times.
They recall the pictures my fancy used to draw in
the May morning of life, when as yet I only knew the
world through books, and believed it to be all that
poets had painted it; and they bring with them the
flavour of those honest days of yore, in which, perhaps
with equal fallacy, I am apt to think the world was
more home-bred, social, and joyous than at present.
I regret to say that they are daily growing more and
more faint, being gradually worn away by time, but
still more obliterated by modern fashion. They
resemble those picturesque morsels of Gothic architecture
which we see crumbling in various parts of the country,
partly dilapidated by the waste of ages, and partly
lost in the additions and alterations of latter days.
Poetry, however, clings with cherishing fondness about
the rural game and holiday revel, from which it has
derived so many of its themes,—as the ivy
winds its rich foliage about the Gothic arch and mouldering
tower, gratefully repaying their support by clasping
together their tottering remains, and, as it were,
embalming them in verdure.
Of all the old festivals, however, that of Christmas
awakens the strongest and most heartfelt associations.
There is a tone of solemn and sacred feeling that
blends with our conviviality, and lifts the spirit
to a state of hallowed and elevated enjoyment.
The services of the church about this season are extremely
tender and inspiring. They dwell on the beautiful
story of the origin of our faith, and the pastoral
scenes that accompanied its announcement. They
gradually increase in fervour and pathos during the
season of Advent, until they break forth in full jubilee
on the morning that brought peace and good-will to
men. I do not know a grander effect of music
on the moral feelings than to hear the full choir
and the pealing organ performing a Christmas anthem
in a cathedral, and filling every part of the vast
pile with triumphant harmony.
It is a beautiful arrangement, also derived from days
of yore, that this festival, which commemorates the
announcement of the religion of peace and love, has
been made the season for gathering together of family
connections, and drawing closer again those bands of
kindred hearts which the cares and pleasures and sorrows
of the world are continually operating to cast loose;
of calling back the children of a family who have
launched forth in life, and wandered widely asunder,
once more to assemble about the paternal hearth, that
rallying-place of the affections, there to grow young
and loving again among the endearing mementoes of
childhood.
