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CHBISTMAS NUMBER AND ALMANAC 



while he disappeared altogether, and I heard rumours that 

 he was gone abroad, but these rumours seemed to fall un- 

 heeded on my car. I took no note of time, till one bright 

 autumn evening, just as tlic sun was setting, arid I was wish- 

 ing that I too might sinii— borne on the sunny rays — down, 

 down, far away in my beloved west, when all at once I 

 awoke to life, to hear, as in a dream, ringing, oh, so joyously 

 on the evening air, the happy laugh I knew so well, and a 

 voice — perhaps dearer to me now than ever, because I felt 

 I was listening to its tones for the last time — say, " Oh Jessy, 

 daiiing wife! look here, my little fern is dead." 



FiLIX FCEMINA. 



CHRISTMAS IN THE FENS. 



Ch^p. I.— Open Weathek. 



iP O any of my readers know the fens of 

 Cambridgeshire and Huntingdonshire j 

 or, I should rather say, did they know 

 them five-and-twcnty years ago, before 

 llicy were opened out to the rest of 

 England by means of railways ? for 

 though drainage did much to alter the 

 fens, yet the iron-horse has done more : 

 the former changed their outwai'd appearance, the latter 

 changed their inhabitants. 



The fens—" chilly subject" you will say, dear reader ; 

 " nothing to wai'm'one this Christmas time." Wait a wee, 

 and let me see if, out of tlie recollections of the fens of my 

 boyhood, I cannot jot down something which will, at any 

 rate, amuse you this dull winter time. 



By the way, I am right glad when the theam of a Christmas 

 number disturbed— no, came like a pleasing vision across— 

 their slumbers, that our editors kept to the idea of a Christmas 

 number. Christmas I like, and the one fault laid to its 

 charge — viz., having anything to do with bills — ought to be 

 removed for ever, for it is all a mistake. Christmas bills, 

 indeed ! they are New Year's bills for Christmas Day, and 

 Christmas weeks come and go, but not a single bill appears ; 

 while no sooner has that chilly new thing, born on January 

 1st at fifty-nine minutes and ii-balf to one o'clock, a.m., made 

 its appearance — that thin, thoughtful baby — but rat-rat goes 

 the knocker, and those vulgar yellow letters appear. Why 

 the colour of their envelopes is enough to turn any one bilious, 

 to say nothing of previous Christmas feasting. So let us 

 never hear again of one single Christmas bill ; it is all a 

 misnomer. Christmas has no dismal thoughts connected with 

 it. Old Father Christmas is a jolly, rosy, strong, mirthful, 

 mirth-inspiring rogue, given to 



" Quips and cranks, and wanton wiles, 

 Kods and beclis, and wreathed smiles." 



The fen district of England I cannot think of without 

 venerating the memory of the mighty men of olden time, who 

 WTOUght noble deeds tliere ; men who went out and did battle 

 against the water in the then inclement aguish fens. These 

 brave men fought against the water there hundreds of years 

 ago ; they banked it out, drained it out, cut mighty canals, buUt 

 vast sluices, but in it came again ; the dreaded flood appeared 

 some winter's morning : it came sweeping on, breaking 

 barriers, but man fought away against the mighty antagonist. 

 Among these brave men the greatest of all was Cornelius 

 Vermuden. Charles I. reigned, and lost his head. Stern 

 Cromwell fought and ruled, and grew timid and died. 

 Charles niunber two, hid up in an oak, listened to long Puritan 

 sermons, reigned, and lived most unputitanically. What 

 cared old Vermuden about these things ; he had other em- 

 ployment than to mingle with politics ; he fought against 

 the water ; and although he was not able to do all he wished, 

 and I fear died verj- poor — perhaps, too, '.broken hearted — 

 still he did much good in the fens, and has left his name 

 there ; for take up a map of Cambiidgeshue, even the most 

 recent, and j'ou will find " Vermuden's drove and drain " 

 marked on it. Droves long, straight, wide, and in summer 

 grassy roads ; but, oh ! in winter black, soft, unsafe ways, 

 up to your horse's belly if you did not know exactly where to 



ride. When the fen farmer anticipated a speedy " 'dishun 

 to tlie family," and he had to turn out of his bed — of coiurso 

 on a moonless night — to fetch the doctor, he mounted his old 

 cart mai'e, both sorely troubled at the disturbance, and had to 

 go, say, six miles. When he arrived at the door of that most 

 useful but ill-paid servant of the public, called the countrj' 

 surgeon, he r.ang the bell, with an accompaniment of small 

 stones at the window, to v\-ake up the doctor more speedily. 



The doctor soon awoke ; the stone shower was not needed, 

 for he slept through any other noise, but the least touch of 

 the "night-bell" awoke him ; while, on the other hand — such is 

 use or instinct, or what you please to call it — his wife never heard 

 the bell, and her husband has been known to go out and return, 

 she peacefully slumbering on ; but the least movement of the 

 babe in its cradle beside her, the child's '• coo " at the night- 

 light, or its little hand picking at the pink lining over its head 

 as the light of the early morning broke upon its young bright 

 eyes, at these sounds she awoke at once. Well, the doctor is 

 mounted, but how does lie ride in safety along the treacherous 

 black drove ? In this way : the farmer in front carries the 

 doctor's lanthorn, but tliat was not all ; from his old mare's 

 tail he attached a halter to the bridle of the doctor's horse, 

 and owing to this contrivance they jog on safely. 



This reminds me of an old story. A relation of mine was, 

 about fifty years ago, journeying from Cambridge to the fens, 

 and when he got into the black country, especially to a bit 

 of road which lay between two parishes, neither of which 

 would repair it (it was a dispute of long standing), his courage 

 began to foil bun, as he found his horse sink deeper and 

 deeper, so he must needs dismount, and try walking ; but he 

 began to sink deeper and deeper, to the imminent peril of a 

 new pair of galligaskins. Talking of his perils the next day, 

 with true townsman's horror, to a company of fennieu, one 

 old webfoot (they do say feu children in those days were 

 bora webfooted) said, amid puffs of tobacco, " Oh, sir, that's 

 nothing to what happened to a poor gentleman once when 

 coming through the black country. He was riding in the 

 middle of the drove, and saw on one side a man's hat, and as 

 it seemed a good one, he got off his horse to pick it up. He 

 seizes the hat, but lo ! beneath it was a head, and a faint 

 voice said, " Oh, pull me out ; I'm nearly dead." This he 

 did, but his new friend said, " Don't go, please ; now help 

 mo to pull out my horse, for ho was under me." This was a 

 fen story ; you may do as you like about believing it. 



In summer it was awfully hot in the fens, such scorching, 

 with not the least shade to be bad ; a sort of black Saliara. 

 But we boys liked it ; there was plenty of birdnesting — i.e., 

 of birds who built on the ground ; and as to fishing, it was 

 our Saturday afternoon's amusement for months. 



But winter was, I think, the time ; true, we chiefly depended 

 upon om-selves for our pleasures : there was no travelling, no 

 excursion-making. Sometimes, indeed, amid a great flourish 

 of trumpets and dkplay of handbills, a coach to London was 

 started ; at first it was fairly loaded, then gradually it came 

 down to be the coachman's private carriage, and then it soon 

 ceased to run. What did a fenman want to travel for j he 

 would have echoed the rustic bard's lines : — 



" Let voules go sarchiug fur and nigh. 

 We bides at wlioam, iny dog and I." 



Then, if fenmen did not go out — well, they were likewise 

 not troubled with people coming into the feus from what was 

 called " the high country." The high country people thought 

 of the fens as King George IH. did, " Ah, ah, ali ! feus, fens, 

 fens ; all fogs, bogs, and ague." So the feu people kept to 

 themselves, married among themselves, talked their own talk, 

 and went their own ways ) names were few, but many of one 

 name, so nicknames abounded, such us "Long Tommy," 

 " Short Tommy," "Fat Billy," "Thin Billy." Ifaclergymau 

 from a distant county had a living given him in the fens he 

 felt sorely out of place. As the livings were often good he 

 became non-resident, or shut himself up in his study, and 

 wrote letters to his friends, telling them he had nothing but 

 earth and sky to look at. Poor man ! but what a sky — what 

 a study for clouds — Oh ! ye painters. The poptilation of 

 the fens was very scattered. Some farmhouses very poor 

 places, but on the Duke of Bedford's vast estates, the houses 

 were e.xcellent ; but as a rule, the gentlemen farmers lived in 

 the towns, and mounted on fine, well-groomed horses — they 



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