December 24.
Robin Hood.
For the Every-Day Book.
The 24th of December, among other causes, is rendered remarkable from its having been the day on which the bold Robin Hood breathed his last, in the year 1247.
The accounts of the life of this extraordinary outlaw are so various, and so much mixed up with fable, that to render a true history of him would be almost impossible.
His real name was Fitz-Ooth, his grandfather, Ralph Fitz-Ooth Earl of Kyme, whose name appears in the Roll of Battle Abbey, came over to England with William Rufus, and was married to a daughter of Gilbert de Gìent earl of Lincoln.[541]
His father, William Fitz-Ooth, in the times of feudal dependancy, was a ward of Robert earl of Oxford, who, by the King’s order, gave him his niece in marriage, the third daughter of lady Roisia de Vere, countess of Essex.[542]
Having dissipated his fortune, Robin Ooth, or Hood, as he was named, joined a band of depredators, and, as their chief, laid heavy contributions, for his support, on all such as he deemed rich enough to bear the loss.
He was famed for his courage, skill in archery, and kindness to the poor, who often shared with him in the plunder he had taken. The principal scene of his exploits is said to have been in Sherwood Forest, and the period, that of the reign of Richard I., thus described by Stowe:—
“In this time (1190) were many robbers and outlaws; among the which Robin Hood and Little John, renowned thieves, continued in woods, dispoyling and plundering the goods of the rich; they killed none but such as would invade them, or by resistance for their own defence.
“The said Robert entertained an hundred tall men and good archers with such spoiles and thefts as he got, upon whom four hundred (were they ever so strong) durst not give the onset. He suffered no woman to be oppressed, violated, or otherwise molested; poor men’s goods he spared, abundantly relieving them with that which by theft he got from abbeys, and the houses of rich earles: whom Major (the historian) blameth for his rapine and theft, but of all thieves he affirmeth him to be the prince, and the most gentle theefe.”[543]
“It is said,” writes Baker, “that he was of noble blood, at least made noble, no less than an earl, for deserving services, but having wasted his estate in riotous courses, very penury forced him to this course.”[544]
Robin Hood was the hero of many popular songs, several of which are to be found in “Evans’s Collection of Old Ballads,” as early as the reign of Edward III. R. Langlande, a priest, in his “Pierce Plowman’s Visions,” notices him:—
“I cannot perfitly my Paternoster, as the priest it singeth,
I can rimes of Robenhod and Randal of Chester,
But of our Lorde or our Lady I learne nothyng at all.”
He is reported to have lived till the year 1247; but Baker, in his “Chronology,” makes his death, which is said to have been caused by treachery, to have taken place in the reign of Richard I. “The King set forth a Proclamation to have him apprehended; it happened he fell sick, at a certain nunnery in Yorkshire, called Berckleys, and desiring to be let blood, was betrayed, and made to bleed to death.”[545]
The manner of his death is also recorded in an old ballad, entitled “Robin Hood and the valiant Knight, together with an Account of his Death and Burial.”
*****
“And Robin Hood he to the green wood,
And there he was taken ill.
And he sent for a monk, to let him blood
Who took his life away;
Now this being done, his archers did run,
It was not time to stay.”
At Kirklees, in Yorkshire, formerly a Benedictine nunnery, is a gravestone, near the park, under which it is said Robin Hood lies buried. There is the remains of an inscription on it, but it is quite illegible. Mr. Ralph Thoresby, in his “Ducatus Leodiensis,” gives the following as the epitaph:—
“Hear undernead dis laith stean
Laiz Robert Earl of Huntington,
Nea arcir ver az hie sa geude:
An piple kaud im Robin Heud.
Sic utlawz as hi, an iz men,
Wil England never sigh agen.
Obiit 24 kal. Dekembris, 1247.”
Some of his biographers have noticed him as earl of Huntingdon, but they are not borne out in this by any of the old ballads, this epitaph alone calling him by that title. All the learned antiquarians agree in giving no credence to the genuineness of the above composition, alleging, among other causes, the quaintness of the spelling, and the pace of the metre, as affording them strong grounds for suspicion.
However strongly the name and exploits of Robin Hood may have been impressed on our memories from the “oft told” nursery tales, yet we have lately had it in our power to become more intimately, and, as it were, personally acquainted with this great chieftain of outlaws, through the medium of the author of “Waverley,” who has introduced “friend Locksley” to the readers of his “Ivanhoe,” in such natural and glowing colours, as to render the forgetting him utterly impossible.
Henry Brandon.
Leadenhall-street.
Christmas-eve.
Bellman’s Verses
Upon Christmas-eve.
This night (you may my Almanack believe)
Is the return of famous Christmas-eve:
Ye virgins then your cleanly rooms prepare,
And let the windows bays and laurel wear;
Your Rosemary preserve to dress your Beef,
Nor forget me, which I advise in chief.
Another on the same.
Now, Mrs. Betty, pray get up and rise,
If you intend to make your Christmas pies:
Scow’ring the pewter falls to Cisley’s share;
And Margery must to clean the house take care:
And let Doll’s ingenuity be seen,
In decking all the windows up with green.[546]
It is scarcely necessary to remind the reader, that several notices of this day have been already presented; yet, many as they are, there are others from whence a few may be gleaned, with the probability of their still being acceptable.
With Mr. Leigh Hunt, who is foremost among modern admirers of the old festivals of the season, Christmas is, as it ought to be, the chief. His papers, in 1817, which occasioned the following letter, are not at hand to cite; and, perhaps if they were, the excellent feelings of his “fair correspondent” might be preferred to some of even his descriptions.
To the Editor of the Examiner.
Sir,—I am of the number of your readers who recollect, with pleasure and gratitude, your papers last year on keeping Christmas, and I looked forward with a hope, which has not been disappointed, that you would take some notice again of its return. I feel unwilling to intrude on your valuable time, yet I cannot refrain from thanking you for your cheering attempts to enforce a due observance of this delightful season. I thank you in my own name, and I thank you in the name of those to whom the spring of life is opening in all its natural and heartfelt enjoyments. I thank you in the name of the more juvenile part of the holyday circle, who, released from the thraldom of school discipline, are come home, (that expressive word,) to bask awhile in the eyes and the smiles of their fond parents; and, lastly, I thank you on behalf of those who have none to plead for them, and to whom pleasure is but a name—the sick at heart and sick in body, the friendless and the fatherless, the naked and the hungry. To all of these I hope to extend a portion of happiness and of help, with a heart full of gratitude to Him who has “cast my lot in a goodly heritage.” I have, under this feeling, been for some days past busily employed in preparing for passing Christmas worthily. My beef and mince-meat are ready, (of which, with some warm garments, my poor neighbours will partake,) and my holly and mistletoe gathered; for I heartily approve of your article, and am of opinion that to the false refinement of modern times may be traced the loss of that primitive and pure simplicity which characterised “other times.” To your list of “authorities” I beg leave to add that learned and truly Christian prelate, Bishop Hall, who, in his “Contemplation on the Marriage of Cana,” so strongly enforces the doctrine, that the Creator is best honoured in a wise and rational enjoyment of the creature.
Cordially wishing you the chief of sublunary blessings, i. e. health of body and health of mind, I remain, Sir, your obliged and constant reader,
A Wife, a Mother, and
An Englishwoman.
South Lambeth, Dec. 21, 1818.
In Mr. Nichols’s Collection of Poems there are some pleasant verses, which seem to have proceeded from his own pen:—
To H——y M——n, Esq.
On his refusing a Christmas Dinner with a Friend, on pretence of gallanting some Ladies to Leicester.
When you talk about Leicester
I hope you’re a jester.
Why desert an old friend,
For no purpose or end?
But to play the gallant,
With belles who will flaunt,
And who, cruel as vain,
Will rejoice in your pain!
No—Come to our pudding
We’ll put all things good in
Give you beef, the sirloin,
If with us you will dine;
Perhaps too a capon,
With greens and with bacon:
Give you port and good sherry,
To make your heart merry,
Then sit down to a pool,
’Stead of playing the fool;
Or a rubber at whist,
But for this as you list.
Next, give muffins and tea,
As you sometimes give me.
As for supper, you know,
A potato, or so;
Or a bit of cold ham,
As at night we ne’er cram;
Or a tart, if you please,
With a slice of mild cheese.
Then we’ll sing—sing, did I say?
Yes: “The Vicar of Bray;”[547]
And, what I know you don’t hate
“My fond shepherds of late:”[548]
Nor think me a joker,
If I add “Ally Croaker.”[549]
In fine, we’ll sing and delight ye,
Till you say, “Friends, good night t’ ye.”
1780.
N. J.
Whether these verses were written by Mr. Nichols or not, the mention of his name occasions it to be observed, that about a week before the present date he died, at the age of eighty-five.
The editor of this humble work, who has derived much assistance in its progress from the “Gentleman’s Magazine,” which Mr. Nichols edited for nearly half a century, would omit to do rightly if he were not thus to acknowledge the obligation. Nor can he recollect without feelings of respectful gratitude, that his name appeared a few years ago in the “Domestic Occurrences” of the “Gentleman’s Magazine” with fidelity to its readers, unaccompanied by remarks which some of its admirers might, perhaps, at that time have admired. Its critical pages subsequently distinguished the volume on “Ancient Mysteries” by approval; and since then they have been pleased to favour, and even praise, the publication of which this is the last sheet. There was no personal intimacy to incline such good-will, and therefore it may be fairly inferred to have resulted from pure feelings and principles of equity. Mr. Nichols’s rank as a literary antiquary is manifested by many able and elaborate works. As he declined in life, his active duties gradually and naturally devolved on his successor: may that gentleman live as long in health and wealth, and be remembered with as high honour, as his revered father.
Dec. 23, 1826.
W. H.
Glastonbury Thorn.
On Christmas-eve, (new style,) 1753, a vast concourse of people attended the noted thorn, but to their great disappointment there was no appearance of its blowing, which made them watch it narrowly the 5th of January, the Christmas-day, (old style,) when it blowed as usual.—London Evening Post.
On the same evening, at Quainton, in Buckinghamshire, above two thousand people went, with lanterns and candles, to view a blackthorn in that neighbourhood, and which was remembered to be a slip from the famous Glastonbury thorn, and that it always budded on the 24th, was full blown the next day, and went all off at night. The people finding no appearance of a bud, it was agreed by all, that December 25 (new style) could not be the right Christmas-day, and accordingly refused going to church, and treating their friends on that day as usual: at length the affair became so serious, that the ministers of the neighbouring villages, in order to appease them, thought it prudent to give notice, that the Old Christmas-day should be kept holy as before.[550]
This famous hawthorn, which grew on a hill in the church-yard of Glastonbury-abbey, it has been said, sprung from the staff of St. Joseph of Arimathea, who having fixed it in the ground with his own hand on Christmas-day, the staff took root immediately, put forth leaves, and the next day was covered with milk-white blossoms. It has been added, that this thorn continued to blow every Christmas-day during a long series of years, and that slips from the original plant are still preserved, and continue to blow every Christmas-day to the present time.
There certainly was in the abbey church-yard a hawthorn-tree, which blossomed in winter, and was cut down in the time of the civil wars: but that it always blossomed on Christmas-day was a mere tale of the monks, calculated to inspire the vulgar with notions of the sanctity of the place. There are several of this species of thorn in England, raised from haws sent from the east, where it is common. One of our countrymen, the ingenious Mr. Millar, raised many plants from haws brought from Aleppo, and all proved to be what are called Glastonbury thorns. This exotic, or eastern thorn, differs from our common hawthorn in putting out its leaves very early in spring, and flowering twice a year; for in mild seasons it often flowers in November or December, and again at the usual time of the common sort; but the stories that are told of its budding, blossoming, and fading on Christmas-day are ridiculous, and only monkish legends.[551]
“Hodening” in Kent.
At Ramsgate, in Kent, they begin the festivities of Christmas by a curious musical procession. A party of young people procure the head of a dead horse, which is affixed to a pole about four feet in length, a string is tied to the lower jaw, a horse cloth is then attached to the whole, under which one of the party gets, and by frequently pulling the string keeps up a loud snapping noise, and is accompanied by the rest of the party grotesquely habited and ringing hand-bells. They thus proceed from house to house, sounding their bells and singing carols and songs. They are commonly gratified with beer and cake, or perhaps with money. This is provincially called a hodening; and the figure above described a “hoden,” or wooden horse.
This curious ceremony is also observed in the Isle of Thanet on Christmas-eve, and is supposed to be an ancient relic of a festival ordained to commemorate our Saxon ancestors’ landing in that island.[552]
Christmas Pottage.
Amongst the customs observed on Christmas-eve, the Venetians eat a kind of pottage, which they call torta de lasagne, composed of oil, onions, paste, parsley, pine nuts, raisins, currants, and candied orange peel.
Marseilles’ Festival.
Many festivals, abrogated in France by the revolution, were revived under Buonaparte. Accordingly, at Marseilles on Christmas-eve all the members of any family resident in the same town were invited to supper at the house of the senior of the family, the supper being entirely au maigre, that is, without meat,—after which they all went together to a solemn mass, which was performed in all the churches at midnight: this ceremony was called in Provence faire calène. After mass the party dispersed and retired to their respective houses; and the next day, after attending high mass in the morning, they assembled at dinner at the same house where they had supped the night before, a turkey being, as in England, an established part of the dinner. The evening was concluded with cards, dancing, or any other amusement usual on holydays. Formerly there had been the midnight mass, which was often irregularly conducted, and therefore on the revival of the old custom it was omitted.[553]
Christmas.
With footstep slow, in furry pall yclad,
His brows enwreathed with holly never sere
Old Christmas comes, to close the wained year;
And aye the shepherd’s heart to make right glad;
Who, when his teeming flocks are homeward had,
To blazing hearth repairs, and nutbrown beer,
And views well pleased the ruddy prattlers dear
Hug the grey mungrel; meanwhile maid and lad
Squabble for roasted crabs. Thee, Sire, we hail,
Whether thine aged limbs thou dost enshroud
In vest of snowy white and hoary veil,
Or wrap’st thy visage in a sable cloud;
Thee we proclaim with mirth and cheer, nor fail
To greet thee well with many a carol loud.
Bamfylde.
Carols.
The practice of singing canticles or carols in the vulgar tongue on Christmas-eve, and thence called noels in the country churches of France, had its origin about the time that the common people ceased to understand Latin. The word noel is derived from natalis, and signified originally a cry of joy at Christmas.[554]