Читать книгу Christmas Holidays, or, a new way of spending them - Jane Margaret Strickland - Страница 3

Table of Contents

The Family Gathering.—Holiday Anticipations.—Papa’s Plan of Spending them.—A Wet Day.—Employment a Cure for Dulness.—Game of Turkey Merchants.—Mamma’s Spice-box.—Head-work and Hand-work make Time pass on pleasantly whatever the Weather may be.

In that notable week known throughout the Christian world as the Christmas week, a very happy family party met round Mrs. Beverly’s social tea-table to enjoy their first réunion at home. These meetings between good parents and affectionate children are always delightful, and will hold their place in the sweet memories of domestic love when more important events have been forgotten.

Our young people, of course, anticipated much pleasure during the Christmas vacation, their ideas of enjoyment taking their tone from the character of each individual in the group. Constance and Ellen, at the advanced ages of fourteen and fifteen, built their fabric of happiness on the rational foundation of association with their beloved parents for some weeks to come; while Bertha, Edward, and John considered complete liberty and idleness the true essentials, without which no holidays could be pleasant ones. Now, John and Bertha, who were home for their first vacation, neither having been to school before (what they technically styled) “This Half” might be excused for such mistaken notions; but Edward, who had been to school for several years, and experienced often the pains and penalties of doing nothing but mischief, or the borishness of complete indolence, ought to have known better.

“Oh, what happiness,” said John, “to be at home again for six weeks, with nothing to do but to please myself! No Latin, no cross looks from masters, no cane, no ferula, no birch!”

“You might have Latin at a cheaper rate,” remarked Mr. Beverly; “the accompaniments to learning you mention do not really belong to it; industry and application keep canes and rods at a distance.”

“But it is hard and so very dull, and ‘all work and no play’ makes poor Jack a dull boy.”

“Almost as dull as all play and no work,” rejoined his father.

“No work!” remarked Bertha; “how nice that would be, for I hate sewing; and, now I am home again, I mean to romp about and enjoy my holidays, instead of sitting on a form and stitching and learning to behave one’s self when one wants to be skipping about the room. I will not do any needlework for some time to come, whatever may be said of my idleness.”

“My dear little Bertha,” said her mamma, “I am sorry to cross your plans; but there will be sewing and there will not be romping, and there must be proper behaviour; for did I not send my little romp to school that she might lose her old tomboy ways?”

“I wish I had been a boy that I might have done as boys do,” replied Bertha, pouting; “and then I should have been quite happy.”

“What a mistake, Bertha! A rude girl would have made a rude boy; and, as you are a little girl, pray try to be a good one,” said papa. “Your sisters always behave like ladies, and they never complain of restraint or wish to be boys that they may be ill-behaved.”

While this little dialogue was being carried on, Edward was talking to his elder sister, much in the same style as John had recently done, on the pleasures of fishing, shooting, sliding, the absence of lessons, and the delight of having nothing to do.

“People are really doing something, though they fancy they are unemployed; for instance, John is scratching the table, and you are kicking the frame of your chair. Now I am so convinced that employment is essential to happiness that I mean to give you something to do every day this vacation,” said Mr. Beverly, “work for the fingers and food for the mind.”

The boys looked blank, and then Edward replied, “Indeed, papa, our master has given us some Latin to construe, and pieces of English to turn into Latin. I forgot we had work to do, and not much time to do it in.”

“Well, I shall not task you much; but in order to keep you out of mischief, as I said before, something must be done. English history with me I hope to make pleasant to you, and your sisters while they work will enjoy it too.”

“How very nice!” said the elder girls; but Bertha made a formal face, to let her sisters know that the plan did not greatly suit her.

Then the young party began to ask for old friends, in the shapes of pet kittens, birds, lambs, dogs, donkeys, and kids. Kittens had, however, since “last half” reached cats’ estate; puppies no longer merited the appellation; lambs were grown into sheep; kids had become goats, following the law of progress produced by time, that never stands still, however we may waste it. Ellen’s squirrel had not yet acquired gravity by age, for he had bounded into the room, and was on her shoulder, proud to display his new collar, and to nestle to her; for these pretty creatures attach themselves to their owners, and always seem happy in the presence of their beloved master or mistress. Ned was quite at liberty; he had been brought up with the cats when they were kittens, and so had nothing to fear from them; but Ellen’s voice would bring him down from the loftiest tree in the garden, or lure him from his most secret haunts. Still it was rumoured that Ned’s affection for Ellen had never reached that climax of attachment displayed by another squirrel, now deceased, to her father, who had often found his pet in his pocket when on a journey, to his great surprise and possible inconvenience. How the squirrel became aware of his master’s intentions had always been an unsolved mystery. It seems probable that domestic animals either understand human language to a certain extent, or that the sight of a travelling bag or trunk may suggest to them the notion of a journey.

Constance had a Shetland pony, after whose welfare she made some inquiries; but as pet ponies cannot be introduced into a drawing-room, she was satisfied with hearing that her Hector was in good health, and had attached himself to Mousetrap, her favourite kitten, whom he allowed the privilege of sitting on his neck, and playing with his mane.

The coming morrow, when the whole stock of pets, feline, canine, and equine, could be visited, was eagerly anticipated by our juvenile party, who hoped and confidently expected a fine day.

The assembling together of the reunited family, so long separated, at evening prayer, was an impressive circumstance. During six months of separation no breach had been made in their domestic circle, and they met again to thank Him who had preserved and kept them safely through the manifold changes and vicissitudes of life.

The wished-for day was wet, gloomy, and inauspicious. No shaking of the barometer would make the mercury rise; the attempt might injure the instrument, but not break the law that influenced its movements; and this day the young people were to have had for themselves for what Bertha and her brothers styled “a happy do-nothing one.”

Constance and Ellen employed themselves in unpacking their trunks, and putting their clothes neatly into their drawers. Bertha grumbled a little at the weather; but finally left off her lamentations to follow their example. As soon as these matters were arranged, the sisters returned to the sitting-room, when Constance and Ellen took out their work, and were very happy in chatting with mamma. Bertha found nothing better to do than the useless employment of trying to teach Mousetrap to walk on her hindlegs. Now, Mousetrap had no wish to acquire this accomplishment, and rewarded her preceptress with a scratch for her pains.

Edward and John looked out of the window, dull and listless as any two creatures could be; play was not suffered in the parlour, so they counted the drops that hung from the window-frame, while their ill-repressed yawns proved that a complete state of idleness is not one of enjoyment. Reading was out of the question at present, for their minds were in an unsettled state.

“Boys, what is the matter to-day? I do not hear your voices; yet talking is not forbidden, provided you are not too noisy,” said papa.

“We are so dull, dear papa, so disappointed; for it is impossible to go out, and we do not know what to do with ourselves till to-morrow.”

“You want something to do. Well, I will not only find you a cure for your malady, but pay you for taking my prescription. That bookcase wants arranging, and if you do it to my satisfaction, I will give you sixpence apiece. Now, you must take care neither to mismatch the volumes, nor jumble books of science and amusement together on the same shelf; but to give those on each subject their appropriate place. As they are all bound alike, you must pay some attention to this point. I like to have my religious books arranged very carefully too. ‘Order is heaven’s first law.’”

Schoolboys are always glad of a sixpence, and to find a cure for dulness and the gain of sixpence each, combined with light labour, was pleasant enough to John and Edward, who went steadily to work, not speaking, excepting to ask an occasional question about works of science, “and whether those on art might be on the same shelf.” And Mr. Beverly thought they might, as science must be aided by art, only he directed that his mathematical books should not be mixed with those on other subjects.

“Those horrid ones with A and B and C, papa,” remarked Bertha, looking up from the parcels of garden-seeds which, under her father’s direction, she was sorting into packets, in order to earn her sixpence, and lose her weariness, like her brothers—“those letters make my head ache only to look at them.”

“Silly child! if you were learning Algebra, you would not be able to get on without them. Never despise what you do not understand. See, I am putting some hard names on these papers for your seeds.”

“I wish, papa, you would put the easy English ones.”

Mr. Beverly saw nothing unreasonable in Bertha’s request, but good-naturedly complied with her wish by adding the common names to his packets of flower-seeds.

“There is a sound reason for the hard names, my dear; for they form a kind of universal language, well known to all botanists. The daisy would not be recognised out of our own island by its pretty Anglo-Saxon appellation, but as the Bellis perennis, it is known throughout Europe. Linum, or flax, which you are getting ready for me, is as easily uttered as its English denomination.”

“But this is linseed, is it not?” asked Constance, in a tone of surprise.

“Yes, the linum produces these seeds, from which oil is extracted; the residue is also used for feeding cattle. Mamma gives you linseed tea when you have a cold.”

“So,” remarked Ellen, “we can have clothing, light, food, and medicine from one plant; for I have tasted oilcake, and rather than starve, I dare say I could live upon it.”

By the time the books were arranged, the seeds sorted, and Mr. Beverly’s workpeople paid, there was still an hour to spare till luncheon; so our boys thought a quiet game would be pleasant after their labours.

Bertha said “Turkey Merchants” would be nice, if mamma had no objection.

Mamma, who was filling her spicebox against Christmas-eve, not only had no objection, but offered to begin the game herself, which, according to rule, she did in this manner:—

“I am a spice merchant, and I sell a pretty flower-bud, that smells sweet, and has a fine aromatic flavour——”

“But, mamma,” said John, “you must tell the first and last letter of what you sell, and say whether it is singular or plural.”

“Well, then, my article begins with ‘C’ and ends in ‘es,’ for it is plural.”

“It must be cloves—only they are seeds, not flower-buds, mamma,” replied Edward.

“Ah, mamma, you must be mistaken; for how can they be flower-buds?” remarked Bertha—“yet you shake your head.”

Constance and Ellen were puzzled; but they were too well bred even to insinuate that their sensible mother could be mistaken in anything.

“As I have guessed the article you sell, perhaps, mamma, you will explain what you mean by saying cloves are flower-buds,” remarked Edward.

“Cloves are the flower-buds of the caryophyllus, or clove tree, which is a native of Amboyna, an island in the Indian Ocean. The tree resembles the laurel in growth and the form of its leaves. The flower-buds are first white, then after a time they become green, and lastly turn red. After which they are gathered, dried in the sun, and packed for commerce. If you carefully open the round end or bud portion of the clove, you may still distinguish that it belongs to the monogynia order, and polyandria class of plants.”

Constance and Ellen easily distinguished that the bud was set in a four-parted calyx as tough as wood, and with the help of a pin, made out the botanical structure of the flower, though it had never been suffered to bloom.

Mamma had something still to say of Aromaticus caryophyllus. Nothing would grow under its shade: of its uses in flavouring she need not speak, as they all liked it in apple tarts; it was much used, too, in medicine, as a tonic.

“Is there not a bright crimson flower in the garden called a clove, shaped like a pink, mamma?” asked John.

“The Dianthus caryophyllus, so called from its having the peculiar odour of the clove, and it is a very beautiful flower.”

“Suppose, dear mamma, you tell us the nature of all your spices,” said Ellen; “for common things in general use may have something remarkable about them.”

Mamma was willing to impart her knowledge, and commenced with cinnamon and cassia, both of which she described as laurels or bays; the first being a native of Ceylon, the second of China. She scarcely needed to tell them that the bark of the side branches afforded the spice. Cassia and Cinnamonium were trees of majestic growth, the last being adorned with bunches of elegant white flowers, the odour of which did not partake of the sweetness of the bark.

“I wish our laurels had such nice bark as cassia and cinnamon trees,” said Bertha.

“Our broad-leaved laurel, though often called the cherry-bearing bay, is not a laurel at all, but belongs to the same family as our plums and cherries,” replied mamma. “What you call Alexandrine, or Victory laurel, has no real claim to the name: it is a Ruscus, and you will find it belongs to the same class and order as butcher’s-broom.”

“Julius Cæsar, then, was crowned with the leaves of a plant of a sort of butcher’s-broom,” remarked Constance, musingly.

“Not inappropriate for the blood-stained wreath of a conqueror,” said Mr. Beverly; “and if that mighty Roman had done nothing better than win battles, we should not think much of him now. However, Maria, go on with your spice.”

“The nutmeg (Myristica moschata) grows on a tree rarely found in any place but the Indian island of Banda; it belongs to a curious species of plants, for the pistil grows on one tree, while the anthers are found on another. We have examples in England of this arrangement in the dogwood and snow-ball tree, but it is not common. The nutmeg is enclosed like our walnut in a drupa or green shell, which opens when the nut is ripe. Mace, another spice more precious than what it covers, is found of a bright crimson colour surrounding the hard woody shell that encloses the kernel, or nutmeg of commerce. After the mace has been carefully removed, the shell it covers is beaten with sticks till it falls off, when the nutmeg is cured for consumption.

“The pimento, or allspice, is the purple berry of a beautiful tree of the myrtle species. If you break one of these berries, you will find two small kidney-shaped seeds. Pimento grows everywhere in the West Indies, for the birds scatter the berries, and as it requires no culture it is very cheap.

“Ginger is a plant which grows in the East and West Indies—a spike of elegant blue flowers rising from the side of each wide-spreading jointed root to the height of three feet. These roots are dried for use, but the delicate preserved ginger is made from them when green. Pepper is a native of Sumatra and the Indian islands, and grows on a low shrub with heart-shaped leaves. The blossoms which produce the bunches of currant-formed berries are white. You see I have both, black and white pepper in my box, but the last is the same dark berry stripped of its black outside coat; red or cayenne pepper is made from the beautiful scarlet capsicum, which John has not only seen but gathered and tasted to his cost.”

John, who was very gustative, hung down his head and blushed,—as well he might, for he had gathered it slily in the greenhouse, to the gardener’s indignation, and his own punishment.

“You have forgotten the Jamaica long pepper,” said Bertha.

“The Piper inequale is said to be of the same species as the black pepper of the East, but of that I am not sure. It grows in Jamaica, on a tall bush with dark shining leaves, and is more used in the West Indies than here.

“I have now come to an end of my spicebox lecture, and need only say that England produces none of these precious things which her commerce has made so useful to us.”

The rain came down steadily, but it was no longer lamented: finger-work and head-work had done their duty, and had not only banished dulness, but given our young party a very good appetite for the mid-day meal.