Parlor Game: Buff

This, like many of the games is only a way of collecting forfeits. One of the players comes forward with a poker, and knocks on the floor three times. " Whence come you ? " one of the company asks. " I come from poor Buff, full of sorrow and care." - " And what did Buff say to you ?"

"Buff said, 'Buff!' And he gave me this staff, And he bade me not laugh Till I came to Buff's house again."

With this the poker is handed to the questioner. But before this is done all have been trying to make the poker-bearer laugh. If there is even the faintest smile, a forfeit is paid. Sometimes the rhyme is like this : " Buff says ' Buff' to all his men, And I say 'Buff' to you again. Buff he neither laughs nor smiles, In spite of all your cunning wiles, But keeps his face with a very good grace, And carries his staff to the very next place."

The poker is handed from one to another till each has said the rhyme, and it must pass from hand to hand as rapidly as possible.

Parlor Game: How, When, and Where Do You Like It?

Then came an old-fashioned guessing game : How Do You Like It? When Do You Like It? AND Where Do You Like It ?

In this, one of the company is sent out, and the rest choose some article or object with several different meanings, which she, on her return, must endeavor to discover by asking the three questions, " How do you like it ?" " When do you like it ?" and " Where do you like it ?" The one whose reply betrays the secret pays a forfeit, and changes places with the questioner.

Example. Fanny leaves the room : her companions, having in her absence decided on the word "box," recall her.

Fanny. Jane, how do you like it ? Jane. Of Chinese workmanship. Fanny. And you, Clara ?
Clara. Not too crowded.
Fanny. Mary ?
Mary. Lined with crimson velvet.
Fanny. Now, Agnes.
Agnes. Filled with pleasant people
Fanny. Martha, it is your turn.
Martha. Green and flourishing.
Fanny. Constance ?
Constance. Well cushioned.
Fanny. And Ellen ?
Ellen. Inlaid with silver.
Fanny. Annie ?
Annie. Not too hard.
Fanny. Come, Emily.
Emily. Large and handsome.
Fanny. And when do you like it ?
Jane. When I'm at work.
Clara. In the evening, after nine o'clock.
Mary. At any time.
Agnes. Some day next week.
Martha. At all seasons of the year.
Constance. Whenever I can get it given me.
Ellen. On my next birthday.
Annie. When I have neglected my music-lesson
Emily. Next time I go a journey.
Fanny. And now where do you like it ?
Jane. On my table.
Clara. At the opera.
Mary. On my toilet.
Agnes. At the theatre.
Martha. In my garden.
Constance. In the best circle.
Ellen. Where it can be seen and admired.
Annie. On my ear.
Emily. In my dressing-room.

If Fanny is still unable to guess the word, she pays a forfeit, and again leaves the room : if not, the one from whom she guesses it changes places with her.

Parlor Game: The Emperor Of Morocco

In this game two of the players must walk solemnly toward one another, bow ceremoniously without a smile, and look steadily at one another while they repeat the following dialogue: First Player. The Emperor of Morocco is dead.

Second Player. I'm very sorry for it.

First Player. He died of the gout in his left great toe.

Second Player. I'm very sorry for it.

First Player. And all the court are to go in mourning, and wear black rings through their noses.

Second Player. I'm very sorry for it.

They then bow again, and retire to their places, while another pair comes forward to go through the same impressive dialogue; and so on, till the game has gone all round the circle; a forfeit being the penalty for the slightest approach to a giggle. By the time almost every one had giggled, and the stand in the corner was covered again with forfeits, supper was ready, it being exactly half-past six; and every one was so hungry, that the piled-up table very soon showed empty dishes, and more sandwiches had to be brought in. The supper was as sensible as the hours, — plenty of delicious sandwiches, three sorts, made from tongue, ham, and chicken ; light, delicate cake, but no heavy, rich fruit-cake ; custards in pretty cups ; plenty of ice-cream and fruit, but no candy, save that to be found in the piles of "crackers," which they pulled after supper, each child putting on the caps they held.

Parlor Game: Thus Says The Grand Mufti

      This is a favorite game among children. One stands up in a chair, who is called the Grand Mufti. He makes whatever motion he pleases; such as putting his hand on his heart, stretching out his arm, smiting his forehead, making up a sorrowful face, etc. At each motion he says, " Thus says the Grand Mufti," or "So says the Grand Mufti." When he says, " Thus says the Grand Mufti," every one must make just such a motion as he does ; but when he says, " So says the Grand Mufti," every one must keep still. A forfeit for a mistake. 

Craft a Beaded Cross

    Bend some scrap wire and add your choice of beads to craft this cross for either your Chrismon or Christmas tree. I've included a simple diagram below that demonstrates how the cross shape may be bent.

      If you are thinking of making beaded crosses for a Sunday School project in December, give the children metallic chenille stems to bend into cross shapes instead of a wire that may cut through the skin of their small hands. Then hang the crosses on a Chrismon tree during a service or processional.

More Cross Chrismons to Craft:

• Cross Representations in Chrismon Ornaments
• Dennis Bratcher's articles and free cross stitch examples for Chrismons
• Olmsted Community Church's - Making Beaded Felt Chrismons pdf.

Diagram for beading a simple beaded cross.

The "Unity of the Father and Son Chrismon" 

video from RUMC Angel Workshop

History of Christmas Cards.

      Christmas cards are usually exchanged during the weeks preceding Christmas Day on December 25 by many people (including non-Christians) in Western society and in Asia. The traditional greeting reads "wishing you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year", much like the first commercial Christmas card, produced by Sir Henry Cole in London 1843. There are innumerable variations on this greeting, many cards expressing more religious sentiment, or containing a poem, prayer or Biblical verse; others stay away from religion with an all-inclusive "Season's greetings".

      A Christmas card is generally commercially designed and purchased for the occasion. The content of the design might relate directly to the Christmas narrative with depictions of the Nativity of Jesus, or have Christian symbols such as the Star of Bethlehem or a white dove representing both the Holy Spirit and Peace. Many Christmas depict traditions such as Santa Claus, objects associated with Christmas such as: candles, holly and baubles. Other cards may illustrate winter activities such as shopping, skating, or wildlife scenes typical of a northern winter. Some Christmas cards depict nostalgic scenes of the past such as crinolined shoppers in 19th century streetscapes; others are humorous, particularly in depicting the antics of a modern day Santa and his retinue.

The world's first commercially produced Christmas
 card, designed by John Callcott Horsley for
Henry Cole.

      The first commercial Christmas cards were commissioned by Sir Henry Cole in London in 1843 and featured an illustration by John Callcott Horsley. The picture, of a family with a small child drinking wine together, proved controversial, but the idea was shrewd: Cole had helped introduce the Penny Post three years earlier. Two batches totaling 2,050 cards were printed and sold that year for a shilling each.
      Early English cards rarely showed winter or religious themes, instead favoring flowers, fairies and other fanciful designs that reminded the recipient of the approach of spring. Humorous and sentimental images of children and animals were popular, as were increasingly elaborate shapes, decorations and materials. In 1875 Louis Prang became the first printer to offer cards in America, though the popularity of his cards led to cheap imitations that eventually drove him from the market. The advent of the postcard spelled the end for elaborate Victorian-style cards, but by the 1920s, cards with envelopes had returned.

American card, circa 1940

      The production of Christmas cards was, throughout the 20th century, a profitable business for many stationery manufacturers, with the design of cards continually evolving with changing tastes and printing techniques. The World Wars brought cards with patriotic themes. Idiosyncratic "studio cards" with cartoon illustrations and sometimes risque humor caught on in the 1950s. Nostalgic, sentimental, and religious images have continued in popularity, and, in the 21st century, reproductions of Victorian and Edwardian cards are easy to obtain. Modern Christmas cards can be bought individually but are also sold in packs of the same or varied designs. In recent decades changes in technology may be responsible for the decline of the Christmas card. The estimated number of cards received by American households dropped from 29 in 1987 to 20 in 2004. Email and telephones allow for more frequent contact and are easier for generations raised without handwritten letters - especially given the availability of websites offering free email Christmas cards. Despite the decline, 1.9 billion cards were sent in the U.S. in 2005 alone. Some card manufacturers, such as Hallmark, now provide E-cards. In the UK, Christmas cards account for almost half of the volume of greeting card sales, with over 668.9 million Christmas cards sold in the 2008 festive period.

Links to Handmade Christmas Cards

• MJ Crafts Design Studio - Christmas Handmade Craft Collection
• Ideas for Handmade Christmas Cards from thriftyfun
• Specialty Cards 4 U Handmade Christmas Cards and Tags
• Christmas Cards and Tags from Planning With Kids
• Traditional Christmas Cards
• Christmas Cards from painted fish studio
• Christmas Card Set from Handmade Parade
• Christmas Cards with Jolly By Golly
• Angels We Have Heard on High Card
• Delightful Decorations Christmas Card

Links to Christmas Cards by Children

• Charity Christmas Card Shop from Cambridge UK

Send an internet Christmas Card

• DaySpring
• Smilebox
• Inspire21.com
• Franciscan E-cards
• Send Persian Musical Christmas eCard Greetings

Christmas Postmarks

• Noel Christmas Postmarks
• North Pole Postmarks

The Mohogany Tree.

       William Makepeace Thackeray , born on 18 July 1811 and died 24 December 1863, was an English novelist of the 19th century. He is famous for his satirical works, particularly Vanity Fair, a panoramic portrait of English society.

       Thackeray, an only child, was born in Calcutta, India, where his father, Richmond Thackeray (1 September 1781 – 13 September 1815), was secretary to the Board of Revenue in the British East India Company. His mother, Anne Becher (1792–1864), was the second daughter of Harriet Becher and John Harman Becher, who was also a secretary (writer) for the East India Company. Read more about his history here...

• "The Adventures of Thackeray on his way through the World: An online exhibition at the Houghton Library
• Illustrated quotes by William Makepeace Thackeray at Christian Clipart Review

The Mohogany Tree by William Makepeace Thackeray.

       "Some years since" said Thackeray in a public speech, "when I was younger, and used to frequent jolly assemblies, I wrote a Bacchanalian song to be chanted after dinner;" and a contemporary record has preserved a note of "the radiant gratification of his face whilst Horace Mayhew sang The Mahogany Tree, perhaps the finest and most soul-stirring of Thackeray's social songs."_
       In seeking a Souvenir of this Christmas season the ballad of "The Mahogany Tree" lends itself most felicitously to the present purpose which is to:

  "--wish you health, and love and mirth,

  As fits the solemn Christmas-tide."

       Putting aside for an hour the affairs of a work-a-day world, let us take our places around the convivial board, on the time-stained surface of which we may find in fancy the initials of so many boon companions of other days cut deep.
       It is pleasant to sport "round the stem of the jolly old tree" in congenial company, and to renew our youth at the bidding of this gracious Toastmaster, the centennial of whose birth we shall celebrate
presently; the anniversary of whose death was yester-e'en.
       But while remembering that we shall be none the worse tomorrow for having been happy today, we are not permitted to forget entirely the Blue-devil Sprite that awaits the dawn. The play-spell is over; the lights are out in Vanity Fair; and here in Mr. Dulac's drawing is the leader of our Christmas Chorus as he shuts up the box and the puppets--"for our play is played out."

The Mohogany Tree

Christmas is here;

Winds whistle shrill,

Icy and chill,

Little care we;

Little we fear

Weather without,

Sheltered about

The Mahogany Tree.

Once on the boughs

Birds of rare plume

Sang, in its bloom;

Night birds are we;

Here we carouse,

Singing, like them,

Perched round the stem

Of the jolly old tree.

Here let us sport,

Boys, as we sit--

Laughter and wit

Flashing so free. 

Life is but short--

When we are gone,

Let them sing on,

Round the old tree.

Evening we know,

Happy as this;

Faces we miss,

Pleasant to see. 

Kind hearts and true,

Gentle and just,

Peace to your dust!

We sing round the tree.

Care, like a dun,

Luke at the gate;

Let the dog wait;

Happy we'll be!

Drink, every one;

Pile up the coals;

Fill the red bowls,

Round the old tree!

Drain we the cup,--

Friend, art afraid?

Spirits are laid

In the Red Sea,

Mantle it up;

Empty it yet;

Let us forget,

Round the old tree!

Sorrows begone!

Life and its ills,

Duns and their bills,

Bid we to flee. 

Come with the dawn,

Blue-devil sprite;

Leave us to-night,

Round the old tree!

Dramatic Reading of "The Mohogany Tree"

Christmas Plum-Pottage.

       Mortifying as Lord Macartney's great plum-pudding failure may have been to the diplomatist, he might have consoled himself by remembering that plum-porridge was the progenitor of the pride and glory of an English Christmas. In old times, plum-pottage was always served with the first course of a Christmas-dinner. It was made by boiling beef or mutton with broth, thickened with brown bread; when half-boiled, raisins, currants, prunes, cloves, mace and ginger were added, and when the mess had been thoroughly boiled, it was sent to table with the best meats. Sir. Roger de Coverley thought there was some hope of a dissenter, when he saw him enjoy his porridge at the hall on Christmas-day. Plum-broth figures in Poor Robin's Almanac for 1750, among the items of Christmas fare, and Mrs. Frazer, 'sole teacher of the art of cookery in Edinburgh, and several years 'colleague, and afterwards successor to Mrs. M'Iver,' who published a cookery-book in 1791, thought it necessary to include plum-pottage among her soups. Brand partook of a tureenful of 'luscious plum-porridge' at the table of the royal chaplain in 1801, but that is the latest appearance of this once indispensable dish of which we have any record.

         As to plum-pudding, we are thoroughly at fault. Rabisha gives a recipe in his Whole Body of Cookery Dissected (1675), for a pudding to be boiled in a basin, which bears a great resemblance to our modern Christmas favorite, but does not include it in his bills of fare for winter, although 'a dish of stewed broth, if at Christmas,' figures therein. It shared honours with the porridge in Addison's time, however, for the Tatter tells us: 'No man of the most rigid virtue gives offence by an excess in plum-pudding or plum-porridge, because they are the first parts of the dinner;' but the Mrs. Frazer above mentioned is the earliest culinary authority we find describing its concoction, at least under the name of 'plumb-pudding.' Robert Chambers' Book of Days, 1869

• Allegra McEvedy's Christmas 'plumb porridge'
• The history of 'plumb porridge' at Christmas

Argus for the Christmas table.

      Next in importance to the boar's-head as a Christmas-dish came the peacock. To prepare Argus for the table was a task entailing no little trouble. The skin was first carefully stripped off, with the plumage adhering; the bird was then roasted; when done and partially cooled, it was sewed up again in its feathers, its beak gilt, and so sent to table. Sometimes the whole body was covered with leaf-gold, and a piece of cotton, saturated with spirits, placed in its beak, and lighted before the carver commenced operations. This 'food for lovers and meat for lords' was stuffed with spices and sweet herbs, basted with yolk of egg, and served with plenty of gravy; on great occasions, as many as three fat wethers being bruised to make enough for a single peacock.



      The noble bird was not served by common hands; that privilege was reserved for the lady-guests most distinguished by birth or beauty. One of them carried it into the dining-hall to the sound of music, the rest of the ladies following in due order. The bearer of the dish set it down before the master of the house or his most honoured guest. After a tournament, the victor in the lists was expected to shew his skill in cutting up inferior animals. On such occasions, however, the bird was usually served in a pie, at one end of which his plumed crest appeared above the crust, while at the other his tail was unfolded in all its glory. Over this splendid dish did the knights-errant swear to undertake any perilous enterprise that came in their way, and sucour lovely woman in distress after the most approved chevalier fashion. Hence Justice Shallow derived his oath of 'By cock and pie!' The latest instance of peacock-eating we can call to mind, is that of a dinner given to William IV. when Duke of Clarence, by the governor of Grenada; when his royal highness was astonished by the appearance of the many-hued bird, dressed in a manner that would have delighted a medieval de or Sober.
 Robert Chambers' Book of Days, 1869

The video is by Dave's Exotic Foods

Boar's Head for Christmas?

      The 'brave days of old' were, if rude and unrefined, at least distinguished by a hearty and profuse hospitality.

      During the Christmas holidays, open-house was kept by the barons and knights, and for a fortnight and upwards, nothing was heard of but revelry and feasting. The grand feast, however, given by the feudal chieftain to his friends and retainers, took place with great pomp and circumstance on Christmas-day.

      Among the dishes served up on this important occasion, the boar's head was first at the feast and foremost on the board. Heralded by a jubilant flourish of trumpets, and accompanied by strains of merry minstrelsy, it was carried—on a dish of gold or silver, no meaner metal would suffice—into the banqueting-hall by the sewer; who, as he advanced at the head of the stately procession of nobles, knights, and ladies, sang:

'Caput apri defero,
Reddens Laudes Domino.
The boar's head in hand bring I
With garlands gay and rosemary;
I pray you all sing merrily,
Quid estis in convivio.
* * * *
The boar's head, I understand,
Is the chief service in this land;
Look wherever it be found,
Service cum cantico.
* * * *
Be glad, both more and less,
For this hath ordained our steward.,
To cheer you all this Christmas
The boar's head and mustard!
Caput apri defero,
Reddens laudes Domino.'

        The brawner's head was then placed upon the table with a solemn gravity befitting the dignity of such a noble dish:

'Sweet rosemary and bays around it spread;
His foaming tusks with some large pippin graced,
Or midst those thundering spears an orange placed,
Sauce, like himself, offensive to its foes,
The roguish mustard, dangerous to the nose.'

       The latter condiment was indispensable. An old book of instruction for the proper service of the royal table says emphatically:

'First set forth mustard with brawn; take your knife in your hand, and cut brawn in the dish as it lieth, and lay on your sovereign's trencher, and see there be mustard.'

The red boar costume.

      When Christmas, in the time of the Commonwealth, was threatened with extinction by act of parliament, the tallow-chandlers loudly complained that they could find no sale for their mustard, because of the diminished consumption of brawn in the land. Parliament failed to put down Christmas, but the boar's-head never recovered its old supremacy at the table. Still, its memory was cherished in some nooks and corners of Old England long after it had ceased to rule the roast. The lessee of the tithes of Horn Church, Essex, had, every Christmas, to provide a boar's-head, which, after being dressed and garnished with bay, was wrestled for in a field adjoining the church. The custom of serving up the ancient dish at Queen's College, Oxford, to a variation of the old carol, sprung, according to the university legend, from a valorous act on the part of a student of the college in question. While walking in Shot over forest, studying his Aristotle, he was suddenly made aware of the presence of a wild-boar, by the animal rushing at him open-mouthed. With great presence of mind, and the exclamation, 'Greacum est,' the collegian thrust the philosopher's ethics down his assailant's throat, and having choked the savage with the sage, went on his way rejoicing.

      The Lord Jersey of the Walpolian era was a great lover of the quondam Christmas favourite, and also—according to her own account—of Miss Ford, the lady whom Whitehead and Lord Holdernesse thought so admirably adapted for Gray's friend, Mason, 'being excellent in singing, loving solitude, and full of immeasurable affectations. 'Lord Jersey sent Miss Ford a boar's head, a strange first present, at which the lady laughed, saying she 'had often had the honor of meeting it at his lordship's table, and would have ate it had it been eatable! 'Her noble admirer resented the scornful insinuation, and indignantly replied, that the head in question was not the one the lady had seen so often, but one perfectly fresh and sweet, having been taken out of the pickle that very morning; and not content with defending his head, Lord Jersey revenged himself by denying that his heart had ever been susceptible of the charms of the fair epicure.  Robert Chambers' Book of Days, 1869

 A contemporary German meal of wild boar.

The Christmas Yule Log Traditions of England.

      The burning of the Yule log is an ancient Christmas ceremony, transmitted to us from our Scandinavian ancestors, who, at their feast of Juul, at the winter-solstice, used to kindle huge bonfires in honor of their god Thor. The custom, though sadly shorn of the 'pomp and circumstance' which formerly attended it, is still maintained in various parts of the country. The bringing in and placing of the ponderous block on the hearth of the wide chimney in the baronial hall was the most joyous of the ceremonies observed on Christmas Eve in feudal times. The venerable log, destined to crackle a welcome to all-comers, was drawn in triumph from its resting-place at the feet of its living brethren of the woods. Each wayfarer raised his hat as it passed, for he well knew that it was full of good promises, and that its flame would burn out old wrongs and hearthurnings, and cause the liquor to bubble in the wassail-bowl, that was quaffed to the drowning of ancient feuds and animosities. So the Yule-log was worthily honored, and the ancient bards welcomed its entrance with their minstrelsy.

      The allusion at the commencement of the second stanza, is to the practice of laying aside the half-consumed block after having served its purpose on Christmas Eve, preserving it carefully in a cellar or other secure place till the next anniversary of Christmas, and then lighting the new log with the charred remains of its predecessor. The due observance of this custom was considered of the highest importance, and it was believed that the preservation of last year's Christmas log was a most effectual security to the house against fire. We are further informed, that it was regarded as a sign of very bad-luck if a squinting person entered the hall when the log was burning, and a similarly evil omen was exhibited in the arrival of a bare-footed person, and, above all, of a flat-footed woman! As an accompaniment to the Yule log, a candle of monstrous size, called the Yule Candle, or Christmas Candle, shed its light on the festive-board during the evening. Brand, in his Popular Antiquities, states that, in the buttery of St. John's College, Oxford, an ancient candle socket of stone still remains, ornamented with the figure of the Holy Lamb. It was formerly used for holding the Christmas Candle, which, during the twelve nights of the Christmas festival, was burned on the high-table at supper.

      In Devonshire, the Yule log takes the form of the ashton fagot, and is brought in and burned with great glee and merriment. The fagot is composed of a bundle of ash-sticks bound or hooped round with bands of the same tree, and the number of these last ought, it is said, to be nine. The rods having been cut a few days previous, the farm-labourers, on Christmas Eve, sally forth joyously, bind them together, and then, by the aid of one or two horses, drag the fagot, with great rejoicings, to their master's house, where it is deposited on the spacious hearth which serves as the fireplace in old-fashioned kitchens. Fun and jollity of all sorts now commence, the members of the household‚Äîmaster, family, and servants‚Äîseat themselves on the settles beside the fire, and all meet on terms of equality, the ordinary restraint characterizing the intercourse of master and servant being, for the occasion, wholly laid aside. Sports of various kinds take place, such as jumping in sacks, diving in a tub of water for apples, and jumping for cakes and treacle; that is to say, endeavoring, by springs (the hands being tied behind the back), to catch with the mouth a cake, thickly spread with treacle, and suspended from the ceiling. Liberal libations of cider, or egg-hot, that is, cider heated and mixed with eggs and spices, somewhat after the manner of the Scottish het-pint, are supplied to the assembled revellers, it being an acknowledged and time-honored custom that for every crack which the bands of the ashton fagot make in bursting when charred through, the master of the house is bound to furnish a fresh bowl of liquor. To the credit of such gatherings it must be stated that they are characterized, for the most part, by thorough decorum, and scenes of inebriation and disorder are seldom witnessed.

         One significant circumstance connected with the vigorous blaze which roars up the chimney on Christmas Eve ought not to be forgotten. We refer to the practice of most of the careful Devonshire housewives, at this season, to have the kitchen-chimney swept a few days previously, so as to guard against accidents from its taking fire. In Cornwall, as we are informed by a contributor to Notes and Queries, the Yule log is called 'the mock,' and great festivities attend the burning of it, including the old ceremony of lighting the block with a brand preserved from the fire of last year. We are informed also that, in the same locality, Christmas Eve is a special holiday with children, who, on this occasion, are allowed to sit up till midnight and' drink to the mock.'  Robert Chambers' Book of Days, 1869

The following ditty, appropriate to such an occasion, appears in the Sloane Manuscripts. It is supposed to be of the time of Henry VI:

WELCOME YULE

Welcome be thou, heavenly King,

Welcome born on this morning,

Welcome for whom we shall sing,

Welcome Yule,

Welcome be ye Stephen and John,

Welcome Innocents every one,

Welcome Thomas Martyr one,

Welcome Yule.

Welcome be ye, good New Year,

Welcome Twelfth Day, both in fere,

Welcome saints, loved and dear,

Welcome Yule.

Welcome be ye, Candlemas,

Welcome be ye, Queen of Bliss,

Welcome both to more and less,

Welcome Yule.

Welcome be ye that are here,

Welcome all, and make good cheer,

Welcome all, another year,

Welcome Yule.'

(And here, in connection with the festivities on Christmas Eve, we may quote Herrick's inspiriting stanzas:)

‘Come bring with a noise,

My merry, merry boys,  

The Christmas log to the firing,

While my good dame she

Bids ye all be free,

And drink to your heart's desiring.

With the last year's brand

Light the new block, and,  

For good success in his spending,

On your psalteries play

That sweet luck may

Come while the log is a teending.

Drink now the strong beer,

Cut the white loaf here,

The while the meat is a shredding;

For the rare mince-pie,

And the plums stand by,

To fill the paste that's a kneading.'

Julemanden is the gift-bearer in Danish culture.

      Julemanden can be directly translated to "The Christmas Man". In modern Danish culture Julemanden is the equivalent of the English Santa Claus although the roots of the character reaches into Danish folklore and mythology wherein julemanden is a mythical character who is said to bring Christmas presents to children in Denmark on Christmas eve, celebrated December 24th.

      The main differences to the English Santa Claus is that Julemanden lives in Greenland, loves Rice pudding with cinnamon-sugar, and a slice of butter on top, and is assisted by nisser or a tomte.

     A tomte (pronounced [ˈtɔ`mːtɛ]) or nisse ([ˈnìsːɛ]) is a mythical creature of Scandinavian folklore originating from Norse paganism. Tomte or Nisse were believed to take care of a farmer's home and children and protect them from misfortune, in particular at night, when the housefolk were asleep. The Swedish name tomte is derived from a place of residence and area of influence: the house lot or tomt. The Finnish name is tonttu. Nisse is the common name in Norwegian, Danish and the Scanian dialect in southernmost Sweden; it is a nickname for Nils, and its usage in folklore comes from expressions such as Nisse god dräng (Nisse good lad, cf. Robin Goodfellow).

      The tomte/nisse was often imagined as a small, elderly man (size varies from a few inches to about half the height of an adult man), often with a full beard; dressed in the everyday clothing of a farmer. However, there are also folktales where he is believed to be a shapeshifter able to take a shape far larger than an adult man, and other tales where the tomte/nisse is believed to have a single, cyclopean eye. In modern Denmark, nisses are often seen as beardless, wearing grey and red woolens with a red cap. Since nisses are thought to be skilled in illusions and sometimes able to make himself invisible, one was unlikely to get more than brief glimpses of him no matter what he looked like.

      An illustration made by Gudmund Stenersen of an angry tomte stealing hay from a farmer is pictured above.

      Despite his smallness, the tomte/nisse possessed an immense strength. Even though he was protective and caring he was easy to offend, and his retributions ranged from a stout box on the ears to the killing of livestock or ruining of the farm's fortune. The tomte/nisse was a traditionalist who did not like changes in the way things were done at the farm. Another easy way to offend him was rudeness: farm workers swearing, urinating in the barns, or not treating the creatures well would be soundly thrashed. If anyone spilled something on the floor in the house it was wise to shout a warning to the tomte below. An angry tomte is featured in the popular children's book by Swedish author Selma Lagerlöf, Nils Holgerssons underbara resa genom Sverige (Nils Holgersson's Wonderful Journey Through Sweden). The tomte turns the naughty boy Nils into a tomte in the beginning of the book, and Nils then travels across Sweden on the back of a goose.

A tomtenisse made of salty dough. A common
Scandinavian Christmas decoration.

      One was also required to please the spirit with gifts (see Blót) – a particular gift was a bowl of porridge on Christmas night. If he wasn't given his payment, he would leave the farm or house, or engage in mischief such as tying the cows' tails together in the barn, turning objects upside-down, and breaking things (like a troll). The tomte liked his porridge with a pat of butter on the top. In an often retold story, a farmer put the butter underneath the porridge. When the tomte of his farmstead found that the butter was missing, he was filled with rage and killed the cow resting in the barn. But, as he thus became hungry, he went back to his porridge and ate it, and so found the butter at the bottom of the bowl. Full of grief, he then hurried to search the lands to find another farmer with an identical cow, and replaced the former with the latter.

      The tomte is connected to farm animals in general, but his most treasured animal was the horse. Belief had it that you could see which horse was the tomte's favourite as it would be especially well taken care of and healthy. Sometimes the tomte would even braid its hair and tail. (These tomte braids were in fact most likely caused by insufficient brushing.) Sometimes actually undoing these braids could mean misfortune or angering the tomte.

      The heathen tomte was in ancient times believed to be the "soul" of the first inhabitor of the farm. He who cleared the tomt (house lot). He had his dwellings in the burial mounds on the farm, hence the now somewhat archaic Swedish names tomtenisse and tomtekarl, Swedish and Norwegian names tomtegubbe, and the Finnish name tonttu-ukko (lit. "House lot man") tomtebonde (bonde "farmer") and the Norwegian Haugkall "Mound man". Thus can the tradition of giving porridge to the tomte at Christmas be a reminiscence of ancestral worship.

      The tomte was not always a popular figure: Like most creatures of folklore he would be seen as heathen and become connected to the Devil. Farmers believing in the house tomte could be seen as worshipping false gods; in a famous 14th century decree Saint Birgitta warns against the worship of tompta gudhi, "tomte gods" (Revelationes, book VI, ch. 78). Folklore added other negative beliefs about the tomte, such as that having a tomte on the farm meant you put the fate of your soul at risk, or that you had to perform various non-Christian rites to lure a tomte to your farm.

      The belief in a tomte's tendency to bring riches to the farm by his unseen work could also be dragged into the conflicts between neighbours. If one farmer was doing far better for himself than the others, someone might say that it was because of him having tomte on the farm, doing ungodly work and stealing from the neighbours. These rumours could be very damaging for the farmer who found himself accused.

      There is similar folklore of tomte/nisse that shares many aspects with other Scandinavian wights such as the Swedish vättar (from the Old Norse landvættir) or the Norwegian tusser. These beings are social, however, whereas the tomte is always solitary (though he is now often pictured with other tomtar). Some synonyms of tomte in Swedish and Norwegian include gårdbo ((farm)yard-dweller), gardvord (yard-warden, see vörðr), god bonde (good farmer), fjøsnisse (barn gnome) or gårdsrå (yard-spirit). The tomte could also take a ship for his home, and was then known as a skeppstomte/skibsnisse. In other European folklore, there are many beings similar to the tomte, such as the Scots brownie, English Hob, the German Heinzelmännchen or the Russian domovoi. The Finnish word tonttu has been borrowed from Swedish.

      The tomte is one of the most familiar creatures of Scandinavian folklore, and he has appeared in many works of Scandinavian literature. With the romanticisation and collection of folklore during the 19th century, the tomte would gain popularity. In the English editions of the fairy tales of H. C. Andersen the word nisse has been inaccurately translated as "goblin" (a more accurate translation is "brownie" or "hob").

      The modern tomte, a tomtenisse made of wood is a common Scandinavian Christmas decoration. He is no longer worshiped or even thought of in a serious fashion in modern Christian Scandinavian homes. He is merely a folk legend and is taken as seriously as we do fairy tales here in America.

      In the 1840s the farm's nisse became the bearer of Christmas presents in Denmark, and was then called julenisse (Yule Nisse). In 1881, the Swedish magazine Ny Illustrerad Tidning published Viktor Rydberg's poem Tomten, where the tomte is alone awake in the cold Christmas night, pondering the mysteries of life and death. This poem featured the first painting by Jenny Nyström of this traditional Swedish mythical character which she turned into the white-bearded, red-capped friendly figure associated with Christmas ever since. Shortly afterwards, and obviously influenced by the emerging Father Christmas traditions as well as the new Danish tradition, a variant of the tomte/nisse, called the jultomte in Sweden and julenisse in Norway, started bringing the Christmas presents in Sweden and Norway, instead of the traditional julbock (Yule Goat).

      Gradually, commercialism has made him look more and more like the American Santa Claus, but the Swedish jultomte, the Norwegian julenisse, the Danish nisse and the Finnish joulupukki (in Finland he is still called the Yule Goat, although his animal features have disappeared) still has features and traditions that are rooted in the local culture. He doesn't live on the North Pole, but perhaps in a forest nearby, or in Denmark he lives on Greenland, and in Finland he lives in Lapland; he doesn’t come down the chimney at night, but through the front door, delivering the presents directly to the children, just like the Yule Goat did; he is not overweight; and even if he nowadays sometimes rides in a sleigh drawn by reindeer, instead of just walking around with his sack, his reindeer don’t fly - and in Sweden, Denmark and Norway some still put out a bowl of porridge for him on Christmas Eve. He is still often pictured on Christmas cards and house and garden decorations as the little man of Jenny Nyström's imagination, often with a horse or cat, or riding on a goat or in a sled pulled by a goat, and for many people the idea of the farm tomte still lives on, if only in the imagination and literature.

A tomte stars in Jan Brett's story "Hedgie's Surprise."

     The use of the word tomte in Swedish is now somewhat ambiguous, but often when one speaks of jultomten (definite article) or tomten (definite article) one is referring to the more modern version, while if one speaks of tomtar (plural) or tomtarna (plural, definite article) one could also likely be referring to the more traditional tomtar. The traditional word tomte lives on in an idiom, referring to the human caretaker of a property (hustomten), as well as referring to someone in one's building who mysteriously does someone a favour, such as hanging up ones laundry. A person might also wish for a little hustomte to tidy up for them. A tomte stars in one of author Jan Brett's children's stories, "Hedgie's Surprise".

About Nordic Folklore by Anna Bridgland

More About Danish Christmas Culture:

• The Annual Danish Christmas Bazaar
• Christmas in Denmark
• A Danish Christmas Remembered
• Merry Christmas from Sweden!
• Feed Your Inner Scandinavian at Nordic House
• Norwegian Christmas from Rick Steves' Europe
• A Norwegian Christmas from My Little Norway

Père Noël is the gift-giver of France.

       Père Noël is a legendary gift-giver during Christmas in France and French-speaking areas, identified with Santa Claus in English speaking territories.

      According to tradition, on Christmas Eve children leave their shoes by the fireplace filled with carrots and treats for Père Noël's donkey, Gui (French for "Mistletoe") before they go to bed. Père Noël takes the offerings and, if the child has been good, leaves presents in their place. Presents are traditionally small enough to fit in the shoes; candy, money or small toys.

      Père Noël is sometimes confused with another character. In Eastern France (Alsace and Lorraine regions) there is a parallel tradition to celebrate Saint Nicolas on December 6. He is followed by Le Père Fouettard, who exists also in Germany (Knecht Ruprecht), Austria (Krampus), Holland (Belsnickel) and Belgium (Zwarte Piet). Le Père Fouettard is a sinister figure dressed in black who accompanies Saint Nicolas and whips children who have behaved badly.

      In Brazil, due to the influence of French culture in the 19th century, the name of Papai Noel was adopted, opposing for example the name of Pai Natal in Portugal. However he is dressed in the North American style.

Ježíšek brings gifts in the Czech Republic.

      Ježíšek (the Child Jesus) is a Christmas gift-giving figure used in the Czech Republic. Similar gift-giving figures also appear in other countries such as Slovakia (Ježiško) or Hungary (Jézuska).

      Much like Santa Claus, Ježíšek gives gifts to good people - that is, Czech people send gifts to their relatives and friends and say that the gifts are from Ježíšek. The gifts are unwrapped in the family circle on the evening of Christmas Eve. Traditionally, Ježíšek is imaged as a small child - concrete appearance left to each one's imagination. In present time, especially in business advertisements, images of Santa Claus are easier to use, but face quite an opposition from public. In overwhelming majority of Czech families, it is still Ježíšek who brings all the gifts - and the Christmas magic, too.

      Ježíšek comes after the Christmas Eve dinner. This usually consists of fish soup or pea soup with fried bread pieces and fried carp with potato salad. The meal named Kuba is also popular. Before or during dinner parents sneak away to put presents under the christmas tree, then after dinner Ježíšek (one of adults again) rings one of the bells on the tree to announce that gifts are there and children rush in.

      Since the 19th century, the Christmas tree is set up on the morning of Christmas Eve and taken down on Epiphany (January 6). Decorations are usually glass blown ornaments, garlands, and candles, lit right when Ježíšek puts presents under the tree.

      The Czech tradition of Ježíšek delivering presents on Christmas is perfectly distinctive of that of Saint Nicholas who brings his presents (in the form of goodies and sweets - or coal and potatoes) on his own day December 6. He is accompanied by an angel and a devil (who is supposed to scare little children by telling them, he will take them to hell if they were naughty).

Traditions in Czech Republic Compared to The U.S.

by Dream Prague

The Coming of The Prince, Part II

 Part I is here.

      "What do you see up there, O pine-tree?" asked a little vine in the forest. "You lift your head among the clouds tonight, and you tremble strangely as if you saw wondrous sights."

      "I see only the distant hill-tops and the dark clouds," answered the pine-tree. "And the wind sings of the snow-king to-night; to all my questionings he says, 'Snow, snow, snow,' till I am wearied with his refrain."

      "Oh, yes, said the vine. "I heard the country folks talking about it as they went through the forest today, and they said that the prince would surely come on the morrow."

      "What are you little folks down there talking about?" asked the pine-tree.

      "We are talking about the prince," said the vine.

      "Yes, he is to come on the morrow," said the pine-tree, "but not until the day dawns, and it is still all dark in the east.

      "Yes," said the fir-tree, "the east is black, and only the wind and the snow issue from it."

      "Keep your head out of my way!" cried the pine-tree, to the fir; "with your constant bobbing around        I can hardly see at all."

      "Take that for your bad manners," retorted the fir, slapping the pine-tree savagely with one of her longest branches.

      The pine-tree would put up with no such treatment, so he hurled his largest cone at the fir; and for a moment or two it looked as if there were going to be a serious commotion in the forest.

      "Hush!" cried the vine in a startled tone; "there is some one coming through the forest."

       The pine-tree and the fir stopped quarreling, and the snowdrop nestled closer to the vine, while the vine hugged the pine-tree very tightly. All were greatly alarmed.

      "Nonsense!" said the pine-tree, in a tone of assumed braver. "No one would venture into the forest at such an hour."

      "Indeed! and why not?" cried a child's voice. "Will you not let me watch with you for the coming of the prince?"

      "Will you not tear me from my tree?" asked the vine.

      "Will you not pluck my blossoms?" plaintively piped the snowdrop.

      "No, of course not," said Barbara; "I have come only to watch with you for the prince."

      Then Barbara told them who she was, and how cruelly she had been treated in the city, and how she longed to see the prince, who was to come on the morrow. And as she talked, the forest and all therein felt a great compassion for her.

      "Lie at my feet," said the pine-tree, "and I will protect you."

      "Nestle close to me, and I will chafe your temples and body and limbs till they are warm," said the vine.

      "Let me rest upon your cheek, and I will sing you my little songs," said the snowdrop.

And Barbara felt very grateful for all these homely kindnesses. She rested in the velvety snow at the foot of the pine-tree, and the vine chafed her body and limbs, and the little flower sang sweet songs to her.

      "Whirr-r-r, whirr-r-r!" There was that noisy wind again, but this time it was gentler than it had been in the city.

      "Here you are, my little Barbara," said the wind, in kindly tones. "I have brought you the little snowflake. I am glad you came away from the city, for the people are proud and haughty there; oh, but I will have fun with them!"

      Then, having dropped the little snowflake on Barbara's cheek, the wind whisked off to the city again. And we can imagine that it played rare pranks with the proud, haughty folk on its return; for the wind, as you know, is no respecter of persons.

      "Dear Barbara," said the snowflake, "I will watch with thee for the coming of the prince."

       And Barbara was glad, for she loved the little snowflake, that was so pure and innocent and gentle.

      "Tell us, O pine-tree," cried the vine, "what do you see in the east? Has the prince yet entered the forest?"

      "The east is full of black clouds," said the pine-tree, " and the winds that hurry to the hill-tops sing of the snow."

      "But the city is full of brightness," said the fir. "I can see the lights in the cathedral, and I can hear wondrous music about the prince and his coming."

      "Yes, they are singing of the prince in the cathedral," said Barbara sadly.

      "But, we shall see him first, "whispered the vine reassuringly.

      "Yes, the prince will come through the forest," said the little snowdrop gleefully.

      "Fear not, dear Barbara, we shall behold the prince in all his glory," cried the snowflake.

       Then all at once there was a strange hubbub in the forest; for it was midnight, and the spirits came from their hiding-places to prowl about and to disport themselves. Barbara beheld them all in great wonder and trepidation, for she had never before seen the spirits of the forest, although she had often heard of them. It was a marvelous sight.

      "Fear nothing," whispered the vine to Barbara,-- "fear nothing, for they dare not touch you."

       The antics of the wood-spirits continued but an hour; for then a cock crowed, and immediately thereat, with a wondrous scurrying, the elves and the gnomes and the other grotesque spirits sought their abiding-places in the caves and in the hollow trunks and under the loose bark of the trees. And then it was very quiet once more in the forest.

      "It is very cold," said Barbara. "My hands and feet are like ice."

      Then the pine-tree and the fir shook down the snow from their broad boughs, and the snow fell upon Barbara and covered her like a white mantle.

      "You will be warm now," said the vine, kissing Barbara's forehead. And Barbara smiled.

       Then the snowdrop sang a lullaby about the moss that loved the violet. And Barbara said, "I am going to sleep; will you wake me when the prince comes through the forest?"

       And they said they would. So Barbara fell asleep.

      "The bells in the city are ringing merrily," said the fir, " and the music in the cathedral is louder and more beautiful than before. Can it be that the prince has already come into the city?"

      "No," cried the pine-tree, " look to the east and see the Christmas day a-dawning! The prince is coming, and his pathway is through the forest!"

      The storm had ceased. Snow lay upon all the earth. The hills, the forest, the city, and the meadows were white with the robe the storm-king had thrown over them. Content with his wondrous work, the storm-king himself had fled to his far Northern home before the dawn of the Christmas day. Everything was bright and sparkling and beautiful. And most beautiful was the great hymn of praise the forest sang that Christmas morning,-- the pine-trees and the firs and the vines and the snow-flowers that sang of the prince and of his promised coming.

      "Wake up, little one," cried the vine, "for the prince is coming!"

      But Barbara slept; she did not hear the vine's soft calling nor the lofty music of the forest.

       A little snow-bird flew down from the fir-tree's bough and perched upon the vine, and caroled in Barbara's ear of the Christmas morning and of the coming of the prince. But Barbara slept; she did not hear the carol of the bird.

      "Alas!" sighed the vine, "Barbara will not awaken, and the prince is coming."

      Then the vine and the snowdrop wept, and the pine-tree and the fir were very sad.

       The prince came through the forest clad in royal raiment and wearing a golden crown. Angels came with him, and the forest sang a great hymn unto the prince, such a hymn as had never before been heard on earth. The prince came to the sleeping child and smiled upon her and called her by name.

      "Barbara, my little one," said the prince, "awaken, and come with me."

      Then Barbara opened her eyes and beheld the prince. And it seemed as if a new life had come to her, for there was warmth in her body and a flush upon her cheeks and a light in her eyes that were divine. And she was clothed no longer in rags, but in white flowing raiment; and upon the soft brown hair there was a crown like those which angels wear. And as Barbara arose and went to the prince, the little snowflake fell from her cheek upon her bosom, and forthwith became a pearl more precious than all other jewels upon earth.

      And the prince took Barbara in his arms and blessed her, and turning round about, returned with the little child unto his home, while the forest and the sky and the angels sang a wondrous song.

      The city waited for the prince, but he did not come. None knew of the glory of the forest that Christmas morning, nor of the new life that came to little Barbara.

      Come thou, dear Prince, oh, come to us this holy Christmas time! Come to the busy marts of earth, the quiet homes, the noisy streets, the humble lanes; come to us all, and with thy love touch every human heart, that we may know that love, and in its blessed peace bear charity to all mankind! by Eugene Fields.

The first half of our story.

The Coming of The Prince, Part I.

      "Whirr-r-r! whirr-r-r! whirr-r-r!" said the wind, and it tore through the streets of the city that Christmas eve, turning umbrellas inside out, driving the snow in fitful gusts before it, creaking the rusty signs and shutters, and playing every kind of rude prank it could think of.

       "How cold your breath is to-night!" said Barbara, with a shiver, as she drew her tattered little shawl the closer around her benumbed body.

      "Whirr-r-r! whirr-r-r! whirr-r-r!" answered the wind; "but why are you out in this storm? You should be at home by the warm fire."

      "I have no home," said Barbara; and then she sighed bitterly, and something like a tiny pearl came in the corner of one of her sad blue eyes.

      But the wind did not hear her answer, for it had hurried up the street to throw a handful of snow in the face of an old man who was struggling along with a basket of good things on each arm.

      "Why are you not at the cathedral?' asked a snowflake, as it alighted on Barbara's shoulder. "I heard grand music, and saw beautiful lights there as I floated down from the sky a moment ago."

      "What are they doing at the cathedral?" inquired Barbara.

      "Why, haven't you heard?'' exclaimed the snowflake. " I supposed everybody knew that the prince was coming to-morrow."

      "Surely enough; this is Christmas eve," said Barbara, "and the prince will come tomorrow."

       Barbara remembered that her mother had told her about the prince, how beautiful and good and kind and gentle he was, and how he loved the little children; but her mother was dead now, and there was none to tell Barbara of the prince and his coming,-- none but the little snowflake.

       "I should like to see the prince," said Barbara "for I have heard he was very beautiful and good."

       "That he is," said the snowflake. "I have never seen him, but I heard the pines and the firs singing about him as I floated over the forest to-night."

      "Whirr-r-r! Whirr-r-r!" cried the wind returning boisterously to where Barbara stood. "I've been looking for you everywhere, little snowflake! So come with me."

      And without any further ado, the wind seized upon the snowflake and hurried it along the street and led it a merry dance through the icy air of the winter night.

      Barbara trudged on through the snow and looked in at the bright things in the shop windows. The glitter of the lights and the sparkle of the vast array of beautiful Christmas toys quite dazzled her. A strange mingling of admiration, regret, and envy filled the poor little creature's heart.

      "Much as I may yearn to have them, it cannot be," she said to herself, "yet I may feast my eyes upon them."

      "Go away from here!" said a harsh voice. "How can the rich people see all my fine things if you stand before the window? Be off with you, you miserable little beggar!"

      It was the shopkeeper, and he gave Barbara a savage box on the ear that sent her reeling into the deeper snowdrifts of the gutter.

      Presently she came to a large house where there seemed to be much mirth and festivity. The shutters were thrown open, and through the windows Barbara could see a beautiful Christmas-tree in the centre of a spacious room -- a beautiful Christmas tree ablaze with red and green lights, and heavy with toys and stars and glass balls and other beautiful things that children love. There was a merry throng around the tree, and the children were smiling and gleeful, and all in that house seemed content and happy. Barbara heard them singing, and their song was about the prince who was to come on the morrow.

      "This must be the house where the prince will stop, " thought Barbara. "How I would like to see his face and hear his voice! --yet what would he care for me, a 'miserable little beggar'?''

       So Barbara crept on through the storm, shivering and disconsolate, yet thinking of the prince.

       "Where are going?" she asked of the wind as it overtook her.

      "To the cathedral," laughed the wind. "The great people are flocking there, and I will have a merry time amongst them, ha, ha, ha!"

      And with laughter the wind whirled away and chased the snow toward the cathedral.

       "It is there, then, that the prince will come," thought Barbara. "it is a beautiful place, and the people will pay him homage there. Perhaps I shall see him if I go there."

      So she went to the cathedral. Many folk were there in their richest apparel, and the organ rolled out its grand music, and the songs, and the prayers were all about the prince and his expected coming. The throng that swept in and out of the great edifice talked always of the prince, the prince, the prince, until Barbara really loved him very much, for all the gentle words she heard the people say of him.

      "Please, can I go and sit inside?" inquired Barbara of the sexton.

      "No!" said the sexton gruffly, for this was an important occasion with the sexton, and he had no idea of wasting words on a beggar child.

      "But I will be very good and quiet," pleaded Barbara. "Please may I not see the prince?"

      "I have said no, and I mean it," retorted the sexton. "What have you for the prince, or what cares the prince for you? Out with you, and don't be blocking up the door-way!" So the sexton gave Barbara an angry push, and the child fell half-way down the icy steps of the cathedral. She began to cry. Some great people were entering the cathedral at the time, and they laughed to see her falling.

      "Have you seen the prince? inquired a snowflake, alighting on Barbara's cheek. It was the same little snowflake that had clung to her shawl an hour ago, when the wind came galloping along on his boisterous search.

      "Ah, no!" sighed Barbara in tears; "but what cares the prince for me?"

      "Do not speak so bitterly," said the little snowflake. "Go to the forest and you shall see him, for the prince always comes through the forest to the city."

      Despite the cold, and her bruises, and her tears Barbara smiled. In the forest she could behold the prince coming on his way; and he would not see her, for she would hide among the trees and vines.

      "Whirr-r-r, whirr-r-r!" It was the mischievous, romping wind once more; and it fluttered Barbara's tattered shawl, and set her hair to streaming in every direction, and swept the snowflake from her cheek and sent it spinning through the air.

      Barbara trudged toward the forest. When she came to the city gate the watchman stopped her, and held his big lantern in her face, and asked her who she was and where she was going.

      "I am Barbara, and I am going into the forest," said she boldly.

      "Into the forest?" cried the watchman, "and in this storm? No, child; you will perish!"

      "But I am going to see the prince," said Barbara. "They will not let me watch for him in the church, nor in any of their pleasant homes, so I am going into the forest."

      The watchman smiled sadly. He was a kindly man; he thought of his own little girl at home.

      "No, you must not go to the forest," said he, "for you would perish with the cold."

But Barbara would not stay. She avoided the watchman's grasp and ran as fast as ever she could through the city gate.

      "Come back, come back!" cried the watchman; "you will perish in the forest!"

      But Barbara would not heed his cry. The falling snow did not stay her, nor did the cutting blast. She thought only of the prince, and she ran straightway to the forest.

to be continued. . . .