The Bird of Yule. 177 



old days, much of its merit was, to say the least of it, 

 shadowy and unreal, and comes down to us 



• Magnified by the purple mist, 

 The dusk of centuries and of song.' 



The Christmas of our day, if it has in it less of 

 revelry, has gained by what is lost, and is honoured in 

 a better, calmer spirit than in Yules of bygone years. 



The very festival is other than it was ; other viands 

 are chosen for the banquet. The boar's head that we 

 so often associate with the Christmas of our fathers 

 went out with the Long Parliament. The crane and 

 the bittern are found no longer on the Royal table. 

 No directions for the treatment of a swan or a heron 

 occur in modern cookery books. 



This has not been entirely an affair of taste. 

 Various causes have contributed to bring about the 

 change. 



By the time that Yule-tide revels were revived after 

 the Commonwealth, the wild-boar had disappeared 

 from the forests. 



Of the birds whose names are common in the 

 ancient bills of fare most have left the country. 



Driven from the island by the destruction of their 

 ancient haunts, they visit us now so seldom, that their 

 coming is to the ornithologist a matter of mark beyond 

 the politics of Europe. 



Six centuries ago cranes built their rude nests by 

 hundreds among the reed-forests of the Fens, and the 



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