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.
[11] See Note K.
But enough of Christmas and its gambols; it is time
for me to pause in this garrulity. Methinks I
hear the questions asked by my graver readers, “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 improvement?—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 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 gathering
film of misanthropy, prompt a benevolent 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.
Notes
[Footnote 1: NOTE A.
The misletoe is still hung up in farmhouses 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.]
[Footnote 2: NOTE B.
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 merrie, merrie boyes,
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 farmhouses 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.]
