We had presently a
specimen of his last-mentioned talent, for no sooner was supper
removed and spiced wines and other beverages peculiar to the
season introduced, than Master Simon was called on for a good old
Christmas song. He bethought himself for a moment, and then, with
a sparkle of the eye and a voice that was by no means bad,
excepting that it ran occasionally into a falsetto like the notes
of a split reed, he quavered forth a quaint old ditty:
Now Christmas is come,
Let us beat up the drum,
And call all our neighbors together;
And when they appear,
Let us make them such cheer,
As will keep out the wind and the weather, &c.
The supper had disposed every one to gayety, and an old harper
was summoned from the servants' hall, where he had been strumming
all the evening, and to all appearance comforting himself with
some of the squire's home-brewed. He was a kind of hanger-on, I
was told, of the establishment, and, though ostensibly a resident
of the village, was oftener to be found in the squire's kitchen
than his own home, the old gentleman being fond of the sound of
"harp in hall."
The dance, like most dances after supper, was a merry one: some
of the older folks joined in it, and the squire himself figured
down several couple with a partner with whom he affirmed he had
danced at every Christmas for nearly half a century.
Pages:
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318