While it lasted, there was great drinking, singing, and telling oftales. Sometimes it was accompanied by Christmas candles; but in thecottages the only light was from the ruddy blaze of the great woodfire. The Yule clog was to burn all night; if it went out, it wasconsidered 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 inEngland, particularly in the north, and there are severalsuperstitions connected with it among the peasantry. If a squintingperson come to the house while it is burning, or a personbarefooted, it is considered an ill omen. The brand remaining from theYule clog is carefully put away to light the next year's Christmasfire.
It was really delightful to see the old squire seated in hishereditary elbow chair, by the hospitable fireside of his ancestors,and looking around him like the sun of a system, beaming warmth andgladness to every heart. Even the very dog that lay stretched at hisfeet, as he lazily shifted his position and yawned, would lookfondly up in his master's face, wag his tail against the floor, andstretch himself again to sleep, confident of kindness andprotection. There is an emanation from the heart in genuinehospitality which cannot be described, but is immediately felt, andputs the stranger at once at his ease. I had not been seated manyminutes by the comfortable hearth of the worthy old cavalier, before Ifound myself as much at home as if I had been one of the family.
Supper was announced shortly after our arrival. It was served upin a spacious oaken chamber, the panels of which shone with wax, andaround which were several family portraits decorated with holly andivy. Besides the accustomed lights, two great wax tapers, calledChristmas candles, wreathed with greens, were placed on ahighly-polished beaufet among the family plate. The table wasabundantly spread with substantial fare; but the squire made hissupper of frumenty, a dish made of wheat cakes boiled in milk, withrich 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 thefeast; and finding him to be perfectly orthodox, and that I need notbe ashamed of my predilection, I greeted him with all the warmthwherewith we usually greet an old and very genteel acquaintance.
The mirth of the company was greatly promoted by the humors of aneccentric personage whom Mr. Bracebridge always addressed with thequaint appellation of Master Simon. He was a tight brisk little man,with the air of an arrant old bachelor. His nose was shaped like thebill of a parrot; his face slightly pitted with the small-pox, witha dry perpetual bloom on it, like a frostbitten leaf in autumn. He hadan eye of great quickness and vivacity, with a drollery and lurkingwaggery of expression that was irresistible. He was evidently thewit of the family, dealing very much in sly jokes and inuendoes withthe ladies, and making infinite merriment by harping upon oldthemes; which, unfortunately, my ignorance of the family chroniclesdid not permit me to enjoy. It seemed to be his great delight duringsupper to keep a young girl next him in a continual agony of stifledlaughter, 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 thecompany, who laughed at every thing he said or did, and at everyturn of his countenance. I could not wonder at it; for he must havebeen a miracle of accomplishments in their eyes. He could imitatePunch and Judy; make an old woman of his hand, with the assistanceof a burnt cork and pocket-handkerchief; and cut an orange into such aludicrous caricature, that the young folks were ready to die withlaughing.
I was let briefly into his history by Frank Bracebridge. He was anold bachelor, of a small independent income, which, by carefulmanagement, was sufficient for all his wants. He revolved throughthe family system like a vagrant comet in its orbit; sometimesvisiting one branch, and sometimes another quite remote; as is oftenthe case with gentlemen of extensive connections and small fortunes inEngland. He had a chirping buoyant disposition, always enjoying thepresent moment; and his frequent change of scene and company preventedhis acquiring those rusty unaccommodating habits, with which oldbachelors are so uncharitably charged. He was a complete familychronicle, being versed in the genealogy, history, andintermarriages of the whole house of Bracebridge, which made him agreat favorite with the old folks; he was a beau of all the elderladies and superannuated spinsters, among whom he was habituallyconsidered rather a young fellow, and he was master of the revelsamong the children; so that there was not a more popular being inthe sphere in which he moved than Mr. Simon Bracebridge. Of lateyears, he had resided almost entirely with the squire, to whom hehad become a factotum, and whom he particularly delighted by jumpingwith his humor in respect to old times, and by having a scrap of anold song to suit every occasion. We had presently a specimen of hislast-mentioned talent, for no sooner was supper removed, and spicedwines and other beverages peculiar to the season introduced, thanMaster Simon was called on for a good old Christmas song. He bethoughthimself for a moment, and then, with a sparkle of the eye, and a voicethat was by no means bad, excepting that it ran occasionally into afalsetto, like the notes of a split reed, he quavered forth a quaintold ditty.
Now Christmas is come,
