Chapter 2

Here is a thing that happened. Like wild beasts whelped, for den, In a wild part of North England, there lived once two wild men, Inhabiting one homestead, neither a hovel nor hut, Time out of mind their birthright: father and son, these,--but,-- Such a son, such a father! Most wildness by degrees Softens away: yet, last of their line, the wildest and worst were these.

Criminals, then? Why, no: they did not murder and rob; But give them a word, they returned a blow,--old Halbert as young Hob: Harsh and fierce of word, rough and savage of deed, Hated or feared the more--who knows?--the genuine wild-beast breed.

Thus were they found by the few sparse folk of the country-side; But how fared each with other? E'en beasts couch, hide by hide. In a growling, grudged agreement: so father son lay curled The closelier up in their den because the last of their kind in the world.

Still, beast irks beast on occasion. One Christmas night of snow, Came father and son to words--such words! more cruel because the blow To crown each word was wanting, while taunt matched gibe, and curse Competed with oath in wager, like pastime in hell,--nay, worse: For pastime turned to earnest, as up there sprang at last The son at the throat of the father, seized him, and held him fast.

"Out of this house you go!"--there followed a hideous oath-- "This oven where now we bake, too hot to hold us both! If there's snow outside, there's coolness: out with you, bide a spell In the drift, and save the sexton the charge of a parish shell!"

Now, the old trunk was tough, was solid as stump of oak Untouched at the core by a thousand years: much less had its seventy broke One whipcord nerve in the muscly mass from neck to shoulder-blade Of the mountainous man, whereon his child's rash hand like a feather weighed.

Nevertheless at once did the mammoth shut his eyes, Drop chin to breast, drop hands to sides, stand stiffened,--arms and thighs All of a piece--struck mute, much as a sentry stands, Patient to take the enemy's fire: his captain so commands.

Whereat the son's wrath flew to fury at such sheer scorn Of his puny strength by the giant eld thus acting the babe new-born: And "Neither will this turn serve!" yelled he. "Out with you! Trundle, log! If you cannot tramp and trudge like a man, try all-fours like a dog!"

Still the old man stood mute. So, logwise,--down to floor Pulled from his fireside place, dragged on from hearth to door,-- Was he pushed, a very log, staircase along, until A certain turn in the steps was reached, a yard from the house-door sill.

Then the father opened his eyes,--each spark of their rage extinct,-- Temples, late black, dead-blanched, right-hand with left-hand linked,-- He faced his son submissive; when slow the accents came, They were strangely mild though his son's rash hand on his neck lay all the same.

"Halbert, on such a night of a Christmas long ago, For such a cause, with such a gesture, did I drag--so-- My father down thus far: but, softening here, I heard A voice in my heart, and stopped: you wait for an outer word.

"For your own sake, not mine, soften you too! Untrod Leave this last step we reach, nor brave the finger of God! I dared not pass its lifting: I did well. I nor blame Nor praise you. I stopped here: Halbert, do you the same!"

Straightway the son relaxed his hold of the father's throat. They mounted, side by side, to the room again: no note Took either of each, no sign made each to either: last As first, in absolute silence, their Christmas-night they passed.

At dawn, the father sate on, dead, in the selfsame place, With an outburst blackening still the old bad fighting-face: But the son crouched all a-tremble like any lamb new-yeaned.

When he went to the burial, some one's staff he borrowed,--tottered and leaned. But his lips were loose, not locked,--kept muttering, mumbling. "There! At his cursing and swearing!" the youngsters cried; but the elders thought, "In prayer."

A boy threw stones; he picked them up and stored them in his vest; So tottered, muttered, mumbled he, till he died, perhaps found rest. "Is there a reason in nature for these hard hearts?" O Lear, That a reason out of nature must turn them soft, seems clear!

_Robert Browning._

GOOD KING WENCESLAS.

Good King Wenceslas looked out, On the feast of Stephen, When the snow lay round about, Deep, and crisp, and even; Brightly shone the moon that night, Tho' the frost was cruel, When a poor man came in sight, Gathering winter fuel.

"Hither, page, and stand by me, If thou know'st it, telling, Yonder peasant, who is he? Where and what his dwelling?" "Sire, he lives a good league hence, Underneath the mountain; Right against the forest fence, By Saint Agnes' fountain."

"Bring me flesh, and bring me wine, Bring me pine-logs hither: Thou and I will see him dine, When we bear them thither." Page and monarch forth they went, Forth they went together Thro' the rude wind's wild lament And the bitter weather.

"Sire, the night is darker now, And the wind blows stronger; Fails my heart, I know not how, I can go no longer." "Mark my footsteps, good my page; Tread thou in them boldly: Thou shalt find the winter's rage Freeze thy blood less coldly."

In his master's steps he trod, Where the snow lay dinted; Heat was in the very sod Which the saint had printed. Therefore, Christian men, be sure, Wealth or rank possessing, Ye who now will bless the poor, Shall yourselves find blessing.

_Translated from the Latin, by J. M. Neale._

THE WISE MEN OF THE EAST.

Three kings went riding from the East Through fine weather and wet; "And whither shall we ride," they said, "Where we ha' not ridden yet?"

"And whither shall we ride," they said, "To find the hidden thing That times the course of all our stars And all our auguring?"

They were the Wise Men of the East, And none so wise as they; "Alas!" the King of Persia cried, "And must ye ride away?

"Yet since ye go a-riding, sirs, I pray ye, ride for me, And carry me my golden gifts To the King o' Galilee.

"Go riding into Palestine, A long ride and a fair!" "'Tis well!" the Mages answered him, "As well as anywhere!"

They rode by day, they rode by night, The stars came out on high,-- "And, oh!" said King Balthazar, As he gazed into the sky,

"We ride by day, we ride by night, To a King in Galilee; We leave a king in Persia, And kings no less are we.

"Yet often in the deep blue night, When stars burn far and dim, I wish I knew a greater King, To fall and worship him.

"A king who should not care to reign, But wonderful and fair; A king--a king that were a star Aloft in miles of air!"

"A star is good," said Melchior, "A high, unworldly thing; But I would choose a soul alive To be my Lord and King.

"Not Herod, nay, nor Cyrus, nay, Not any king at all; For I would choose a new-born child Laid in a manger-stall."

"'Tis well," the black King Casper cried, "For mighty men are ye; But no such humble king were meet For my simplicity.

"A star is small and very far, A babe's a simple thing; The very Son of God himself Shall be my Lord and King!"

Then smiled the King Balthazar; "A good youth!" Melchior cried; And young and old, without a word, Along the hills they ride,

Till, lo! among the western skies There grows a shining thing-- "The star! Behold the star," they shout; "Behold Balthazar's King!"

And, lo! within the western skies The star begins to flit; The three kings spur their horses on, And follow after it.

And when they reach the king's palace, They cry, "Behold the place!" But, like a shining bird, the star Flits on in heaven apace.

Oh they rode on, and on they rode, Till they reached a lonely wold, Where shepherds keep their flocks by night, And the night was chill and cold.

Oh they rode on, and on they rode, Till they reach a little town, And there the star in heaven stands still Above a stable brown.

The town is hardly a village, The stable's old and poor, But there the star in heaven stands still Above the stable door.

And through the open door, the straw And the tired beasts they see; And the Babe, laid in a manger, That sleepeth peacefully.

"All hail, the King of Melchior!" The three Wise Men begin; King Melchior swings from off his horse, And he would have entered in.

But why do the horses whinny and neigh? And what thing fills the night With wheeling spires of angels, And streams of heavenly light?

Above the stable roof they turn And hover in a ring, And "Glory be to God on high And peace on earth," they sing.

King Melchior kneels upon the grass And falls a-praying there; Balthazar lets the bridle drop, And gazes in the air.

But Casper gives a happy shout, And hastens to the stall; "Now, hail!" he cries, "thou Son of God, And Saviour of us all."

_A. Mary F. Robinson._

CHRISTMAS AT SEA.

The sheets were frozen hard, and they cut the naked hand; The decks were like a slide, where a seaman scarce could stand; The wind was a nor'wester, blowing squally off the sea; And cliffs and spouting breakers were the only things a-lee.

They heard the surf a-roaring before the break of day; But 'twas only with the peep of light we saw how ill we lay. We tumbled every hand on deck instanter, with a shout, And we gave her the maintops'l, and stood by to go about.

All day we tacked and tacked between the South Head and the North; All day we hauled the frozen sheets, and got no further forth; All day as cold as charity, in bitter pain and dread, For very life and nature, we tacked from head to head.

We gave the South a wider berth, for there the tide-race roared; But every tack we made we brought the North Head close aboard; So's we saw the cliffs and houses, and the breakers running high, And the coast-guard in his garden, with his glass against his eye.

The frost was on the village roofs as white as ocean foam; The good red fires were burning bright in every 'longshore home; The windows sparkled clear, and the chimneys volleyed out; And I vow we sniffed the victuals as the vessel went about.

The bells upon the church were rung with a mighty jovial cheer; For it's just that I should tell you how (of all days in the year) This day of our adversity was blessed Christmas morn, And the house above the coast-guard's was the house where I was born.

Oh, well I saw the pleasant room, the pleasant faces there, My mother's silver spectacles, my father's silver hair; And well I saw the firelight, like a flight of homely elves, Go dancing round the china plates that stand upon the shelves.

And well I knew the talk they had, the talk that was of me, Of the shadow on the household, and the son that went to sea; And, oh, the wicked fool I seemed, in every kind of way, To be here and hauling frozen ropes on blessed Christmas Day.

They lit the high sea-light, and the dark began to fall. "All hands to loose topgallant sails!" I heard the captain call. "By the Lord, she'll never stand it," our first mate, Jackson, cried. ... "It's the one way or the other, Mr. Jackson," he replied.

She staggered to her bearings, but the sails were new and good, And the ship smelt up to windward just as though she understood. As the winter's day was ending, in the entry of the night, We cleared the weary headland, and passed below the light.

And they heaved a mighty breath, every soul on board but me, As they saw her nose again pointing handsome out to sea; But all that I could think of, in the darkness and the cold, Was just that I was leaving home and my folks were growing old.

_Robert Louis Stevenson._

"LAST CHRISTMAS WAS A YEAR AGO."

(THE OLD LADY SPEAKS.)

Last Christmas was a year ago Says I to David, I-says-I, "We're goin' to mornin' service, so You hitch up right away: I'll try To tell the girls jes what to do Fer dinner. We'll be back by two." I didn't wait to hear what he Would more'n like say back to me, But banged the stable-door and flew Back to the house, jes plumb chilled through.

Cold! _Wooh!_ how cold it was! My-oh! Frost flyin', and the air, you know-- "Jes sharp enough," heerd David swear, "To shave a man and cut his hair!" And blow _and_ blow! and _snow_ and SNOW, Where it had drifted 'long the fence And 'crost the road,--some places, though, Jes swep' clean to the gravel, so The goin' was as bad fer sleighs As 't was fer wagons,--and _both_ ways, 'Twixt snow-drifts and the bare ground, I've Jes wondered we got through alive; I hain't saw nothin' 'fore er sence 'At beat it _anywheres_ I know-- Last Christmas was a year ago.

And David said, as we set out, 'At Christmas services was 'bout As cold and wuthless kind o' love To offer up as _he_ knowed of; And, as fer _him_, he railly thought 'At the Good Bein' up above Would think more of us--as he ought-- A-stayin' home on sich a day And thankin' of him thataway. And jawed on in an undertone, 'Bout leavin' Lide and Jane alone There on the place, and me not there To oversee 'em, and p'pare The stuffin' for the turkey, and The sass and all, you understand.

I've always managed David by Jes sayin' nothin'. That was why He'd chased Lide's beau away--'cause Lide She'd allus take up Perry's side When David tackled him; and so, Last Christmas was a year ago,-- Er ruther 'bout a week _afore_,-- David and Perry'd quarr'l'd about Some tom-fool argyment, you know, And pap told him to "Jes git out O' there, and not to come no more, And, when he went, to _shet the door!_" And as he passed the winder, we Saw Perry, white as white could be, March past, onhitch his hoss, and light A _see_-gyar, and lope out o' sight. Then Lide she come to me and cried. And I said nothin'--was no need. And yit, you know, that man jes got Right out o' there's ef he'd be'n shot-- P'tendin' he must go and feed The stock er somepin'. Then I tried To git the pore girl pacified.

But gittin' back to--where was we?-- Oh, yes--where David lectered me All way to meetin', high and low, Last Christmas was a year ago. Fer all the awful cold, they was A fair attendunce; mostly, though, The crowd was 'round the stoves, you see, Thawin' their heels and scrougin' us. Ef't 'adn't be'n fer the old Squire Givin' his seat to us, as in We stompted, a-fairly perishin', And David could 'a' got no fire, He'd jes 'a' drapped there in his tracks. And Squire, as I was tryin' to yit Make room fer him, says, "No; the facks Is I got to git up and git 'Ithout no preachin'. Jes got word-- Trial fer life--can't be deferred!" And out he put. And all way through The sermont--and a long one, too-- I couldn't he'p but think o' Squire And us changed round so, and admire His gintle ways--to give his warm Bench up, and have to face the storm. And when I noticed David he Was needin' jabbin', I thought best To kind o' sort o' let him rest-- 'Peared like he slep' so peacefully! And then I thought o' home, and how And what the girls was doin' now, And kind o' prayed, 'way in my breast, And breshed away a tear er two As David waked, and church was through.

By time we'd "howdyed" round, and shuck Hands with the neighbors, must 'a' tuck A half-hour longer: ever' one A-sayin' "Christmas-gift!" afore David er me--so we got none. But David warmed up, more and more, And got so jokey-like, and had His sperits up, and 'peared so glad, I whispered to him, "S'pose you ast A passel of 'em come and eat Their dinners with us.--Girls 's got A full-and-plenty fer the lot And all their kin." So David passed The invite round. And ever' seat In ever' wagon-bed and sleigh Was jes _packed_, as we rode away-- The young folks, mild er so along, A-strikin' up a sleighin' song. Tel David laughed and yelled, you know, And jes whirped up and sent the snow And gravel flyin' thick and fast-- Last Christmas was a year ago. W'y, that-air seven-mild ja'nt we come-- Jes seven mild scant from church to home-- It didn't 'pear, that day, to be Much furder railly 'n 'bout three.

But I was purty squeamish by The time home hove in sight and I See two _ve_hickles standin' there Already. So says I, "Prepare!" All to myse'f. And presently David he sobered; and says he, "Hain't that-air Squire Hanch's old Buggy," he says, "and claybank mare?" Says I, "Le's git in out the cold-- Your company's nigh 'bout froze." He says, "Whose sleigh's that-air a-standin' there?" Says I, "It's no odds whose--you jes Drive to the house and let us out, 'Cause we're jes freezin', nigh about." Well, David swung up to the door And out we piled. At first I heerd Jane's voice; then _Lide's_--I thought afore I reached that girl I'd jes die, shore; And _when_ I reached her, wouldn't keered Much ef I had, I was so glad, A-kissin' her through my green veil, And jes excitin' her so bad 'At _she_ broke down, _herse'f_--and Jane _She_ cried--and we all hugged again. And David--David jes turned pale!-- Looked at the girls and then at me, Then at the open door--and then "Is old Squire Hanch in there?" says he. The old Squire suddently stood in The doorway, with a sneakin' grin. "Is Perry Anders in there, too?" Says David, limberin' all through, As Lide and me both grabbed him, and Perry stepped out and waved his hand And says, "Yes, pap." And David jes Stooped and kissed Lide, and says, "I guess Your mother's much to blame as you. Ef _she_ kin resk him, _I kin_ too."

The dinner we had then hain't no Bit better'n the one to-day 'At we'll have fer 'em. Hear some sleigh A-jinglin' now.--David, fer _me_, I wish you'd jes go out and see Ef they're in sight yit. It jes does Me good to think, in times like these, Lide's done so well. And David he's More tractabler 'n what he was Last Christmas was a year ago.

_James Whitcomb Riley._

_As It Fell Upon A Day._

"A handsome hostess, merry host, A pot of ale and now a toast, Tobacco, and a good coal-fire, Are things this season doth require."

_Poor Robin._

A CHRISTMAS "NOW."

So, now is come our joyful'st feast, Let every man be jolly; Each room with ivy-leaves is drest, And every post with holly. Though some churls at our mirth repine, Round your foreheads garlands twine; Drown sorrow in a cup of wine, And let us all be merry.

Now all our neighbors' chimneys smoke, And Christmas logs are burning; Their ovens they with baked meats choke, And all their spits are turning. Without the door let sorrow lie; And if for cold it hap to die, We'll bury 't in a Christmas-pie, And evermore be merry.

Now every lad is wondrous trim, And no man minds his labor; Our lasses have provided them A bagpipe and a tabor; Young men and maids, and girls and boys, Give life to one another's joys; And you anon shall by their noise Perceive that they are merry.

Rank misers now do sparing shun; Their hall of music soundeth; And dogs thence with whole shoulders run, So all things there aboundeth. The country folks themselves advance For crowdy-mutton's come out of France; And Jack shall pipe, and Jill shall dance, And all the town be merry.

Ned Squash has fetched his bands from pawn, And all his best apparel; Brisk Ned hath bought a ruff of lawn With droppings of the barrel; And those that hardly all the year Had bread to eat or rags to wear Will have both clothes and dainty fare, And all the day be merry.

Now poor men to the justices With capons make their arrants; And if they hap to fail of these, They plague them with their warrants: But now they feed them with good cheer, And what they want they take in beer; For Christmas comes but once a year, And then they shall be merry.

Good farmers in the country nurse The poor that else were undone; Some landlords spend their money worse On lust and pride at London. There the roysters they do play, Drab and dice their lands away, Which may be ours another day; And therefore let's be merry.

The client now his suit forbears, The prisoner's heart is eased; The debtor drinks away his cares, And for the time is pleased. Though other purses be more fat, Why should we pine or grieve at that? Hang sorrow! care will kill a cat, And therefore let's be merry.

Hark! how the wags abroad do call Each other forth to rambling: Anon you'll see them in the hall For nuts and apples scrambling. Hark! how the roofs with laughter sound! Anon they'll think the house goes round: For they the cellar's depth have found, And there they will be merry.

The wenches with their wassail bowls, About the streets are singing; The boys are come to catch the owls, The wild mare in is bringing. Our kitchen-boy hath broke his box, And to the dealing of the ox Our honest neighbors come by flocks, And here they will be merry.

Now kings and queens poor sheep-cotes have, And mate with everybody; The honest now may play the knave, And wise men play at noddy. Some youths will now a mumming go, Some others play at Rowland-ho, And twenty other gameboys mo, Because they will be merry.

Then wherefore in these merry days, Should we, I pray, be duller? No, let us sing some roundelays To make our mirth the fuller. And, whilst thus inspired, we sing, Let all the streets with echoes ring, Woods, and hills, and everything Bear witness we are merry.

_George Wither._

CHRISTMAS EVE CUSTOMS.

I.

Come, guard this night the Christmas-pie, That the thief, though ne'er so sly, With his flesh-hooks, don't come nigh To catch it,

From him, who alone sits there, Having his eyes still in his ear, And a deal of nightly fear To watch it!

II.

Wash your hands, or else the fire Will not teend[D] to your desire; Unwashed hands, ye maidens, know, Dead the fire, though ye blow.

_Robert Herrick._

FOOTNOTE:

[D] Burn.

MERRY SOULS.

O you merry, merry Souls, Christmas is a-coming, We shall have flowing bowls, Dancing, piping, drumming.

Delicate minced pies To feast every virgin, Capon and goose likewise, Brawn and a dish of sturgeon.

Then, for your Christmas box, Sweet plum-cakes and money, Delicate Holland smocks, Kisses sweet as honey.

Hey for the Christmas ball, Where we shall be jolly Jigging short and tall, Kate, Dick, Ralph, and Molly.

Then to the hop we'll go Where we'll jig and caper; Maidens all-a-row; Will shall pay the scraper.

Hodge shall dance with Prue, Keeping time with kisses; We'll have a jovial crew Of sweet smirking misses.

_Round About Our Coal Fire._

CHRISTMAS IN THE OLDEN TIME.