*
* From Poor Robin's Almanack.
Much of the conversation during dinner turned upon family topics,
to which I was a stranger. There was, however, a great deal of
rallying of Master Simon about some gay widow with whom he was
accused of having a flirtation. This attack was commenced by the
ladies, but it was continued throughout the dinner by the
fat-headed old gentleman next the parson with the persevering
assiduity of a slow hound, being one of those long-winded jokers
who, though rather dull at starting game, are unrivalled for
their talents in hunting it down. At every pause in the general
conversation he renewed his bantering in pretty much the same
terms, winking hard at me with both eyes whenever he gave Master
Simon what he considered a home thrust. The latter, indeed,
seemed fond of being teased on the subject, as old bachelors are
apt to be, and he took occasion to inform me, in an undertone,
that the lady in question was a prodigiously fine woman and drove
her own curricle.
The dinner-time passe away in this flow of innocent hilarity,
and, though the old hall may have resounded in its time with many
a scene of broader rout and revel, yet I doubt whether it ever
witnessed more honest and genuine enjoyment.
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