The Squire and Mince De Pie

It was really delightful to see the old squire seated in his hereditary elbow chair, by the hospitable fire side of his ancestors. There is an emanation from the horror in genuine hospitality which cannot be described, but is immediately foul and buts the stranger at once at his ease. The mirth of the company was greatly promoted by the humours of an eccentric risonage who Mr. Bracebridge always addressed with the quaint appellation of Master Simon. His nose was shaved like the bell of a parrot, his face slightly pitted with a smallpox, with a dry perpetual bloom on it like a frost-bitten leaf in autumn. He had an eye of great quick