I found the tide of wine and wassail fast gaining on the dry land ofsober judgment. The company grew merrier and louder as their jokesgrew duller. Master Simon was in as chirping a humor as agrasshopper filled with dew; his old songs grew of a warmercomplexion, and he began to talk maudlin about the widow. He even gavea long song about the wooing of a widow, which he informed me he hadgathered from an excellent black-letter work, entitled "Cupid'sSolicitor for Love," containing store of good advice for bachelors,and which he promised to lend me: the first verse was to this effect:
He that will woo a widow must not dally,
He must make hay while the sun doth shine;He must not stand with her, shall I, shall I,But boldly say Widow, thou must be mine.
This song inspired the fat-headed old gentleman, who made severalattempts to tell a rather broad story out of Joe Miller, that waspat to the purpose; but he always stuck in the middle, everybodyrecollecting the latter part excepting himself. The parson, too, beganto show the effects of good cheer, having gradually settled downinto a doze, and his wig sitting most suspiciously on one side. Justat this juncture we were summoned to the drawing-room, and, I suspect,at the private instigation of mine host, whose joviality seemed alwaystempered with a proper love of decorum.
After the dinner table was removed, the hall was given up to theyounger members of the family, who, prompted to all kind of noisymirth by the Oxonian and Master Simon, made its old walls ring withtheir merriment, as they played at romping games. I delight inwitnessing the gambols of children, and particularly at this happyholiday season, and could not help stealing out of the drawing-room onhearing one of their peals of laughter. I found them at the game ofblind-man's-buff. Master Simon, who was the leader of their revels,and seemed on all occasions to fulfill the office of that ancientpotentate, the Lord of Misrule,* was blinded in the midst of the hall.
The little beings were as busy about him as the mock fairies aboutFalstaff; pinching him, plucking at the skirts of his coat, andtickling him with straws. One fine blue-eyed girl of about thirteen,with her flaxen hair all in beautiful confusion, her frolic face ina glow, her frock half torn off her shoulders, a complete picture of aromp, was the chief tormentor; and, from the slyness with which MasterSimon avoided the smaller game, and hemmed this wild little nymph incorners, and obliged her to jump shrieking over chairs, I suspectedthe rogue of being not a whit more blinded than was convenient.
* At Christmasse there was in the Kinge's house, wheresoever hee waslodged, a lorde of misrule, or mayster of merie disportes, and thelike had ye in the house of every nobleman of honor, or goodworshippe, were he spirituall or temporall.- STOWE.
When I returned to the drawing-room, I found the company seatedround the fire, listening to the parson, who was deeply ensconced in ahigh-backed oaken chair, the work of some cunning artificer of yore,which had been brought from the library for his particularaccommodation. From this venerable piece of furniture, with whichhis shadowy figure and dark weazen face so admirably accorded, hewas dealing out strange accounts of the popular superstitions andlegends of the surrounding country, with which he had becomeacquainted in the course of his antiquarian researches. I am halfinclined to think that the old gentleman was himself somewhattinctured with superstition, as men are very apt to be who live arecluse and studious life in a sequestered part of the country, andpore over black-letter tracts, so often filled with the marvellous andsupernatural. He gave us several anecdotes of the fancies of theneighboring peasantry, concerning the effigy of the crusader, whichlay on the tomb by the church altar. As it was the only monument ofthe kind in that part of the country, it had always been regarded withfeelings of superstition by the good wives of the village. It was saidto get up from the tomb and walk the rounds of the church-yard instormy nights, particularly when it thundered; and one old woman,whose cottage bordered on the church-yard, had seen it through thewindows of the church, when the moon shone, slowly pacing up anddown the aisles. It was the belief that some wrong had been leftunredressed by the deceased, or some treasure hidden, which kept thespirit in a state of trouble and restlessness. Some talked of gold andjewels buried in the tomb, over which the spectre kept watch; andthere was a story current of a sexton in old times, who endeavoredto break his way to the coffin at night, but, just as he reached it,received a violent blow from the marble hand of the effigy, whichstretched him senseless on the pavement. These tales were oftenlaughed at by some of the sturdier among the rustics, yet, whennight came on, there were many of the stoutest unbelievers that wereshy of venturing alone in the footpath that led across thechurch-yard.
