Christmas Gleanings

Nelson Evening Mail, Volume LXVI, 23 December 1933, Page 5

Christmas Gleanings

A CHRISTMAS TOAST Here’s to the happiest years of my life, Spent in the arms of another man’s wife —My Mother! AN OLD SACRED LULLABY A babe lies in the cradle, A little babe so dear, With noble light lie shiueth, As shines a mirror dear This lit Liu Babe so dear. Whoso would rock the cradle, Where lies the gentle Child, A lowly heart must lead him, By passions undefiled, As Mary pure and mild. O Jesus, Babe beloved, O Jesus, Babe divine, How mighty is Thy wondrous love! Fill Thou this heart of mine With that great love of Thine! AN 18th CENTURY CHRISTMAS DINNER The Christmas menu below is of interest for several reasons. First, as illustrating the ancestry of plum pudding; second, the neglect of vegetables in this connection, “sallad” being the only item of the kind included; and third, that turkey is a comparatively recent addition to the festive season board. It is “From tlie Diary of a Country Parson. December 20, 1773,” formerly of New College, Oxford. Tn it he tells us: “I dined in the Hall and 14 Senior Fellows with me. We had a very handsome dinner of my ordering.” It consisted of:

Peas soup. Two fine codds boiled with fried soles round them. Oyster sauce. Orange pudding. A lease of wild duck rpasted. A forequarter of lamb. Sallad. Mince pies. A line plumb cake. A POET’S CHRISTMAS PUDDING Few who admire Leigh Hunt’s critical writing, or wlm love tlie delicacy and .wit of some of his work, know that he wrote instructions for making a Christmas pudding. Here it is: if you would make a pudding in which everyone delights, Of six precious new-laid eggs you take the yolks and whites. A pound of stoned raisins, a pound of currants dried. Some sugar and some suet, and some candied peel beside. You stir them in a basin till they thoroughly combine, And he sure you chop the suet particularly fine. And you mix it all together with a little wheaten flour, And von let it stand together for a quarter of an hour. You tie tlie mixture in a cloth, you put it in a pot; Some people like tlie water cold, and some prefer it hot. But either of these methods I don’t know which to praise, But I know that it should boil an hour for every pound it weighs. If I were King of France, or, better still, the Pope of Rome, I’d have a. Christmas pudding every time I dined at home. And all the world should taste a hit, and if any did remain, Fur my breakfast next morning I’d warm it up again.

THE UNFORTUNATE CHAPLAIN 'The mince-pie, an indispensable concomitant of the Christmeas feast, can boast an ancient origin. There is a reference to it in one of the essays of Addison. One-gathers that in the year 1710 the mince-pie was a delicacy denied to tin; chaplain in tlie houses of tlie rich. “What,” asks Addison, “would a Roman Catholic priest think, who is always helped first and placed next to the ladies, should lie see a clergyman giving his company the slip at the first appearance of tarts or sweetmeats?”

Would not lie believe that lie had the same antipathy to a candied orange, or a piece of puff-paste, as some have to a Cheshire cheese, or a breast of mutton? Yet, to so ridiculous a height is this foolish custom grown, that even the Christmas pyo, which in its very nature is a kind of consecrated cake, and a badge of distinction, is often forbidden to the Druid of the family. Strange! that a sirloin of beef, whether boiled or roasted, when entire, is exposed to his utmost depredations and incisions; hut, if minced into small pieces, and tossed up with plums and sugar, changes its property, and, forsooth. is meat for his master.

CHURCH MUSIC In a catalogue of Presbyterian books (Lewis’s “I’resbyterian Eloquence, Loud." I7'2b) oeeiirs the following:— I ’‘A Cabinet of Choice Jewels, or the Christian's Joy and dullness, set forth in sundry new and pleasant Christinas Carols, viz., a carol for Christinas Day, to the tune of, ‘Over hills and high mountains;’ for Christmas Itay at night, to the tune of. ‘Mv life and my death;’ for St. Stephen’s Day. to the tune of, ‘O. cruel, bloody tale;’ for New Year’s Dav, to the tune of, ‘O, caper and frisk it;’ for Twelfth Day, to the tune of, ‘O, mother Roger!’ ” „

II AX DACES OX THE YULE LOG In a poem, “Christinas,” by Romaine Joseph Thorpe, dated is this: The ponderous ashen faggot from the yard. ’The jolly farmer to his crowded hall Conveys, with speed; where, on the rising llames, (Already fed with store of massy brands) L: blazes soon; nine bandages it bears, And as they each disjoin (so custom wills), A mighty jug of sparkling cyder’s brought, With brandy mixt, to elevate the guests.

AS IT WORKED The parishioners of a small village in I he neighbourhood of St. Emilion determined on making a Christmas present to their clear old cure. I o elloot this, it was unanimously agreed that each of them should contribute a couple of litres of wine. One ol the villagers having provided a hogshead tor the purpose, every man brought his quota of the vintage, and the barrel was speedily filled. Shortly after, the cure invited to dinner a select few of the subscribers to this novel testimonial. Of course, this curious wine—the result of a mixture of everybody's. vintage —had to bo lasted, and the servant returned irom the visit to the cellar, holding in her hand a large jug of—water! "What is thisV” asked the cure.

The cure was dtunfounded at this strange result; not so the guests, who were splitting their sides with laughter. Each man had said to himself, with the craft of a true French peasant. “If I put a couple of litres of water instead of wine 1 promised into that great barrel, no one will be a bit the wiser.” The unfortunate nurt of it was that every ipau had had the same idea!