His varied occupations and amusements had made him
well known throughout the neighbourhood. He was
a visitor at every farmhouse and cottage; gossiped
with the farmers and their wives; romped with their
daughters; and, like that type of a vagrant bachelor,
the bumblebee, tolled the sweets from all the rosy
lips of the country around.
The bashfulness of the guests soon gave way before
good cheer and affability. There is something
genuine and affectionate in the gaiety of the lower
orders, when it is excited by the bounty and familiarity
of those above them; the warm glow of gratitude enters
into their mirth, and a kind word or a small pleasantry,
frankly uttered by a patron, gladdens the heart of
the dependant more than oil and wine. When the
Squire had retired, the merriment increased, and there
was much joking and laughter, particularly between
Master Simon and a hale, ruddy-faced, white-headed
farmer, who appeared to be the wit of the village;
for I observed all his companions to wait with open
mouths for his retorts, and burst into a gratuitous
laugh before they could well understand them.
The whole house, indeed, seemed abandoned to merriment.
As I passed to my room to dress for dinner, I heard
the sound of music in a small court, and, looking
through a window that commanded it, I perceived a
band of wandering musicians, with pandean pipes and
tambourine; a pretty, coquettish housemaid was dancing
a jig with a smart country lad, while several of the
other servants were looking on. In the midst of
her sport the girl caught a glimpse of my face at
the window, and, colouring up, ran off with an air
of roguish affected confusion.
The Christmas Dinner
Lo, now is come the joyful’st
feast!
Let every man be jolly,
Eache roome with yvie leaves is drest,
And every post with holly.
Now all our neighbours’ chimneys smoke,
And Christmas blocks are burning;
Their ovens they with bak’t meats choke,
And all their spits are turning.
Without the door let sorrow lie,
And if, for cold, it hap to die,
We’ll bury’t in a Christmas pye,
And evermore be merry.
—WITHERS’S
Juvenilia.
I had finished my toilet, and was loitering with Frank
Bracebridge in the library, when we heard a distant
thwacking sound, which he informed me was a signal
for the serving up of the dinner. The Squire kept
up old customs in kitchen as well as hall; and the
rolling-pin, struck upon the dresser by the cook,
summoned the servants to carry in the meats.
“Just in this nick the cook
knock’d thrice,
And all the waiters in a trice
His summons did obey;
Each serving man, with dish in hand,
March’d boldly up, like our train-band,
Presented and away."*
