1827.] [ Io5 '] 



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VILLAGE SKETCHES : 

 No. VIII. 



Our Maying. 



As party produces party, and festival brings forth festival in higher life, 

 so one scene of rural festivity is pretty sure to be followed by another. 

 The boy's cricket-match at Whitsuntide, which was won most triumph- 

 antly by our parish, and luckily passed off without giving cause for a 

 coroner's inquest, or indeed without injury of any sort, except the demo- 

 lition of Amos Stokes's new straw-hat, the crown of which (Amos's head 

 being fortunately at a distance), was fairly struck out by the cricket-ball; 

 this match produced one between our eleven and the players of the neigh- 

 bouring hamlet of Whitley ; and being patronized by the young lord of 

 the manor and several of the gentry round, and followed by jumping in 

 sacks, riding donkey-races, grinning through horse-collars, and other diver- 

 sions more renowned for their antiquity than their elegance, gave such 

 general satisfaction, that it was resolved to hold a Maying in full form in 

 Whitley- wood. 



Now this wood of our's happens to be a common of twenty acres, with 

 three trees on it, and the Maying was fixed to be held between hay-time 

 and harvest; but "what's in a name?" Whitley-wood is a beautiful 

 piece of green sward, surrounded on three sides by fields and farm-houses, 

 and cottages, and woody uplands, and on the other by a fine park ; and 

 the May house was erected, and the May-games held in the beginning of 

 July; the very season of leaves and roses, when the days are at the 

 longest, and the weather at the finest, and the whole world is longing to 

 get out of doors. Moreover, the whole festival was aided, not impeded, 

 by the gentlemen amateurs, headed by that very genial person, our young 

 lord of the manor ; whilst the business part of the affair was confided to 

 the well-known diligence, zeal, activity, and intelligence of that most 

 popular of village landlords, mine host of the Rose. How could a May- 

 ing fail under such auspices ? Every body expected more sunshine and 

 more fun, more flowers and more laughing, than ever was known at a 

 rustic merry-making and really, considering the manner in which expec- 

 tation had been raised, the quantity of disappointment has been astonish- 

 ingly small. 



Landlord Brown, the master of the revels, and our very good neighbour, 

 is a portly, bustling man, of five-and-forty, or thereabout, with a hale, 

 jovial visage, a merry eye, and pleasant smile, and a general air of good- 

 fellowship. This last qualification, whilst it serves greatly to recommend 

 his ale. is apt to mislead superficial observers, who generally account him 

 a sort of slenderer Boniface, and imagine that, like that renowned hero of 

 the spiggot, Master Brown eats, drinks, and sleeps on his own anno 

 domini. They were never more mistaken in their lives; no soberer man 

 than Master Brown within twenty miles!' Except for the good of the 

 house, he no more thinks of drinking beer, than a grocer of eating figs. 

 To be sure when the jug lags he will take a hearty pull, first by way of 

 example, and to set the good ale a going. But, in general, he trusts to 

 subtler and more delicate modes of quickening its circulation. A good 

 song, a good story, a merry jest, a hearty laugh, and a most winning habit 

 of assentation; these are his implements. There is -not a better com- 

 panion, or a more judicious listener in the county. His pliability is asto- 



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