University of Virginia Library

2. CHAPTER II.
YANKEE CHRISTMAS.

“Next Thursday is Christmas,” said Mrs. Briggs,
as she came bustling out of the kitchen into the long
dining-room, and took her seat at the breakfast table,
where her husband, Mr. Solomon Briggs, and all the
children, being ten in number, were seated before
her. If Mrs. Briggs was the last at the table, the
circumstance must not be set down as an index to
her character, for she was a restless, stirring body,
and was never the last anywhere, without good
cause. From childhood she had been taught to
believe that the old adage, “the eye of the master
does more work than both his hands,” applied
equally well to the mistress. Accordingly, she was

in all parts of the house at once, not only working
with her own hands, but overseeing everything that
was done by others. Indeed, now that we have said
thus much in favor of Mrs. Briggs, a due regard to
impartial justice requires us to add, that Mr. Briggs
himself, though a very quiet sort of a man, and not
of so restless and mercurial a temperament as his
wife, could hardly be said to be less industrious.
His guiding motto through life had been—
And most literally had he been governed by the
precept. He was, in short, an industrious, thriving
New England farmer. His exact location it is not
our purpose here to disclose. We give our fair
readers, and unfair, if we have any, the whole range
of New England, from the shore of Connecticut to
the Green Mountains, and from Mount Hope to
Moosehead Lake, to trace him out. But we shall
not point to the spot, lest Mr. Solomon Briggs, seeing
his own likeness brought home to his own door,
might think us impertinent for meddling with family
affairs.

To go back to our starting point—Mrs. Briggs,
who had stopped in the kitchen till the last moment,

in order to see the last dish properly prepared for
breakfast, came herself at last to the table.

“Next Thursday is Christmas,” said she, “and
nothing done yet to prepare for it. I do wish we
could ever have things in any sort of season.”

At the mention of Christmas the children's eyes
all brightened, from James, the eldest, who was
twenty-one, down to Mary, who was but two years
old, and who, of course, knew nothing about Christmas,
but looked smiling and bright because all the
rest did.

Mr. Briggs, however, who considered the last
remark as having a little bearing upon himself,
replied—“That he should think three days was time
enough to get a Christmas dinner or a Christmas
supper good enough for any common sort of folks.”

“It would be time enough to get it,” said Mrs.
Briggs, “if we had anything to get it with; but we
haven't a mite of flour in the house, nor no meat for
the mince pies, and there aint no poultry killed yet,
neither!”

“Well, well, mother,” said Mr. Briggs, very moderately,
and with a half smile, “just be patient a
little, and you shall have as much Christmas as you
want. There's a bushel of as good wheat as ever was

ground, I put into a bag on Saturday; James can
take a horse and carry it to mill this morning, and
in two hours you may have a bushel of good flour.
You've got butter enough and lard enough in the
house, and if you want any plums or raisins, or any
such sort of things, James may call at Haskall's
store, as he comes home from mill, and get what
you want. Then Mr. Butterfield is going to kill a
beef critter this morning, and I'm going to have a
quarter, so that before noon you can have a hundred
weight of beef to make your mince pies of, and if
that aint enough, I'll send to Mr. Butterfield's for
another quarter. And then there is five heaping
cart loads of large yellow punkins in the barn, and
there is five cows that give a good mess of milk;
and you've got spices and ginger, and molasses, and
sugar enough in the house, so I don't see as there
need be any difficulty but what we might have
punkin pies enough for all hands. And as for the
poultry, it'll be time enough to kill that to-morrow
morning; and if two turkeys aint enough, I'll kill
four, besides a bushel basket full of chickens. So
now go on with your birds'-egging, and make your
Christmas as fast as you please, and as much of it.”

When this speech was ended, the children clapped

their hands and laughed, and said, “never fear
father—he always brings it out right at last.”

From that hour forth, for three days, there was
unusual hurry and bustle throughout the house of
Solomon Briggs. In the kitchen particularly there
was constant and great commotion. The oven was
hot from morning till night, and almost from night
till morning. There was baking of pound cake, and
plum cake, and sponge cake, and Christmas cake,
and New Year's cake, and all sorts of cake that
could be found in the cook book. Then there
were ovens full of mince pies, and apple pies, and
custard pies, and all sorts of pies. The greatest
display of pies, however, was of the pumpkin tribe.
There were “punkin pies” baked on large platters for
Christmas dinner, and others on large plates for
breakfast and supper a month afterwards; and others
still, in saucers, for each of the small children. In
the next place, there was a pair of plum puddings,
baked in the largest sized earthen pots, and Indian
puddings and custard puddings to match. And then
the roastings that were shown up on the morning of
Christmas were in excellent keeping with the rest of
the preparations. Besides a fine sirloin of beef, two
fat turkeys were roasted, two geese, and a half a

dozen chickens. And then another half dozen of
chickens were made into an enormous chicken pie,
and baked in a milk pan.

A query may arise, perhaps, in the mind of the
reader, why such a profusion of food should be
cooked up at once for a single family, and that
family, too, not unreasonably large, though respectable
in number, for it did not count over sixteen, including
domestics, hired help and all. This is a very
natural error for the reader to fall into, but it is an
error nevertheless. This array of food was not prepared
for a single family; but for a numerous
company, to be made up from many families in the
neighborhood. The truth was, Mr. Briggs was well
to do in the world, a circumstance owing to his long
course of patient industry and economical habits.
Several of his children were now nearly men and
women grown, full of life and fond of fun, as most
young folks are. Mrs. Briggs also was very fond of
society, and a little vain of her smart family of children,
as well as of her good cooking. From these
premises, a gathering of several of the neighbors at
Mr. Briggs's house, to eat a Christmas dinner, and a
still larger company of young folks towards night, to
spend a Christmas evening would not be a very

unnatural consequence. Such was the consequence,
as we shall presently see.

We shall not stop to give a particular account of
the dinner, as that was a transaction performed in the
daytime, openly and above-board, and could be seen
and understood by everybody; but the evening
company, and the supper, and the frolic, as they
were hid from the world by the darkness of the night,
need more elucidation. We must not dismiss the
dinner, however, without remarking that it fullfilled
every expectation, and gave entire satisfaction to all
parties. A table of extra length was spread in the
long dining hall, which was graced by a goodly circle
of elderly people, besides many of the middle-aged
and the young. And when we state that the loin of
beef was reduced to a skeleton; that two turkeys, one
goose, and five chickens, vanished in the twinkling of
a case-knife; that the large milk pan, containing the
chicken-pie, was explored and cleared to the very
bottom; and that three or four large puddings and a
couple of acres of “punkin pie” were among the
things lost in the dessert, we think it has been sufficiently
shown that due respect was paid to Mrs.
Briggs's dinner, and that her culinary skill should not
be called in question.

“Now, James, who's coming here to-night?” said
Susan, the eldest daughter, a bright, blue-eyed
girl of eighteen. “Who have you asked? Jest
name 'em over, will you?”

“Oh, I can't name 'em over,” said James; “jest
wait an hour or two and you'll see for yourself. I've
asked pretty much all the young folks within a mile
or two; as much as twenty of 'em I guess.”

“Well, have you asked Betsy Harlow?” said Susan.

“Yes, and Ivory too, if that's what you want to
know,” said James.

“Nobody said anything about Ivory,” said Susan,
as the color came to her cheek, and she turned to go
out of the room.

“Here, Suky, come back here,” said James, “I've
got something to tell you.”

“What is it?” said Susan, turning round at the
door, and waiting.

“They say Ivory is waiting on Harriet Gibbs;
what do you think of that?” said James.

“I don't believe a word of it,” said Susan, coloring
still more deeply.

“Well, Harriet will be here this evening,” said
James “and then may be you can judge for yourself.”

“Is her brother coming with her?” said Susan.

“George is coming,” said James, “but whether
she will come with him, or with Ivory Harlow,
remains to be seen.”

That Christmas was rather a cold day, and as night
approached, it grew still colder.

“Pile on more wood,” said Mr. Briggs, “get your
rooms warm, so there shan't be no shiverin' or
huddling about the fire this evening.”

The boys were never more ready to start promptly
at their father's bidding than they were on this occasion.
The large fire-place in the long dining-room
was piled full of round sticks of heavy wood almost
up to the mantel; and the fires in the “fore room”
and in the end room were renewed with equal bounty.
By early candle-light, the company began to drop in
one after another, and by twos and threes in pretty
frequent succession. There were stout boys in round
jackets, and stouter boys in long-tailed coats, and
rosy-cheeked girls in shawls, and blankets, and
cloaks, and muffs, and tippets. Some of the middle-aged
and elderly people who had remained to pass
the evening, sat in the “fore room” with Mr. and
Mrs. Briggs, while the young folks were huddled into
the end room, till the supper table should be spread
in the long dining-hall.

“There's Ivory Harlow's bells,” said James, as a
sleigh came with a merry gingle up to the door; and
instantly the windows were crowded with heads looking
out to see who had come with him. Ivory lived
about a mile and a half distant and was the only one
who came with a sleigh that evening, as most of the
others lived considerably nearer.

“Why, there's four of 'em, as true as I live,” said
Susan, as they crossed the stream of candle light,
that poured from the windows and spread across the
door yard. One of the younger boys had already
opened the door, and in a moment more the new
comers were ushered into the room, viz: Ivory Harlow
and his sister Betsy, and Harriet Gibbs, and a
strange gentleman, whom Ivory introduced to the
company as Mr. Stephen Long, the gentleman who
was engaged to keep the district school that winter.
And then he turned and whispered to James, and
told him that the master had arrived at their house
that afternoon, as he was to begin the school the next
day, so he thought he would bring him with him.

“That's jest right,” said James, “I'm glad you
did;” though at the same time his heart belied his
words, for he felt afraid it would spoil half the fun of
the evening. The boys and girls all at once put on

long and sober faces, and sat and stood round the
room as quiet as though they had been at a funeral.
Presently Susan whispered to James and told him he
ought to take the master into the “fore room,” and
introduce him to father and mother and the rest of
the folks. “And I'd leave him there, if I was you,”
she added in a very suppressed whisper, lest she
should be overheard.

James at once followed the suggestion of Susan,
and took Mr. Stephen Long into the other room and
introduced him to Mr. and Mrs. Briggs and the rest
of the company, and a chair was of course set for
Mr. Long, and he of course sat down in it and began
to talk about the weather and other subjects of like
interest, while James retreated back into the end
room. The moment the master had left the room the
boys and girls all began to breathe more freely, and
to bustle about, and talk and laugh as merry as
crickets. Not a few regrets were thrown out from
one and another, that the school-master had been
brought there to spend the evening, and some of
them thought “Ive Harlow ought to a-known better,
for he might know it would spoil half their play.”
But it seems they had not rightly estimated Mr.
Stephen Long's social and youthful qualities, who,

although two or three and twenty years old, was
almost as much of a boy as any in the room. He
had not been gone more than fifteen minutes before
he came back into the room with the young folks
again, much to the dismay of the whole company.

A cloud immediately settled upon their faces; all
were whist as mice, and sober as deacons, till Mr.
Stephen Long came across the room with an exceedingly
droll expression of merriment upon his face,
and gave James a hearty slap on the back, saying at
the same time:

“Well, now, what's the order of the day here
to-night? Dance, or forfeits, or blind man's bluff?
I'm for improving the time.”

At once the whole company burst out into a loud
laugh, and several of the juniors, feeling such a burden
suddenly removed from them, fell to pounding each
other's shoulders, probably to prevent them in their
lightness from flying of the handle.

“I guess we'll have something or other a going bime
by,” said James; “whatever the company likes best;
but I guess we'll have supper first, for that's about
ready.”

The words were but just uttered when the call for
supper was given, and the fore-room, and the end

room poured out their respective companies into
the long dining-hall. It was soon perceived that, long
as the table was, they could not all be seated at once,
and there began to be some canvassing to determine
who should wait. The elderly people must of course
sit down, and the school-master must of course sit
at the first table, and then it was decided that the
youngest of the young folks should sit down too,
because the eldest of the young folks chose to wait and
eat by themselves. To this last arrangement there
was one exception; for Miss Harriet Gibbs, when she
saw the school-master seated on one side of the table,
had somehow or other, inadvertently of course, taken a
seat on the other side directly opposite to him. And
when, as the young folks were retiring from the room,
Ivory Harlow looked at her and saw she had concluded
to remain, Susan thought she saw considerable
color come into Ivory's face.

When the first company at the table had eaten up
two rows of pies clear round the board, including
mince, apple and custard, and “punkin pies,” of the
largest class, together with a reasonable portion of
various kinds of cakes and sweetmeats, and had given
place to the second company at the table, who had
gone through similar operations to a similar extent,

the great dining-hall was speedily cleared of dishes,
and chairs, and tables, and all such sorts of trumpery,
that there might be nothing to impede the real business
of the evening.

The elderly people were again seated in the fore-room,
where a brisk fire was blazing so warmly that
they could sit back comfortably clear to the walls; and
around the hearth was a goodly array of mugs and
pitchers of cider, and bowls heaped with mellow
apples, red and yellow and green.

“Now, then, what shall we have to begin with?”
said James.

“Blind man's buff,” said George Gibbs.

“Suppose we have a quiet dance to begin with?”
said Susan.

“Oh, I'd rather have something that has more life
in it,” said Harriet Gibbs; “let's have `hunt the slipper,'
or `forfeits,' I don't care which.

“Oh get away with them small potatoes,” said Bill
Dingley; “let's go right into blind man's buff at
once; that's the stuff for Christmas.”

“You know we must please the ladies, Bill,” said
James Briggs, “I guess we'll have a sort of game at
forfeits first, as Miss Gibbs proposed it.”

“Well, agreed,” said all hands.

Accordingly the company arranged themselves in a
circle round the large hall, holding the palms of their
hands together, and James took a piece of money
between his hands and passed round to each one of
the company, and made the motion to drop the money
into the hands of each.

“Button, button, who's got the button?” said James
to the head one, when he had been round the circle.

“Harriet Gibbs,” was the reply.

“Button, button, who's got the button?” said James
to the next.

“Betsey Harlow,” answered the next.

At last, when James had been clear round the circle
and questioned each one in like manner, he called out,

“Them that's got it, rise.”

At once up hopped Sam Nelson, a sly little redheaded
fellow about a dozen years old, whom no one
suspected of having it, and of course no one had
guessed him. Every one of the company, therefore,
had to pay a forfeit.

“I move we redeem, before we go any further,”
said Ivory Harlow.

The motion was seconded all round, and the forfeits
were accordingly collected, and James selecting a
couple, held them over Harriet Gibbs's head.

“Whose two pawns are these?” said he, “and what
shall he and she do to redeem them?”

“The lady shall kiss the schoolmaster,” said Harriet,
“and the gentleman shall go into the fore-room
and kiss Mrs. Briggs.

“Miss Harriet Gibbs and Mr. Ivory Harlow go and
do it,” said James.

“Oh, la me! I shant do no sich thing,” said Harriet
with a half scream.

“Then you don't have your ring again,” said James.

“Well, then, I suppose I must do it, or I shall be
setting a bad example to the rest,” said Harriet. And
away she run across the room to Mr. Stephen Long,
and at once gave the whole company audible evidence
that she had fully redeemed her ring.

Ivory Harlow walked leisurely into the fore-room.
What he did there the young people could not certainly
say, but from the hearty laugh that came from the
elderly people there assembled, they inferred that he
did something, and on his return James gave him
up his pawn.

James then selected two more of the forfeits, and
held them over Bill Dingley's head.

“Whose two pawns are these, and what shall he
and she do to redeem them?” said James.

“They shall kiss each other through a chair back,”
said Bill.

“Miss Susan Briggs and Mr. Stephen Long have
got to do it,” said James.

Whereupon Mr. Stephen Long readily took a chair
and approached Miss Susan Briggs. But Miss Susan,
when she saw the school-master coming towards her,
holding a chair up to his face, and his lips poking
through the back of it, colored up to the eyes and
turned away.

“Do it, do it!” cried half the company, “or you
shan't have your hankerchief.”

Mr. Stephen Long seemed bent upon redeeming his
pawn at any rate, and he followed Miss Susan with
the chair with an earnestness that showed he did not
mean to be baffled. When Miss Susan found herself
cornered, and could retreat no further, she kissed her
hand and tossed it at the chair.

“That wont do,” cried half a dozen voices.

“I had to redeem mine,” said Harriet Gibbs, “and
it's no more than fair that she should redeem hers.”

“Well, you may redeem mine too, if you are a
mind to,” said Susan, pushing the chair from her
with her hand.

When Mr. Stephen Long found he could not

redeem his pawn through the chair, he declared he
would redeem it without the chair. So setting the
chair down, he commenced a fresh attack upon Miss
Susan, who held both hands tightly over her face.
After some violence, however, the company heard
the appropriate signal of triumph, but whether the
victory had been achieved upon cheek or hand,
always remained matter of doubt.

In redeeming the rest of the pawns, the penalties
were as various as the characters of the several persons
who stood judges. One had to measure half a
dozen yards of love ribbon. One had to hop across
the room on one foot backwards. Another had to
kneel to the prettiest, bow to the wittiest, and kiss
the one he loved best. But when Bill Dingley stood
as judge, he declared he wasn't in favor of any half-way
punishments, and he accordingly adjudged the
delinquents to kiss every lady and gentleman in the
room; that is, the lady to kiss the gentlemen, and the
gentleman to kiss the ladies, which penalties the
aforesaid delinquents performed according to the best
of their abilities.

When the game of pawns was over, the general
vote seemed to be in favor of blind man's buff.
James had to blind first, and he whirled about the

room, and flew from side to side, and corner to corner,
with as much ease and boldness as though he had
nothing over his eyes; and he kept the company
continually flying from one end of the hall to the
other, like a flock of frightened pigeons. He, however,
killed them off pretty fast, by catching one
after another, and sending them into the end room.
While they were running for their lives, this way and
that, Ivory Harlow couldn't help noticing that, somehow
or other, Harriet Gibbs most always blundered
into the same corner where the school-master was;
and sometimes she would run right against him
before she saw him; and then sometimes she would
almost fall down, and the school-master would have to
catch hold of her to keep her from falling. More
than once that evening, Ivory wished he had not
brought her, and more than twice he wished Susan
Briggs might forget that he did bring her.

The brisk running and bustle at blind man's buff
drew the elderly people to the door of the fore room,
where they stood and looked on. When James had
caught about half the company, Mrs. Briggs could
not stand it any longer. She slipped off her shoes,
and in she went right among them, and joined in the
game; and she ran about lighter and quicker than

any girl there. So much upon the alert was she, and
moved about with such noiseless and nimble footsteps,
that she was in fact the very last to be taken.
And when at last she was cornered and caught,
James was a little puzzled to know who it was, for
he felt almost sure he had caught all the large girls.
But when he put his hand upon her head, and face,
and neck, and shoulders, he exclaimed,

“Well done, mother; this is you. Now you shall
blind.”

“Oh, no, I can't do that, James,” said Mrs. Briggs,
retreating toward the fore-room.

“Yes, but you must,” said James, “you are the
last caught.”

“Yes, yes, you must, you must,” echoed the young
folks from all sides.

“Well,” said Mrs. Briggs at last, “if Mr. Briggs
and the rest of 'em will come out and run, I'll blind.”

The elderly people stood and looked at each other
a minute, and at last they haw hawed right out, and
then half a dozen of them came out upon the floor to
join the game. The handkerchief was put upon Mrs.
Briggs's eyes, and the old folks commenced running,
and the old folks stepped heavy, and the young folks
laughed loud, and there was a most decided racket.

Mrs. Briggs, however, soon cleared the coast, for she
was spry as a cat, and caught her prey as fast as that
useful animal would do when shut up in a room with
a flock of mice.

When this run was over, the play went back again
exclusively into the hands of the young folks, and after
several of them had been blinded, it came at last
to Bill Dingley's turn. Bill went into it like a day's
work. He leaped upon his prey like a tiger among
sheep. He ran over one, and tripped up another,
knocked one this way and another that, and caught
three or four in his arms at once. He made very quick
work of it, and caught them all off, but when he got
through, two or three were rubbing the bruises on
their heads, and one was bleeding at the nose. This
wound up the blind man's buff.

Mrs. Briggs then came out and told Susan to get a
table out in the middle of the room. She then
brought forward a couple of nice little loaves of
Christmas cake, and placed them on a couple of plates,
and cut them up into as many slices as there were
young folks present, men and women grown.

“Now,” said Mrs. Briggs, “we'll see which of you
is going to be married first. These two cakes have
each of 'em a Christmas ring in them; and whichever

gets the slice that has the ring in it, will be married
before the year is out. So all the gals over sixteen
years old stand up in a row on one side, and all
the young men over eighteen stand up in a row on
the other side, and I'll pass the cake round.”

She carried it round to the young men first, and
each took a slice and commenced eating to ascertain
who had the ring.

“By jings, I haven't got it,” said Billy Dingley,
swallowing his cake at three mouthfuls.

“May be you've swallowed it,” said George Gibbs.

“Well, them that's got it,” said Mrs. Briggs,
“please to keep quiet till we find out which of the
gals has the other.”

She then passed the cake round to the young ladies.
When she came to Susan, Harriet Gibbs, who was
standing by her side, said:

“It's no use for any of the rest of us to try, for
Susan knows which slice 'tis in, and she'll get it.”

“No, that isn't fair,” said Mrs. Briggs; “I put the
rings in myself, and nobody else knows anything
about it.”

The young ladies then took their slices, and Mrs.
Briggs passed on to Sally Dingley, Bill's sister, who
being on the wrong side of forty, did not stand in the

row, and rather declined taking the cake. Mrs. Briggs
urged her, and told her she must take some; when
Bill suddenly called out:

“Take hold, Sal, take hold and try your luck; as
long as there's life there's hope.”

Miss Sally Dingley run across the room and boxed
Bill's ears, and then came back and said she'd take a
piece of cake.

“For who knows,” said she, “but what I shall get
the ring; and who knows but what I shall be married
before any of you, now?”

After the young ladies had eaten their cake, Mrs.
Briggs called upon them that had the rings to step
forward into the floor. Upon which, Ivory Harlow
stepped out on one side, and Harriet Gibbs on the
other.

“Ah, that ain't fair; that's cheatin, that's cheatin,”
cried out little Sam Nelson.

“Why, what do you mean by that, Sam?” said Mrs.
Briggs.

“Cause,” said Sam, “I see Susan, when she was
eating the cake, take the ring out of her mouth, and
slip it into Harriet Gibbs's hand.”

At this Susan blushed, Harriet looked angry, and
the company laughed.

By this time it was twelve o'clock, and the elderly
people began to think it was time for them to be
moving homeward. And as soon as they were gone,
the young folks put on their shawls and cloaks and
hats, and prepared to follow them. Before they went,
however, Ivory Harlow got a chance to whisper to
Susan Briggs, and tell her, that he supposed he should
have to carry Harriet home this time, but it was the
last time he should ever carry her anywhere, as long
as his name was Ivory Harlow.