University of Virginia Library

MAY-DAY.

As I was lying in bed this morning, enjoying
one of those half dreams, half reveries, which
are so pleasant in the country, when the birds are
singing about the window, and the sunbeams
peeping through the curtains, I was roused by
the sound of music. On going down stairs I
found a number of villagers, drest in their holy-day
clothes, bearing a pole ornamented with garlands
and ribbands, and accompanied by the village

band of music under the direction of the
tailor, the pale fellow who plays on the clarionet.
They had all sprigs of hawthorn, or as it is called,
“the May,” in their hats, and had brought
green branches and flowers to decorate the Hall
door and windows. They had come to give notice
that the May-pole was reared on the green,
and to invite the household to witness the sports.
The Hall, according to custom, became a scene
of hurry and delighted confusion. The servants
were all agog with May and music; and there
was no keeping the tongues or the feet of the
maids quiet, who were anticipating the sports of
the green, and the evening dance.

I repaired to the village at an early hour to
enjoy the merry-making. The morning was
pure and sunny, such as a May-morning is always
described. The fields were white with daisies;
the hawthorn was covered with its fragrant blossoms;
the bee hummed about every bank, and
the swallow played high in the air about the village
steeple. It was one of those days when
we seem to draw in pleasure with the very air

we breathe, and to feel happy we know not why.
Whoever has felt the worth of worthy man, or
has doated on lovely woman, will, on such a day,
call them tenderly to mind, and feel his heart all
alive with long buried recollections.

Before reaching the village I saw the May-pole,
towering above the cottages, with its gay
garlands and streamers, and heard the sound of
music. I found that there had been booths set
up near it, for the reception of company, and a
bower of green branches and flowers for the
Queen of May, a fresh rosy-cheeked girl of the
village.

A band of morrice dancers were capering on
the green in their fantastic dresses, jingling with
hawks' bells, with a boy dressed up as Maid
Marian, and the attendant fool rattling his box
to collect contributions from the bystanders.

I noticed, also, the gipsy women, already
plying their mystery in byecorners of the village,
reading the hands of the simple country
girls, and no doubt promising them all good
husbands and tribes of children.

The Squire made his appearance in the
course of the morning, attended by the parson,
and was received with loud acclamations. He
mingled among the country people, throughout
the day, giving and receiving pleasure wherever
he went.

The amusements of the day were under the
management of Slingsby, the schoolmaster;
who is not merely “lord of misrule” in his
school, but likewise master of the revels to the
village. He was bustling about with the perplexed
and anxious air of a man who has the
oppressive burthen of promoting other people's
merriment upon his mind. He had involved
himself in a dozen scrapes, in consequence of
a politic intrigue; which, by the bye, Master
Simon and the Oxonian were at the bottom of,
which had for object the election of the Queen
of May. He had met with violent opposition
from a faction of ale drinkers, who were in favour
of a bouncing bar maid, the daughter of the tavern
keeper; but he had been too strongly backed
not to carry his point; though it shows that

these crowns, like all others, are objects of
great ambition and heart burning. I am told
that Master Simon takes great interest, though
in an underhand way, in the election of these
May-day Queens, and that the chaplet is generally
secured for some rustic beauty that has
found favour in his eyes.

In the course of the day there were various
games of strength and agility on the green, at
which a knot of village veterans presided, as
judges of the lists. Among these I perceived
that Ready Money Jack took the lead, looking
with a learned and critical eye on the merits of
the different candidates. His hat was drawn a
little on one side over his brow, which gave
additional effect to his decisions; and though he
was very laconic and sometimes merely expressed
himself by a nod; yet it was evident that his
opinions far outweighed those of the most
loquacious.

Young Jack Tibbets was the hero of the day,
and carried off most of the prizes; though in
some of the feats of agility he was rivalled by the

prodigal son, who appeared much in his
element on this occasion; but his most formidable
competitor was the notorious gipsy, the redoubtable
Star-light Tom. I was rejoiced at
having an opportunity of seeing this “minion
of the moon” in broad daylight. I found him
to be a tall, swarthy, good-looking fellow, with
a lofty, air something like I have seen in an Indian
chieftain, and with a certain lounging, easy, and
almost graceful carriage, which I have often remarked
in beings of the lazaroni order, that
lead an idle loitering life, and have a gentlemanlike
contempt of labour.

Master Simon and the general reconnoitred
the ground together, indulging a vast deal of
harmless raking among the buxom country girls.
Master Simon would give some of them a kiss
on meeting with them, and would ask after their
sisters, for he is acquainted with most of the farmers'
families. Sometimes he would whisper
and affect to talk mischievously with them, and
if bantered on the subject, would turn it off with
a laugh; though it was evident he liked to be

suspected of being a gay Lothario amongst
them.

He had much to say to the farmers about their
farms, and seemed to know all their horses by
name. There was an old fellow with a round
ruddy face and a night cap under his hat, who
is the wit of the village, and who took several
occasions to crack a joke with Master Simon in
the hearing of his companions, to whom he
would turn and wink hard when Master Simon
had passed.

The harmony of the day, however, had nearly
at one time been interrupted by the appearance
of the radical on the ground with two or three
of his disciples. He soon got engaged in argument
in the very thick of the throng, above
which I could hear his voice, and now and then
see his meagre hand, half a mile out of the
sleeve, elevated in the air in violent gesticulation,
and flourishing a pamphlet by way of truncheon.
He was decrying these idle nonsensical amusements
in times of public distress, when it was
every one's business to think of other matters,

and to be miserable. The honest village logicians
could make no stand against him, especially
as he was seconded by his proselytes, when, to
their great joy, Master Simon and the general
got embroiled in the discussion. I saw that the
former rather entered into it with an ill grace,
from which I was persuaded that he must before
this have had a brush with the radical; but the
general was too loyal to suffer such talk in his
hearing, and thought, no doubt, that a look and
a word from a gentleman would be sufficient to
shut up so shabby an orator. The latter, however,
was no respecter of persons, but rather
seemed to exult in having such important antagonists.
He talked with greater volubility than
ever, and soon drowned them in declamation on
the subject of taxes, poor's rates, and the national
debt. Master Simon endeavoured to
brush along in his usual excursive manner, which
had always answered amazingly well with the
villagers; but the radical was one of those pestilent
fellows that pin a man down to facts, and,
indeed, he had two or three pamphlets in his
pocket to support every thing he advanced by
printed documents. In a word, the two worthies
from the Hall were completely dumb-founded,
and this too in the presence of several of Master
Simon's staunch admirers; who had always
looked up to him as infallible. I do not know
how he and the general would have managed to
draw their forces decently from the field, had
there not been a match of grinning through a
horse-collar announced; whereupon the radical
retired with great expression of contempt; and as
soon as his back was turned, the argument was
carried against him all hollow.

In the latter part of the day the ladies from
the Hall paid a visit to the green. The fair
Julia made her appearance, leaning on her lover's
arm; and looking extremely pale and
interesting. As she is a great favourite in
the village, where she has been known from
childhood, and as her late accident had been
much talked about, the sight of her caused very
manifest delight, and some of the old women of
the village blessed her sweet face as she passed.

While they were walking about I noticed the
little schoolmaster in earnest conversation with
the young girl that represented the Queen of
May, evidently endeavouring to spirit her up to
some formidable undertaking. At length, as the
party from the Hall approached her bower, she
came forth, faltering at every step, until she
reached the spot where the fair Julia stood between
her lover and Lady Lillycraft. The little
queen then took the chaplet of flowers from
her head, and attempted to put it on that of the
bride elect; but the confusion of both was so
great that the wreath would have fallen to the
ground, had not the officer caught it, and,
laughing, placed it upon the blushing brows of
his mistress. There was something charming
in the very embarrassment of these two young
creatures, both so beautiful, yet so different in
their kinds of beauty. Master Simon told me
afterwards, that the Queen of May was to have
spoken a few verses which the schoolmaster had
written for her; but that she had neither wit to
understand, nor memory to recollect them.

“Besides,” added he, “between you and I, she
murders the king's English abominably; so
she has acted the part of a wise woman, in
holding her tongue and trusting to her pretty
face.”

Among the other characters from the Hall
was Mrs. Hannah, my Lady Lillycraft's gentlewoman;
to my surprise she was escorted by
old Christy, the huntsman, and followed by his
ghost of a grayhound; but I find they are very
old acquaintances, being drawn together by
some sympathy of disposition. Mrs. Hannah
moved about with starched dignity among the
rustics, who drew back from her with more awe
than they did from her mistress. Her mouth
seemed shut as with a clasp; excepting that I
now and then heard the word “fellows,” escape
from between her lips, as she got accidentally
jostled in the crowd.

But there was one other heart present that did
not enter into the merriment of the scene; which
was that of the simple Phoebe Wilkins, the
housekeeper's niece. The poor girl has continued

to pine and whine for some time past,
in consequence of the obstinate coldness of her
lover; never was a little flirtation more severely
punished. She appeared this day on the green,
gallanted by a smart servant out of livery, and
had evidently resolved to try the hazardous experiment
of awakening the jealousy of her lover.
She was dressed out in her very best; affected
an air of great gayety, talked loud and girlishly,
and laughed when there was nothing to laugh at.
There was, however, an aching heavy heart in
the poor baggage's bosom, under all this levity.
I saw her eye, in the midst of her mirth, turn
with an anxious expression every now and then
in quest of her reckless swain, and her cheek
turned pale, and her fictitious gayety vanished,
on his paying his rustic homage to the little
May-day Queen.

My attention was now diverted by a fresh stir
and bustle. Music was heard at a distance;
a banner was seen advancing up the road, preceded
by a rustic band playing something like
a march, and followed by a sturdy throng, the

chivalry of a neighbouring and rival village.
No sooner had they reached the green, than they
challenged the heroes of the day to new trials of
strength and activity. Several gymnastic contests
ensued for the honour of the respective
villages. In the course of these exercises young
Tibbets and the champion of the adverse party
had an obstinate match at wrestling. They
tugged, and strained, and panted, without either
getting the mastery, until both came to the
ground, and rolled upon the green.

Just then the disconsolate Phoebe came by.
She saw her recreant lover, in fierce contest, as
she thought, and in danger. In a moment, pride,
pique, and coquetry were forgotten; she darted
into the ring, seized upon the rival champion by
the hair, and was on the point of wreaking on
him her puny vengeance, when a buxom, strapping
country lass, the sweetheart of the prostrate
swain, pounced upon her like a hawk, and would
have stripped her of her fine plumage in an instant,
had she not been seized in her turn.

A complete tumult ensued. The chivalry of

the two villages became embroiled. Blows
began to be dealt, and sticks to be flourished.
Phoebe was carried off from the field in hysterics.
In vain did the sages of the village interfere.
I saw the sententious apothecary tumbled into
the dirt as he was endeavouring to spread the oil
of wisdom over this tempestuous sea of passion.

Slingsby, who is a great lover of peace, went
into the midst of the throng, as marshal of the
day, to put an end to the commotion, but was
speedily rent in twain, and came out with his
garment hanging in two strips from his shoulders;
while the prodigal son dashed in with fury
to revenge the insult which his patron had sustained.

The tumult thickened. I caught glimpses of
the jockey cap of old Christy, like the helmet of
a chieftain, bobbing about in the midst of the
scuffle; while Mistress Hannah, separated from
her doughty protector, was squalling and striking
at right and left with a faded parasol, being tossed
and tousled about by the crowd, in such wise
as was never maiden gentlewoman before.

At length I beheld old Ready Money Jack
making his way into the very thickest of the
throng; tearing it, as it were, apart, and enforcing
peace vi et armis. It was surprising to see
the sudden quiet that ensued. The storm settled
down into tranquillity. The parties having no
real grounds of hostility, became readily pacified,
and in fact were a little at a loss to know why
they had got by the ears. The schoolmaster
was pinned together again by his wife; Mrs.
Hannah drew on one side, to plume her rumpled
feathers, and then swept back again to the Hall,
ten times more bitter against mankind than ever.

The Tibbets' family alone seemed slow in recovering
from the agitation of the scene. Young
Jack was evidently very much moved by the heroism
of the unlucky Phoebe. His mother,
who had been summoned to the field of action
by news of the affray, was in a sad panic; and
had need of all her management to keep him
from following his mistress and having a perfect
reconciliation.

What heightened the alarm and perplexity of
the good managing dame was, that the matter
had aroused the slow apprehension of old
Ready Money himself, who was very much
struck by the intrepid interference of so pretty
and delicate a girl, and was sadly puzzled to understand
the meaning of the violent agitation in
his family.

When all this came to the ears of the Squire,
he was grievously scandalized that his May-day
fête should have been disgraced by such a brawl.
He ordered Phoebe to appear before him, but the
girl was so frightened and distressed that she
appeared sobbing and trembling, and could make
no answer to his questions.

Lady Lillycraft, who had understood there
was an affair of the heart at the bottom of this
distress, immediately took the girl into great
favour and protection, and made her peace with
the Squire.

This was the only thing that disturbed the harmony
of the day, if we except the discomfiture
of Master Simon and the general by the radical.

Upon the whole, therefore, the Squire had very
fair reason to be satisfied that he had rode his
hobby throughout the day without any other
molestation.

The reader, learned in these matters, will perceive
that all this was but a faint shadow of the
once gay and fanciful rites of May. The peasantry
have lost the proper feeling for these rites,
and have grown almost as strange to them, as the
boors of La Mancha were to the customs of
chivalry in the days of the valorous Don Quixote.
Indeed, I considered it a proof of the discretion
with which the Squire rides his Hobby,
that he had not pushed the thing any farther,
nor attempted to revive many obsolete usages of
the day, which in the present matter-of-fact
times would appear affected and absurd. I must
say, however, though I do it under the rose, that
the general brawl in which this festival had nearly
terminated, has made me doubt whether these
rural customs of the “good old times,” were
always so very loving and innocent as we are
apt to fancy them; and whether the peasantry

in those times were really so Arcadian as they
have been fondly represented. I begin to fear