University of Virginia Library

CHRISTMAS.

—Scott.

“A merry christmas and a happy new-year!”—
How many million times will this good-natured salutation
be interchanged, wherever the English language
is spoken, before the present and following
weeks pass over. It is, to be sure, a mere matter of
course, a compliment of the season: but yet, methinks
there is more right-good will in the delivery
of it than in the generality of compliments: the
hearty and jovial animation of the countenance, the
frank and cheerful tone of the voice, and the rough
and friendly pressure of the hand, go along with
the words as a commentary, the obvious import of
which is, contrary to the ordinary practice of society,
“I mean what I say.” There is less selfishness
at christmas than at any other time. Men appear
to pay more attention to that much-neglected
scriptural injunction, “love thy neighbor as thyself,”

and the cares and schemes of those who struggle
for existence in great cities, are suffered to lie
dormant for a brief space. The stomach is more
thought of than the purse; and when a man thinks
seriously of his stomach, with a fair prospect of having
his visions realized, his natural disposition dies
within him, and he becomes a generous, meek, and
equitable animal. Whatever is thought of the poetry
there may be reasonable doubts entertained of
the policy of Lear's advice,
for it is exactly at the time when a man feels
most uncomfortable himself, that he thinks least of
the discomforts of others; and many a one, who,
before breakfast on a cold morning, with no prospect
of the fire burning, would not give sixpence to
save half the human race from starvation, will, after
a satisfactory dinner, talk with unction of the
miseries of the poor, and subscribe his dollar without
thinking himself guilty of an extravagance.
When he is cold and comfortless himself, he is a
piece of concentrated selfishness—his sympathies
are as frozen as his fingers, and he has no superflux
benevolence; but as his stomach becomes literally
closed his heart is figuratively opened, and he parts
with his money with fewer pangs than naturally
accompany that disagreeable operation.

There is one essential difference between the
christmas of the present times and those of a few
years ago, namely the weather. The fine, clear,
cold weather formerly characteristic of this season,
is now so no longer; and in its place have come mild,
sickly, drizzly days, that properly belong to no particular
season. It is a pity that fog and civilization
should go hand in hand, and that the clearing
away of the immense forests of the west should be
one main cause why this pestiferous weather is substituted
for the healthy, hardy frosts of former times.
It is a great drawback; for with what face can any
one wish his friend joy, when he can scarcely discern
his lineaments through the fog; or ask him to be
merry, when saturated through and through with
villanous vapor? And then the women! What a
pleasant sight it was, on a clear, frosty christmas
morning, with the snow crackling beneath your
feet, and the sleigh-bells tinkling merrily in your
ears, to see some comfortably-clad and comfortable-looking
damsel tripping cheerfully yet carefully over
the slippery side-walk, with cheeks into which the
cold and exercise had sent a glow more deep and
rich than the most brilliant carnation!—with eyes
sparkling and dancing in liquid splendor, and her

warm breath playing back upon her face, seeking,
as it were, shelter from the sharp air amid her clustering
curls—smiling and laughing, she knew not
why, and cared not wherefore. Now, the scene is
changed—they “walk in silk attire,” with artificial
flowers on their heads, and soleless shoes on their
feet; picking their steps among the multitudinous
small pools which the street-inspector leaves for the
accommodation of pedestrians, with faces of a neutral
tint, alike different from the ruddy glow of winter
and the sunny bloom of summer. But even
this change, like every other, bad as it is upon the
whole, is not without its advantages:
and those who are admirers of, and connoisseurs in
delicately turned ankles, have now a better opportunity
for more particular and impartial observation.

Poultry is the only thing which does not seem to
share in the general joy on the approach of this
happy period; and all who have entered deeply into
the study of the science of ornithology in general,
and domestic fowlology in particular, must have observed
in the eyes of turkeys more especially, a sort
of melancholy presentiment, as if “coming events”
had actually “cast their shadows before,” and chickens
look as if they already beheld the delicate pies, of

which they are to form a part. The goose, that
most incorrigible bird, it is true, is a goose to the last,
turning up a lack-lustre eye at the hand preparing
to twist its neck about, and it never occurs to it to
flap its wings or offer any resistance until the head
is detatched from the body, which, according to
the immutable laws of nature, is a little too late.
These speculations may seem fanciful, but many
ingenious theories have been constructed on as slim
a foundation.

How many good things have been said and sung
of christmas, from the old poets in Elizabeth's time
down to Washington Irving. Indeed, for mirth and
music—friendship and flummery—love and liquor
poetry and poultry—gaiety and gormandizing—
dancing and dinner-parties, there is no time like
christmas. A spirit of enjoyment—an universal freedom
from restraint prevails; the most prudent relax,
the most frigid melt; even that anomalous class
of bipeds denominated “serious young men,” are
guilty of merriment, and sip their wine and lisp
their jokes with impunity. A jovial farewell is taken
of the parting year, and a jovial welcome given to its
successor. No man attends to his business, unless
he be a publican or a pastry cook; and all sorts
of profitable employments are looked on as nuisances.
Merchant meets merchant, and the price

of stocks is not inquired after—tradesman meets
tradesman, and the shop is unthought of. Friend
dines with friend, old intimacies are renewed, differences
forgotten, and a spirit of good-will and
kindly feeling, well befitting the season, “reigns in
all bosoms.”

“Merry christmas!” even now thy influence, like
a charm, is over all. Now are parties projected in
the parlor, while through the kitchen rings the din
of merciless preparation—now do black cooks rise
ten per cent. in the scale of creation, and those who
can withstand a hot fire are not to be treated with
coolness—now do serenaders take their stand in the
damp streets, and, like frogs in a fog, their voices
are heard through the thick atmosphere, croaking
of love and music, in imitation of Spain and Italy,
while the noise of neighboring taverns mingles
with their melody; and now do young ladies throw
open the windows to testify their grateful acceptance
of the homage of those weather-contemning
swains, and many catch quinsies by this sacrifice of
prudence to passion—now do superlatively witty
jokes pass between young ladies and gentlemen concerning
their prospects of matrimony before another
christmas—now do men eat more than is deemed
necessary for the support of nature; apoplexies
are prevalent, and the heirs of fat old men look forward

with pleasing anticipations—now is the air of
bar rooms laden with monotonous yet pleasing interrogations
of “What will you take to drink?” and
no answers are heard in the negative—now, as the
glass circulates quickly round, friendships become
stronger as brains become weaker, and more promises
are made than will be kept—now are several
men seen reposing in the streets, with the
pavement for a bed and the curb-stone for a pillow.
Peacefully do they slumber! having that within
them which makes their flinty couch “soft as the
thrice-driven down”—and now do the —of
—editors sharpen their pens, and prepare
to narrate manifold instances of the “fatal effects of
intemperance,” in their very best style—now do inveterate
moralists indite long essays, stating that there
have been many changes in the year that is past,
and likewise the probability that there will be many
more in the year that is to come—now do the respectable
members of the “calliothumpian band”
prepare to disturb the peace and quiet of the republic,
and the New-York Dogberries hold consultation
concerning the powers vested in them by the constitution;
and now, also, is the constabulatory force
of the city held in less respect by the juvenile citizens
than is due to constituted authorities—now do
young aspirants to “Tom and Jerry” fame get well
kicked, bruised, beaten, and carried to the watch-house,
all which they term “sport,” and sober, sensible
people begin to entertain doubts concerning the
meaning of the word—now do many more things
take place than are “dreamt of in philosophy,”—
and now do I put a period to the apprehensions of
the reader by prudently coming to a conclusion.