"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.
The dinner was served up in the great hall, where the Squire always held
his Christmas banquet. A blazing, crackling fire of logs had been heaped
on to warm the spacious apartment, and the flame went sparkling and
wreathing up the wide-mouthed chimney. The great picture of the crusader
and his white horse had been profusely decorated with greens for the
occasion; and holly and ivy had likewise been wreathed around the helmet
and weapons on the opposite wall, which I understood were the arms of
the same warrior. I must own, by the by, I had strong doubts about the
authenticity of painting and armour as having belonged to the crusader,
they certainly having the stamp of more recent days; but I was told that
the painting had been so considered time out of mind; and that as to the
armour, it had been found in a lumber room, and elevated to its present
situation by the Squire, who at once determined it to be the armour of
the family hero; and as he was absolute authority on all such subjects
to his own household, the matter had passed into current acceptation. A
sideboard was set out just under this chivalric trophy, on which was
a display of plate that might have vied (at least in variety) with
Belshazzar's parade of the vessels of the Temple: "flagons, cans, cups,
beakers, goblets, basins, and ewers;" the gorgeous utensils of good
companionship, that had gradually accumulated through many generations
of jovial housekeepers.
Pages:
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62