Christmas: Its Origin and Associations / Together with Its Historical Events and Festive Celebrations During Nineteen Centuries

by W. F. Dawson

MODERN CHRISTMASES ABROAD.

Christmas-Keeping in the Arctic Regions, 1850-1.

"The bluejackets are generally better hands than the red-coats at improvising a jollification—Jack, at any rate, does not take his pleasures sadly. The gallant bands that have from time to time gone forth to a bloodless campaign in the icy north, have always managed to keep their Christmas right joyously. Certainly they could not complain of uncongenial skies or unseasonable temperatures; while, so far as snow and ice are necessary to thorough enjoyment, the supply in the Arctic regions is on a scale sufficient to satisfy the most ardent admirer of an old-fashioned Christmas. The frozen-in Investigators under McClure kept their first Arctic Christmas soberly, cheerfully, and in good fellowship, round tables groaning with good cheer, in the shape of Sandwich Island beef, musk veal from the Prince of Wales's Strait, mince-meat from England, splendid preserves from the Green Isle, and dainty dishes from Scotland. Every one talked of home, and speculated respecting the doings of dear ones there; and healths were drunk, not omitting those of their fellow-labourers sauntering somewhere in the regions about, but how near or how far away none could tell. When the festival came round again, the Investigator and Enterprise were alone in their glory, and they were separated by miles of frozen sea; but they had solved the great problem.[93] On board the Investigator, frost-bound in the Bay of Mercy, things went as merry as the proverbial marriage-bell. After divine service, everybody took a constitutional on the ice until dinner-time; then the officers sat down to a meal of which the pièce de résistance was a haunch of Banks' Island reindeer, weighing twenty pounds, with fat two inches thick, and a most delicious flavour; while the crew were regaling upon venison and other good things, double allowance of grog included; and dinner discussed, dancing, singing, and skylarking filled up the holiday hours till bedtime; the fun being kept up with unflagging humour, and with such propriety withal as to make their leader wish the anxious folks at home could have witnessed the scene created amidst so many gloomy influences, by the crew of a ship after two years' sojourn in those ice-bound regions upon their own resources. Another Christmas found the brave fellows still confined in their snowy prison; but their table boasted plum-pudding rich enough for Arctic appetites, Banks' Land venison, Mercy Bay hare-soup, ptarmigan pasties, and musk-ox beef—hung-beef, surely, seeing it had been dangling in the rigging above two years. The poets among the men wrote songs making light of the hardships they had endured; the painters exhibited pictures of past perils; comic actors were not wanting; and the whole company, casting all anxiety to the winds, enjoyed themselves to the utmost."[94]

In the spring of 1870, before the breaking out of the Franco-German war, Germany sent out two ships, the Germania and the Hansa, with the hope of reaching the North Pole. As is usually the case in Arctic expeditions, little could be done during the first season, and the ships were obliged to take up their winter-quarters off the east coast of Greenland. They had already been separated, so that the crew of one vessel, had no idea of the condition of the other. An officer upon the Germania gives the following interesting account of their Christmas festivities in the Arctic regions:—

"To the men who have already lived many weary months among the icebergs, Christmas signifies, in addition to its other associations, that the half of their long night—with its fearful storms, its enforced cessation of all energy, its discomfort and sadness—has passed, and that the sun will soon again shed its life and warmth-giving beams on the long-deserted North. From this time the grim twilight, during which noon has been hardly distinguishable from the other hours, grows daily lighter, until at length all hearts are gladdened, and a cheerful activity is once again called forth by the first glimpse of the sun. Christmas, the midnight of the Arctic explorer, thus marks a period in his life which he has good cause to consider a joyful one.

"For days before the festival, an unusual activity was observable all over the ship; and as soon as the severe storm which raged from December 16th to the 21st had abated, parties were organised, under our botanist, Dr. Pansch, to certain points of Sabine Island, near to which we were anchored, where, in a strangely sheltered nook, several varieties of a native Greenland evergreen plant, Andromeda tetragona, were to be found. A great quantity of this plant was conveyed on board, to be converted into a Christmas-tree. Under the orders of Dr. Pansch, the Andromeda was wound round small pieces of wood, several of which were attached, like fir-twigs, to a large bough; and when these boughs were fastened to a pole, they formed a very respectable fir-tree.

"After dinner on Christmas Day, the cabin was cleared for the completion of the preparations; and on our recall at six o'clock, we found that all had assumed an unwontedly festive appearance. The walls were decorated with the signal-flags and our national eagle; and the large cabin table, somewhat enlarged to make room to seat seventeen men, was covered with a clean white cloth, which had been reserved for the occasion. On the table stood the 'fir' tree, shining in the splendour of many little wax-lights, and ornaments with all sorts of little treasures, some of which, such as the gilded walnuts, had already seen a Christmas in Germany; below the tree was a small present for each of us, provided long beforehand, in readiness for the day, by loving friends and relatives at home. There was a packet too for each of the crew, containing some little joking gift, prepared by the mirth-loving Dr. Pansch, and a useful present also; while the officers were each and all remembered.

"When the lights burned down, and the resinous Andromeda was beginning to take fire, the tree was put aside, and a feast began, at which full justice was done to the costly Sicilian wine with which a friend had generously supplied us before we left home. We had a dish of roast seal! Some cakes were made by the cook, and the steward produced his best stores. For the evening, the division between the fore and aft cabins was removed, and there was free intercourse between officers and men; many a toast was drunk to the memory of friends at home, and at midnight a polar ball was improvised by a dance on the ice. The boatswain, the best musician of the party, seated himself with his hand-organ between the antlers of a reindeer which lay near the ship, and the men danced two and two on their novel flooring of hard ice!

"Such was our experience of a Christmas in the north polar circle; but the uncertainties of Arctic voyaging are great, and the two ships of our expedition made trial of the widely different fates which await the travellers in those frozen regions: and while we on the Germania were singularly fortunate in escaping accidents and in keeping our crew, in spite of some hardships, in sound health and good spirits, the Hansa was crushed by the ice, and her crew, after facing unheard-of dangers, and passing two hundred days on a block of ice, were barely rescued to return home."

Yet even to the crew of the ill-fated Hansa Christmas brought some festivities. The tremendous gale which had raged for many days ceased just before the day, and the heavy fall of snow with which it terminated, and which had almost buried the black huts that the shipwrecked men had constructed for themselves upon the drifting icebergs from the débris of the wreck, had produced a considerable rise in the temperature, and there was every indication that a season of calm might now be anticipated.

The log-book of the Hansa thus describes the celebration of the festival:—"The tree was erected in the afternoon, while the greater part of the crew took a walk; and the lonely hut shone with wonderful brightness amid the snow. Christmas upon a Greenland iceberg! The tree was artistically put together of firwood and mat-weed, and Dr. Laube had saved a twist of wax-taper for the illumination. Chains of coloured paper and newly-baked cakes were not wanting, and the men had made a knapsack and a revolver case as a present for the captain. We opened the leaden chests of presents from Professor Hochstetter and the Geological Society, and were much amused by their contents. Each man had a glass of port wine; and we then turned over the old newspapers which we found in the chests, and drew lots for the presents, which consisted of small musical instruments such as fifes, jew's-harps, trumpets, &c., with draughts and other games, puppets, crackers, &c. In the evening we feasted on chocolate and gingerbread."

"We observed the day very quietly," writes Dr. Laube in his diary. "If this Christmas be the last we are to see, it was at least a cheerful one; but should a happy return home be decreed for us, the next will, we trust, be far brighter. May God so grant!"

Christmas in the Crimea.

The Christmas of 1854 was a dismal one for the soldiers in the Crimea, witnessing and enduring what Lord John Russell spoke of as "the horrible and heartrending scenes of that Crimean winter."

"Thanks to General Muddle," says a journal of the period, "the Crimean Christmas of 1854 was anything but what it ought to and might have been; and the knowledge that plenty of good things had been provided by thoughtful hearts at home, but which were anywhere but where they were wanted, did not add to the merriment of our poor overworked, underfed army; and although some desperate efforts were made to be jolly on dreary outpost and in uncomfortable trenches, they only resulted in miserable failure. The following Christmas was doubly enjoyable by comparison. The stubborn fortress (Sebastopol) had fallen at last to its more stubborn assailants; habit had deprived frost and snow of their terrors, and every hut ran over with hams, preserves, vegetables, and mysterious tins, till it resembled a grocer's store. The valleys of Miscomia, too, were rich in mistletoe, to be had for the trouble of gathering; but few cared to undergo that trouble for the sake of what only reminded them of unattainable sweets, and made them sigh for the girls they had left behind them."

In 1855, Messrs. Macmillan & Co. published a poem by H. R. F., entitled "Christmas Dawn, 1854," in which the writer pictures the festivities marred by war:—

"A happy Christmas! Happy! to whom? Perchance to infancy, And innocent childhood, while the germ of sin, Yet undeveloped, leaves a virgin soil For joy, and Death and Sorrow are but names. But who, that bears a mind matured to thought, A heart to feel, shall look abroad this day And speak of happiness? The church is deckt With festive garlands, and the sunbeams glance From glossy evergreens; the mistletoe Pearl-studded, and the holly's lustrous bough Gleaming with coral fruitage; but we muse Of laurel blent with cypress. Gaze we down Yon crowded aisle? the mourner's dusky weeds Sadden the eye; and they who wear them not Have mourning in their hearts, or lavish tears Of sympathy on griefs too deeply lodged For man's weak ministry. A happy Christmas! Ah me! how many hearths are desolate! How many a vacant seat awaits in vain The loved one who returns not! Shall we drain The cheerful cup—a health to absent friends? Whom do we pledge? the living or the dead?"

Thus did the poet, "sick at heart," explore "the realm of sorrow"; and then again he mused:

"In humbler mood to hail the auspicious day, Shine forth rejoicing in thy strength, O sun, Shine through the dubious mists and tearful show'rs That darken Hope's clear azure! Christ is born, The life of those who wake, and those who sleep— The Day-spring from on high hath looked on us; And we, who linger militant on earth, Are one in Him, with those, the loved and lost, Whose early graves keep the red field they won Upon a stranger shore. Ah! not in vain Went up from many a wild Crimean ridge The soldier's pray'r, responsive to the vows Breathed far away in many an English home. Not vain the awakened charities, that gush Through countless channels—Christian brotherhoods Of mercy; and that glorious sister-band Who sow by Death's chill waters!—Not in vain, My country! ever loved, but dearest now In this thine hour of sorrow, hast thou learnt To bow to Him who chastens. We must weep— We may rejoice in weeping"

Christmas in Abyssinia.

Wherever Englishmen are on the 25th of December, there is Christmas. Whether it be in the icy regions of the Arctic zone, or in the sweltering heat of tropical sunshine, the coming round of the great feast brings with it to every Englishman a hearty desire to celebrate it duly. And if this cannot be done in exactly home-fashion, the festival is kept as happily as circumstances will allow. In this spirit did our soldiers keep Christmas in Abyssinia, in 1867, with the thermometer at seventy-five in the shade, and even here the edibles included at least one traditional dish—a joint of roast beef. There was also an abundance of spur-fowls, guinea-fowls, venison, mutton, &c., and the place in which the festive board was spread was decorated with branches of fir and such other substitutes for holly and mistletoe as could be found.

Christmas-keeping in India

at different periods shows the same determination of our British soldiers to honour the Christmas festival.

In 1857, the saviours of our Indian Empire very nearly lost their Christmas. The army was encamped at Intha, within sight of Nepaul, waiting for the rain to clear off and the tents to dry, ere it moved on to drive the Sepoys into the Raptee. The skies cleared on Christmas morning, and Lord Clyde was for marching at once, but relented in time to save the men's puddings from being spoiled—not only relented, but himself gave a Christmas banquet, at which the favoured guests sat down to well-served tables laden with barons of beef, turkeys, mutton, game, fish, fowls, plum-puddings, mince-pies, &c. To allay the thirst such substantial fare created, appeared beakers of pale ale from Burton and Glasgow; porter from London and Dublin; champagne, moselle, sherry, and old port, 'rather bothered by travelling twenty miles a day on a camel back.' Following the chief's example, each regiment had a glorious spread, and throughout the wide expanse of tents sounds of rejoicing were heard, for the soldiers kept Christmas right merrily.

Similarly,

The British Soldiers and Sailors in South Africa

did their best to observe the Christmas festival in good old English style, even during the sieges of Ladysmith, Kimberley, and Mafeking, when provisions were to be had only at famine prices. The ingenious Tommy Atkins, in distant lands, has often found sylvan substitutes for mistletoe and holly, and native viands to take the place of plum-puddings and mince-pies, but it is not so easy to find substitutes for the social circles in old England, and when the time comes round for the Christmas dance Tommy's thoughts "Return again to the girl I've left behind me."

Moreover, it sometimes falls to the lot of soldiers and war correspondents to spend their Christmas in most outlandish places. Mr. Archibald Forbes has left on record (in the English Illustrated Magazine, 1885) an interesting account of his own

Christmastide in the Khyber Pass.

In his graphic style the intrepid war correspondent describes the "ride long and hard" which Kinloch and he had through the Khyber to Jelalabad plain to fulfil "the tryst they had made to spend Christmas Day with the cheery comrades of Sir Sam Browne's headquarter staff." They had an adventurous journey together from the Dakka camp to Jumrood, where Forbes left Kinloch with Maude's division.

Further on, Mr. Forbes says: "I am not prepared to be definite, after five years, as to the number of plum-puddings forming that little hillock on the top of my dâk-gharry between Jhelum and Peshawur, on the apex of which sat the faithful John amidst a whirl of dust. At Peshawur the heap of Christmas gifts were loaded into the panniers of a camel, and the ship of the desert started on its measured solemn tramp up through the defiles of the Khyber." Then Mr. Forbes tells us how he joined Kinloch again at General Maude's headquarters at Jumrood. Kinloch "had not forgotten his tryst, but meanwhile there were military duties to be done." After the discharge of these "military duties," which included a night march to surprise a barbarous clan called Zukkur-Kehls, Forbes and Kinloch joined General Tytler's column on its return march to Dakka, because at Dakka they would be nearer to their friends of Sir Sam Browne's headquarters. "Tytler determined to make his exit from the Zukkur-Kahl Valley by a previously unexplored pass, toward which the force moved for its night's bivouac. About the entrance to the glen there was a fine forest of ilex and holly, large, sturdy, spreading trees, whence dangled long sprays of mistletoe; the mistletoe bough was here indeed, and Christmas was close, but where the fair ones whom, under other circumstances, the amorous youth of our column would have so enthusiastically led under that spray which accords so sweet a license? The young ones prattled of those impossible joys; but the seniors, less frivolous, were concerned by the increasing narrowness of the gorge, and by the dropping fire that hung on our skirts as we entered it. However, there was but one casualty—a poor fellow of the 17th Regiment had his thigh smashed by a bullet—and we spent the night under the ilex trees without further molestation.... It was Christmas Eve when we sat chatting with young Beatson in his lonely post by the Chardai streamlet; but a few hours of morning riding would carry us to Jellalabad whither Sir Sam Browne's camp had been advanced, and we were easy on the score of being true to tryst. As in the cold grey dawn we resumed our journey, leaving the young officer who had been our host to concern himself with the watchfulness of his picquets and the vigilance of his patrols, there was a sound of unintentional mockery in the conventional wish of a 'Merry Christmas' to the gallant lad, and there was a wistfulness in his answering smile.... The road to the encampment, the white canvas of whose tents showed through the intervening hills, was traversed at a hand gallop; and presently Kinloch and myself found ourselves in the street of the headquarter camp, shaking hands with friends and comrades, and trying to reply to a medley of disjointed questions. The bugles were sounding for the Christmas Day Church Parade as we finished a hurried breakfast. Out there on the plain the British troops of the division were standing in hollow square, the officers grouped in the centre.... The headquarter street we found swept and garnished, the flagstaff bedecked with holly, and a regimental band playing 'Home, Sweet Home.' Dear old Sir Sam Browne did not believe in luxury when on campaign, but now for the first time I saw him at least comfortable.... The mess anteroom was the camp street outside the dining tent; and at the fashionable late hour of eight we 'went in' to dinner, to the strains of the Roast Beef of Old England. It was a right jovial feast, and the most cordial good-fellowship prevailed. He would have been a cynical epicurean who would have criticised the appointments; the banquet itself was above all cavil. Rummaging among some old papers the other day, I found the menu, which deserves to be quoted: 'Soup—Julienne. Fish—Whitebait (from the Cabul River). Entrées—Cotelettes aux Champignons, Poulets à la Mayonaise. Joints—Ham and fowls, roast beef, roast saddle of mutton, boiled brisket of beef, boiled leg of mutton and caper sauce. Curry—chicken. Sweets—Lemon jelly, blancmange, apricot tart, plum-pudding. Grilled sardines, cheese fritters, cheese, dessert.' Truth compels the avowal that there was no table-linen, nor was the board resplendent with plate or gay with flowers. Table crockery was deficient, or to be more accurate, there was none. All the dishes were of metal, and the soup was eaten, or rather drunk, out of mugs and iron teacups. But it tasted none the worse on this account, and let it be recorded that there were champagne glasses, while between every two guests a portly magnum reared its golden head. Except 'The Queen,' of course, there were but two toasts after the feast—one was 'Absent Friends,' drunk in a wistful silence, and the other, the caterer's health, greeted with vociferous enthusiasm. A few fields off the wood had been collecting all day for the Christmas camp-fire of the 10th Hussars, and by ten o'clock the blaze of it was mounting high into the murky gloom. A right merry and social gathering it was round the bright glow of this Yule log in a far-off land. The flames danced on the wide circle of bearded faces, on the tangled fleeces of the postheens, on the gold braid of the forage caps, on the sombre hoods of beshliks.... The songs ranged from gay to grave; the former mood in the ascendency. But occasionally there was sung a ditty, the associations with which brought it about that there came something strangely like a tear into the voice of the singer, and that a yearning wistfulness fell upon the faces of the listeners. The bronzed troopers in the background shaded with their hands the fire-flash from their eyes; and as the familiar homely strain ceased that recalled home and love and trailed at the heart strings till the breast felt to heave and the tears to rise, there would be a little pause of eloquent silence which told how thoughts had gone astraying half across the globe to the loved ones in dear old England, and were loath to come back again to the rum and the camp fire in Jellalabad plain. Ah, how many stood or sat around that camp fire that were never to see old England more? The snow had not melted on the Sufed Koh when half a squadron of the troopers were drowned in the treacherous Cabul river. No brighter soul or sweeter singer round that fire than Monty Slade; but the life went out of Monty Slade with his face to the foe and his wet sword grasped in a soldier-grip; and he lies under the palm trees by the wells of El Teb."

Christmas in Canada.

In Canada the severe and long-continued frosts convert a good deal of land and water into fields of ice, and skating is a very popular amusement of Christmastide. Sleighing is also very fashionable, and the large tracts of country covered with snow afford ample scope for the pastime. The jingle of the sleigh bells is heard in all the principal thoroughfares which at the season of the great winter festival present quite an animated appearance. The ears of the sleigh drivers are usually covered either by the cap or with a comforter, which in very cold weather is also wrapped over the mouth and nose.

"Christmas Day," says an English Colonist, "is spent quietly in our own houses. New Year's Day is the day of general rejoicing, when every one either visits or receives their friends: and so, thinking of the merry times we have had in Old England, and comparing them with the quietness of to-day, we feel more like strangers in a strange land than ever before.

"As a special treat, we are to have a real English Christmas dinner to-day, and our housekeeper has made a wonderful plum-pudding. The turkey is already steaming upon the table, and we soon fall to work upon him. He is well cooked, but there seems to be something wrong with his legs, which are so tough and sinewy that we come to the conclusion that he must have been training for a walking match. The rest of the dinner passes off very well, with the exception of the plum-pudding, which has to be brought to the table in a basin, as it firmly refuses to bind.

"After dinner we retire to the sitting-room, and sit round the stove talking, while those of us addicted to the fragrant weed have a quiet smoke. Thus passes Christmas afternoon.

"Tea-time soon comes round, and after we have refreshed ourselves, we resolve to end the day by paying a visit to a neighbour who possesses an American organ, and Christmas evening closes in to the music of those sweet old carols which that evening are heard over the whole world wherever an English colony is to be found."

Christmas in Australia.

Christmas festivities in Australia are carried on in what we should call "summer weather." There is no lack of good cheer and good living, but cold and snow are at this season unknown, and skating and snowballing, as a consequence, are sports unheard of at Christmastide by the youth in the Antipodes. Large parties and excursions are often arranged for spending a short time in the parks and fields, and Christmas picnics partake much of the character of English "gipsy-parties." The inhabitants being chiefly English, many of the ceremonies customary in English homes are observed, and the changes that are made are enforced for the most part by the difference in climate, and by the altered circumstances under which the various festivities are arranged.

In "A Summer Christmas," Douglas B. W. Sladen thus describes the Australian festivities:—

"The Christmas dinner was at two, And all that wealth or pains could do Was done to make it a success; And marks of female tastefulness, And traces of a lady's care, Were noticeable everywhere. The port was old, the champagne dry, And every kind of luxury Which Melbourne could supply was there. They had the staple Christmas fare, Roast beef and turkey (this was wild), Mince-pies, plum-pudding, rich and mild, One for the ladies, one designed For Mr. Forte's severer mind, Were on the board, yet in a way It did not seem like Christmas day With no gigantic beech yule-logs Blazing between the brass fire-dogs, And with 100° in the shade On the thermometer displayed. Nor were there Christmas offerings Of tasteful inexpensive things, Like those which one in England sends At Christmas to his kin and friends, Though the Professor with him took A present of a recent book For Lil and Madge and Mrs. Forte, And though a card of some new sort Had been arranged by Lil to face At breakfast everybody's place. When dinner ended nearly all Stole off to lounges in the hall. ... All save the two old folks and Lil, Who made their hearts expand and thrill By playing snatches, slow and clear, Of carols they'd been used to hear Of carols they'd been used to hear Some half a century ago At High Wick Manor, when the two Were bashful maidens: they talked on, Of England and what they had done On byegone Christmas nights at home, Of friends beyond the Northern foam, And friends beyond that other sea, Yet further—whither ceaselessly Travellers follow the old track, But whence no messenger comes back."

Christmas in New Zealand.

In 1887, we received a letter from Mr. W. M. Stanton, of Nelson, New Zealand, giving the following interesting account of the colonists' observance of Christmas:—

"And now, as to Christmas, I wish I could express all I feel on this peculiarly English season of 'peace and goodwill.' I remember the picturesque snow (seen here only on the distant blue mountain tops), the icy stalactites pendant from the leafless branches, the twitter of the robin redbreast, the holly, and the mistletoe, decorated homes, redolent with the effects of the festive cooking, and the warm blazing firelight, the meeting of families and of friends, the waits, the grand old peals from the belfries; but, alas, here these childhood associations are dispelled, half broken, and we acclimatised denizens adapt our festivities to other modes—not that we forget the Christmas season, but enjoy it differently, as I will briefly tell you, as you ask, 'how we spend Christmas in New Zealand.' First, our ladies decorate the churches for the Christmas services, not with the evergreens of old exclusively; they do indeed affect the holly, ivy, and (New Zealand) mistletoe, but they make up with umbrageous and rich ferns, lachipoden, lauristinas, Portugal laurels, and our own beautiful evergreen, Ngaio, and with all the midsummer flowers at command; then the clerk, the storeman, the merchant, and the mechanic indulge in 'trips,' or day excursions, in small steamboats, to the neighbouring bays surrounding small townships, and villages on the coast. Others again, take the train for a day's outing and play quoits, rounders, lawn tennis, and the like; the sportsman, perhaps, preferring his gun and his dog; families, again, are picnic-mad, for your colonist can rival the Cockney any day for making his holiday in the country. It may be to 'the rocks' he goes to watch his youngsters paddling in the rolling tide, or to the toil of clambering up the 'dim mountain,' which seems to suit their hardy lungs better than the shade of the 'fern glen,' and a journey of eighteen miles to the Maori Pa is as nothing. The Union Company's fine coasting steamships run passengers at half fares at this season, and the result is an interchange of visits between the dwellers in Nelson, Wellington, Marlboro', and Wanjani, amongst whom there is much rivalry and more friendship. Then there is the Christmas regatta, the performance of the 'Messiah' by the musical societies, and the inevitable evening dances, and thus the New Zealand Christmas is spent.

"I am reminded, by my young clerk, that the mail is about closing, and that this letter must also close, if it is to go to-day, and thus I must omit the mention of the new year's festivities, which properly belong to our numerous Scottish fellow settlers who in their own country ignore Christmas as a popish superstition; they are, however, now becoming anglicised ('Englified' they call it) in their habits, and similarly the Midland county men of England enter into their Caledonian custom, from the harmless orgies of 'Hagmenae' to the frantic capers of 'Gillie Cullum,' to the skirl of the panting piper."

Christmas at the Sandwich Islands.

In "A Voyage in the Sunbeam," Lady Brassey gives an interesting account of the keeping of Christmas, 1876, on the Sandwich Islands. We quote the following extracts:—

"Twenty minutes' hard riding brought us to the door of the 'Volcano House,' from which issued the comforting light of a large wood fire, reaching half way up the chimney.

"Everything at this inn is most comfortable, though the style is rough and ready. The interior is just now decorated for Christmas, with wreaths, and evergreens, and ferns, and branches of white plumes, not unlike reva-reva, made from the path of the silver grass.

"The grandeur of the view in the direction of the volcano increased as the evening wore on. The fiery cloud above the present crater grew in size and depth of colour; the extinct crater glowed red in thirty or forty different places; and clouds of white vapour issued from every crack and crevice in the ground, adding to the sulphurous smell with which the atmosphere was laden. Our room faced the volcano: there were no blinds, and I drew back the curtains and lay watching the splendid scene until I fell asleep.

"Sunday, December 24th (Christmas Eve)—I was up at four o'clock to gaze once more on the wondrous spectacle that lay before me. The molten lava still glowed in many places, the red cloud over the fiery lake was bright as ever, and steam was slowly ascending in every direction over hill and valley, till, as the sun rose, it became difficult to distinguish clearly the sulphurous vapours from the morning mists. We walked down to the Sulphur Banks, about a quarter of a mile from the 'Volcano House,' and burnt our gloves and boots in our endeavours to procure crystals, the beauty of which generally disappeared after a very short exposure to the air. We succeeded, however, in finding a few good specimens, and, by wrapping them at once in paper and cotton-wool and putting them into a bottle, hope to bring them home uninjured.

"Monday, December 25th (Christmas Day)—Turning in last night was the work of a very few minutes, and this morning I awoke perfectly refreshed and ready to appreciate anew the wonders of the prospect that met my eyes. The pillar of fire was still distinctly visible, when I looked out from my window, though it was not so bright as when I had last seen it, but even as I looked it began to fade and gradually disappeared. At the same moment a river of glowing lava issued from the side of the bank we had climbed with so much difficulty yesterday, and slowly but surely overflowed the ground we had walked over. You may imagine the feelings with which we gazed upon this startling phenomenon, which had it occurred a few hours earlier, might have caused the destruction of the whole party.

- - - - - - -

"It would, I think, be difficult to imagine a more interesting and exciting mode of spending Christmas Eve than yesterday has taught us, or a stranger situation in which to exchange our Christmas greetings than beneath the grass roof of an inn on the edge of a volcano in the remote Sandwich Islands.

- - - - - - -

"The ride down to Hilo was as dull and monotonous as our upward journey had been. At last we reached the pier, where we found the usual little crowd waiting to see us off. The girls who had followed us when we first landed came forward shyly when they thought they were unobserved, and again encircled me with leis of gay and fragrant flowers. The custom of decorating themselves with wreaths on every possible occasion is in my eyes a charming one, and I like the inhabitants of Polynesia for their love of flowers.

"The whole town was en fête to-day. Natives were riding about in pairs, in the cleanest of bright cotton dresses and the freshest of leis and garlands. Our own men from the yacht contributed not a little to the gaiety of the scene. They were all on shore, and the greater part of them were galloping about on horseback, tumbling off, scrambling on again, laughing, flirting, joking, and enjoying themselves generally after a fashion peculiar to English sailors. As far as we know the only evil result of all this merriment was that the doctor received a good many applications for diachylon plaster in the course of the evening, to repair various 'abrasions of the cuticle,' as he expressed it.

"I think at least half the population of Hilo had been on board the yacht in the course of the day, as a Christmas treat. At last we took a boat and went off too, accompanied by Mr. Lyman. The appearance of the 'Sunbeam' from the shore was very gay, and as we approached it became more festive still. All her masts were tipped with sugar-canes in bloom. Her stern was adorned with flowers, and in the arms of the figurehead was a large bouquet. She was surrounded with boats, the occupants of which cheered us heartily as we rode alongside. The whole deck was festooned with tropical plants and flowers, and the decorations of the cabins were even more beautiful and elaborate. I believe all hands had been hard at work ever since we left to produce this wonderful effect, and every garden in Hilo had furnished a contribution to please and surprise us on our return.

"The choir from Hilo came out in boats in the evening, sang all sorts of songs, sacred and secular, and cheered everybody till they were hoarse. After this, having had a cold dinner, in order to save trouble, and having duly drunk the health of our friends at home, we all adjourned to the saloon, to assist in the distribution of some Christmas presents—a ceremony which afforded great delight to the children, and which was equally pleasing to the elder people and to the crew, if one may judge from their behaviour on the occasion.

"Then we sat on deck, gazing at the cloud of fire over Kilauea, and wondering if the appearance of the crater could ever be grander than it was last night, when we were standing on its brim.

"So ended Christmas Day, 1876, at Hilo, in Hawaii. God grant that there may be many more as pleasant for us in the future!"

Christmas on Board the "Sunbeam," 1879.

"The wind is chill, But let it whistle as it will We'll keep our Christmas merry still."

In "Sunshine and Storm in the East, or Cruises to Cyprus and Constantinople," Lady Brassey gives an interesting account of the celebration of Christmas on board the Sunbeam, between Malta and Marseilles, December 25, 1879:—"We had service early and then spent a long busy morning in arranging all the presents for the children, servants, and crew, and in decorating the cabin. We could not manage any holly, but we had carefully preserved one bough of mistletoe from Artaki Bay, and had brought on board at Malta baskets full of flowers, so that all the pictures, lamps, and even walls, were wreathed with festoons of bougainvillæa, ivy, and other creeping plants; while in every available corner were placed, vases, bowls, and soup-plates, containing flowers. If not exactly 'gay with holly-berries,' so dear to English hearts from their association with yule-tide at home, the general appearance of the cabins was highly satisfactory. In the meantime they had been busy in the kitchen and pantry departments, preparing all sorts of good things for dinner, and pretty things for dessert, in order that the crew and servants might enjoy a more sumptuous repast than usual. A Christmas tree, a snow man, or an ice cave, for the distribution of presents, was not within the limit of our resources; but we decorated our tables and sideboards with bright shawls and scarves, and wreathed and divided the surface of each with garlands of flowers, placing in every division a pretty Christmas card, bearing the name of the recipient of the present, which was hidden away among the flowers beneath.... For the men there was plenty of tobacco, besides books and useful things; for the children toys; and for ourselves, slippers and little remembrances of various kinds, some sent from home to meet us, others recent purchases. The distribution over, one or two speeches were made, and mutual congratulations and good wishes were exchanged. Then the crew and servants retired to enjoy the, to them, all-important event of the day—dinner and dessert. After our own late dinner, we thought of those near and dear to us at home, and drank to the health of 'absent friends.'"

A Missionary's Christmas in China.

In a letter from Tsing Cheu Fu Chefoo, December 24, 1887, the Rev. A. G. Jones, Baptist missionary, says:—

"Mr. Dawson asks how Englishmen spend Christmas in China. Well, it depends. Some spend it at the ports dog-racing and eating pudding—having a night of it. The missionaries generally take no notice of it. In our mission we hold one of the semi-annual dedication-of-children services on Christmas. We think it a very appropriate day for the recognition of the sacredness of the gift of trust of children. The idea is a Chinese one, originating with one of our Christians, and we adopted it as the day for the custom. Tomorrow will be Christmas Day, and I have come out twenty miles this evening to hold a service of that kind with the semi-annual communion as it happens. It will be a cold, cheerless room in a clay-built cabin down in the corner of a bare valley in a trap and basalt district with sparse vegetation and a bare aspect. A cold spot with a handful of Christians, bearing their testimony alone out on the margin of our field of work. I hope to see 40 or 50 patients up to sundown, and then have worship with them at night. That will be my Christmas. This evening—in the city—all the children and our wives are having a Christmas tree in the theological lecture-room, and on Tuesday next I guess we'll have our dinner. John Bull, Paddy, Sandy, and Taffy all seem to agree in that feature. My Sunday will only be a sample of others. So it goes—working away. Now I must say goodbye. Many thanks and many good wishes."

A Visit to Christmas Island.

Letters were received in December, 1887, from H.M.S. Egeria, Commander Pelham Aldrich, containing particulars of a visit she had recently made to Christmas Island, which she was ordered to explore for scientific purposes. Christmas Island is situated in the Indian Ocean, in latitude 11° south, longitude 105° 30' east; it is 1,100 feet above the sea, is twelve miles long and eight miles broad. The officers and men told off for exploring purposes found that the whole place was composed of coral and rock; notwithstanding this, however, it is covered almost completely with trees and shrubs, the trees, which are of large dimensions, seeming to grow literally out of the rock itself, earth surfaces being conspicuous by their absence. It is uninhabited by human beings, nor could any traces of animals be discovered, but seabirds swarm over every part of the island, and about four hundred wood pigeons were shot by the explorers while they remained there. No fruits or vegetable matter fit for consumption could, however, be found, nor the existence of any supply of fresh water, and the belief is that the vegetation of the island is dependent for nourishment on the dews and the heavy rains that fall.

Christmas in America.

Writing just before the Christmas festival of 1855, Mr. Howard Paul says the general manner of celebrating Christmas Day is much the same wherever professors of the Christian faith are found; and the United States, as the great Transatlantic offshoot of Saxon principles, would be the first to conserve the traditional ceremonies handed down from time immemorial by our canonical progenitors of the East. But every nation has its idiocratic notions, minute and otherwise, and it is not strange that the Americans, as a creative people, have peculiar and varied ways of their own in keeping this, the most remarkable day in the calendar. Now and then they add a supplemental form to the accepted code—characteristic of the mutable and progressive spirit of the people—though there still exists the Church service, the conventional carol, the evergreen decorations, the plum-puddings, the pantomime, and a score of other "demonstrations" that never can legitimately be forgotten.

Society generally seems to apportion the day thus: Church in the morning, dinner in the afternoon, and amusements in the evening. The Christmas dinners concentrate the scattered members of families, who meet together to break bread in social harmony, and exchange those home sentiments that cement the happiness of kindred. To-day the prodigal once more returns to the paternal roof; the spendthrift forsakes his boon companions; the convivialist deserts the wine-cup. The beautiful genius of domestic love has triumphed, and who can foresee the blessed results?

Parties, balls, and fêtes, with their endless routine of gaieties, are looked forward to, as pleasures are, the wide world over; and all classes, from highest to lowest, have their modes of enjoyment marked out. Preparation follows preparation in festal succession. Sorrow hides her Gorgon head, care may betake itself to any dreary recesses, for Christmas must be a gala!

There is generally snow on the ground at this time; if Nature is amiable, there is sure to be; and a Christmas sleigh-ride is one of those American delights that defy rivalry. There is no withstanding the merry chime of the bells and a fleet passage over the snow-skirted roads. Town and country look as if they had arisen in the morning in robes of unsullied white. Every housetop is spangled with the bright element; soft flakes are coquetting in the atmosphere, and a pure mantle has been spread on all sides, that fairly invites one to disport upon its gleaming surface.

We abide quietly within our pleasant home on either the eve or night of Christmas. How the sleighs glide by in rapid glee, the music of the bells and the songs of the excursionists falling on our ears in very wildness. We strive in vain to content ourselves. We glance at the cheerful fire, and hearken to the genial voices around us. We philosophise, and struggle against the tokens of merriment without; but the restraint is torture. We, too, must join the revellers, and have a sleigh-ride. Girls, get on your fur; wrap yourselves up warmly in the old bear-skin; hunt up the old guitar; the sleigh is at the door, the moon is beaming. The bells tinkle and away we go!

An old English legend was transplanted many years ago on the shores of America, that took root and flourished with wonderful luxuriance, considering it was not indigenous to the country. Probably it was taken over to New York by one of the primitive Knickerbockers, or it might have clung to some of the drowsy burgomasters who had forsaken the pictorial tiles of dear old Amsterdam about the time of Peter de Laar, or Il Bombaccia, as the Italians call him, got into disgrace in Rome. However this may be, certain it is that Santa Claus, or St. Nicholas, the kind Patron-saint of the Juveniles, makes his annual appearance on Christmas Eve, for the purpose of dispensing gifts to all good children. This festive elf is supposed to be a queer little creature that descends the chimney, viewlessly, in the deep hours of night, laden with gifts and presents, which he bestows with no sparing hand, reserving to himself a supernatural discrimination that he seems to exercise with every satisfaction. Before going to bed the children hang their newest stockings near the chimney, or pin them to the curtains of the bed. Midnight finds a world of hosiery waiting for favours; and the only wonder is that a single Santa Claus can get around among them all. The story goes that he never misses one, provided it belongs to a deserving youngster, and morning is sure to bring no reproach that the Christmas Wizard has not nobly performed his wondrous duties. We need scarcely enlighten the reader as to who the real Santa Claus is. Every indulgent parent contributes to the pleasing deception, though the juveniles are strong in their faith of their generous holiday patron. The following favourite lines graphically describe a visit of St. Nicholas, and, being in great vogue with the young people of America, are fondly reproduced from year to year:—

"'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house, Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse; The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, In the hope that St. Nicholas soon would be there. The children were nestled all snug in their beds, While visions of sugar plums danced through their heads; And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap, Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap, When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter. The way to the window, I flew like a flash, Tore open the shutters, and threw up the sash; The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below. When what to my wondering eyes should appear But a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer; With a little old driver, so lively and quick, I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick. More rapid than eagles his coursers they came, And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name— Now Dasher! now Dancer! Now Prancer! now Vixen! On Comet! on Cupid! on Donder and Blixen! To the top of the porch, to the top of the wall! Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!' As the leaves that before the wild hurricane fly, When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky; So up to the house-top the coursers they flew, With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too. And then in a twinkling I heard on the roof, The prancing and pawing of each little hoof; As I drew in my head and was turning around, Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound. He was dressed all in furs from his head to his foot And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot. A bundle of toys he had flung on his back, And he looked like a pedlar just opening his pack. His eyes, how they twinkled! his dimples, how merry! His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry; His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow, And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow. The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth, And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath. He had a broad face and a little round belly That shook when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly. He was chubby and plump—a right jolly old elf; And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself. A wink of his eye and a twist of his head Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread. He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, And filled all the stockings—then turned with a jerk, And laying his finger aside of his nose, And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose; He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle, And away they all flew like the down of a thistle. But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight, 'Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!'"

A curious feature of an American Christmas is the egg-nogg and free lunch, distributed at all the hotels and cafés. A week at least before the 25th fanciful signs are suspended over the fountains of the bars (the hotel-keepers are quite classic in their ideas) announcing superb lunch and egg-noggs on Christmas Day. This invitation is sure to meet with a large response from the amateur epicures about town, who, ever on the qui vive for a banquet gratis, flock to the festive standard, since it has never been found a difficult matter to give things away, from the time old Heliogabalus gastronomed in Phœnicia up to the present hour. A splendid hall in one of the principal hotels, at this moment, occurs to us. A table, the length of the apartment, is spread and furnished with twenty made dishes peculiar to the Christmas cuisine. There are chorodens and fricassees, ragoûts and calipee, of rapturous delicacy. Each dish is labelled, and attended by a black servant, who serves its contents on very small white gilt-edged plates. At the head of the table a vast bowl, ornamented with indescribable Chinese figures, contains the egg-nogg—a palatable compound of milk, eggs, brandy, and spices, nankeenish in colour, with froth enough on its surface to generate any number of Venuses, if the old Peloponnesian anecdote is worth remembering at all. Over the egg-nogg mine host usually officiates, all smiles and benignity, pouring the rich draught with miraculous dexterity into cut-glass goblets, and passing it to the surrounding guests with profuse hand. On this occasion the long range of fancy drinks are forgotten. Sherry-cobblers, mint-juleps, gin-slings, and punches, are set aside in order that the sway of the Christmas draught may be supreme. Free lunches are extremely common in the United States, what are called "eleven o'clock snacks" especially; but the accompaniment of egg-nogg belongs unequivocally to the death of the year.

The presentation of "boxes" and souvenirs is the same in America as in England, the token of remembrance having an inseparable alliance with the same period. Everybody expects to give and receive. A month before the event the fancy stores are crowded all day long with old and young in search of suitable souvenirs, and every object is purchased, from costliest gems to the tawdriest babiole that may get into the market. If the weather should be fine, the principal streets are thronged with ladies shopping in sleighs; and hither and thither sleds shoot by, laden with parcels of painted toys, instruments of mock music and septuagenarian dread, from a penny trumpet to a sheepskin drum.

Christmas seems to be a popular period among the young folk for being mated, and a surprising number approach the altar this morning. Whether it is that orange-flowers and bridal gifts are admirably adapted to the time, or that a longer lease of happiness is ensured from the joyous character of the occasion, we are not sufficiently learned in hymeneal lore to announce. The Christmas week, however, is a merry one for the honeymoon, as little is thought of but mirth and gaiety until the dawning New Year soberly suggests that we should put aside our masquerade manners.

In drawing-room amusements society has a wealth of pleasing indoor pastimes. We remember the sententious Question réunions, the hilarious Surprise parties, Fairy-bowl, and Hunt-the-slipper. We can never forget the vagabond Calathumpians, who employ in their bands everything inharmonious, from a fire-shovel to a stewpan, causing more din than the demons down under the sea ever dreamed of.

What, then, between the sleigh-rides, the bell-melodies, old Santa Claus and his fictions, the egg-nogg and lunches, the weddings and the willingness to be entertained, the Americans find no difficulty in enjoying Christmas Day. Old forms and new notions come in for a share of observances; and the young country, in a glow of good humour, with one voice exclaims, "Le bon temps vienara!"

President Harrison as "Santa Claus."

Writing from New York on December 22, 1891, a correspondent says: "President Harrison was seen by your correspondent at the White House yesterday, and was asked what he thought about Christmas and its religious and social influences. The President expressed himself willing to offer his opinions, and said: 'Christmas is the most sacred religious festival of the year, and should be an occasion of general rejoicing throughout the land, from the humblest citizen to the highest official, who, for the time being, should forget or put behind him his cares and annoyances, and participate in the spirit of seasonable festivity. We intend to make it a happy day at the White House—all the members of my family, representing four generations, will gather around the big table in the State dining-room to have an old-fashioned Christmas dinner. Besides Mrs. Harrison, there will be her father, Dr. Scott, Mr. and Mrs. M'Kee and their children, Mrs. Dimmick and Lieutenant and Mrs. Parker. I am an ardent believer in the duty we owe to ourselves as Christians to make merry for children at Christmas time, and we shall have an old-fashioned Christmas tree for the grandchildren upstairs; and I shall be their Santa Claus myself. If my influence goes for aught in this busy world let me hope that my example may be followed in every family in the land.'

"Christmas is made as much of in this country as it is in England, if not more. The plum-pudding is not universal, but the Christmas tree is in almost every home. Even in the tenement districts of the East side, inhabited by the labouring and poorer classes, these vernal emblems of the anniversary are quite as much in demand as in other quarters, and if they and the gifts hung upon them are less elaborate than their West side congeners, the household enthusiasm which welcomes them is quite as marked. As in London, the streets are flooded with Christmas numbers of the periodicals, which, it may be remarked, are this year more elaborate in design and execution than ever. The use of Christmas cards has also obtained surprising proportions. A marked feature of this year's Christmas is the variety and elegance of offerings after the Paris fashion, which are of a purely ornamental and but slight utilitarian character. There are bonbonnières in a variety of forms, some of them very magnificent and expensive; while the Christmas cards range in prices from a cent to ten dollars each. These bonbonnières, decked with expensive ribbon or hand-painted with designs of the season, attain prices as high as forty dollars each, and are in great favour among the wealthy classes. Flowers are also much used, and, just now, are exceedingly costly.

"While the usual religious ceremonies of the day are generally observed here, the mass of the community are inclined to treat the occasion as a festive rather than a solemn occasion, and upon festivity the whole population at the present time seems bent."

"Merry Christmas" with the Negroes.

A journalist who has been amongst the negroes in the Southern States of America thus describes their Christmas festivities:—

"Christmas in the South of the United States is a time-honoured holiday season, as ancient as the settlement of the Cavalier colonies themselves. We may imagine it to have been imported from 'merrie England' by the large-hearted Papist, Lord Baltimore, into Maryland, and by that chivalric group of Virginian colonists, of whom the central historical figure is the famous Captain John Smith, of Pocahontas memory. Perhaps Christmas was even the more heartily celebrated among these true Papist and Church of England settlers from the disgust which they felt at the stern contempt in which the Natal Day was held by 'stiff-necked Puritans' of New England. At least, while in New England the pilgrims were wont to work with exceptional might on Christmas Day, to show their detestation of it, traditions are still extant of the jovial Southern merrymaking of the festival. Christmas, with many of the Old England customs imported to the new soil, derived new spirit and enjoyment from customs which had their origin in the Colonies themselves. Above all was it the gala season—the period to be looked forward to and revelled in—of the negroes. Slavery, with all its horrors and wickedness, had at least some genial features; and the latitude which the masters gave to the slaves at Christmas time, the freedom with which the blacks were wont to concentrate a year's enjoyment into the Christmas week, was one of these. In Washington, where until the war slavery existed in a mild and more civilised form, the negro celebrations of Christmas were the peculiar and amusing feature of the season. And many of these customs, which grew up amid slavery, have survived that institution. The Washington negroes, free, have pretty much the same zest for their time-honoured amusements which they had when under the dominion of the oligarchy. Christmas is still their great gala and occasion for merry-making, and the sable creatures thoroughly understand the art of having a good time, being superior, at least in this respect, to many a blasé Prince and Court noble distracted with ennui. Those who have seen the 'Minstrels' may derive some idea, though but a slight one, of the negro pastimes and peculiarities. They are, above all, a social, enthusiastic, whole-souled race; they have their own ideas of rank and social caste, and they have a humour which is homely, but thoroughly genial, and quite the monopoly of their race. They insist on the whole of Christmas week for a holiday. 'Missus' must manage how she can. To insist on chaining them down in the kitchen during that halcyon time would stir up blank rebellion. Dancing and music are their favourite Christmas recreations; they manage both with a will. In the city suburbs there are many modest little frame-houses inhabited by the blacks; now and then a homely inn kept by a dusky landlord. Here in Christmas time you will witness many jolly and infectiously pleasant scenes. There is a 'sound of revelry by night.' You are free to enter, and observe near by the countless gyrations of the negro cotillon, the intricate and deftly executed jig, the rude melody of banjos and 'cornstalk fiddles.' They are always proud to have 'de white folks ' for spectators and applauders, and will give you the best seat, and will outdo themselves in their anxiety to show off at their best before you. You will be astonished to observe the scrupulous neatness of the men, the gaudy and ostentatious habiliments of 'de ladies.' The negroes have an intense ambition to imitate the upper classes of white society. They will study the apparel of a well-dressed gentleman, and squander their money on 'swallow-tail' coats, high dickeys, white neckties, and the most elaborate arts of their dusky barbers. The women are even more imitative of their mistresses. Ribbons, laces, and silks adorn them, on festive occasions, of the most painfully vivid colours, and fashioned in all the extravagance of negro taste. Not less anxious are they to imitate the manners of aristocracy. The excessive chivalry and overwhelming politeness of the men towards the women is amazing. They make gallant speeches in which they insert as many of the longest and most learned words as they can master, picked up at random, and not always peculiarly adapted to the use made of them. Their excitement in the dance, and at the sound of music, grows as intense as does their furor in a Methodist revival meeting. They have, too, dances and music peculiar to themselves—jigs and country dances which seem to have no method, yet which are perfectly adapted to and rhythmic with the inspiring abrupt thud of the banjo and the bones. As they dance, they shout and sing, slap their hands and knees, and lose themselves in the enthusiasm of the moment. The negroes look forward to Christmas not less as the season for present-giving than that of frolicking and jollity. Early in the morning they hasten upstairs, and catch 'massa' and 'missus' and 'de chillun' with a respectful but eager 'Merry Christmas,' and are sure to get in return a new coat or pair of boots, a gingham dress, or ear-rings more showy than expensive. They have saved up, too, a pittance from their wages, to expend in a souvenir for 'Dinah' or 'Pompey,' the never-to-be-forgotten belle or sweetheart."

Christmas in France.

The following account of Christmas in France, in 1823, is given by an English writer of the period:—

"The habits and customs of Parisians vary much from those of our own metropolis at all times, but at no time more than at this festive season. An Englishman in Paris, who had been for some time without referring to his almanac, would not know Christmas Day from another day by the appearance of the capital. It is indeed set down as a jour de fête in the calendar, but all the ordinary business life is transacted; the streets are as usual, crowded with waggons and coaches; the shops, with few exceptions, are open, although on other fête days the order for closing them is rigorously enforced, and if not attended to, a fine levied; and at the churches nothing extraordinary is going forward. All this is surprising in a Catholic country, which professes to pay much attention to the outward rites of religion.

"On Christmas Eve, indeed, there is some bustle for a midnight mass, to which immense numbers flock, as the priests, on this occasion, get up a showy spectacle which rivals the theatres. The altars are dressed with flowers, and the churches decorated profusely; but there is little in all this to please men who have been accustomed to the John Bull mode of spending the evening. The good English habit of meeting together to forgive offences and injuries, and to cement reconciliations, is here unknown. The French listen to the Church music, and to the singing of their choirs, which is generally excellent, but they know nothing of the origin of the day and of the duties which it imposes. The English residents in Paris, however, do not forget our mode of celebrating this day. Acts of charity from the rich to the needy, religious attendance at church, and a full observance of hospitable rites, are there witnessed. Paris furnishes all the requisites for a good pudding, and the turkeys are excellent, though the beef is not to be displayed as a prize production.

"On Christmas Day all the English cooks in Paris are in full business. The queen of cooks, however, is Harriet Dunn, of the Boulevard. As Sir Astley Cooper among the cutters of limbs, and d'Egville among the cutters of capers, so is Harriet Dunn among the professors of one of the most necessary, and in its results most gratifying professions in existence; her services are secured beforehand by special retainers; and happy is the peer who can point to his pudding, and declare that it is of the true Dunn composition. Her fame has even extended to the provinces. For some time previous to Christmas Day, she forwards puddings in cases to all parts of the country, ready cooked and fit for the table, after the necessary warming. All this is, of course, for the English. No prejudice can be stronger than that of the French against plum-pudding—a Frenchman will dress like an Englishman, swear like an Englishman, and get drunk like an Englishman; but if you would offend him for ever compel him to eat plum-pudding. A few of the leading restaurateurs, wishing to appear extraordinary, have plomb-pooding upon their cartes, but in no instance is it ever ordered by a Frenchman. Everybody has heard the story of St. Louis—Henri Qautre, or whoever else it might be—who, wishing to regale the English ambassador on Christmas Day with a plum-pudding, procured an excellent recipe for making one, which he gave to his cook, with strict injunctions that it should be prepared with due attention to all particulars. The weight of the ingredients, the size of the copper, the quantity of water, the duration of time, everything was attended to except one trifle—the king forgot the cloth, and the pudding was served up, like so much soup in immense tureens, to the surprise of the ambassador, who was, however, too well bred to express his astonishment. Louis XVIII., either to show his contempt of the prejudices of his countrymen, or to keep up a custom which suits his palate, has always an enormous pudding on Christmas Day, the remains of which, when it leaves the table, he requires to be eaten by the servants, bon gré, mauvais gré; but in this instance even the commands of sovereignty are disregarded, except by the numerous English in his service, consisting of several valets, grooms, coachmen, &c., besides a great number of ladies' maids in the service of the duchesses of Angouleme and Berri, who very frequently partake of the dainties of the king's table."

In his "Year Book, 1832," Hone says that at Rouen, after the Te Deum, in the nocturnal office or vigil of Christmas, the ecclesiastics celebrated the "office of the shepherds" in the following manner:—

"The image of the Virgin Mary was placed in a stable prepared behind the altar. A boy from above, before the choir, in the likeness of an angel, announced the nativity to certain canons or vicars, who entered as shepherds through the great door of the choir, clothed in tunicks and amesses. Many boys in the vaults of the church, like angels, then began the 'gloria in excelsis.' The shepherds, hearing this, advanced to the stable, singing 'peace, goodwill,' &c. As soon as they entered it, two priests in dalmaticks, as if women (quasi obstetrices) who were stationed at the stable, said, 'Whom seek ye?' The shepherds answered, according to the angelic annunciation, 'Our Saviour Christ.' The women then opening the curtain exhibited the boy, saying, 'The little one is here as the Prophet Isaiah said.' They then showed the mother, saying, 'Behold the Virgin,' &c. Upon these exhibitions they bowed and worshipped the boy, and saluted his mother. The office ended by their returning to the choir, and singing, Alleluia, &c."[95]

Christmas Day in Besieged Paris.

Christmas, Paris,
Sunday, Dec. 25, 1870, 98th day of the Siege.

"Never has a sadder Christmas dawned on any city. Cold, hunger, agony, grief, and despair sit enthroned at every habitation in Paris. It is the coldest day of the season and the fuel is very short; and the government has had to take hold of the fuel question, and the magnificent shade-trees that have for ages adorned the avenues of this city are all likely to go in the vain struggle to save France. So says the Official Journal of this morning. The sufferings of the past week exceed by far anything we have seen. There is scarcely any meat but horse-meat, and the government is now rationing. It carries out its work with impartiality. The omnibus-horse, the cab-horse, the work-horse, and the fancy-horse, all go alike in the mournful procession to the butchery shops—the magnificent blooded steed of the Rothschilds by the side of the old plug of the cabman. Fresh beef, mutton, pork are now out of the question. A little poultry yet remains at fabulous prices. In walking through the Rue St. Lazare I saw a middling-sized goose and chicken for sale in a shop-window, and I had the curiosity to step in and inquire the price (rash man that I was). The price of the goose was $25, and the chicken $7."[96]

Christmas in Paris in 1886.

The Paris correspondent of the Daily Telegraph writes:—"Although New Year's Day is the great French festival, the fashion of celebrating Christmas something after the English custom is gaining ground in Paris every year. Thus a good deal of mistletoe now makes its appearance on the boulevards and in the shop windows, and it is evident that the famous Druidical plant, which is shipped in such large quantities every year to England from Normandy and Brittany, is fast becoming popular among Parisians. Another custom, that of decorating Christmas trees in the English and German style, has become quite an annual solemnity here since the influx of Alsatians and Lorrainers, while it is considered chic, in many quarters, to eat approximate plum-pudding on the 25th of December. Unfortunately, the Parisian 'blom budding,' unless prepared by British hands, is generally a concoction of culinary atrocities, tasting, let us say, like saveloy soup and ginger-bread porridge. In a few instances the 'Angleesh blom budding' has been served at French tables in a soup tureen; and guests have been known to direct fearful and furtive glances towards it, just as an Englishman might regard with mingled feelings of surprise and suspicion a fricassee of frogs. But independently of foreign innovations, Parisians have their own way of celebrating Noël. To-night (Christmas Eve) for instance, there will be midnight masses in the principal churches, when appropriate canticles and Adam's popular 'Noël' will be sung. In many private houses the boudin will also be eaten after the midnight mass, the rich baptising it in champagne, and the petit bourgeois, who has not a wine cellar, in a cheap concoction of bottled stuff with a Bordeaux label but a strong Paris flavour. The feast of Noël is, however, more archaically, and at the same time more earnestly, celebrated in provincial France. In the south the head of the family kindles the yule-log, or bûche-de-Noël, which is supposed to continue burning until the arrival of spring. Paterfamilias also lights the calen, or Christmas lamp, which represents the Star of Bethlehem, and then all repair to the midnight mass in those picturesque groups which painters have delighted to commit to canvas. The inevitable baraques, or booths, which are allowed to remain on the great boulevards from Christmas Eve until the Feast of the Kings, on January 6, have made their appearance. They extend from the Place de la Madeleine to the Place de la République, and are also visible on some of the other boulevards of the metropolis. Their glittering contents are the same as usual, and, despite their want of novelty, crowds of people lounged along the boulevards this afternoon and inspected them with as much curiosity as if they formed part of a Russian fair which had been temporarily transported from Nijni Novgorod to Paris. What was more attractive, however, was the show of holly, mistletoe, fir-trees, camellias, tea-roses, and tulips in the famous flower-market outside the Madeleine. A large tent has been erected, which protects the sellers of winter flowers from the rain, and this gives the market a gayer and more brilliant appearance than usual. What strikes one more than anything else, however, is the number of French people whom one sees purchasing holly bushes and mistletoe, which they carry home in huge bundles, after the good old English fashion. Notwithstanding the dampness and gloom of the weather, which hovers between frost and rain, the general aspect of Paris to-day is one of cheerful and picturesque animation, and the laughing crowds with whom one jostles in the streets are thoroughly imbued with the festive character of the season.

Christmas in Normandy.

In describing the old-custom-loving people of Lower Normandy, a writer on "Calvados," in 1884-5, thus refers to the season of Christmas and Twelfth-tide: "Now Christmas arrives, and young and old go up to greet the little child Jesus, lying on his bed of straw at the Virgin Mother's feet and smiling to all the world. Overhead the old cracked bell clangs exultant, answering to other bells faint and far on the midnight air; a hundred candles are burning and every church window shines through the darkness like the gates of that holy New Jerusalem 'whose light was as a stone most precious—a jasper-stone clear as crystal.' With Twelfth-tide this fair vision suffers a metamorphosis, blazoning out into the paganish saturnalia of bonfires, which in Calvados is transferred from St. John's Eve le jour des Rois. Red flames leap skyward, fed by dry pine fagots, and our erstwhile devout peasants, throwing moderation to the winds, join hands, dance, and leap for good luck through blinding smoke and embers, shouting their rude doggerel:

"'Adieu les Rois Jusqu'a douze mois, Douze mois passes Les bougelées.'"

Christmas in Provence.

provençal plays at christmastide.

Heinrich Heine delighted in the infantile childishness of a Provençal Christmas. He never saw anything prettier in his life, he said, than a Noël procession on the coast of the Mediterranean. A beautiful young woman and an equally lovely child sat on a donkey, which an old fisherman in a flowing brown gown was supposed to be leading into Egypt. Young girls robed in white muslin were supposed to be angels, and hovered near the child and its mother to supply to him sweetmeats and other refreshments. At a respectful distance there was a procession of nuns and village children, and then a band of vocalists and instrumentalists. Flowers and streaming banners were unsparingly used. Bright sunshine played upon them, and the deep blue sea formed a background. The seafaring people who looked on, not knowing whether to venerate or laugh, did both. Falling upon their knees they went through a short devotional exercise, and then rose to join the procession and give themselves up to unrestricted mirth. In the chateaux of the South of France crèches are still exhibited, and crèche suppers given to the poorer neighbours, and to some of the rich, who are placed at a table "above the salt." There are also "Bethlehem Stable" puppet-shows, at which the Holy Family, their visitors, and four-footed associates are brought forward as dramatis personæ. St. Joseph, the wise men, and the shepherds are made to speak in patois. But the Virgin says what she has to say in classical French. In the refinement of her diction, her elevation above those with her is expressed. At Marseilles an annual fair of statuettes is held, the profits of which are spent in setting up Bethlehem crèches in the churches and other places. Each statuette represents a contemporaneous celebrity, and is contained in the hollow part of the wax bust of some saint. Gambetta, Thiers, Cavour, Queen Victoria, Grévy, the Pope, Paul Bert, Rouvier (who is a Marseillais), the late Czar and other celebrities have appeared among the figurines hidden within the saintly busts.

Christmas in Corsica.

"A Winter in Corsica," by "Two Ladies," published in 1868, contains an interesting account of the celebration of Christmas in that picturesque island of the Mediterranean which is known as the birthplace of Napoleon Bonaparte—"One day shortly before Christmas our hostess, or landlady, was very busy with an old body in the kitchen, who had come to make sundry cakes in preparation for that festive season. We were all called down to see what was going on, and our attention was particularly directed to the great oven which was heated on purpose to bake them. One kind of cake was made of chesnut flour, another of eggs and broche (a kind of curds made from goats' milk), but the principal sort was composed chiefly of almonds, extremely good and not unlike macaroons, but thicker and more substantial. For several days previously, everybody in the house had been busy blanching and pounding almonds; not only the two servants, but Rose and Clara, the young work-women who were so often staying in the house, and who, indeed, at one time seemed to form part of the establishment. The old cook herself, a stout and dumpy person, was worth looking at, as she stood surrounded by these young women, who did very little but watch her operations; and the whole formed quite an animated picture of a foreign ménage, which one rarely has the opportunity of seeing.

- - - - - - -

"Towards Christmas, considerable preparations began to be made in the shops for the coming season, but chiefly, perhaps, for New Year's Day, which is kept throughout France as a grand fête day. Sweetmeats in great variety filled the windows, and especially what were called pralines—an almond comfit covered with rough sugar, and of a peculiar flavour. They are very good, and cost three francs per pound.

- - - - - - -

"It seemed strange writing to friends at home wishing them 'a happy Christmas,' when we seemed scarcely to have done with summer.

"There was certainly a good deal of novelty in our mode of passing Christmas-time in Ajaccio.

"We had expressed the wish to be present at midnight mass, in the cathedral, on Christmas Eve, and our kind hostess readily promised to take us, and also said we should have a petit souper with her on our return. She told us afterwards that she had spoken to the organist, and obtained permission for us to go into the organ-loft, where we should have a good view over the church, and not be inconvenienced by the crowd. Accordingly, a little before eleven o'clock, we all went downstairs, and, accompanied by madame, as well as by a gentleman and his daughter, friends of hers, proceeded to the cathedral.

"As there is no gas in Ajaccio, the church of course is lighted only with candles, and very dim and gloomy it looked, especially at first, and during a dull monotonous kind of chanting, which we were told were the offices to the Virgin.

"By and by, as midnight drew near, and the mass was about to commence, a great number of candles were lighted on the high altar and in the side chapels, and the scene became more brilliant and animated. We looked down upon a perfect sea of heads, the women all wearing the national handkerchiefs, many of these of bright colours, and making them conspicuous among the men, of whom there were also a very large number.

"At length the organ struck up, the higher priests entered, wearing their richest robes, followed by numerous attendants. Each bowed and knelt as he passed the altar, and took his allotted place, and then the service began. At one point, supposed to be the moment of our Saviour's birth, there was quite an uproar. The people clapped their hands, and stamped, and shouted, trumpets sounded, and the organ pealed forth its loudest tones.

"Then there was a very sweet hymn-tune played, and some beautiful voices sang Adeste Fideles, which was by far the most pleasing part of the service to our minds. Next came the reading of the Gospel, with much formality of kissing and bowing, and incensing; the book was moved from side to side and from place to place; then one priest on his knees held it up above his head, while another, sitting, read a short passage, and a third came forward to the front of the enclosed space near the altar, flinging the censer round and about. Then the little bell tinkled, and all that mass of heads bowed down lower, the Host was raised, the communion taken by the priests, and at one o'clock all was over.

"We gladly regained the fresh air, which, though rather cold, was much needed after the close atmosphere of the crowded cathedral. The moon was very bright, and we hastened home with appetites sharpened by our walk, for what proved to be a handsome dinner, rather than a petit souper.

- - - - - - -

"For ourselves, we did not forget the old home custom of Christmas decorations, and took some pains to dress our salon with evergreens, which we brought down from the hills the previous day. Although we had neither holly nor mistletoe, we found good substitutes for them in the elegant-leaved lentiscus, the tree heath and sweetly perfumed myrtle; while round the mirror and a picture of the Virgin on the opposite wall we twined garlands of the graceful sarsaparilla. The whole looked extremely pretty, and gave quite a festive appearance to the room.

"On Christmas Day we joined some English friends for a walk, about eleven o'clock. It was a charming morning, bright and hot, as we strolled along the shore to the orange-garden of Barbacaja, where we gathered oranges fresh from the trees.

"On returning home to dinner no plum-pudding or mince-pies awaited us certainly, but we had tolerably good beef, for a wonder, and lamb, merles, and new potatoes.

- - - - - - -

"Christmas Day in Corsica is observed by the people as a religious festival, but not as a social one; and there are no family gatherings as in England and Germany. This arises, no doubt, from that non-existence of true domestic life which must strike all English taking up a temporary residence in France.

"There was a succession of fête days throughout Christmas week, when the shops were shut and the people dressed in holiday attire. But the great day to which every one seems to look forward is the first of the year, le Jour de l'An. Presents are then made by everybody to everybody, and visits of congratulation, or merely of ceremony, received and expected. The gifts are sometimes costly and handsome, but generally they are trifling, merely valuable as works of remembrance, consisting chiefly of bonbons, boxes of crystallised fruits, and other confectionery."

Christmas in Chios.

From an Ivory, Byzantine. British Museum

The preceding illustration of Eastern art belongs to the same period as many of the Christmas customs which have survived in Chios, and it carries our thoughts back to the time when Byzantium was the capital of the Greek Empire in the east. From an interesting account by an English writer in the Cornhill Magazine, for December, 1886, who spent a Christmas amongst the Greeks of this once prosperous isle of Chios, it appears that, two days before Christmas, he took up his quarters at "the village of St. George, a good day's journey from the town, on the slopes of a backbone of mountains, which divides Chios from north to south." On the morning following the arrival at St. George, "echoes of home" were heard which caused the writer to exclaim: "Surely they don't have Christmas waits here." Outside the house stood a crowd of children singing songs and carrying baskets. From the window, the mistress of the house was seen standing amongst the children "talking hard, and putting handfuls of something into each basket out of a bag." "On descending," says the writer, "I inquired the cause of this early invasion, and learnt that it is customary on the day before Christmas for children to go round to the houses of the village early, before the celebration of the liturgy, and collect what is called 'the luck of Christ'—that is to say, walnuts, almonds, figs, raisins, and the like. Every housewife is careful to have a large stock of these things ready overnight, and if children come after her stock is exhausted she says, 'Christ has taken them and passed by.' The urchins, who are not always willing to accept this excuse, revile her with uncomplimentary remarks, and wish her cloven feet, and other disagreeable things."

The writer visited the chief inhabitants of St. George, and was regaled with "spoonfuls of jam, cups of coffee, and glasses of mastic liquer"; and, in a farmyard, "saw oxen with scarlet horns," it being the custom, on the day before Christmas, for "every man to kill his pig, and if he has cattle to anoint their horns with blood, thereby securing their health for the coming year.

"It is very interesting to see the birthplace of our own Christmas customs here in Greece, for it is an undoubted fact that all we see now in Greek islands has survived since Byzantine days. Turkish rule has in no way interfered with religious observances, and during four or five centuries of isolation from the civilised world the conservative spirit of the East has preserved intact for us customs as they were in the early days of Christianity; inasmuch as the Eastern Church was the first Christian Church, it was the parent of all Christian customs. Many of these customs were mere adaptations of the pagan to the Christian ceremonial—a necessary measure, doubtless, at a time when a new religion was forced on a deeply superstitious population. The saints of the Christian took the place of the gods of the "Iliad." Old customs attending religious observances have been peculiarly tenacious in these islands, and here it is that we must look for the pedigree of our own quaint Christian habits. We have seen the children of St. George collecting their Christmas-boxes, we have spoken of pig-killing, and we will now introduce ourselves to Chiote Christmas-trees, the rhamnæ, as they are called here, which take the form of an offering of fruits of the earth and flowers by tenants to their landlords.

"The form of these offerings is varied: one tenant we saw chose to make his in the shape of a tripod; others merely adorn poles, but all of them effect this decoration in a similar fashion, more gaudily than artistically. The pole is over a yard in height, and around it are bound wreaths of myrtle, olive, and orange leaves; to these are fixed any flowers that may be found, geraniums, anemones, and the like, and, by way of further decoration, oranges, lemons, and strips of gold and coloured paper are added.

"On Christmas morning the tenants of the numerous gardens of Chios proceed to the houses of their landlords, riding on mules and carrying a rhamna in front of them and a pair of fowls behind. As many as three hundred of these may be seen entering the capital of Chios on this day, and I was told the sight is very imposing. At St. George we had not so many of them, but sufficient for our purpose. On reaching his landlord's house the peasant sets up the trophy in the outer room, to be admired by all who come; the fowls he hands over to the housewife; and then he takes the large family jars or amphoræ, as they still call them, to the well, and draws the drinking water for his landlord's Christmas necessities.

"In the afternoon each landlord gives 'a table' to his tenants, a good substantial meal, at which many healths are drunk, compliments exchanged, and songs sung, and before returning home each man receives a present of money in return for his offerings. A Greek never gives a present without expecting an equivalent in return."

Another Christmas custom in Chios which reminded the writer of the English custom of carol-singing is thus described: "There are five parishes in the village of St. George, each supplied with a church, priests, acolytes, and candle-lighters, who answer to our vergers, and who are responsible for the lighting of the many lamps and candles which adorn an Eastern church. These good people assemble together on Christmas Day, after the liturgy is over, and form what is called 'a musical company'; one man is secured to play the lyre, another the harp, another the cymbals, and another leads the singing—if the monotonous chanting in which they indulge can be dignified by the title of singing. The candle-lighter, armed with a brass tray, is the recognised leader of this musical company, and all day long he conducts them from one house to another in the parish to play, sing, and collect alms. These musicians of St. George have far more consideration for the feelings of their fellow-creatures than English carol-singers, for the candle-lighter is always sent on ahead to inquire of the household they propose to visit if there is mourning in the house, or any other valid reason why the musicians should not play, in which case the candle-lighter merely presents his tray, receives his offering, and passes on. Never, if they can help it, will a family refuse admission to the musicians. They have not many amusements, poor things, and their Christmas entertainment pleases them vastly.

"The carols of these islands are exceedingly old-world and quaint. When permission is given the troupe advance towards the door, singing a sort of greeting as follows: 'Come now and open your gates to our party; we have one or two sweet words to sing to you.' The door is then opened by the master of the house; he greets them and begs them to come in, whilst the other members of the family place chairs at one end of the room, on which the musicians seat themselves. The first carol is a genuine Christmas one, a sort of religious recognition of the occasion, according to our notions fraught with a frivolity almost bordering on blasphemy; but then it must be remembered that these peasants have formed their own simple ideas of the life of Christ, the Virgin, and the saints, to which they have given utterance in their songs. A priest of St. George kindly supplied me with the words of some of their carols, and this is a translation of one of the prefatory songs with which the musical company commence:—

"'Christmas, Christmas! Christ is born; Saints rejoice and devils mourn. Christmas, Christmas! Christ was fed On sweet honey, milk, and bread, Just as now our rulers eat Bread and milk, and honey sweet.'

After this the company sing a series of songs addressed to the various members of the family, to the father, to the mother, to the daughters, to the sons; if there chances to be a betrothed couple there, they are sure to be greeted with a special song; the little children, too, are exhorted in song to be good and diligent at school. Of these songs there are an infinite number, and many of them give us curious glimpses into the life, not of to-day, but of ages which have long since passed away.

"The following song is addressed to the master of the house, and has doubtless been sung for centuries of Christmases since the old Byzantine days when such things as are mentioned in the song really existed in the houses. This is a word-for-word translation:—

"'We have come to our venerable master; To his lofty house with marble halls. His walls are decorated with mosaic; With the lathe his doors are turned. Angels and archangels are around his windows, And in the midst of his house is spread a golden carpet And from the ceiling the golden chandelier sheds light. It lights the guests as they come and go. It lights our venerable master.'

On the conclusion of their carols the musicians pause for rest, the cymbal-player throws his cymbal on the floor, and the candle-lighter does the same thing with his tray, and into these the master of the house deposits his gifts to his parish church, and if they are a newly-married couple they tie up presents of food for the musicians in a handkerchief—figs, almonds, &c., which the cymbal-player fastens round his neck or ties to his girdle.

"Before the musicians take their departure the housewife hurries off to her cupboard and produces a tray with the inevitable jam thereon. Coffee and mastic are served, and the compliments of the season are exchanged. Whilst the candle-lighter is absent looking for another house at which to sing, the musicians sing their farewell, 'We wish health to your family, and health to yourself. We go to join the pallicari.'

"In villages where the singing of carols has fallen into disuse the inhabitants are content with the priestly blessing only. To distribute this the priest of each parish starts off on Christmas morning with the candle-lighter and his tray, and an acolyte to wave the censer; he blesses the shops, he sprinkles holy water over the commodities, and then he does the same by the houses; the smell of incense perfumes the air, and the candle-lighter rattles his tray ostentatiously to show what a lot of coppers he has got."

Christmas in a Greek Church.

"Swan's Journal of a Voyage up the Mediterranean, 1826," gives the following account of Christmas in a Greek Church:—

"Thursday, January 6th, this being Christmas Day with the Greek Catholics, their 'churches are adorned in the gayest manner. I entered one, in which a sort of raree-show had been set up, illumed with a multitude of candles: the subject of it was the birth of Christ, who was represented in the background by a little waxen figure wrapped up in embroidery, and reclining upon an embroidered cushion, which rested upon another of pink satin. This was supposed to be the manger where he was born. Behind the image two paper bulls' heads looked unutterable things. On the right was the Virgin Mary, and on the left one of the eastern Magi. Paper clouds, in which the paper heads of numberless cherubs appeared, enveloped the whole; while from a pasteboard cottage stalked a wooden monk, with dogs, and sheep, and camels, goats, lions, and lambs; here walked a maiden upon a stratum of sods and dried earth, and there a shepherd flourishing aloft his pastoral staff. The construction of these august figures was chiefly Dutch: they were intermixed with china images and miserable daubs on paper. In the centre a real fountain, in miniature, squirted forth water to the ineffable delight of crowds of prostrate worshippers."

Christmas in Rome.

Hone[97] states that after Christmas Day, during the remainder of December, there is a Presepio, or representation of the manger, in which our Saviour was laid, to be seen in many of the churches at Rome. That of the Ara Cœli is the best worth seeing, which church occupies the site of the temple of Jupiter, and is adorned with some of its beautiful pillars. On entering, we found daylight completely excluded from the church; and until we advanced, we did not perceive the artificial light, which

calabrian shepherds playing in rome at christmas.
(From Hone's "Every-day Book," 1826)

was so managed as to stream in fluctuating rays, from intervening silvery clouds, and shed a radiance over the lovely babe and bending mother, who, in the most graceful attitude, lightly holds up the drapery which half conceals her sleeping infant from the bystanders. He lies in richly embroidered swaddling clothes, and his person, as well as that of his virgin mother, is ornamented with diamonds and other precious stones; for which purpose, we are informed, the princesses and ladies of high rank lend their jewels. Groups of cattle grazing, peasantry engaged in different occupations, and other objects, enliven the picturesque scenery; every living creature in the group, with eyes directed towards the Presepio, falls prostrate in adoration. In the front of this theatrical representation a little girl, about six or eight years old, stood on a bench, preaching extempore, as it appeared, to the persons who filled the church, with all the gesticulation of a little actress, probably in commemoration of those words of the psalmist, quoted by our blessed Lord—"Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings Thou hast perfected praise." In this manner the Scriptures are acted; not "read, marked, and inwardly digested." The whole scene had, however, a striking effect, well calculated to work upon the minds of a people whose religion consists so largely in outward show. [From "A Narrative of Three Years in Italy.">[

As at the beginning, so in the latter part of the nineteenth century, the church celebrations of Christmas continue to be great Christmas attractions in the Eternal City.

From the description of one who was present at the Christmas celebration of 1883, we quote the following extracts:—

"On Christmas morning, at ten o'clock, when all the world was not only awake, but up and doing, mass was being said and sung in the principal churches, but the great string of visitors to the Imperial City bent their steps towards St. Peter's to witness the celebration of this the greatest feast in the greatest Christian Church.

"As the heavy leather curtain which hangs before the door fell behind one, this sacred building seemed indeed the world's cathedral; for here were various crowds from various nations, and men and women followers of all forms of faiths, and men and women of no faith at all. The great church was full of light and colour—of light that came in broad yellow beams through the great dome and the high eastern windows, making the candles on the side altars and the hundred ever-burning lamps around the St. Peter's shrine look dim and yellow in the fulness of its radiance; and of colour combined of friezes of burnished gold, and brilliant frescoes, and rich altar pieces, and bronze statues, and slabs of oriental alabaster, and blocks of red porphyry and lapis lazuli, and guilded vaulted ceiling, and walls of inlaid marbles.

"In the large choir chapel, containing the tomb of Clement IX., three successive High Masses were celebrated, the full choir of St. Peter's attending. In the handsomely carved old oak stalls sat bishops in purple and rich lace, canons in white, and minor canons in grey fur capes, priests and deacons, and a hundred acolytes wearing silver-buckled shoes and surplices. This chapel, with its life-size marble figures resting on the cornices, has two organs, and here the choicest music is frequently heard.

"Of course the choir chapel was much too small to hold the great crowd, which, therefore, overflowed into the aisles and nave of the vast church, where the music could be heard likewise. This crowd broke up into groups, each worthy of a study, and all combining to afford an effect at once strange and picturesque. There are groups of Americans, English, French, Germans, and Italians promenading round the church, talking in their respective native tongues, gesticulating, and now and then pausing to admire a picture or examine a statue. Acquaintances meet and greet; friends introduce mutual friends; compliments are exchanged, and appointments made. Meanwhile masses are being said at all the side altars, which are surrounded by knots of people who fall on their knees at the sound of a little bell, and say their prayers quite undisturbed by the general murmur going on around them.

"Presently there is a stir in the crowd surrounding the choir chapel; the organ is at its loudest, and then comes a long procession of vergers in purple and scarlet facings, and cross and torch bearers, and censer bearers, and acolytes and deacons and priests and canons and bishops, and a red-robed cardinal in vestments of cloth of gold wrought and figured with many a sacred sign, and, moreover, adorned with precious stones; and High Mass at St. Peter's, on Christmas Day, is at an end.

"During the day most of the shops and all the Government offices were open. Soldiers were drilled all day long in the Piazza Vittorio Emanuele, and were formally marched to their various barracks, headed by bands discoursing martial music; whilst the postmen delivered their freight of letters as on ordinary days of the week. In the afternoon most of those who were at St. Peter's in the morning assembled to hear Grand Vespers at the handsome and famous church of San Maria Maggiore, one of the oldest in Christendom, the Mosaics on the chancel arch dating from the fifth century. The church was illuminated with hundreds of candles and hung with scarlet drapery, the effect being very fine; the music such as can alone be heard in Rome. On the high altar was exhibited in a massive case of gold and crystal two staves said to have been taken from the manger in which Christ was laid, this being carried round the church at the conclusion of Vespers. Almost every English visitor in Rome was present."

Christmas at Monte Carlo.

"Every one has heard of the tiny principality of Monaco, with its six square miles of territory facing the Mediterranean, and lying below the wonderful Corniche-road, which has been for ages the great highway south of the Alps, connecting the South of France with Northern Italy. Of course many visitors come here to gamble, but an increasing number are attracted by the beauty of the scenery and the charm of the climate; and here some hundreds of Englishmen and Englishwomen spent their Christmas Day and ate the conventional plum-pudding. Christmas had been ushered in by a salvo of artillery and a High Mass at the cathedral at eleven on Christmas Eve, and holly and mistletoe (which seemed strangely out of place amongst the yellow roses and hedges of geraniums) were in many hands. As illustrating the mildness of the climate and the natural beauty of the district, the following flowers were in full bloom in the open air on Christmas Day: roses of every variety, geraniums, primulas, heliotropes, carnations, anemones, narcissus, sweetwilliams, stocks, cactus, and pinks; and to these may be added lemon trees and orange trees laden with their golden fruit. As evening wore on a strong gale burst upon the shore, and Christmas Day closed amongst waving foliage and clanging doors and clouds of dust, and the fierce thud of angry surf upon the sea-shore below.

"January 2, 1890.

J. S. B."

Christmas Eve Festivities in Germany.

In "The German Christmas Eve," 1846, Madame Apolline Flohr recalls her "childish recollections" of the Christmas festivities in the "happy family" of which she was a member. They met amid the glare of a hundred lights, and according to an old-established custom, they soon joined in chaunting the simple hymn which begins:—

"Now let us thank our God; Uplift our hands and hearts: Eternal be His praise, Who all good things imparts!"

After the singing (says the writer), I ventured for the first time, to approach the pile of Christmas gifts intended for my sisters, my brothers, and myself.

The Christmas tree, always the common property of the children of the house, bore gilded fruits of every species; and as we gazed with childish delight on these sparkling treasures our dear parents wiped away the tears they had plentifully shed, while our young voices were ringing out the sweet hymn, led by our friend, Herr Von Clappart, with such deep and solemn emotion.

Now, as the dear mother led each child to his or her own little table—for the gifts for each were laid out separately, and thus apportioned beforehand—all was joy and merriment.

A large table stood in the midst, surrounded by smaller ones, literally laden with pretty and ingenious toys, the gifts of friends and kindred. We liked the toys very much indeed. We were, however, too happy to endure quiet pleasure very long, and all prepared to assemble around the Christmas tree. After a delightful dance around the tree, and around our dear parents, our presents were again examined; for the variety of offerings made on these occasions would much exceed the belief of a stranger to our customs. Every article for children's clothing was here to be found, both for ornament and use; nor were books forgotten. It was then I received my first Bible and Prayer-book; and at the moment the precious gift was placed in my hand, I resolved to accompany my parents to church the following morning at five o'clock. (This early attendance at public worship on Christmas morning is a custom observed in Central Germany, and is called Christ-Kirche.)

The ceremony of withdrawing, in order to attire ourselves in some of our new dresses, having been performed, we re-entered the apartment, upon which the great folding-doors being thrown open, a second Christmas tree appeared, laden with hundreds of lights. This effect was produced by the tree being placed opposite some large looking-glasses, which reflected the lights and redoubled their brilliancy.

Here hung the gifts prepared by the hands of the children for their beloved parents.

My eldest sister, Charlotte, had knitted for her mother a beautiful evening cap, and a long purse for her father.

Emily presented each one of the family with a pair of mittens; and the little Adolphine made similar offerings of open-worked stockings, her first attempt.

Our parents were also surprised and delighted to receive some drawings, exceedingly well executed, by my brothers, accompanied by a letter of thanks from those dear boys, for the kind permission to take lessons which had been granted to them during the last half-year.

The great bell had called us together at five o'clock in the afternoon, to receive our Christmas gifts; and though at eleven our eyes and hearts were still wide awake, yet were we obliged to retire, and leave all these objects of delight behind us. All remembered that, at least, the elder branches of the family must rise betimes the next morning to attend the Christ-Kirche, and to hear a sermon on the birth of the Saviour of Mankind.

The great excitement of the previous evening, and the vision of delight that still hovered around my fancy, prevented my sleeping soundly; so that when the others were attempting to steal away the next morning to go to church, I was fully roused, and implored so earnestly to be taken with the rest of the family, that at length my prayer was granted; but on condition that I should keep perfectly still during the service.

Arrived at the church we found it brilliantly illuminated, and decorated with the boughs of the holly and other evergreens.

It is quite certain that a child of five years old could not understand the importance, beauty, and extreme fitness of the sublime service she so often witnessed in after life; yet I can recollect a peculiarly sweet, sacred, and mysterious feeling taking possession of me, as my infant mind received the one simple impression that this was the birthday of the Saviour I had been taught to love and pray to, since my infant lips could lisp a word.

Since early impressions are likely to be permanent, it is considered most important in my fatherland to surround, Christmas with all joyous and holy associations. A day of days, indeed, it is with us—a day never to be forgotten.

So far is this feeling carried, that it is no uncommon pastime, even at the beginning of the new year, to project plans and presents, happy surprises, and unlooked-for offerings, to be presented at the far-off time of Christmas festivity.

Another writer, at the latter end of the nineteenth century, gives the following account of the Christmas festivities at the German Court, from which it appears that the long-cherished Christmas customs are well preserved in the highest circle in Germany:—

Christmas at the German Court.

In accordance with an old custom the Royal Family of Prussia celebrate Christmas in a private manner at the Emperor William's palace, where the "blue dining-hall" on the first floor is arranged as the Christmas room. Two long rows of tables are placed in this hall, and two smaller tables stand in the corners on either side of the pillared door leading to the ballroom. On these tables stand twelve of the finest and tallest fir-trees, reaching nearly to the ceiling, and covered with innumerable white wax candles placed in wire-holders, but without any other decoration.

In the afternoon of the 24th great packages are brought into this room containing the presents for the members of the Imperial household, and in the presence of the Emperor his Chamberlain distributes them on the tables under the trees. The monarch always takes an active part in this work, and, walking about briskly from one table to the other, helps to place the objects in the most advantageous positions, and fastens on them slips of white paper on which he himself has written the names of the recipients. The Empress is also present, occupied with arranging the presents for the ladies of her own household. The two separate tables still remain empty, until the Emperor and the Empress have left the room, as they are destined to hold the presents for their Majesties.

At four o'clock the entire Royal Family assemble in the large dining-hall of the Palace for their Christmas dinner. Besides all the Princes and Princesses without exception, the members of the Imperial household, the chiefs of the Emperor's military and civil Cabinets, and a number of adjutants are also present.

Shortly after the termination of the dinner the double doors leading to the blue hall are thrown wide open at a sign from the Emperor, and the brilliant sight of the twelve great fir-trees bearing thousands of lighted tapers is disclosed to view. This is the great moment of the German Christmas Eve celebration. The Imperial couples then form in procession, and all proceed to the Christmas room. The Emperor and the Empress then personally lead the members of their households to the presents which are grouped in long rows on the tables, and which comprise hundreds of articles, both valuable and useful, objects of art, pictures, statuary, &c. Meanwhile, the two separate tables still remain hidden under white draperies. In other rooms all the officials and servants of the palace, down to the youngest stable-boy, are presented with their Christmas-boxes. At about nine o'clock the Imperial Family and their guests again return to the dining-room, where a plain supper is then served. According to old tradition, the menu always includes the following dishes: "Carp cooked in beer" (a Polish custom), and "Mohnpielen," an East Prussian dish, composed of poppy-seed, white bread, almonds and raisins, stewed in milk. After the supper all return once more to the Christmas room, where the second part of the celebration—the exchange of presents among the Royal Family—then comes off.

The Emperor's table stands on the right side of the ballroom door, and every object placed on it bears a paper with an inscription intimating by whom the present is given. The presents for the Empress on the other table are arranged in the same manner. Among the objects never missing at the Emperor's Christmas are some large Nuremberg ginger cakes, with the inscription "Weihnachten" and the year. About half-an-hour later tea is taken, and this terminates the Christmas Eve of the first family of the German Empire.

Christmas throughout Germany,

it may be added, is similarly observed in the year 1900. From the Imperial palace to the poor man's cottage there is not a family in Germany that has not its Christmas tree and "Weihnachts Bescheerung"—Christmas distribution of presents. For the very poor districts of Berlin provision is made by the municipal authorities or charitable societies to give the children this form of amusement, which they look forward to throughout the year.

The Christmas Festivities in Austria

are similar to those in Germany, the prominent feature being the beautifully-adorned and splendidly-lighted Christmas-tree. At one of these celebrations, a few years ago, the numerous presents received by the young Princess Elizabeth included a speaking doll, fitted with a phonograph cylinder, which created no small astonishment. Among other things, the doll was able to recite a poem composed by the Archduchess Marie Valerie in honour of Christmas Eve.

The poor and destitute of Vienna are not forgotten, for, in addition to the Christmas-tree which is set up at the palace for them, a large number of charitable associations in the various districts of Vienna have also Christmas-trees laden with presents for the poor.

Christmas Eve in St. Mark's, Venice.

You go into the Duomo late on Christmas Eve, and find the time-stained alabasters and dark aisles lit up with five hundreds of wax candles over seven feet high. The massive silver lamps suspended across the choir have the inner lamps all ablaze, as is also the graceful Byzantine chandelier in the centre of the nave that glitters like a cluster of stars from dozens of tiny glass cups with wick and oil within. In the solemn and mysterious gloom you pass figures of men and women kneeling in devotion before the many shrines. Some are accompanied by well-behaved and discreet dogs, who sit patiently waiting till their owners' prayer shall be over; whilst others less well trained, run about from group to group to smell out their friends or growl at foes. You slowly work your way through the throng to the high altar. That unique reredos, brought from Constantinople in early times—the magnificent "Pala d'Ora," an enamelled work wrought on plates of gold and silver, and studded with precious stones—is unveiled, and the front of the altar has a rich frontispiece of the thirteenth century, which is of silver washed with gold, and embossed figures. Numbers of ponderous candles throw a glimmer over the treasures with which St. Mark's is so richly endowed, that are profusely displayed on the altar. Bishops, canons and priests in full dress are standing and kneeling, and the handsome and much-beloved Patriarch of Venice officiates, in dress of gorgeous scarlet and cream-coloured old lace, and heavy-brocaded cope, that is afterwards exchanged for one of ermine, and flashing rings and jewelled cross. There is no music, but a deep quiet pervades the dim golden domes overhead and the faintly-lighted transepts. Stray rays of light catch the smooth surface of the mosaics, which throw off sparkles of brightness and cast deeper shadows beyond the uncertain radiance. After the midnight mass is celebrated you pass out with the stream of people into the cold, frosty night, with only the bright stars to guide you through the silent alleys to your rooms, where you wish each other "A Merry Christmas!" and retire to sleep, and to dream of the old home in England.—Queen.

sassoferrato (giovanni battista salvi) 1605˗85
museum naples

Christmas in Naples.

An English writer who spent a Christmas in Naples a few years ago, says:—

In the south Christmas is bright and gay, and in truth noisy. The festa natalizie, as it is called in Naples, is celebrated by fairs and bonfires and fireworks. In the Toledo, that famous street known to all the world, booths are erected beside the shops, flaming in colour, and filled with all sorts of tempting wares. Throughout Christmas Eve an immense crowd of men, women, and children throng this street, nearly a mile in length. The vendors shriek at the top of their voice, praising themselves and their goods, and then, with merry peals of laughter, exhibit with Neapolitan drollery all the arts of their trade. The crowd catch the contagious spirit of fun, and toss witticisms to and fro, until the welkin rings with shouts and laughter. A revolution in Paris could not create greater excitement, or greater noise, than the Christmas fair at Naples, the largest, and certainly the merriest, in the world. As night draws on the mirth grows uproarious; improvisations abound. Pulcinello attracts laughing crowds. The bagpipes strike with their ear-piercing sounds, and arise shrill above universal din. Fireworks are let off at every street corner, flaming torches carried in procession parade the streets; rockets rise in the air, coloured lamps are hung over doorways, and in the midst of the blaze of light the church bells announce the midnight Mass, and the crowd leave the fair and the streets, and on bended knee are worshipping.

Luis de Vargas 1502-1568 Seville Cathedral

Christmas in Spain.

Spain in winter must be divided into Spain the frigid and Spain the semi-tropic; for while snow lies a foot deep at Christmas in the north, in the south the sun is shining brightly, and flowers of spring are peeping out, and a nosegay of heliotrope and open-air geraniums is the Christmas-holly and mistletoe of Andalusia. There is no chill in the air, there is no frost on the window-pane.

When Christmas Eve comes the two days' holiday commences. At twelve the labourers leave their work, repair home, and dress in their best. Then the shops are all ablaze with lights, ribbons and streamers, with tempting fare of sweets and sausages, with red and yellow serge to make warm petticoats; with cymbals, drums, and zambombas. The chief sweetmeats, peculiar to Christmas, and bought alike by rich and poor, are the various kinds of preserved fruits, incrusted with sugar, and the famous turrni. This last, which is of four kinds, and may be called in English phraseology, "almond rock," is brought to your door, and buy it you must. A coarse kind is sold to the poor at a cheap rate. Other comestibles, peculiar to Christmas, are almond soup, truffled turkey, roasted chestnuts, and nuts of every sort.

Before the Noche-buena, or Christmas Eve, however, one or two good deeds have been done by the civil and military authorities. On the twenty-third or twenty-fourth the custom is for the military governor to visit all the soldier prisoners, in company with their respective defensores, or advocates; and, de officio, there and then, he liberates all who are in gaol for light offences. This plan is also pursued in the civil prisons; and thus a beautiful custom is kept up in classic, romantic, Old-world Spain, and a ray of hope enters into and illuminates even the bitter darkness of a Spanish prisoners' den.

It is Christmas Eve. The poor man has his relations round him, over his humble puchero (stew): the rich man likewise. Friends have not come, "for it is not the custom." In Spain only blood relations eat and drink in the house as invited guests. Families meet as in England. Two per cent. of the soldiers get a fortnight's leave of absence and a free pass; and there is joy in peasant homes over peasant charcoal pans. The dusky shades of evening are stealing over olive grove and withering vineyard, and every house lights up its tiny oil lamp, and every image of the Virgin is illuminated with a taper. In Eija, near Cordova, an image or portrait of the Virgin and the Babe new-born, hangs in well-nigh every room in every house. And why? Because the beautiful belief is rooted in those simple minds, that, on Christmas Eve, ere the clock strikes twelve, the Virgin, bringing blessings in her train, visits every house where she can find an image or portrait of her Son. And many a girl kneels down in robes of white before her humble portrait of the Babe and prays; and hears a rustle in the room, and thinks, "the Virgin comes: she brings me my Christmas Eve blessing;" and turns, and lo! it is her mother, and the Virgin's blessing is the mother's kiss!

In Northern Andalusia you have the zambomba, a flower-pot perforated by a hollow reed, which, wetted and rubbed with the finger, gives out a hollow, scraping, monotonous sound. In Southern Andalusia the panderita, or tambourine, is the chief instrument. It is wreathed with gaudy ribbons, and decked with bells, and beaten, shaken, and tossed in the air with graceful abandon to the strains of the Christmas hymn:

"This night is the good night, And therefore is no night of rest!"

Or, perhaps, the Church chant is sung, called "The child of God was born."

Then also men click the castanet in wine-shop and cottage; and in such old-world towns as Eija, where no railway has penetrated, a breast-plate of eccentrically strung bones—slung round the neck and played with sticks—is still seen and heard.

The turkeys have been slaughtered and are smoking on the fire. The night is drawing on and now the meal is over. Twelve o'clock strikes, and in one moment every bell from every belfrey clangs out its summons. Poltroon were he who had gone to bed before twelve on Noche-buena. From every house the inmates hurry to the gaily-lit church and throng its aisles, a dark-robed crowd of worshippers. The organ peals out, the priests and choir chant at this midnight hour the Christmas hymn, and at last (in some out-of-the-way towns) the priests, in gaudiest robes, bring out from under the altar and expose aloft to the crowds, in swaddling-clothes of gold and white, the Babe new-born, and all fall down and cross themselves in mute adoration. This service is universal, and is called the "Misa del Gallo," or Cock-crow Mass, and even in Madrid it is customary to attend it. There are three masses also on Christmas Day, and the Church rule, strictly observed, is that if a man fail to attend this Midnight Mass he must, to save his religious character, attend all three on Christmas Day. In antique towns, like Eija, there are two days' early mass (called "Misa di Luz") anterior to the "Misa del Gallo," at 4 a.m., and in the raw morning the churches are thronged with rich and poor. In that strange, old-world town, also, the chief dame goes to the Midnight Mass, all her men-servants in procession before her, each playing a different instrument.

Christmas Eve is over. It is 1.30 a.m. on Christmas morning, and the crowds, orderly, devout, cheerful, are wending their way home. Then all is hushed; all have sought repose; there are no drunken riots; the dark streets are lit by the tiny oil lamps; the watchman's monotonous cry alone is heard, "Ave Maria purissima; las dos; y sereno."

The three masses at the churches on Christmas Day are all chanted to joyous music. Then the poor come in to pay their rent of turkeys, pigs, olives, or what not, to their landlord, and he gives them a Christmas-box: such as a piece of salt fish, or money, or what may be. Then, when you enter your house, you will find on your table, with the heading, "A Happy Christmas," a book of little leaflets, printed with verses. These are the petitions of the postman, scavenger, telegraph man, newsboy, &c., asking you for a Christmas-box. Poor fellows! they get little enough, and a couple of francs is well bestowed on them once a year. After mid-day breakfast or luncheon is over, rich and poor walk out and take the air, and a gaudy, pompous crowd they form as a rule. As regards presents at Christmas, the rule is, in primitive Spain, to send a present to the Cura (parish priest) and the doctor. Many Spaniards pay a fixed annual sum to their medical man, and he attends all the family, including servants. His salary is sent to him at Christmas, with the addition of a turkey, or a cake, or some fine sweetmeats.

On Christmas Eve the provincial hospitals present one of their most striking aspects to the visitor. It is a feast-day, and instead of the usual stew, the soup called caldo—and very weak stuff it is—or the stir-about and fried bread, the sick have their good sound meats, cooked in savoury and most approved fashion, their tumbler of wine, their extra cigar. Visitors, kindly Spanish ladies, come in, their hands laden with sweets and tobacco, &c., and the sight of the black silk dresses trailing over the lowly hospital couches is most human and pathetic. At last night—the veritable Christmas Eve comes. The chapels in these hospitals are generally on the ground floor, and frequently sunk some feet below it, but open to the hospital; so that the poor inmates who can leave their beds can hobble to the railing and look down into the chapel—one mass of dazzling lights, glitter, colour, and music: and thus, without the fatigue of descending the stairs, can join in the service. At half-past eleven at night the chapel is gaily lit up; carriage after carriage, mule-cart after mule-cart rattles up to the hospital door, discharging crowds of ladies and gentlemen in evening dress; thus the common people, chiefly the young, with their tambourines and zambombas, pour into the chapel from Campo, and alley, and street, and soon the chapel is filled; while above, sitting, hobbling, lying all round the rails, and gazing down upon the motley and noisy throng below, are the inmates of the hospital. The priest begins the Midnight Mass, and the organs take up the service, the whole of which, for one hour, is chanted. Meanwhile, the tambourines and other musical instruments are busy, and join in the strains of the organ; and the din, glitter, and excitement are most exhilarating. And thus the occupants of the Spanish provincial hospitals join in the festivities of Christmastide, as seen by one who has dwelt "Among the Spanish People."

Christmas Customs in Norway.

A writer who knows the manners and habits of the people of Norway, and their customs at Christmastide, says:—

At Christiania, and other Norwegian towns, there is, or used to be, a delicate Christmas custom of offering to a lady a brooch or a pair of earings in a truss of hay. The house-door of the person to be complimented is pushed open, and there is thrown into the house a truss of hay or straw, a sheaf of corn, or a bag of chaff. In some part of this "bottle of hay" envelope, there is a "needle" as a present to be hunted for. A friend of mine once received from her betrothed, according to the Christmas custom, an exceedingly large brown paper parcel, which, on being opened, revealed a second parcel with a loving motto on the cover. And so on, parcel within parcel, motto within motto, till the kernel of this paper husk—which was at length discovered to be a delicate piece of minute jewellery—was arrived at.

One of the prettiest of Christmas customs is the Norwegian practice of giving, on Christmas Day, a dinner to the birds. On Christmas morning every gable, gateway, or barn-door, is decorated with a sheaf of corn fixed on the top of a tall pole, wherefrom it is intended that the birds should make their Christmas dinner. Even the peasants contrive to have a handful set by for this purpose, and what the birds do not eat on Christmas Day, remains for them to finish at their leisure during the winter.

On New Year's Day in Norway, friends and acquaintances exchange calls and good wishes. In the corner of each reception-room is placed a little table, furnished all through the day with wine and cakes for the refreshment of the visitors; who talk, and compliment, and flirt, and sip wine, and nibble cake from house to house, with great perseverance.

Between Christmas and Twelfth Day mummers are in season. They are called "Julebukker," or Christmas goblins. They invariably appear after dark, and in masks and fancy dresses. A host may therefore have to entertain in the course of the season, a Punch, Mephistopheles, Charlemagne, Number, Nip, Gustavus, Oberon, and whole companies of other fanciful and historic characters; but, as their antics are performed in silence, they are not particularly cheerful company.

Christmas in Russia.

With Christmas Eve begins the festive season known in Russia as Svyatki or Svyatuie Vechera (Holy Evenings), which lasts till the Epiphany. The numerous sportive ceremonies which are associated with it resemble, in many respects, those with which we are familiar, but they are rendered specially interesting and valuable by the relics of the past which they have been the means of preserving—the fragments of ritual song which refer to the ancient paganism of the land, the time-honoured customs which originally belonged to the feasts with which the heathen Slavs greeted each year the return of the sun. On Christmas Eve commences the singing of the songs called Kolyadki, a word, generally supposed to be akin to Kalendæ, though reference is made in some of them to a mysterious being, apparently a solar goddess, named Kolyada. "Kolyada, Kolyada! Kolyada has come. We wandered about, we sought holy Kolyada in all the courtyards," commences one of these old songs, for many a year, no doubt, solemnly sung by the young people who used in olden times to escort from homestead to homestead a sledge in which sat a girl dressed in white, who represented the benignant goddess. Nowadays these songs have in many places fallen into disuse, or are kept up only by the children who go from house to house, to congratulate the inhabitants on the arrival of Christmas, and to wish them a prosperous New Year. In every home, says one of these archaic poems, are three inner chambers. In one is the bright moon, in another the red sun, in a third many stars. The bright moon—that is the master of the house; the red sun—that is the housewife; the many stars—they are the little children.

The Russian Church sternly sets its face against the old customs with which the Christmas season was associated, denouncing the "fiendish songs," and "devilish games," the "graceless talk," the "nocturnal gambols," and the various kinds of divination in which the faithful persisted in indulging. But, although repressed, they were not to be destroyed, and at various seasons of the year, but especially those of the summer and winter solstice, the "orthodox," in spite of their pastors, made merry with old heathenish sports, and, after listening to Christian psalms in church, went home and sang songs framed by their ancestors in honour of heathen divinities. Thus century after century went by, and the fortunes of Russia underwent great changes. But still in the villages were the old customs kept up, and when Christmas Day came round it was greeted by survivals of the ceremonies with which the ancient Slavs hailed the returning sun god, who caused the days to lengthen, and filled the minds of men with hopes of a new year rich in fruits and grain. One of the customs to which the Church most strongly objected was that of mumming. As in other lands, so in Russia it was customary for mummers to go about at Christmastide, visiting various homes in which the festivities of the season were being kept up, and there dancing, and performing all kinds of antics. Prominent parts were always played by human representatives of a goat and a bear. Some of the party would be disguised as "Lazaruses," that is, as the blind beggars who bear that name, and whose plaintive strains have resounded all over Russia from the earliest times to the present day. The rest disguised themselves as they best could, a certain number of them being generally supposed to play the part of thieves desirous to break in and steal. When, after a time, they were admitted into the room where the Christmas guests were assembled, the goat and the bear would dance a merry round together, the Lazaruses would sing their "dumps so dull and heavy," and the rest of the performers would exert themselves to produce exhilaration. Even among the upper classes it was long the custom at this time of year for the young people to dress up and visit their neighbours in disguise. Thus in Count Tolstoy's "Peace and War," a novel which aims at giving a true account of the Russia of the early part of the present century, there is a charming description of a visit of this kind paid by the younger members of one family to another. On a bright frosty night the sledges are suddenly ordered, and the young people dress up, and away they drive across the crackling snow to a country house six miles off, all the actors creating a great sensation, but especially the fair maiden Sonya, who proves irresistible when clad in her cousin's hussar uniform and adorned with an elegant moustache. Such mummers as these would lay aside their disguises with a light conscience, but the peasant was apt to feel a depressing qualm when the sports were over; and it is said that, even at the present day, there are rustics who do not venture to go to church, after having taken part in a mumming, until they have washed off their guilt by immersing themselves in the benumbing waters of an ice-hole.

Next to the mumming, what the Church most objected to was the divination always practised at Christmas festivals. With one of its forms a number of songs have been associated, termed podblyudnuiya, as connected with a blyudo, a dish or bowl. Into some vessel of this kind the young people drop tokens. A cloth is then thrown over it, and the various objects are drawn out, one after another, to the sound of songs, from the tenor of which the owners deduce omens relative to their future happiness. As bread and salt are also thrown into the bowl, the ceremony may be supposed to have originally partaken of the nature of a sacrifice. After these songs are over ought to come the game known as the "burial of the gold." The last ring remaining in the prophetic bowl is taken out by one of the girls, who keeps it concealed in her hand. The others sit in a circle, resting their hands on their knees. She walks slowly round, while the first four lines are sung in chorus of the song beginning, "See here, gold I bury, I bury." Then she slips the ring into one of their hands, from which it is rapidly passed on to another, the song being continued the while. When it comes to an end the "gold burier" must try to guess in whose hand the ring is concealed. This game is a poetical form of our "hunt the slipper." Like many other Slavonic customs it is by some archæologists traced home to Greece. By certain mythologists the "gold" is supposed to be an emblem of the sun, long hidden by envious wintry clouds, but at this time of year beginning to prolong the hours of daylight. To the sun really refer, in all probability, the bonfires with which Christmastide, as well as the New Year and Midsummer is greeted in Russia. In the Ukraine the sweepings from a cottage are carefully preserved from Christmas Day to New Year's Day, and are then burnt in a garden at sunrise. Among some of the Slavs, such as the Servians, Croatians, and Dalmatians, a badnyak, or piece of wood answering to the northern Yule-log, is solemnly burnt on Christmas Eve. But the significance originally attached to these practices has long been forgotten. Thus the grave attempts of olden times to search the secrets of futurity have degenerated into the sportive guesses of young people, who half believe that they may learn from omens at Christmas time what manner of marriages are in store for them. Divinings of this kind are known to all lands, and bear a strong family likeness; but it is, of course, only in a cold country that a spinster can find an opportunity of sitting beside a hole cut in the surface of a frozen river, listening to prophetic sounds proceeding from beneath the ice, and possibly seeing the image of the husband who she is to marry within the year trembling in the freezing water. Throughout the whole period of the Svyatki, the idea of marriage probably keeps possession of the minds of many Russian maidens, and on the eve of the Epiphany, the feast with which those Christmas holidays come to an end, it is still said to be the custom for the village girls to go out into the open air and to beseech the "stars, stars, dear little stars," to be so benignant as to

"Send forth through the christened world Arrangers of weddings."

W. R. S. Ralston, in Notes and Queries, Dec. 21, 1878.

Christmas-keeping in Africa.

"A certain young man about town" (says Chambers's Journal, December 25, 1869), "once forsook the sweet shady side of Pall Mall for the sake of smoking his cigar in savage Africa; but when Christmas came, he was seized with a desire to spend it in Christian company, and this is how he did spend it: 'We English once possessed the Senegal; and there, every Christmas Eve, the Feast of Lanterns used to be held. The native women picked up the words and airs of the carols; the custom had descended to the Gambia, and even to the Casemanche, where it is still preserved. A few minutes after I had ridden up, sounds of music were heard, and a crowd of blacks came to the door, carrying the model of a ship made of paper, and illuminated within; and hollowed pumpkins also lighted up for the occasion. Then they sang some of our dear old Christmas carols, and among others, one which I had heard years ago on Christmas Eve at Oxford:

Nowel, Nowel, the angels did say, To certain poor shepherds in fields as they lay— In fields as they lay keeping their sheep, One cold winter's night, which was so deep. Nowel, Nowel, Nowel, Nowel, Born is the King of Israel.

You can imagine with what feelings I listened to those simple words, sung by negresses who knew not a phrase of English besides. You can imagine what recollections they called up, as I sat under an African sky, the palm-trees rustling above my head, and the crocodiles moaning in the river beyond. I thought of the snow lying thick upon the ground; of the keen, clear, frosty air. I thought of the ruddy fire which would be blazing in a room I knew; and of those young faces which would be beaming still more brightly by its side; I thought of—oh, of a hundred things, which I can laugh at now, because I am in England, but which, in Africa, made me more wretched than I can well express.'

"Next day, sadness and sentiment gave way, for a while at least, to more prosaical feelings. When Mr. Reade sat down to his Christmas dinner, he must have wished, with Macbeth, 'May good digestion wait on appetite,' as he contemplated the fare awaiting discussion, and to which a boar's head grinned a welcome. Snails from France, oysters torn from trees, gazelle cutlets, stewed iguana, smoked elephant, fried locusts, manati-breasts, hippopotamus steaks, boiled alligator, roasted crocodile eggs, monkeys on toast, land crabs and Africa soles, carp, and mullet—detestable in themselves, but triumphant proof of the skill of the cook—furnished forth the festival-table, in company with potatoes, plantains, pine-apples, oranges, papaws, bananas, and various fruits rejoicing in extraordinary shapes, long native names, and very nasty flavours; and last, but not least, palm-cabbage stewed in white sauce, 'the ambrosia of the gods,' and a bottle of good Bordeaux at every's man's elbow. When evening came, Mr. Reade and a special friend sought the river: 'The rosy wine had rouged our yellow cheeks, and we lay back on the cushions, and watched the setting sun with languid, half-closed eyes. Four men, who might have served as models to Appelles, bent slowly to their stroke, and murmured forth a sweet and plaintive song. Their oars, obedient to their voice, rippled the still water, and dropped from their blades pearls, which the sun made rubies with its rays. Two beautiful girls, who sat before us in the bow, raised their rounded arms and tinkled their bracelets in the air. Then, gliding into the water, they brought us flowers from beneath the dark bushes, and kissed the hands which took them, with wet and laughing lips. Like a dark curtain, the warm night fell upon us; strange cries roused from the forest; beasts of the waters plunged around us, and my honest friend's hand pressed mine. And Christmas Day was over. We might seek long for a stranger contrast to an Englishman's Christmas at home, although—to adapt some seasonable lines—

Where'er An English heart exists to do and dare, Where, amid Afric's sands, the lion roars, Where endless winter chains the silent shores, Where smiles the sea round coral islets bright, Where Brahma's temple's sleep in glowing light— In every spot where England's sons may roam, Dear Christmas-tide still speaks to them of Home!

[93] The discovery of the North-West Passage for navigation from the Atlantic Ocean to the Pacific, by the northern coasts of the American continent; first successfully traversed by Sir R. McClure in 1850-1.

[94] Chambers's Journal, December 25, 1869.

[95] Fosbroke's "British Monachism."

[96] "Reminiscences of the Siege and Commune of Paris," by Ex-Minister E. B. Washburne.

[97] "Year Book."

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Presentation at the Temple by P. W. Moody
Modern Stained Glass in Bishopgate Church

simeon received the child jesus into his arms, and blessed god

Luke 11 25-32

CHAPTER XIII