CHRISTMAS CRACKERS.
A FANTASIA.
It was Christmas-eve in an old-fashioned country-house, where Christmaswas being kept with old-fashioned form and custom. It was getting late.The candles swaggered in their sockets, and the yule log glowedsteadily like a red-hot coal.
"The fire has reached his heart," said the tutor: "he is warm allthrough. How red he is! He shines with heat and hospitality like somewarm-hearted old gentleman when a convivial evening is pretty faradvanced. To-morrow he will be as cold and grey as the morning after afestival, when the glasses are being washed up, and the host iscalculating his expenses. Yes! you know it is so;" and the tutor noddedto the yule log as he spoke; and the log flared and crackled in return,till the tutor's face shone like his own. He had no other means ofreply.
The tutor was grotesque-looking at any time. He was lank and meagre,with a long body and limbs, and high shoulders. His face wassmooth-shaven, and his skin like old parchment stretched over highcheek-bones and lantern jaws; but in their hollow sockets his eyesgleamed with the changeful lustre of two precious gems. In the ruddyfirelight they were like rubies, and when he drew back into the shadethey glared green like the eyes of a cat. It must not be inferred fromthe tutor's presence this evening that there were no Christmas holidaysin this house. They had begun some days before; and if the tutor hadhad a home to go to, it is to be presumed that he would have gone.
As the candles got lower, and the log flared less often, weird lightsand shades, such as haunt the twilight, crept about the room. Thetutor's shadow, longer, lanker, and more grotesque than himself, moppedand mowed upon the wall beside him. The snapdragon burnt blue, and asthe raisin-hunters stirred the flaming spirit, the ghastly light madethe tutor look so hideous that the widow's little boy was on the eve ofhowling, and spilled the raisins he had just secured. (He did not likeputting his fingers into the flames, but he hovered near the moreadventurous school-boys and collected the raisins that were scatteredon the table by the hasty _grabs_ of braver hands.)
The widow was a relative of the house. She had married a Mr. Jones, andhaving been during his life his devoted slave, had on his deathtransferred her allegiance to his son. The late Mr. Jones was a smallman with a strong temper, a large appetite, and a taste fordrawing-room theatricals. So Mrs. Jones had called her son Macready;"for," she said, "his poor papa would have made a fortune on the stage,and I wish to commemorate his talents. Besides, Macready sounds betterwith Jones than a commoner Christian name would do."
But his cousins called him MacGreedy.
"The apples of the enchanted garden were guarded by dragons. Manyknights went after them. One wished for the apples, but he did not liketo fight the dragons."
It was the tutor who spoke from the dark corner by the fire-place. Hiseyes shone like a cat's, and MacGreedy felt like a half-scared mouse,and made up his mind to cry. He put his right fist into one eye, andhad just taken it out, and was about to put his left fist into theother, when he saw that the tutor was no longer looking at him. So hemade up his mind to go on with the raisins, for one can have a peevishcry at any time, but plums are not scattered broadcast every day.Several times he had tried to pocket them, but just at the moment thetutor was sure to look at him, and in his fright he dropped theraisins, and never could find them again. So this time he resolved toeat them then and there. He had just put one into his mouth when thetutor leaned forward, and his eyes, glowing in the firelight, metMacGreedy's, who had not even the presence of mind to shut his mouth,but remained spellbound, with a raisin in his cheek.
Flicker, flack! The school-boys stirred up snapdragon again, and withthe blue light upon his features the tutor made so horrible a grimacethat MacGreedy swallowed the raisin with a start. He had bolted itwhole, and it might have been a bread pill for any enjoyment he had ofthe flavour. But the tutor laughed aloud. He certainly was an alarmingobject, pulling those grimaces in the blue brandy glare; andunpleasantly like a picture of Bogy himself with horns and a tail, in ajuvenile volume upstairs. True, there were no horns to speak of amongthe tutor's grizzled curls, and his coat seemed to fit as well as mostpeople's on his long back, so that unless he put his tail in hispocket, it is difficult to see how he could have had one. But then (asMiss Letitia said) "With dress one can do anything and hide anything,"and on dress Miss Letitia's opinion was final.
Miss Letitia was a cousin. She was dark, high-coloured, glossy-haired,stout, and showy. She was as neat as a new pin, and had a will of herown. Her hair was firmly fixed by bandoline, her garibaldis by anarrangement which failed when applied to those of the widow, and heropinions by the simple process of looking at everything from one pointof view. Her _forte_ was dress and general ornamentation; not thatMiss Letitia was extravagant--far from it. If one may use theexpression, she utilized for ornament a hundred bits and scraps thatmost people would have wasted. But, like other artists, she saweverything through the medium of her own art. She looked at birds withan eye to hats, and at flowers with reference to evening parties. Atpicture exhibitions and concerts she carried away jacket patterns andbonnets in her head, as other people make mental notes of an aerialeffect, or a bit of fine instrumentation. An enthusiastichorticulturist once sent Miss Letitia a cut specimen of a new flower.It was a lovely spray from a lately-imported shrub. A botanist wouldhave pressed it--an artist must have taken its portrait--a poet mighthave written a sonnet in praise of its beauty. Miss Letitia twisted apiece of wire round its stem, and fastened it on to her black lacebonnet. It came on the day of a review, when Miss Letitia had to appearin a carriage, and it was quite a success. As she said to the widow,"It was so natural that no one could doubt its being Parisian."
"What a strange fellow that tutor is!" said the visitor. He spoke tothe daughter of the house, a girl with a face like a summer's day, andhair like a ripe corn-field rippling in the sun. He was a fine youngman, and had a youth's taste for the sports and amusements of his age.But lately he had changed. He seemed to himself to be living in ahigher, nobler atmosphere than hitherto. He had discovered that he waspoetical--he might prove to be a genius. He certainly was eloquent, hecould talk for hours, and did so--to the young lady with the sunshinyface. They spoke on the highest subjects, and what a listener she was!So intelligent and appreciative, and with such an exquisite _pose_of the head--it must inspire a block of wood merely to see such acreature in a listening attitude. As to our young friend, he pouredforth volumes; he was really clever, and for her he became eloquent.To-night he spoke of Christmas, of time-honoured custom and oldassociation; and what he said would have made a Christmas article for amagazine of the first class. He poured scorn on the cold nature thatcould not, and the affectation that would not, appreciate the domesticfestivities of this sacred season. What, he asked, could be moredelightful, more perfect than such a gathering as this, of thefamily circle round the Christmas hearth? He spoke with feeling, and itmay be said with disinterested feeling, for he had not joined hisfamily circle himself this Christmas, and there was a vacant place bythe hearth of his own home.
"He is strange," said the young lady (she spoke of the tutor in answerto the above remark); "but I am very fond of him. He has been with usso long he is like one of the family; though we know as little of hishistory as we did on the day he came."
"He looks clever," said the visitor. (Perhaps that is the least one cansay for a fellow-creature who shows a great deal of bare skull, and isnot otherwise good-looking.)
"He is clever," she answered, "wonderfully clever; so clever and so oddthat sometimes I fancy he is hardly 'canny.' There is something almostsupernatural about his acuteness and his ingenuity, but they are sokindly used; I wonder he has not brought out any playthings for usto-night."
"Playthings?" inquired the young man.
"Yes; on birthdays or festivals like this he generally brings somethingout of those huge pockets of his. He has been all over the world, andhe produces Indian puzzles, Japanese flower-buds that bloom in hotwater, and German toys with complicated mac
hinery, which I suspect himof manufacturing himself. I call him Godpapa Grosselmayer, after thatdelightful old fellow in Hoffman's tale of the Nut Cracker."
"What's that about crackers?" inquired the tutor, sharply, his eyeschanging colour like a fire opal.
"I am talking of _Nussnacker und Mausekoenig_," laughed the young lady."Crackers do not belong to Christmas; fireworks come on the 5th ofNovember."
"Tut, tut!" said the tutor; "I always tell your ladyship that you arestill a tom-boy at heart, as when I first came, and you climbed treesand pelted myself and my young students with horse-chestnuts. You thinkof crackers to explode at the heels of timorous old gentlemen in aNovember fog; but I mean bonbon crackers, coloured crackers, daintycrackers--crackers for young people with mottoes of sentiment" (herethe tutor shrugged his high shoulders an inch or two higher, andturned the palms of his hands outwards with a glance indescribablycomical)--"crackers with paper prodigies, crackers withsweetmeats--_such_ sweetmeats!" He smacked his lips with a grotesquecontortion, and looked at Master McGreedy, who choked himself withhis last raisin, and forthwith burst into tears.
The widow tried in vain to soothe him with caresses, but he onlystamped and howled the more. But Miss Letitia gave him some smartsmacks on the shoulders to cure his choking fit, and as she kept up thetreatment with vigour, the young gentleman was obliged to stop andassure her that the raisin had "gone the right way" at last. "If hewere my child," Miss Letitia had been known to observe, with thatconfidence which characterizes the theories of those who are notparents, "I would, &c., &c., &c.;" in fact, Miss Letitia thought shewould have made a very different boy of him--as, indeed, I believe shewould.
"Are crackers all that you have for us, sir?" asked one of the twoschool-boys, as they hung over the tutor's chair. They were twins,grand boys, with broad, good-humoured faces, and curly wigs, as like astwo puppy dogs of the same breed. They were only known apart by theirintimate friends, and were always together, romping, laughing,snarling, squabbling, huffing and helping each other against the world.Each of them owned a wiry terrier, and in their relations to each otherthe two dogs (who were marvellously alike) closely followed the exampleof their masters.
"Do you not care for crackers, Jim?" asked the tutor.
"Not much, sir. They do for girls: but, as you know, I care for nothingbut military matters. Do you remember that beautiful toy of yours--'TheBesieged City'? Ah! I liked that. Look out, Tom! you're shoving my arm.Can't you stand straight, man?'
"R-r-r-r--r-r, snap!"
Tom's dog was resenting contact with Jim's dog on the hearthrug. Therewas a hustle among the four, and then they subsided.
"The Besieged City was all very well for you, Jim," said Tom, who meantto be a sailor; "but please to remember that it admitted of no attackfrom the sea; and what was there for me to do? Ah, sir! you are soclever, I often think you could help me to make a swing with laddersinstead of single ropes, so that I could run up and down the riggingwhilst it was in full go."
"That would be something like your fir-tree prank, Tom," said hissister. "Can you believe," she added, turning to the visitor, "that Tomlopped the branches of a tall young fir-tree all the way up, leavinglittle bits for foothold, and then climbed up it one day in an awfulstorm of wind, and clung on at the top, rocking backwards and forwards?And when Papa sent word for him to come down, he said parentalauthority was superseded at sea by the rules of the service. It was adreadful storm, and the tree snapped very soon after he got safe to theground."
"Storm!" sneered Tom, "a capful of wind. Well, it did blow half a galeat the last. But oh! it was glorious!"
"Let us see what we can make of the crackers," said the tutor--and hepulled some out of his pocket. They were put in a dish upon the table,for the company to choose from; and the terriers jumped and snapped,and tumbled over each other, for they thought that the plate containedeatables. Animated by the same idea, but with quieter steps, MasterMacGreedy also approached the table.
"The dogs are noisy," said the tutor, "too noisy. We must havequiet--peace and quiet." His lean hand was once more in his pocket, andhe pulled out a box, from which he took some powder, which he scatteredon the burning log. A slight smoke now rose from the hot embers, andfloated into the room. Was the powder one of those strange compoundsthat act upon the brain? Was it a magician's powder? Who knows? With itcame a sweet, subtle fragrance. It was strange--every one fancied hehad smelt it before, and all were absorbed in wondering what it was,and where they had met with it. Even the dogs sat on their hauncheswith their noses up, sniffing in a speculative manner.
"It's not lavender," said the grandmother, slowly, "and it's notrosemary. There is a something of tansy in it (and a very fine tonicflavour too, my dears, though it's _not_ in fashion now). Depend upon it,it's a potpourri, and from an excellent receipt, sir"--and the old ladybowed courteously towards the tutor. "My mother made the best potpourriin the county, and it was very much like this. Not quite,perhaps, but much the same, much the same."
The grandmother was a fine old gentlewoman "of the old school," as thephrase is. She was very stately and gracious in her manners, daintilyneat in her person, and much attached to the old parson of the parish,who now sat near her chair. All her life she had been very proud of herfine stock of fair linen, both household and personal; and for manyyears past had kept her own graveclothes ready in a drawer. They werebleached as white as snow, and lay amongst bags of dried lavender andpotpourri. Many times had it seemed likely that they would be needed,for the old lady had had severe illnesses of late, when the good parsonsat by her bedside, and read to her of the coming of the Bridegroom,and of that "fine linen clean and white," which is "the righteousnessof the saints." It was of that drawer, with its lavender and potpourribags, that the scented smoke had reminded her.
"It has rather an overpowering odour," said the old parson; "it issuggestive of incense. I am sure I once smelt something like it in theChurch of the Nativity at Bethlehem. It is very delicious."
The parson's long residence in his parish had been marked by one greatholiday. With the savings of many years he had performed a pilgrimageto the Holy Land; and it was rather a joke against him that heillustrated a large variety of subjects by reference to his favouritetopic, the holiday of his life.
"It smells of gunpowder," said Jim, decidedly, "and something else. Ican't tell what."
"Something one smells in a seaport town," said Tom.
"Can't be very delicious then," Jim retorted.
"It's not _quite_ the same," piped the widow; "but it reminds me verymuch of an old bottle of attar of roses that was given to me when Iwas at school, with a copy of verses, by a young gentleman who wasbrother to one of the pupils. I remember Mr. Jones was quite annoyedwhen he found it in an old box, where I am sure I had not touched itfor ten years or more; and I never spoke to him but once, onExamination Day (the young gentleman, I mean). And its like--yes it'scertainly like a hair-wash Mr. Jones used to use. I've forgotten whatit was called, but I know it cost fifteen shillings a bottle; andMacready threw one over a few weeks before his dear papa's death, andannoyed him extremely."
Whilst the company were thus engaged, Master MacGreedy took advantageof the general abstraction to secure half-a-dozen crackers to his ownshare; he retired to a corner with them, where he meant to pick themquietly to pieces by himself. He wanted the gay paper, and the motto,and the sweetmeats; but he did not like the report of the cracker. Andthen what he did want, he wanted all to himself.
"Give us a cracker," said Master Jim, dreamily.
The dogs, after a few dissatisfied snorts, had dropped from theirsitting posture, and were lying close together on the rug, dreaming anduttering short commenting barks and whines at intervals. The twins werenow reposing lazily at the tutor's feet, and did not feel disposed toexert themselves even so far as to fetch their own bonbons.
"There's one," said the tutor, taking a fresh cracker from his pocket.One end of it was of red and gold paper, the other of transparent greens
tuff with silver lines. The boys pulled it.
* * * * *
The report was louder than Jim had expected. "The firing has begun," hemurmured, involuntarily; "steady, steady!" these last words were to hishorse, who seemed to be moving under him, not from fear, but fromimpatience. What had been the red and gold paper of the cracker was nowthe scarlet and gold lace of his own cavalry uniform. He knocked aspeck from his sleeve, and scanned the distant ridge, from which a thinline of smoke floated solemnly away, with keen, impatient eyes. Werethey to stand inactive all the day?
Presently the horse erects his head. His eyes sparkle--he pricks hissensitive ears--his nostrils quiver with a strange delight. It is thetrumpet! Fan farra! Fan farra! The brazen voice speaks--the horsesmove--the plumes wave--the helmets shine. On a summer's day they rideslowly, gracefully, calmly down a slope, to Death or Glory. Fan farra!Fan farra! Fan farra!
* * * * *
Of all this Master Tom knew nothing. The report of the cracker seemedto him only an echo in his brain of a sound that had been in his earsfor thirty-six weary hours. The noise of a heavy sea beating againstthe ship's side in a gale. It was over now, and he was keeping themidnight watch on deck, gazing upon the liquid green of the waves,which, heaving and seething after storm, were lit with phosphoriclight, and as the ship held steadily on her course, poured past at therate of twelve knots an hour in a silvery stream. Faster than any shipcan sail his thoughts travelled home; and as old times came back tohim, he hardly knew whether what he looked at was the phosphor-lightedsea, or green gelatine paper barred with silver. And did the tutorspeak? Or was it the voice of some sea-monster sounding in his ears?
"The spirits of the storm have gone below to make their report. Thetreasure gained from sunk vessels has been reckoned, and the sea isilluminated in honour of the spoil."
* * * * *
The visitor now took a cracker and held it to the young lady. Her endwas of white paper with a raised pattern; his of dark-blue gelatinewith gold stars. It snapped, the bonbon dropped between them, and theyoung man got the motto. It was a very bald one--
"My heart is thine. Wilt thou be mine?"
He was ashamed to show it to her. What could be more meagre? One couldwrite a hundred better couplets "standing on one leg," as the sayingis. He was trying to improvise just one for the occasion, when hebecame aware that the blue sky over his head was dark with the shadesof night, and lighted with stars. A brook rippled near with a soothingmonotony. The evening wind sighed through the trees, and wafted thefragrance of the sweet bay-leaved willow towards him, and blew a straylock of hair against his face. Yes! _She_ also was there, walking besidehim, under the scented willow-bushes. Where, why, and whither he did notask to know. She was with him--with him; and he seemed to tread on thesummer air. He had no doubt as to the nature of his own feelings for her,and here was such an opportunity for declaring them as might never occuragain. Surely now, if ever, he would be eloquent! Thoughts of poetryclothed in words of fire must spring unbidden to his lips at such amoment. And yet somehow he could not find a single word to say. He beathis brains, but not an idea would come forth. Only that idioticcracker motto, which haunted him with its meagre couplet:
"My heart is thine. Wilt thou be mine?"
Meanwhile they wandered on. The precious time was passing. He must atleast make a beginning.
"What a fine night it is!" he observed. But, oh dear! that was athousand times balder and more meagre than the cracker motto; and notanother word could he find to say. At this moment the awkward silencewas broken by a voice from a neighbouring copse. It was a nightingalesinging to his mate. There was no lack of eloquence, and of melodiouseloquence, there. The song was as plaintive as old memories, and asfull of tenderness as the eyes of the young girl were full of tears.They were standing still now, and with her graceful head bent she waslistening to the bird. He stooped his head near hers, and spoke with asimple natural outburst almost involuntary.
"Do you ever think of old times? Do you remember the old house, and thefun we used to have? and the tutor whom you pelted with horse-chestnutswhen you were a little girl? And those cracker bonbons, and the motto_we_ drew--
'My heart is thine. Wilt thou be mine?'"
She smiled, and lifted her eyes ("blue as the sky, and bright as thestars," he thought) to his, and answered "Yes."
Then the bonbon motto was avenged, and there was silence. Eloquent,perfect, complete, beautiful silence! Only the wind sighed through thefragrant willows, the stream rippled, the stars shone, and in theneighbouring copse the nightingale sang, and sang, and sang.
* * * * *
When the white end of the cracker came into the young lady's hand, shewas full of admiration for the fine raised pattern. As she held itbetween her fingers it suddenly struck her that she had discovered whatthe tutor's fragrant smoke smelt like. It was like the scent oforange-flowers, and had certainly a soporific effect upon the senses.She felt very sleepy, and as she stroked the shiny surface of thecracker she found herself thinking it was very soft for paper, and thenrousing herself with a start, and wondering at her own folly inspeaking thus of the white silk in which she was dressed, and of whichshe was holding up the skirt between her finger and thumb, as if shewere dancing a minuet.
"It's grandmamma's egg-shell brocade!" she cried. "Oh, Grandmamma! Haveyou given it to me? That lovely old thing! But I thought it was thefamily wedding-dress, and that I was not to have it till I was abride."
"And so you are, my dear. And a fairer bride the sun never shone on,"sobbed the old lady, who was kissing and blessing her, and wishing her,in the words of the old formula--
"Health to wear it, Strength to tear it, And money to buy another."
"There is no hope for the last two things, you know," said the younggirl; "for I am sure that the flag that braved a thousand years was nothalf so strong as your brocade; and as to buying another, there arenone to be bought in these degenerate days."
The old lady's reply was probably very gracious, for she liked to becomplimented on the virtues of old things in general, and of heregg-shell brocade in particular. But of what she said her granddaughterheard nothing. With the strange irregularity of dreams, she foundherself, she knew not how, in the old church. It was true. She was abride, standing there with old friends and old associations thickaround her, on the threshold of a new life. The sun shone through thestained glass of the windows, and illuminated the brocade, whoseold-fashioned stiffness so became her childish beauty, and flung athousand new tints over her sunny hair, and drew so powerful afragrance from the orange-blossom with which it was twined, that it wasalmost overpowering. Yes! It was too sweet--too strong. She certainlywould not be able to bear it much longer without losing her senses. Andthe service was going on. A question had been asked of her, and shemust reply. She made a strong effort, and said "Yes," simply and veryearnestly, for it was what she meant. But she had no sooner said itthan she became uneasily conscious that she had not used the rightwords. Some one laughed. It was the tutor, and his voice jarred anddisturbed the dream, as a stone troubles the surface of still water.The vision trembled, and then broke, and the young lady found herselfstill sitting by the table and fingering the cracker paper, whilst thetutor chuckled and rubbed his hands by the fire, and his shadowscrambled on the wall like an ape upon a tree. But her "Yes" had passedinto the young man's dream without disturbing it, and he dreamt on.
It was a cracker like the preceding one that the grandmother and theparson pulled together. The old lady had insisted upon it. The goodrector had shown a tendency to low spirits this evening, and a wish towithdraw early. But the old lady did not approve of people "shirking"(as boys say) either their duties or their pleasures; and to keep a"merry Christmas" in a family circle that had been spared to meet inhealth and happiness, seemed to her to be both the one and the other.
>
It was his sermon for next day which weighed on the parson's mind. Notthat he was behindhand with that part of his duties. He was far toomethodical in his habits for that, and it had been written before thebustle of Christmas week began. But after preaching Christmas sermonsfrom the same pulpit for thirty-five years, he felt keenly howdifficult it is to awaken due interest in subjects that are sofamiliar, and to give new force to lessons so often repeated. So hewanted a quiet hour in his own study before he went to rest, with thesermon that did not satisfy him, and the subject that should be soheart-stirring and ever-new,--the Story of Bethlehem.
He consented, however, to pull one cracker with the grandmother, thoughhe feared the noise might startle her nerves, and said so.
"Nerves were not invented in my young days," said the old lady, firmly;and she took her part in the ensuing explosion without so much as awink.
As the cracker snapped, it seemed to the parson as if the fragrantsmoke from the yule log were growing denser in the room. Through themist from time to time the face of the tutor loomed large, and thendisappeared. At last the clouds rolled away, and the parson breathedclear air. Clear, yes, and how clear! This brilliant freshness, theseintense lights and shadows, this mildness and purity in the night air--
"It is not England," he muttered, "it is the East. I have felt no airlike this since I breathed the air of Palestine."
Over his head, through immeasurable distances, the dark blue space waslighted by the great multitude of the stars, whose glittering rankshave in that atmosphere a distinctness and a glory unseen with us.Perhaps no scene of beauty in the visible creation has proved a morehackneyed theme for the poet and the philosopher than a starry night.But not all the superabundance of simile and moral illustration withwhich the subject has been loaded can rob the beholder of the freshnessof its grandeur or the force of its teaching; that noblest and mostmajestic vision of the handiwork of GOD on which the eye of man is herepermitted to rest.
As the parson gazed he became conscious that he was not alone. Othereyes besides his were watching the skies to-night. Dark, profound,patient, Eastern eyes, used from the cradle to the grave to watch andwait. The eyes of star-gazers and dream-interpreters; men who believedthe fate of empires to be written in shining characters on the face ofheaven, as the "Mene, Mene," was written in fire on the walls of theBabylonian palace. The old parson was one of the many men of reallearning and wide reading who pursue their studies in the quiet countryparishes of England, and it was with the keen interest of intelligencethat he watched the group of figures that lay near him.
"Is this a vision of the past?" he asked himself. "There can be nodoubt as to these men. They are star-gazers, magi, and, from theirdress and bearing, men of high rank; perhaps 'teachers of a higherwisdom' in one of the purest philosophies of the old heathen world.When one thinks," he pursued, "of the intense interest, the eagerexcitement which the student of history finds in the narrative of thepast as unfolded in dusty records written by the hand of man, one mayrealize how absorbing must have been that science which professed tounveil the future, and to display to the eyes of the wise the fate ofdynasties written with the finger of GOD amid the stars."
The dark-robed figures were so still that they might almost have beencarved in stone. The air seemed to grow purer and purer; the starsshone brighter and brighter; suspended in ether the planets seemed tohang like lamps. Now a shooting meteor passed athwart the sky, andvanished behind the hill. But not for this did the watchers move; insilence they watched on--till, on a sudden, how and whence the parsonknew not, across the shining ranks of that immeasurable host, whosenames and number are known to GOD alone, there passed in slow butobvious motion one brilliant solitary star--a star of such surpassingbrightness that he involuntarily joined in the wild cry of joy andgreeting with which the Men of the East now prostrated themselves withtheir faces to the earth. He could not understand the language in which,with noisy clamour and gesticulation, they broke their former profoundand patient silence, and greeted the portent for which they had watched.But he knew now that these were the Wise Men of the Epiphany, and thatthis was the Star of Bethlehem. In his ears rang the energetic simplicityof the Gospel narrative, "When they saw the Star, they rejoiced withexceeding great joy."
With exceeding great joy! Ah! happy magi, who (more blest than Balaamthe son of Beor) were faithful to the dim light vouchsafed to you; theGentile Church may well be proud of your memory. Ye travelled long andfar to bring royal offerings to the King of the Jews, with a faith notfound in Israel. Ye saw Him whom prophets and kings had desired to see,and were glad. Wise men indeed, and wise with the highest wisdom, inthat ye suffered yourselves to be taught of GOD.
Then the parson prayed that if this were indeed a dream he might dreamon; might pass, if only in a vision, over the hill, following thefootsteps of the magi, whilst the Star went before them, till he shouldsee it rest above that city, which, little indeed among the thousandsof Judah, was yet the birthplace of the Lord's Christ.
"Ah!" he almost sobbed, "let me follow! On my knees let me follow intothe house and see the Holy Child. In the eyes of how many babies I haveseen mind and thought far beyond their powers of communication, everymother knows. But if at times, with a sort of awe, one sees theimmortal soul shining through the prison-bars of helpless infancy,what, oh! what must it be to behold the GOD-head veiled in flesh throughthe face of a little child!"
The parson stretched out his arms, but even with the passion of hiswords the vision began to break. He dared not move for fear it shouldutterly fade, and as he lay still and silent, the wise men roused theirfollowers, and, led by the Star, the train passed solemnly over thedistant hills.
Then the clear night became clouded with fragrant vapour, and with asigh the parson awoke.
* * * * *
When the cracker snapped and the white end was left in the grandmother'shand, she was astonished to perceive (as she thought) that the whitelace veil which she had worn over her wedding bonnet was still in herpossession, and that she was turning it over in her fingers. "I fanciedI gave it to Jemima when her first baby was born," she muttereddreamily. It was darned and yellow, but it carried her back all the same,and recalled happy hours with wonderful vividness. She remembered thepost-chaise and the postillion. "He was such a pert little fellow, andhow we laughed at him! He must be either dead or a very shaky old manby now," said the old lady. She seemed to smell the scent of meadow-sweetthat was so powerful in a lane through which they drove; and how clearlyshe could see the clean little country inn where they spent thehoneymoon! She seemed to be there now, taking off her bonnet and shawl,in the quaint clean chamber, with the heavy oak rafters, and the jasminecoming in at the window, and glancing with pardonable pride at the fairface reflected in the mirror. But as she laid her things on thepatchwork coverlet, it seemed to her that the lace veil became fine whitelinen, and was folded about a figure that lay in the bed; and when shelooked round the room again everything was draped in white--white blindshung before the windows, and even the old oak chest and the press werecovered with clean white cloths, after the decent custom of the country;whilst from the church tower without the passing bell tolled slowly. Shehad not seen the face of the corpse, and a strange anxiety came over herto count the strokes of the bell, which tell if it is a man, woman, orchild who has passed away. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven! Nomore. It was a woman, and when she looked on the face of the dead shesaw her own. But even as she looked the fair linen of the grave-clothesbecame the buoyant drapery of another figure, in whose face she found astrange recognition of the lineaments of the dead with all theloveliness of the bride. But ah! more, much more! On that face there wasa beauty not doomed to wither, before those happy eyes lay a futureunshadowed by the imperfections of earthly prospects, and the folds ofthat robe were white as no fuller on earth can white them. The windowcurtain parted, the jasmine flowers bowed their heads, the spirit passedfrom the chamber of death, and the old lady's dre
am was ended.
* * * * *
Miss Letitia had shared a cracker with the widow. The widow squeakedwhen the cracker went off, and then insisted upon giving up the smartpaper and everything to Miss Letitia. She had always given upeverything to Mr. Jones, she did so now to Master MacGreedy, and wasquite unaccustomed to keep anything for her own share. She did not givethis explanation herself, but so it was.
The cracker that thus fell into the hands of Miss Letitia was one ofthose new-fashioned ones that have a paper pattern of some article ofdress wrapped up in them instead of a bonbon. This one was a paperbonnet made in the latest _mode_--of green tissue-paper; and Miss Letitiastuck it on the top of her chignon, with an air that the widow enviedfrom the bottom of her heart. She had not the gift of "carrying off"her clothes. But to the tutor, on the contrary, it seemed to affordthe most extreme amusement; and as Miss Letitia bowed gracefully hitherand thither in the energy of her conversation with the widow, the greenpaper fluttering with each emphasis, he fairly shook with delight, hisshadow dancing like a maniac beside him. He had scattered some morepowder on the coals, and it may have been that the smoke got into hereyes, and confused her ideas of colour, but Miss Letitia was struckwith a fervid and otherwise unaccountable admiration for the paper endsof the cracker, which were most unusually ugly. One was of a sallowishsalmon-colour, and transparent, the other was of brick-red paper with afringe. As Miss Letitia turned them over, she saw, to her unspeakabledelight, that there were several yards of each material, and herpeculiar genius instantly seized upon the fact that in the presentrage for double skirts there might be enough of the two kinds tocombine into a fashionable dress.
It had never struck her before that a dirty salmon went well withbrick-red. "They blend so becomingly, my dear," she murmured; "and Ithink the under-skirt will sit well, it is so stiff."
The widow did not reply. The fumes of the tutor's compound made hersleepy, and though she nodded to Miss Letitia's observations, it wasless from appreciation of their force, than from inability to hold upher head. She was dreaming uneasy, horrible dreams, like nightmares; inwhich from time to time there mingled expressions of doubt anddissatisfaction which fell from Miss Letitia's lips. "Just half-a-yardshort--no gores--false hem," (and the melancholy reflection that)"flounces take so much stuff." Then the tutor's face kept appearing andvanishing with horrible grimaces through the mist. At last the widowfell fairly asleep, and dreamed that she was married to the Blue Beardof nursery annals, and that on his return from his memorable journey hehad caught her in the act of displaying the mysterious cupboard to MissLetitia. As he waved his scimitar over her head, he seemedunaccountably to assume the form and features of the tutor. In heragitation the poor woman could think of no plea against his severity,except that the cupboard was already crammed with the corpses of hisprevious wives, and there was no room for her. She was pleading thisargument when Miss Letitia's voice broke in upon her dream withdecisive accent:
"There's enough for two bodies."
The widow shrieked and awoke.
"High and low," explained Miss Letitia. "My dear, what _are_ youscreaming about?"
"I am very sorry indeed," said the widow; "I beg your pardon, I'm sure,a thousand times. But since Mr. Jones's death I have been so nervous,and I had such a horrible dream. And, oh dear! oh dear!" she added,"what is the matter with my precious child? Macready, love, come toyour mamma, my pretty lamb."
Ugh! ugh! There were groans from the corner where Master MacGreedy saton his crackers as if they were eggs, and he hatching them. He had onlytouched one, as yet, of the stock he had secured. He had picked it topieces, had avoided the snap, and had found a large comfit like an eggwith a rough shell inside. Every one knows that the goodies in crackersare not of a very superior quality. There is a large amount of whitelead in the outside thinly disguised by a shabby flavour of sugar. Butthat outside once disposed of, there lies an almond at the core. Now analmond is a very delicious thing in itself, and doubly nice when ittakes the taste of white paint and chalk out of one's mouth. But inspite of all the white lead and sugar and chalk through which he hadsucked his way, MacGreedy could not come to the almond. A dozen timeshad he been on the point of spitting out the delusive sweetmeat; butjust as he thought of it he was sure to feel a bit of hard rough edge,and thinking he had gained the kernel at last, he held valiantly on. Itonly proved to be a rough bit of sugar, however, and still theinterminable coating melted copiously in his mouth; and still theclean, fragrant almond evaded his hopes. At last with a groan he spatthe seemingly undiminished bonbon on to the floor, and turned as whiteand trembling as an arrowroot blanc-mange.
In obedience to the widow's entreaties the tutor opened a window, andtried to carry MacGreedy to the air; but that young gentleman utterlyrefused to allow the tutor to approach him, and was borne howling tobed by his mamma.
With the fresh air the fumes of the fragrant smoke dispersed, and thecompany roused themselves.
"Rather oppressive, eh?" said the master of the house, who had had hisdream too, with which we have no concern.
The dogs had had theirs also, and had testified to the same in theirsleep by low growls and whines. Now they shook themselves, and rubbedagainst each other, growling in a warlike manner through their teeth,and wagging peaceably with their little stumpy tails.
The twins shook themselves, and fell to squabbling as to whether theyhad been to sleep or no; and, if either, which of them had given way tothat weakness.
Miss Letitia took the paper bonnet from her head with a nervous laugh,and after looking regretfully at the cracker papers put them in herpocket.
The parson went home through the frosty night. In the village street heheard a boy's voice singing two lines of the Christian hymn--
"Trace we the Babe Who hath redeemed our loss From the poor Manger to the bitter Cross;"
and his eyes filled with tears.
The old lady went to bed and slept in peace.
"In all the thirty-five years we have been privileged to hear you,sir," she told the rector next day after service, "I never heard such aChristmas sermon before."
The visitor carefully preserved the blue paper and the cracker motto.He came down early next morning to find the white half to put withthem. He did not find it, for the young lady had taken it the nightbefore.
The tutor had been in the room before him, wandering round the scene ofthe evening's festivities.
The yule log lay black and cold upon the hearth, and the tutor noddedto it. "I told you how it would be," he said; "but never mind, youhave had your day, and a merry one too." In the corner lay the heap ofcrackers which Master MacGreedy had been too ill to remember when heretired. The tutor pocketed them with a grim smile.
As to the comfit, it was eaten by one of the dogs, who had come downearliest of all. He swallowed it whole, so whether it contained analmond or not, remains a mystery to the present time.
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The Brownies and Other Tales Page 4