第7章 THE SKETCH BOOK(1)

CHRISTMAS DAY

by Washington Irving

Dark and dull night, flie hence away,

And give the honor to this day

That sees December turn'd to May.

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Why does the chilling winter's morne

Smile like a field beset with corn?

Or smell like to a meade new-shorne,

Thus on the sudden?- Come and see

The cause why things thus fragrant be.

HERRICK.

WHEN I woke the next morning, it seemed as if all the events ofthe preceding evening had been a dream, and nothing but the identityof the ancient chamber convinced me of their reality. While I laymusing on my pillow, I heard the sound of little feet patteringoutside of the door, and a whispering consultation. Presently achoir of small voices chanted forth an old Christmas carol, the burdenof which was-Rejoice, our Savior he was born

On Christmas day in the morning.

I rose softly, slipt on my clothes, opened the door suddenly, andbeheld one of the most beautiful little fairy groups that a paintercould imagine. It consisted of a boy and two girls, the eldest notmore than six, and lovely as seraphs. They were going the rounds ofthe house, and singing at every chamber door; but my sudden appearancefrightened them into mute bashfulness. They remained for a momentplaying on their lips with their fingers, and now and then stealinga shy glance from under their eyebrows, until, as if by one impulse,they scampered away, and as they turned an angle of the gallery, Iheard them laughing in triumph at their escape.

Every thing conspired to produce kind and happy feelings in thisstronghold of old-fashioned hospitality. The window of my chamberlooked out upon what in summer would have been a beautifullandscape. There was a sloping lawn, a fine stream winding at the footof it, and a track of park beyond, with noble clumps of trees, andherds of deer. At a distance was a neat hamlet, with the smoke fromthe cottage chimneys hanging over it; and a church with its dark spirein strong relief against the clear, cold sky. The house was surroundedwith evergreens, according to the English custom, which would havegiven almost an appearance of summer; but the morning was extremelyfrosty; the light vapor of the preceding evening had been precipitatedby the cold, and covered all the trees and every blade of grass withits fine crystallizations. The rays of a bright morning sun had adazzling effect among the glittering foliage. A robin, perched uponthe top of a mountain ash that hung its clusters of red berries justbefore my window, was basking himself in the sunshine, and piping afew querulous notes; and a peacock was displaying all the glories ofhis train, and strutting with the pride and gravity of a Spanishgrandee, on the terrace walk below.

I had scarcely dressed myself, when a servant appeared to inviteme to family prayers. He showed me the way to a small chapel in theold wing of the house, where I found the principal part of thefamily already assembled in a kind of gallery, furnished withcushions, hassocks, and large prayer-books; the servants were seatedon benches below. The old gentleman read prayers from a desk infront of the gallery, and Master Simon acted as clerk, and made theresponses; and I must do him the justice to say that he acquittedhimself with great gravity and decorum.

The service was followed by a Christmas carol, which Mr. Bracebridgehimself had constructed from a poem of his favorite author, Herrick;and it had been adapted to an old church melody by Master Simon. Asthere were several good voices among the household, the effect wasextremely pleasing; but I was particularly gratified by the exaltationof heart, and sudden sally of grateful feeling, with which theworthy squire delivered one stanza; his eye glistening, and hisvoice rambling out of all the bounds of time and tune:

"'Tis thou that crown'st my glittering hearthWith guiltlesse mirth,And givest 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 everySunday and saints' day throughout the year, either by Mr.

Bracebridge or by some member of the family. It was once almostuniversally the case at the seats of the nobility and gentry ofEngland, and it is much to be regretted that the custom is fallinginto neglect; for the dullest observer must be sensible of the orderand serenity prevalent in those households, where the occasionalexercise of a beautiful form of worship in the morning gives, as itwere, the keynote to every temper for the day, and attunes everyspirit to harmony.

Our breakfast consisted of what the squire denominated true oldEnglish fare. He indulged in some bitter lamentations over modernbreakfasts of tea and toast, which he censured as among the causesof modern effeminacy and weak nerves, and the decline of old Englishheartiness; and though he admitted them to his table to suit thepalates 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 Bracebridgeand Master Simon, or, Mr. Simon, as he was called by everybody but thesquire. We were escorted by a number of gentlemanlike dogs, thatseemed loungers about the establishment; from the frisking spanielto the steady old stag-hound; the last of which was of a race that hadbeen in the family time out of mind: they were all obedient to adog-whistle which hung to Master Simon's button-hole, and in the midstof their gambols would glance an eye occasionally upon a smallswitch he carried in his hand.