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."*

     * Sir John Suckling.