“Now stir
the fire, and close the shutters fast,
Let fall the curtains, wheel the sofa round,
And, while the bubbling and loud-hissing urn
Throws up a steamy column, and the cups,
That cheer but not inebriate, wait on each,
So let us welcome peaceful ev'ning in.”
And, while the bubbling and loud-hissing urn
Throws up a steamy column, and the cups,
That cheer but not inebriate, wait on each,
So let us welcome peaceful ev'ning in.”
I see it
too in this passage from a letter Charles Lamb wrote his friend Robert Lloyd on
this date, Dec. 17, in 1799:
“The
presents will be most acceptable whenever they come, both for thy sake and for
the liquor, which is a beverage I most admire. Wine makes me hot, and brandy
makes me drunk, but porter warms without intoxication; and elevates, yet not
too much above the point of tranquility. But I hope Robert will come himself
before the tap is out. He may be assured that his good honest company is the
most valuable present, after all, he can make us. These cold nights crave
something beside Porter—good English mirth and heart’s ease. Rob must contrive
to pass some of his Christmas with us, or at least drink in the century with a
welcome.”
Here are two
English writers, neither a stranger to suffering, both occasional guests in
asylums, and both make us cozy with thoughts of winter and Christmas. Each
emphasized the essential ingredients – friends, family, the intimacy of loved
ones. Lamb writes later in the same letter:
“I am not
fond of presents all on one side, and Rob knows that I have little to present
him, except the assurances of an undiminished and undiminishable friendship.
Rob will take as a hint what his friend does not mean as an affront. I hope our
friendship will stand firm, without the help of scaffolding.”
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