Donald MacBride and myself were the only Britishers living on one of the North Pacific island lagoons when Christmas of 1880 drew near, and we determined to celebrate it in a manner that would fill our German and American trading rivals throughout the group with envy. MacBride was a bony, red-headed Scotchman, with a large heart and a small, jealous, half-caste wife. The latter acquisition ruled him with a rod of iron, much to his financial and moral benefit, but nevertheless agreed with me that we–Donald, she and myself–ought to show the Americans and the ‘Dutchmen’ how an English Christmas should be celebrated. But as Sera was a half-caste native of the Pelews, and had never been to a civilised country, she also concurred with me that Donald and myself should run the show, which, although I was not a married man, was to take place in my house on account of the greater space available. Donald, she said, wanted to have a ‘hakkise’; so we bought a nanny-goat from Ludwig Wolfen, the German trader at Molok, and one evening–the 23rd of December–I helped Sera to drive and drag the unsuspecting creature home to her husband’s place to the slaughter. (I may as well say at once that MacBride’s nanny-goat haggis was a hideous failure, and my boat’s crew, to whom it was handed over, with many strong expressions about MacBride’s beastly provincial taste, said that it _smelt_ good, like shark’s liver, but was not at all so juicy.)

THERE was once a family who had a guest staying with them; and when they found out that he was to have a birthday during his visit they were all delighted at the idea of celebrating it. Days before–almost weeks before–they began to prepare for the celebration. They cooked and stored a large quantity of good things to eat, and laid in a stock of good things to be cooked and prepared on the happy day. They planned and arranged the most beautiful decorations. They even thought over and made, or selected, little gifts for one another; and the whole house was in hurry and confusion for weeks before the birthday came. Everything else that was to be done was postponed until after the birthday; and, indeed, many important things were neglected.

CHRISTMAS EVE

ROBERT BROWNING

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