for
our men of fortune spend so much of their time in town, and fashion is
carried so much into the country, that the strong rich peculiarities of
ancient rural life are almost polished away. My father, however, from
early years, took honest Peacham[B] for his text book, instead of
Chesterfield: he determined, in his own mind, that there was no
condition more truly honourable and enviable than that of a country
gentleman on his paternal lands, and, therefore, passes the whole of his
time on his estate. He is a strenuous advocate for the revival of the
old rural games and holiday observances, and is deeply read in the
writers, ancient and modern, who have treated on the subject. Indeed,
his favourite range of reading is among the authors who flourished at
least two centuries since; who, he insists, wrote and thought more like
true Englishmen than any of their successors. He even regrets sometimes
that he had not been born a few centuries earlier, when England was
itself, and had its peculiar manners and customs. As he lives at some
distance from the main road, in rather a lonely part of the country,
without any rival gentry near him, he has that most enviable of all
blessings to an Englishman, an opportunity of indulging the bent of his
own humour without molestation. Being representative of the oldest
family in the neighbourhood, and a great part of the peasantry being his
tenants, he is much looked up to, and, in general, is known simply by
the appellation of 'The Squire;' a title which has been accorded to the
head of the family since time immemorial. I think it best to give you
these hints about my worthy old father, to prepare you for any little
eccentricities that might otherwise appear absurd."

We had passed for some time along the wall of a park, and at length the
chaise stopped at the gate. It was in a heavy magnificent old style, of
iron bars, fancifully wrought at top into flourishes and flowers. The
huge square columns that supported the gate were surmounted by the
family crest. Close adjoining was the porter's lodge, sheltered under
dark fir-trees, and almost buried in shrubbery.

[Illustration]

The post-boy rang a large porter's bell, which resounded through the
still frosty air, and was answered by the distant barking of dogs, with
which the mansion-house seemed garrisoned. An old woman immediately
appeared at the gate. As the moonlight fell strongly upon her, I had a
full view of a little primitive