When the cloth was removed, the butler brought in a huge silver vessel of rare and curious workmanship, which he placed before the Squire. Its appearance was hailed with acclamation; being the Wassail Bowl, so renowned in Christmas festivity. The contents had been prepared by the Squire himself. The old gentleman’s whole countenance beamed with a serene look of indwelling delight, as he stirred this mighty bowl. Having raised it to his lips, with a hearty wish of a merry Christmas to all present, he sent it brimming, around the board, for every one to follow his example, according to the primitive style; pronouncing it ‘the ancient fountain of good feeling, where all hearts meet together.’ There was much laughing and rallying, as the honest emblem of Christmas joviality circulated, and was kissed rather coyly by the ladies. When it reached Master Simon he raised it in both hands, and with the air of a boon companion, struck up an old Wassail chanson: The browne bowle, The merry browne bowle. As it goes round about-a, Fill Still, Let the world say what it will, And drink your fill all out-a. The deep canne, The merry deep canne, As thou dost freely quaff-a, Sing, Fling, Be as merry as a king, And sound a lusty laugh-a.[A] ----- Footnote A: From “Poor Robin’s Almanack.” ----- The dinner-time passed 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. When the ladies had retired, the conversation, as usual, became still more animated. The Squire told several long stories of early college pranks and adventures. I found the tide of wine and wassail fast gaining on the dry land of sober judgment. The company grew merrier and louder as their jokes grew duller. Master Simon was in as chirping a humour as a grasshopper filled with dew; his old songs grew of a warmer complexion, and he began to talk maudlin about the widow. After the dinner-table was removed, the hall was given up to the younger members of the family, who made its old walls ring with their merriment, as they played at romping games. Master Simon, who was the leader of their revels, and seemed on all occasions to fulfil the office of that ancient potentate, the Lord of Misrule, was blinded in the midst of the hall. The little beings were as busy about him as the mock fairies about Falstaff; pinching him, plucking at the skirts of his coat, and tickling him with straws.