Christmas Fun- Past and Present

Dominion, Volume 22, Issue 72, 18 December 1928, Page 7 (Supplement)

Christmas FunPast and Present

By

PICTON WOODVILLE

(All Rights Reserved.)

Christmas lias always been a time of mirth and humour, but it seems that In the Victorian era the funny story was, like the gas bills, “due on demand" : for have we not the famous instance of the hostess who, during a lull in the conversation, exclaimed, “Now. Captain Jokely, say something funny and make us all laugh 1” Probably the gallant captain was not a bit disconcerted; it is quite likely that he made some remarks about young Hr. So-and-So being “very backward in coming forward,” meaning that the youthful swain had not the courage to propose to the lady to whom he was paying so much attention. Yet the things that “make us all laugh” at Christmas time are not usually produced to order —they just happen. Even in these days it is possible to get into a position more embarassing than that in which poor Captain Jokely found himself. There is a story of a gushing young lady who, at a Christmas party, was Introduced by the hostess to a rather distinguished American author who usually wrote under a nom-de-plume. The hostess warned her privately that the man of letters was very conceited, and that on no account was she to praise the work of any other novelist who produced the same class of fiction as the American. Things went very smoothly for a time, then the author asked, with a twinkle in his eye, “What do you think of ‘The Man Behind the Counter. - by Bert Bitten. Miss Gushly?” Remembering the warning the hostess had given her, Miss Gustily answered decidedly. “I think it hideous, the author must be a perfect hooligan." The author was sileiit for some time, then his face began to work in such a remarkable manner that Miss Gustily said, in alarm, “Excuse me Mr. R . are you unwell?" “Quite, well. I thank you, miss.” replied the novelist, “but I write under the nom-de-plume Bert Bitten.” The Victorian loved riddles and enigmas, some of which were certainly rattier witty. If these riddles could be made to rhyme, so much the better, and the sample I give below may amuse the modern reader. It was “fired off” at Christmas parties about the year 1867. and ran thus:—

What is the longest and shortest? The swiftest, most slow? That is lost every minute, Yet cometh also? What we prize on the morrow, Though wasted to-day? That brings joy and brings sorrow? And will grow and decay? That has been for ever And ever will be? Yet affords you but pastime While searching for me? The answer is—Time.

There Is a story of Victorian times which is perhaps worth telling. A

certain gentleman, rather late on Christmas Eve, was making merry with a few male friends, and under the influence of some good wine his tongue began to wag rather freely. As the bottles passed, we are told that all the gentlemen grew more “quart-valiant” on the question of domestic liberty. “As for me,” said the master of the house, loudly and fiercely, “in my own home I’m an autocrat—a perfect Julius Caesar.” At that moment the door opened and his wife entered the room. “Look here, gentlemen!" she said in a harsh voice, “you’d better all go home. And as for you, Julius Caesar, just walk upstairs with me, “I've a thing or two to say to you.” It seems that the pleasant little gathering was then broken up, but what happened to the unfortunate Julius Caesar” history does not relate; probably his Christmas was not a merry one. There is a humorous side to the Christmas practice of giving presents to one’s friends. The art and mystery of present-giving is one which only a fortunate few can master. Usually we bore our friends with fantastic presents ; but under the polite, “Oh, how.: nice! Just the very thing I wanted,” Is a desire to hurl an inkstand at the

door, or to use language which, at Christmas time particularly, would not be “parliamentary.” Sometimes, too, a sort of comic tragedy—if one may use the term—takes place when the giver wishes to be playful. A certain rich spinster, wishing to please some friends of hers who had just been married, made —with her own hands—a plum pudding, and playfully arranged a surprise for the couple who were to receive it. It happened, however, that Mr. Newlywed had heard of Miss Ontheshelf’s puddings, and Mrs. Newlywed had actually tasted one—once! So when the pudding arrived the couple duly returned thanks to the spinster for her thoughtfulness and passed on the gift to a certain Mrs. Scrubbard, a charlady. In the fulness of time it was deemed only right and fitting that the spinster should be invited to dinner with the Newlyweds, and the day fixed upon was Boxing Day. The dinner was excellent, but the guest, noting that her own plum pudding did not appear upon the table, asked how the couple had enjoyed it. “We are—that is—er —I should say that we are reserving it," lied Mr. Newlywed. Miss Ontheshelf smiled. “It's just a fad.” she said, “but might I see that pudding for a moment?” The silence which followed could be felt. Then Mr. Newlywed said to his wife, in a far-off, hollow voice, “Go and fetch it. my dear.” It was an awkward situation, but poor Mrs. N. had to make a pretence of searching for the pudding, and, later, for want of a better excuse, came back and said, “I can’t find it: that is, I’m afraid I’ve mislaid it —perhaps It is—er lost.”

The spinster smiled acidly. "Well.” she said, “if it’s lost that’s bad, for with it is lost a diamond ring worth £4O which I had hidden in the pudding as a present for you. Mrs. Newlywed."

As soon as he could do so politely, Mr. Newlywed made an excuse, went out. and dashed to the charlady’s house. He had ascertained —in fact, the

spinster had taken a pleasure in telling him —that set in the ring were three diamonds. Like General Trochu, Mr. Newlywed “had a plan”; he would tell the charlady that he had given her the wrong pudding, then all might still be well. With trembling hands the young man knocked at Mrs. Scrnbbard’s door, and was answered by that lady In person. He got as far as, “I am sorry, but I ” when he noticed something that flashed on one of the worthy woman’s fingers. He looked again—there was the lost ring with its three diamonds. Mr. Newlywed could not finish his speech, but Mrs. Scrubbard, all smiles, curtsied and said, “I was just dressin’, sir, to come and thank you and your wife for this ’andsome ring as you hid in the puddin’; mine thinks as the stones may be real ’uns.” Alas! Mr. Newlywed had not the pluck to explain, he just turned and went back to Prospect Villa, where he threw down his silk hat and jumped on it.