Old Christmas | Page 7

important purpose of seeing
company pass; but the sagest knot is generally at the blacksmith's, to
whom the passing of the coach is an event fruitful of much speculation.
The smith, with the horse's heel in his lap, pauses as the vehicle whirls
by; the Cyclops round the anvil suspend their ringing hammers, and
suffer the iron to grow cool; and the sooty spectre in brown paper cap,
labouring at the bellows, leans on the handle for a moment, and permits
the asthmatic engine to heave a long-drawn sigh, while he glares
through the murky smoke and sulphureous gleams of the smithy.
Perhaps the impending holiday might have given a more than usual
animation to the country, for it seemed to me as if everybody was in
good looks and good spirits. Game, poultry, and other luxuries of the
table, were in brisk circulation in the villages; the grocers', butchers',
and fruiterers' shops were thronged with customers. The housewives
were stirring briskly about, putting their dwellings in order; and the
glossy branches of holly, with their bright red berries, began to appear
at the windows. The scene brought to mind an old writer's account of
Christmas preparations:--"Now capons and hens, besides turkeys, geese,
and ducks, with beef and mutton--must all die; for in twelve days a
multitude of people will not be fed with a little. Now plums and spice,
sugar and honey, square it among pies and broth. Now or never must
music be in tune, for the youth must dance and sing to get them a heat,
while the aged sit by the fire. The country maid leaves half her market,
and must be sent again, if she forgets a pack of cards on Christmas eve.
Great is the contention of Holly and Ivy, whether master or dame wears
the breeches. Dice and cards benefit the butler; and if the cook do not
lack wit, he will sweetly lick his fingers."

I was roused from this fit of luxurious meditation by a shout from my
little travelling companions. They had been looking out of the
coach-windows for the last few miles, recognising every tree and
cottage as they approached home, and now there was a general burst of
joy--"There's John! and there's old Carlo! and there's Bantam!" cried
the happy little rogues, clapping their hands.
At the end of a lane there was an old sober-looking servant in livery
waiting for them: he was accompanied by a superannuated pointer, and
by the redoubtable Bantam, a little old rat of a pony, with a shaggy
mane and long, rusty tail, who stood dozing quietly by the roadside,
little dreaming of the bustling times that awaited him.
I was pleased to see the fondness with which the little fellows leaped
about the steady old footman, and hugged the pointer, who wriggled his
whole body for joy. But Bantam was the great object of interest; all
wanted to mount at once; and it was with some difficulty that John
arranged that they should ride by turns, and the eldest should ride first.
Off they set at last; one on the pony, with the dog bounding and
barking before him, and the others holding John's hands; both talking at
once, and overpowering him by questions about home, and with school
anecdotes. I looked after them with a feeling in which I do not know
whether pleasure or melancholy predominated: for I was reminded of
those days when, like them, I had neither known care nor sorrow, and a
holiday was the summit of earthly felicity. We stopped a few moments
afterward to water the horses, and on resuming our route, a turn of the
road brought us in sight of a neat country seat. I could just distinguish
the forms of a lady and two young girls in the portico, and I saw my
little comrades, with Bantam, Carlo, and old John, trooping along the
carriage road. I leaned out of the coach-window, in hopes of witnessing
the happy meeting, but a grove of trees shut it from my sight.
In the evening we reached a village where I had determined to pass the
night. As we drove into the great gateway of the inn, I saw on one side
the light of a rousing kitchen fire beaming through a window. I entered,
and admired, for the hundredth time, that picture of convenience,
neatness, and broad, honest enjoyment, the kitchen of an English inn. It

was of spacious dimensions, hung round with copper and tin vessels,
highly polished, and decorated here and there with a Christmas green.
Hams, tongues, and flitches of bacon were suspended from the ceiling;
a smoke-jack made its ceaseless clanking beside the fireplace, and a
clock ticked in one corner. A well scoured deal table extended along
one side of