—­Collier of Croydon.

As the neighbouring village is one of those out-of-the-way, but gossiping, little places where a small matter makes a great stir, it is not to be supposed that the approach of a festival like that of May-day can be regarded with indifference, especially since it is made a matter of such moment by the great folks at the Hall.  Master Simon, who is the faithful factotum of the worthy Squire, and jumps with his humour in every thing, is frequent just now in his visits to the village, to give directions for the impending fete; and as I have taken the liberty occasionally of accompanying him, I have been enabled to get some insight into the characters and internal politics of this very sagacious little community.

Master Simon is in fact the Caesar of the village.  It is true the Squire is the protecting power, but his factotum is the active and busy agent.  He intermeddles in all its concerns, is acquainted with all the inhabitants and their domestic history, gives counsel to the old folks in their business matters, and the young folks in their love affairs, and enjoys the proud satisfaction of being a great man in a little world.

He is the dispenser, too, of the Squire’s charity, which is bounteous; and, to do Master Simon justice, he performs this part of his functions with great alacrity.  Indeed, I have been entertained with the mixture of bustle, importance, and kind-heartedness which he displays.  He is of too vivacious a temperament to comfort the afflicted by sitting down, moping and whining, and blowing noses in concert:  but goes whisking about like a sparrow, chirping consolation into every hole and corner of the village.  I have seen an old woman, in a red cloak, hold him for half an hour together with some long phthisical tale of distress, which Master Simon listened to with many a bob of the head, smack of his dog-whip, and other symptoms of impatience, though he afterwards made a most faithful and circumstantial report of the case to the Squire.  I have watched him, too, during one of his pop visits into the cottage of a superannuated villager, who is a pensioner of the Squire, where he fidgeted about the room without sitting down, made many excellent off-hand reflections with the old invalid, who was propped up in his chair, about the shortness of life, the certainty of death, and the necessity of preparing for “that awful change;” quoted several texts of scripture very incorrectly, but much to the edification of the cottager’s wife; and on coming out, pinched the daughter’s rosy cheek, and wondered what was in the young men that such a pretty face did not get a husband.