As I approached the house, a legion of whelps sallied out barking at me, accompanied by the low howling, rather than barking, of two old worn-out bloodhounds, which I recognized for the ancient life-guards of my uncle.  The house had still a neglected, random appearance, though much altered for the better since my last visit.  Several of the windows were broken and patched up with boards; and others had been bricked up to save taxes.  I observed smoke, however, rising from the chimneys; a phenomenon rarely witnessed in the ancient establishment.  On passing that part of the house where the dining-room was situated, I heard the sound of boisterous merriment; where three or four voices were talking at once, and oaths and laughter were horribly mingled.

The uproar of the dogs had brought a servant to the door, a tall, hard-fisted country clown, with a livery coat put over the under-garments of a ploughman.  I requested to see the master of the house, but was told he was at dinner with some “gemmen” of the neighborhood.  I made known my business and sent in to know if I might talk with the master about his cattle; for I felt a great desire to have a peep at him at his orgies.  Word was returned that he was engaged with company, and could not attend to business, but that if I would “step in and take a drink of something, I was heartily welcome.”  I accordingly entered the hall, where whips and hats of all kinds and shapes were lying on an oaken table, two or three clownish servants were lounging about; everything had a look of confusion and carelessness.

The apartments through which I passed had the same air of departed gentility and sluttish housekeeping.  The once rich curtains were faded and dusty; the furniture greased and tarnished.  On entering the dining-room I found a number of odd, vulgar-looking, rustic gentlemen seated round a table, on which were bottles, decanters, tankards, pipes, and tobacco.  Several dogs were lying about the room, or sitting and watching their masters, and one was gnawing a bone under a side-table.

The master of the feast sat at the head of the board.  He was greatly altered.  He had grown thick-set and rather gummy, with a fiery, foxy head of hair.  There was a singular mixture of foolishness, arrogance, and conceit in his countenance.  He was dressed in a vulgarly fine style, with leather breeches, a red waistcoat, and green coat, and was evidently, like his guests, a little flushed with drinking.  The whole company stared at me with a whimsical muggy look, like men whose senses were a little obfuscated by beer rather than wine.

My cousin, (God forgive me! the appellation sticks in my throat,) my cousin invited me with awkward civility, or, as he intended it, condescension, to sit to the table and drink.  We talked, as usual, about the weather, the crops, politics, and hard times.  My cousin was a loud politician, and evidently accustomed to talk without contradiction at his own table.  He was amazingly loyal, and talked of standing by the throne to the last guinea, “as every gentleman of fortune should do.”  The village exciseman, who was half asleep, could just ejaculate, “very true,” to every thing he said.