Farmer Moreland, and two or three other rich farmers in the neighbourhood, are very considerate of the comforts of their labouring men at this season; and they have joined with my uncle and aunt in trying, by giving them constant employment, to enable them to struggle on by their own exertions without applying to the parish for support. Many have large families, some of which are taught, even while very young, to help their parents; and it is to these people that my aunt distributes the largest portions of her Christmas bounty.
In speaking of Christmas, my uncle told me that in the heathen times of these countries, and of the northern parts of Europe, a festival took place exactly at this season, which was dedicated to the sun, the chief deity of our heathen ancestor; and when they were converted to Christianity, it was thought prudent that they should continue to have their festival, although the object of it was of course changed. It was called Jol or Yule—a Gothic word, signifying a feast, and particularly applied to a religious one. Christmas is even still called Yule in many places in the north of England; and it is said that the custom of making a large fire on Christmas eve, on which great logs of wood are piled, is still kept up. These are called Yule clogs, and, before they are quite consumed, a fragment of them is taken out, and preserved safely for the next year.
This is probably one of the remnants, my uncle says, of the feasts of fire instituted by the worshippers of Bali, from whom there appears reason to think the Druids were directly descended; as a coincidence of customs, words, names, and ancient worship is in many instances observable.
Just as we had done tea this evening, while my uncle was talking on this subject, he was interrupted by a loud ringing at the hall-door, and it was scarcely opened, when there was such a noise in the hall, such singing, talking, laughing and dancing, that I was alarmed at first; but my aunt told me it was only the Mummers. We went to look at them, and I understood that they were acting St. George and the Dragon; but it was such a strange, confused medley, that I could only distinguish a word or two. They had all hideous masks, and were dressed up in the most grotesque way; and everybody was highly diverted except poor little Grace: she was so frightened by the bustle and strange figures, that my uncle was obliged to reason with her. A word or a look from him has unspeakable power over the minds of all the family, and indeed of all who know him.
The mummers’ song I could not understand, except one stanza, which they repeated always more distinctly than the rest, as a hint, I suppose, to my uncle:—
In Christmas time is found
The best of stout old beer,
And if it now abound
We shall have dainty cheer;
Then merrily dance we round,
And so conclude the year.
My uncle good-humouredly gave them a few shillings to get their “stout old beer,” and they hurried off to visit some other house.
25th.—We all met in health and cheerfulness this good Christmas morning, and in our heartfelt wishes for mutual happiness, yours, dear Mamma, was included as ardently, as if you had been present.
To the usual old fashioned expressions of kindness, my aunt added, in her impressive manner, a tender wish that we might receive such gracious aid from above, as would enable us to rejoice indeed on this great day.
After some general conversation, my uncle explained to us the 45th Psalm, which is appointed for the service of Christmas-day; and which, he says, like many of the other psalms, is constantly read and but little understood.