Games and Songs of American Children

The existence of any children's tradition in America, maintained independently of print, has hitherto been scarcely noticed. Yet it appears that, in this minor but curious branch of folk-lore, the vein in the United States is both richer and purer than that so far worked in Great Britain. These games supply material for the elucidation of a subject hitherto obscure: they exhibit the true relation of ancient English lore of this kind to that of the continent of Europe; while the amusements of youth in other languages are often illustrated by American custom, which compares favorably, in respect of compass and antiquity, with that of European countries.

Of the two branches into which the lore of the nursery may be divided—the tradition of children and the tradition of nurses—the present collection includes only the former. It is devoted to formulas of play which children have preserved from generation to generation, without the intervention, often without the knowledge, of older minds. Were these—trifling as they often are—merely local and individual, they might be passed over with a smile; but being English and European, they form not the least curious chapter of the history of manners and customs. It has therefore been an essential part of the editor's object to exhibit their correspondences and history; but, unwilling to overcloud with cumbrous research that healthy and bright atmosphere which invests all that really belongs to childhood, he has thought it best to remand to an appendix the necessary references, retaining in the text only so much as may be reasonably supposed of interest to the readers in whom one or another page may awaken early memories.

He has to express sincere thanks to the friends, in different parts of the country, whose kind assistance has rendered possible this volume, in which almost every one of the older states is represented; and he will be grateful for such further information as may tend to render the collection more accurate and complete.

The melodies which accompany many of the games have been written from the recitation of children by S. Austen Pearce, Mus. Doc. Oxon.

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PAGE
	Editor's Note.	v
INTRODUCTORY.
I.	The Diffusion and Origin of American Game-rhymes.	1
II.	The Ballad, the Dance, and the Game.	8
III.	May-games.	13
IV.	The Inventiveness of Children.	22
V.	The Conservatism of Children.	28
I. LOVE-GAMES.
No.
1.	Knights of Spain.	39
2.	Three Kings.	46
3.	Here Comes a Duke.	47
4.	Tread, Tread the Green Grass.	50
5.	I will Give You a Paper of Pins.	51
6.	There She Stands, a Lovely Creature.	55
7.	Green Grow the Rushes, O!	56
8.	The Widow with Daughters to Marry.	56
9.	Philander's March.	58
10.	Marriage.	59
II. HISTORIES.
11.	Miss Jennia Jones.	63
12.	Down She Comes, as White as Milk.	67
13.	Little Sally Waters.	70
14.	Here Sits the Queen of England.	70
15.	Green Gravel.	71
16.	Uncle John.	72
17.	King Arthur was King William's Son.	73
18.	Little Harry Hughes and the Duke's Daughter.	75
19.	Barbara Allen.	78
III. PLAYING AT WORK.
20.	Virginia Reel.	80
21.	Oats, Pease, Beans, and Barley Grows.	80
22.	Who'll be the Binder?	84
23.	As We Go Round the Mulberry Bush.	86
24.	Do, do, Pity my Case.	87
25.	When I was a Shoemaker.	88
26.	Here we Come Gathering Nuts of May.	89
27.	Here I Brew and Here I Bake.	90
28.	Draw a Bucket of Water.	90
29.	Threading the Needle.	91
IV. HUMOR AND SATIRE.
30.	Soldier, Soldier, Will You Marry Me?	93
31.	Quaker Courtship.	94
32.	Lazy Mary.	96
33.	Whistle, Daughter, Whistle.	96
34.	There were Three Jolly Welshmen.	97
35.	A Hallowe'en Rhyme.	98
36.	The Doctor's Prescription.	99
37.	Old Grimes.	100
38.	The Baptist Game.	101
39.	Trials, Troubles, and Tribulations.	102
40.	Happy is the Miller.	102
41.	The Miller of Gosport.	103
V. FLOWER ORACLES, ETC
42.	Flower Oracles.	105
43.	Use of Flowers in Games.	107
44.	Counting Apple-seeds.	109
45.	Rose in the Garden.	110
46.	There was a Tree Stood in the Ground.	111
47.	Green!	113
VI. BIRD AND BEAST.
48.	My Household.	115
49.	Frog-pond.	116
50.	Bloody Tom.	117
51.	Blue-birds and Yellow-birds.	118
52.	Ducks Fly.	119
VII. HUMAN LIFE.
53.	King and Queen.	120
54.	Follow your Leader.	122
55.	Truth.	122
56.	Initiation.	122
57.	Judge and Jury.	123
58.	Three Jolly Sailors.	124
59.	Marching to Quebec.	125
60.	Sudden Departure.	126
61.	Scorn.	126
VIII. THE PLEASURES OF MOTION.
62.	Ring Around the Rosie.	127
63.	Go Round and Round the Valley.	128
64.	The Farmer in the Dell.	129
65.	The Game of Rivers.	130
66.	Quaker, How is Thee?	130
67.	Darby Jig.	131
68.	Right Elbow In.	131
69.	My Master Sent Me.	131
70.	Humpty Dumpty.	132
71.	Pease Porridge Hot.	132
72.	Rhymes for a Race.	132
73.	Twine the Garland.	133
74.	Hopping-dance.	133
IX. MIRTH AND JEST.
75.	Club Fist.	134
76.	Robin's Alive.	135
77.	Laughter Games.	136
78.	Bachelor's Kitchen.	137
79.	The Church and the Steeple.	138
80.	What Color?	138
81.	Beetle and Wedge.	138
82.	Present and Advise.	139
83.	Genteel Lady.	139
84.	Beast, Bird, or Fish.	140
85.	Wheel of Fortune.	140
86.	Catches.	141
87.	Intery Mintery.	142
88.	Redeeming Forfeits.	143
89.	Old Mother Tipsy-toe.	143
90.	Who Stole the Cardinal's Hat?	145
X. GUESSING-GAMES.
91.	Odd or Even.	147
92.	Hul Gul.	147
93.	How Many Fingers?	148
94.	Right or Left.	149
95.	Under which Finger?	149
96.	Comes, it Comes.	150
97.	Hold Fast My Gold Ring.	150
98.	My Lady Queen Anne.	151
99.	The Wandering Dollar.	151
100.	Thimble in Sight.	152
XI. GAMES OF CHASE.
101.	How Many Miles to Babylon?	153
102.	Hawk and Chickens.	155
103.	Tag.	158
104.	Den.	159
105.	I Spy.	160
106.	Sheep and Wolf.	161
107.	Blank and Ladder.	161
108.	Blind-man's Buff.	162
109.	Witch in the Jar.	163
110.	Prisoner's Base.	164
111.	Defence of the Castle.	164
112.	Lil Lil.	165
113.	Charley Barley.	165
114.	Milking-pails.	166
115.	Stealing Grapes.	167
116.	Stealing Sticks.	168
117.	Hunt the Squirrel.	168
XII. CERTAIN GAMES OF VERY LITTLE GIRLS.
118.	Sail the Ship.	170
119.	Three Around.	170
120.	Iron Gates.	170
121.	Charley Over the Water.	171
122.	Frog in the Sea.	171
123.	Defiance.	172
124.	My Lady's Wardrobe.	173
125.	Housekeeping.	173
126.	A March.	174
127.	Rhymes for Tickling.	174
XIII. BALL, AND SIMILAR SPORTS.
128.	The "Times" of Sports.	175
129.	Camping the Ball.	177
130.	Hand-ball.	178
131.	Stool-ball.	179
132.	Call-ball.	181
133.	Haley-over.	181
134.	School-ball.	182
135.	Wicket.	182
136.	Hockey.	182
137.	Roll-ball.	183
138.	Hat-ball.	183
139.	Corner-ball.	183
140.	Base-ball.	184
141.	Marbles.	185
142.	Cat.	186
143.	Cherry-pits.	187
144.	Buttons.	187
145.	Hop-Scotch.	188
146.	Duck on a Rock.	189
147.	Mumblety-peg.	189
148.	Five-stones.	190
XIV. RHYMES FOR COUNTING OUT.
149.	Counting Rhymes.	194
XV. MYTHOLOGY.
150.	London Bridge.	204
151.	Open the Gates.	212
152.	Weighing.	212
153.	Colors.	213
154.	Old Witch.	215
155.	The Ogree's Coop.	221
156.	Tom Tidler's Ground.	221
157.	Dixie's Land.	222
158.	Ghost in the Cellar.	223
159.	The Enchanted Princess.	223
160.	The Sleeping Beauty.	224
APPENDIX.
	Collections of Children's Games.	229
	Comparisons and References.	232

GAMES AND SONGS
OF
AMERICAN CHILDREN.

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A majority of the games of children are played with rhymed formulas, which have been handed down from generation to generation. These we have collected in part from the children themselves, in greater part from persons of mature age who remember the usages of their youth; for this collection represents an expiring custom. The vine of oral tradition, of popular poetry, which for a thousand years has twined and bloomed on English soil, in other days enriching with color and fragrance equally the castle and the cottage, is perishing at the roots; its prouder branches have long since been blasted, and children's song, its humble but longest-flowering offshoot, will soon have shared their fate.

It proves upon examination that these childish usages of play are almost entirely of old English origin. A few games, it is true, appear to have been lately imported from England or Ireland, or borrowed from the French or the German; but these make up only a small proportion of the whole. Many of the rounds still common in our cities, judging from their incoherence and rudeness, might be supposed inventions of "Arabs of the streets;" but these invariably prove to be mere corruptions of songs long familiar on American soil. The influence of print is here practically nothing; and a rhyme used in the sports of American children almost always varies from the form of the same game in Great Britain, when such now exists.

There are quarters of the great city of New York in which one hears the dialect, and meets the faces, of Cork or Tipperary. But the children of these immigrants attend the public school, that mighty engine of equalization; their language has seldom more than a trace of accent, and they adopt from schoolmates local formulas for games, differing more or less from those which their parents used on the other side of the sea. In other parts of the town, a German may live for years, needing and using in business and social intercourse no tongue but his own, and may return to Europe innocent of any knowledge of the English speech. Children of such residents speak German in their homes, and play with each other the games they have brought with them from the Fatherland. But they all speak English also, are familiar with the songs which American children sing, and employ these too in their sports. There is no transference from one tongue to another, unless in a few cases, when the barrier of rhyme does not exist. The English-speaking population, which imposes on all new-comers its language, imposes also its traditions, even the traditions of children.

A curious inquirer who should set about forming a collection of these rhymes, would naturally look for differences in the tradition of different parts of the Union, would desire to contrast the characteristic amusements of children in the North and in the South, descendants of Puritan and Quaker. In this he would find his expectations disappointed, and for the reason assigned. This lore belongs, in the main, to the day before such distinctions came into existence; it has been maintained with equal pertinacity, and with small variations, from Canada to the Gulf. Even in districts distinguished by severity of moral doctrines, it does not appear that any attempt was made to interfere with the liberty of youth. Nowhere have the old sports (often, it is true, in crude rustic forms) been more generally maintained than in localities famous for Puritanism. Thus, by a natural law of reversion, something of the music, grace, and gayety of an earlier period of unconscious and natural living has been preserved to sweeten the formality, angularity, and tedium of an otherwise beneficial religious movement.

It is only within the century that America has become the land of motion and novelty. During the long colonial period, the quiet towns, less in communication with distant settlements than with the mother-country itself, removed from the currents of thought circulating in Europe, were under those conditions in which tradition is most prized and longest maintained. The old English lore in its higher branches, the ballad and the tale, already belonging to the past at the time of the settlement, was only sparingly existent among the intelligent class from which America was peopled; but such as they did bring with them was retained. Besides, the greater simplicity and freedom of American life caused, as it would seem, these childish amusements to be kept up by intelligent and cultivated families after the corresponding class in England had frowned them down as too promiscuous and informal. But it is among families with the greatest claims to social respectability that our rhymes have, in general, been best preserved.

During the time of which we are writing, independent local usages sprang up, so that each town had oftentimes its own formulas and names for children's sports; but these were, after all, only selections from a common stock, one place retaining one part, another, of the old tradition. But in the course of the last two generations (and this is a secondary reason for the uniformity of our games in different parts of the country) the extension of intercourse between the States has tended to diffuse them, so that petty rhymes, lately invented, have sometimes gained currency from Maine to Georgia.

We proceed to speak of our games as they exist on the other side of the sea. A comparison with English and Scotch collections shows us very few games mentioned as surviving in Great Britain which we cannot parallel in independent forms. On the other hand, there are numerous instances in which rhymes of this sort, still current in America, do not appear to be now known in the mother-country, though they oftentimes have equivalents on the continent of Europe. In nearly all such cases it is plain that the New World has preserved what the Old World has forgotten; and the amusements of children to-day picture to us the dances which delighted the court as well as the people of the Old England before the settlement of the New.[2]

To develop the interest of our subject, however, we must go beyond the limits of the English tongue. The practice of American children enables us to picture to ourselves the sports which pleased the infancy of Froissart and Rabelais.[3] A dramatic action of the Virginia hills preserves the usage of Färöe and Iceland, of Sweden and Venice.[4] We discover that it is an unusual thing to find any remarkable childish sport on the European continent which failed to domesticate itself (though now perhaps forgotten) in England. It is thus vividly and irresistibly forced upon our notice, that the traditions of the principal nations of Europe have differed little more than the dialects of one language, the common tongue, so to speak, of religion, chivalry, and civilization.

A different explanation has been given to this coincidence. When only the agreement, in a few cases, of English and German rhymes was noticed, it was assumed that the correspondence was owing to race-migration; to the settlement in England of German tribes, who brought with them national traditions. The present volume would be sufficient to show the untenability of such an hypothesis. The resemblance of children's songs in different countries, like the similarity of popular traditions in general, is owing to their perpetual diffusion from land to land; a diffusion which has been going on in all ages, in all directions, and with all degrees of rapidity. But the interest of their resemblance is hardly diminished by this consideration. The character of some of these parallelisms proves that for the diffusion in Europe of certain games of our collection we must go back to the early Middle Age;[5] while the extent of the identity of our American (that is, of old English) child's lore with the European is a continual surprise.[6]

Internal evidence alone would be sufficient to refer many of the sports to a mediæval origin, for we can still trace in them the expression of the life of that period.

We comprehend how deeply mediæval religious conceptions affected the life of the time, when we see that allusions to those beliefs are still concealed in the playing of children. We find that the tests which the soul, escaped from the body, had, as it was supposed, to undergo—the scales of St. Michael, the keys of St. Peter, and the perpetual warfare of angels and devils over departed souls—were familiarly represented and dramatized in the sports of infants.[7] Such allusions have, it is true, been excluded from English games; but that these once abounded with them can be made abundantly evident. We see that chivalric warfare, the building and siege of castles, the march and the charge of armies, equally supplied material for childish mimicry. We learn how, in this manner, the social state and habits of half a thousand years ago unconsciously furnish the amusement of youth, when the faith and fashion of the ancient day is no longer intelligible to their elders.

It will be obvious that many of the game-rhymes in this collection were not composed by children. They were formerly played, as in many countries they are still played, by young persons of marriageable age, or even by mature men and women. The truth is, that in past centuries all the world, judged by our present standard, seems to have been a little childish. The maids of honor of Queen Elizabeth's day, if we may credit the poets, were devoted to the game of tag,[8] and conceived it a waste of time to pass in idleness hours which might be employed in that pleasure, with which Diana and her nymphs were supposed to amuse themselves. Froissart describes the court of France as amusing itself with sports familiar to his own childhood; and the Spectator speaks of the fashionable ladies of London as occupied with a game which is represented in this series.[9]

We need not, however, go to remote times or lands for illustration which is supplied by New England country towns of a generation since. In these, dancing, under that name, was little practised; it was confined to one or two balls in the course of the year on such occasions as the Fourth of July, lasting into the morning hours. At other times, the amusement of young people at their gatherings was "playing games." These games generally resulted in forfeits, to be redeemed by kissing, in every possible variety of position and method. Many of these games were rounds; but as they were not called dances, and as mankind pays more attention to words than things, the religious conscience of the community, which objected to dancing, took no alarm. Such were the pleasures of young men and women from sixteen to twenty-five years of age. Nor were the participants mere rustics; many of them could boast as good blood, as careful breeding, and as much intelligence, as any in the land. Neither was the morality or sensitiveness of the young women of that day in any respect inferior to what it is at present.

Now that our country towns are become mere outlying suburbs of cities, these remarks may be read with a smile at the rude simplicity of old-fashioned American life. But the laugh should be directed, not at our own country, but at the by-gone age.[10] In respectable and cultivated French society, at the time of which we speak, the amusements, not merely of young people, but of their elders as well, were every whit as crude. The suggestion is so contrary to our preconceived ideas, that we hasten to shelter ourselves behind the respectable name of Madame Celnart, who, as a recognized authority on etiquette, must pass for an unimpeachable witness.[11] This writer compiled a very curious "Complete Manual of Games of Society, containing all the games proper for young people of both sexes," which seems to have gained public approbation, since it reached a second edition in 1830. In her preface she recommends the games of which we have been speaking as recreations for business men:

"Another consideration in favor of games of society: it must be admitted that for persons leading a sedentary life, and occupied all day in writing and reckoning (the case with most men), a game which demands the same attitude, the same tension of mind, is a poor recreation. * * * On the contrary, the varying movement of games of society, their diversity, the gracious and gay ideas which these games inspire, the decorous caresses which they permit—all this combines to give real amusement. These caresses can alarm neither modesty nor prudence, since a kiss in honor given and taken before numerous witnesses is often an act of propriety."

She prefers "rounds" to other amusements: "All hands united; all feet in cadence; all mouths repeating the same refrain; the numerous turns, the merry airs, the facile and rapid pantomime, the kisses which usually accompany them—everything combines, in my opinion, to make rounds the exercise of free and lively gayety."

We find among the ring-games given by our author, and recommended to men of affairs, several of which English forms exist in our collection, and are familiar to all children.[12]

We are thus led to remark an important truth. It is altogether a mistake to suppose that these games (or, indeed, popular lore of any description) originated with peasants, or describe the life of peasants. The tradition, on the contrary, invariably came from above, from the intelligent class. If these usages seem rustic, it is only because the country retained what the city forgot, in consequence of the change of manners to which it was sooner exposed. Such customs were, at no remote date, the pleasures of courts and palaces. Many games of our collection, on the other hand, have, it is true, always belonged to children; but no division-line can be drawn, since out of sports now purely infantine have arisen dances and songs which have for centuries been favorites with young men and women.[13]

Canadian Round.

Games accompanied by song may be divided into ballads, songs, and games proper.

By the term ballad is properly signified a dance-song, or dramatic poem sung and acted in the dance. The very word, derived through the late Latin[14] from the Greek, attests that golden chain of oral tradition which links our modern time, across centuries of invasion and conflict, with the bright life of classic antiquity.

Still more pleasantly is a like history contained in another name for the same custom. The usual old English name for the round dance, or its accompanying song, was carol, which we now use in the restricted sense of a festival hymn. Chaucer's "Romaunt of the Rose" describes for us the movement of the "karole," danced on the "grene gras" in the spring days. He shows us knights and ladies holding each other by the hand, in a flowery garden where the May music of mavis and nightingale blends with the "clere and ful swete karoling" of the lady who sings for the dancers. This sense of the word continued in classic use till the sixteenth century, and has survived in dialect to the present day. Many of the games of our series are such rounds or carols, "love-dances" in which youths and maidens formerly stood in the ring by couples, holding each other's hands, though our children no longer observe that arrangement. Now the word carol is only a modernized form of chorus. Thus childish habit has preserved to the present day the idea and movement of the village ring-dance, the chorus, such as it existed centuries or millenniums before another and religious form of the dance accompanied by song had received that technical name in the Greek drama.

Very little was needed to turn the ballad into a dramatic performance, by assigning different parts to different actors. It is natural also for children to act out the stories they hear. We find, accordingly, that ancient ballads have sometimes passed into children's games. But, in the present collection, the majority of the pieces which can be referred to the ballad are of a different character. In these the remainder of the history is reduced to a few lines, or to a single couplet. These historiettes have retained the situation, omitting the narration, of the ancient song. We can understand how youthful or rustic minds, when the popular song had nearly passed out of mind, should have vaguely maintained the upshot of the story:

It is the tragedy told in a line; and what more is needed, since an excuse is already provided for the kiss or the romp?[15]

Of lyric song we have scarce anything to offer. The fifteenth and sixteenth centuries gave birth, all over Europe, to popular lyric poesy, modelled on literary antecedents, and replacing in general estimation the ancient dramatic ballad. Shakespeare, who merely refers to the ballad proper, makes frequent use of the popular song of his day. In many countries this taste has penetrated to the people; the power of lyric composition has become general, so that a collection of popular songs will contain many sweet and pleasing pieces. The ballad has thus passed into the round. An inconsequent but musical babble, like that of a brook or a child, has replaced the severe accents of the ancient narration. But in English—why, we will not pause to inquire—it is not so. Whatever of this kind once existed has passed away, leaving but little trace. All that is poetical or pretty is the relic of past centuries; and when the ancient treasure is spent, absolute prose succeeds. The modern soil is incapable of giving birth to a single flower.

Our rhymes, therefore, belong almost entirely to the third class—the game proper. But though less interesting poetically, and only recorded at a late period, it does not follow that they have not as ancient a history as the oldest ballads; on the contrary, it will abundantly appear that the formulas used in games have an especially persistent life. As the ballad is a dramatic narrative, so the game is a dramatic action, or series of actions; and the latter is as primitive as the former, while both were employed to regulate the dance.

Most modern dances, silently performed in couples, are merely lively movements; but in all ancient performances of the sort the idea is as essential as the form. Precisely as the meaningless refrains of many ballads arise from a forgetfulness of intelligible words, dances which are only motion grew out of dances which expressed something. The dance was originally the dramatized expression of any feature of nature or life which excited interest. Every department of human labor—the work of the farmer, weaver, or tradesman; the church, the court, and the army; the habits and movements of the animals which seem so near to man in his simplicity, and in whose life he takes so active an interest; the ways and works of the potent supernatural beings, good or evil, or, rather, beneficent or dangerous, by whom he believes himself surrounded; angel and devil, witch and ogre—representations of all these served, each in turn, for the amusement of an idle hour, when the labor which is the bitterness of the enforced workman is a jest to the free youth, and the introduction of spiritual fears which constitute the terror of darkness only adds an agreeable excitement to the sports of the play-ground. All this was expressed in song shared by the whole company, which was once the invariable attendant of the dance, so that the two made up but one idea, and to "sing a dance" and "dance a song" were identical expressions.

The children's rounds of to-day, in which each form of words has its accompanying arrangement of the ring, its significant motion and gesture, thus possess historic interest. For these preserve for us some picture of the conduct of the ballads, dances, and games which were once the amusement of the palace as of the hamlet.

The form of the verses used in the games also deserves note. These usually consist either of a rhyming couplet, or of four lines in which the second and fourth rhyme; they are often accompanied by a refrain, which may be a single added line, or may be made up of two lines inserted into the stanza; and in place of exact consonance, any assonance, or similarity of sound, will answer for the rhyme. Above all, they possess the freedom and quaintness, the tendency to vary in detail while preserving the general idea, which distinguish a living oral tradition from the monotonous printed page; in these respects, our rhymes, humble though they be, are marked as the last echo of the ancient popular poetry.

There is especial reason why an Englishman, or the descendants of Englishmen, should take pride in the national popular song.[16] European mediæval tradition was, it is true, in a measure a common stock; but, though the themes may often have been thus supplied, the poetic form which was given to that material in each land was determined by the genius of the language and of the people. Now, among all its neighbors, the English popular poesy was the most courtly, the most lyric, the most sweet. So much we can still discern by what time has spared.

The English ballad was already born when Canute the Dane coasted the shore of Britain; its golden age was already over when Dante summed up mediæval thought in the "Divina Commedia;" its reproductive period was at an end when Columbus enlarged the horizon of Europe to admit a New World; it was a memory of the past when the American colonies were founded; but even in its last echoes there lingers we know not what mysterious charm of freshness, poetic atmosphere, and eternal youth. Even in these nursery rhymes some grace of the ancient song survives. A girl is a "red rose," a "pretty fair maid," the "finest flower," the "flower of May." The verse itself, simple as it is, often corrupted, is a cry of delight in existence, of satisfaction with nature; its season is the season of bloom and of love; its refrain is "For we are all so gay." It comes to us, in its innocence and freshness, like the breath of a distant and inaccessible garden, tainted now and then by the odors of intervening city streets. But the vulgarity is modern, accidental; the pleasure and poetry are of the original essence.

We cannot but look with regret on the threatened disappearance of these childish traditions, which have given so much happiness to so many generations, and which a single age has nearly forgotten. These songs have fulfilled the conditions of healthy amusement, as nothing else can do. The proper performance of the round, or conduct of the sport, was to youthful minds a matter of the most serious concern—a little drama which could be represented over and over for hours, in which self-consciousness was absorbed in the ambition of the actors to set forth properly their parts. The recital had that feature which distinguishes popular tradition in general, and wherein it is so poorly replaced by literature. Here was no repetition by rote; but the mind and heart were active, the spirit of the language appropriated, and a vein of deep though childish poetry nourished sentiment and imagination. It seems a thousand pities that the ancient tree should not continue to blossom; that whatever may have been acrid or tasteless in the fruit cannot be corrected by the ingrafting of a later time. There is something so agreeable in the idea of an inheritance of thought kept up by childhood itself, created for and adapted to its own needs, that it is hard to consent to part with it. The loss cannot be made good by the deliberate invention of older minds. Children's amusement, directed and controlled by grown people, would be neither childish nor amusing. True child's play is a sacred mystery, at which their elders can only obtain glances by stealth through the crevice of the curtain. Children will never adopt as their own tradition the games which may be composed or remodelled, professedly for their amusement, but with the secret purpose of moral direction.

We do not mean, however, to sigh over natural changes. These amusements came into existence because they were adapted to the conditions of early life; they pass away because those conditions are altered. The taste of other days sustained them; the taste of our day abandons them. This surrender is only one symptom of a mighty change which has come over the human mind, and which bids fair to cause the recent time, a thousand years hence, to be looked back upon as a dividing-mark in the history of intelligence. If it should turn out that the childhood of the human intellect is passing gradually into the "light of common day"—if the past is to be looked back upon with that affectionate though unreasoning interest with which a grown man remembers his imaginative youth—then every fragment which illustrates that past will possess an attraction independent of its intrinsic value.

Old Song.

Children's rhymes and songs have been handed down in two principal ways. First, they have been used for winter amusements, particularly at the Christmas season,[17] as has from time immemorial been the case in northern countries; and, secondly, they have been sung as rounds and dances, especially during summer evenings, upon the village green or city sidewalk. The latter custom is fast becoming extinct, though the circling ring of little girls "on the green grass turning" may now and then be still observed; but a generation since the practice was common with all classes. The proper time for such sports is the early summer; and many of our rounds declare themselves in words, as well as by sentiment, to be the remainder of the ancient May dances. To render this clear, it will be necessary to give some account of the May festival; but we shall confine ourselves to customs of which we can point out relics in our own land. These we can illustrate, without repeating the descriptions of English writers, from Continental usage, which was in most respects identical with old English practice.

It was an ancient habit for the young men of a village, on the eve of the holiday, to go into the forests and select the tallest and straightest tree which could be found. This was adorned with ribbons and flowers, brought home with great ceremony, and planted in front of the church, or at the door of some noted person, where it remained permanently to form the centre of sports and dances. The May-pole itself, the songs sung about it, and the maiden who was queen of the feast, were alike called May. In the absence of any classic mention, the universality of the practice in mediæval Europe, and the common Latin name, may be taken as proof that similar usages made part of the festival held about the calends of May—the Floralia or Majuma.

Notwithstanding all that has been said about the license of this festival in the days of the Empire, it is altogether probable that the essential character of the feast of Flora or Maia was not very different from its mediæval or modern survival. The abundance of flowers, the excursions to the mountains, the decoration of houses, and the very name of Flora, prove that, whatever abuses may have introduced themselves, and whatever primitive superstitions may have been intermingled—superstitions to an early time harmless and pure, and only in the decline of faith the source of offence and corruption—the population of ancient Italy shared that natural and innocent delight in the season of blossom which afterwards affected to more conscious expression Chaucer and Milton.

This "bringing home of summer and May" was symbolic; the tree, dressed out in garlands, typifying the fertility of the year. As in all such rites, the songs and dances, of a more or less religious character, were supposed to have the power of causing the productiveness which they extolled or represented.[18] These practices, however, were not merely superstitious; mirth and music expressed the delight of the human heart, in its simplicity, at the reappearance of verdure and blossom, and thanksgiving to the generous Bestower, which, so long as man shall exist on earth, will be instinctively awakened by the bright opening of the annual drama. Superstition has been the support about which poetry has twined: it is a common mistake of investigators to be content with pointing out the former, and overlooking the coeval existence of the latter. Thus the natural mirth and merriment of the season blended with the supposed efficacy of the rite; and the primitive character of the ring-dance appears to be the circle about the sacred tree in honor of the period of bloom.

A relic, though a trifling one, of the ancient custom, may be seen in some of our cities on the early days of the month. In New York, at least, groups of children may then be observed carrying through the streets a pole painted with gay stripes, ribbons depending from its top, which are held at the end by members of the little company. These proceed, perhaps, to the Central Park, where they conduct their festivities, forming the ring, and playing games which are included in our collection. Within a few years, however, these afternoon expeditions have become rare.

The May-pole, as we have described it, belonged to the village; but a like usage was kept up by individuals. It was the duty of every lover to go into the woods on the eve or early morn of May-day, and bring thence boughs and garlands, which he either planted before the door of his mistress, or affixed thereto, according to local custom. The particular tree, or bush (this expression meaning no more than bough), preferred for the purpose was the hawthorn, which is properly the tree of May, as blooming in the month the name of which it has in many countries received. A belief in the protective influence of the white-thorn, when attached to the house-door, dates back to Roman times. The May-tree, whatever its species, was often adorned with ribbons and silk, with fruit or birds, sometimes with written poems. The lover brought his offering at early dawn, and it was the duty of his mistress to be present at her window and receive it; thus we have in a song of the fifteenth or sixteenth century from the Netherlands—

An English carol alludes to the same practice—

The custom was so universal as to give rise to proverbial expressions. Thus, in Italy, "to plant a May at every door" meant to be very susceptible; and in France, to "esmayer" a girl was to court her.

Some of our readers may be surprised to learn that an offshoot of this usage still exists in the United States; the custom, namely, of hanging "May baskets." A half-century since, in Western Massachusetts, a lad would rise early on May-morning, perhaps at three o'clock, and go into the fields. He gathered the trailing arbutus (the only flower there available at the season), and with his best skill made a "basket," by the aid of "winter-green" and similar verdure. This he cautiously affixed to the door of any girl whom he wished to honor. She was left to guess the giver. The practice is still common in many parts of the country, but in a different form. Both boys and girls make "May baskets," and on May-eve attach them to each other's doors, ringing at the same time the house-bell. A pursuit follows, and whoever can capture the responsible person is entitled to a kiss. We do not venture to assert that the latter usage is entirely a corruption of the former.[20]

The term "May-baskets" is no doubt a modernized form of the old English word "May-buskets," employed by Spenser.[21] Buskets are no more than bushes—that is, as we have already explained, the flowering branches of hawthorn or other tree, picked early on the May-morn, and used to decorate the house. It seems likely that a misunderstanding of the word changed the fashion of the usage; the American lad, instead of attaching a bough, hung a basket to his sweetheart's door.

A French writer pleasantly describes the customs of which we are speaking, as they exist in his own province of Champagne: "The hours have passed; it is midnight; the doors of the young lads open. Each issues noiselessly. He holds in his hand branches and bouquets, garlands and crowns of flowers. Above the gate of his mistress his hand, trembling with love, places his mysterious homage; then, quietly as he came, he retires, saying, 'Perhaps she has seen me.' ... The day dawns. Up! boys and girls! up! it is the first of May! up, and sing! The young men, decked out with ribbons and wild-flowers, go from door to door to sing the month of May and their love."

Of the morning song and dance about the "bush," or branches of trees planted as we have described, we have evidence in the words of American rhymes. Thus—

In one or two instances, a similar refrain figures in the childish sports of little girls, who have probably got it by imitation; in others, it is the sign of an old May game.[22] An English writer of the sixteenth century alludes to the morning dance in a way which proves that these songs really represent the practice of his time.[23]

The playing of May games was by no means confined to the exact date of the festival. The sign of a country tavern in England was a thorn-bush fixed on a pole, and about this "bush" took place the dance of wedding companies who came to the tavern to feast, whence this post was called the bride's stake. Whether the thorn-bush was introduced into the "New English" settlements we cannot say; but the dancing at weddings was common, at least among that portion of those communities which was not bound by the religious restraint that controlled the ruling class. There were, as a French refugee wrote home in 1688, "all kinds of life and manners" in the colonies. In the Colony of Massachusetts Bay, 7th May, 1651, the General Court resolved, "Whereas it is observed that there are many abuses and disorders by dauncinge in ordinaryes, whether mixt or unmixt, upon marriage of some persons, this court doth order, that henceforward there shall be no dauncinge upon such occasion, or at other times, in ordinaryes, upon the paine of five shillings, for every person that shall so daunce in ordinaryes." While youth in the cities might be as gay as elsewhere, in many districts the Puritan spirit prevailed, and the very name of dancing was looked on with aversion. But the young people met this emergency with great discretion; they simply called their amusements playing games, and under this name kept up many of the rounds which were the time-honored dances of the old country.

The French writer whom we have already had occasion to quote goes on to speak of the customs of the younger girls of his province—the bachelettes, as they are called. "On the first of May, dressed in white, they put at their head the sweetest and prettiest of their number. They robe her for the occasion: a white veil, a crown of white flowers adorn her head; she carries a candle in her hand; she is their queen, she is the Trimouzette. Then, all together, they go from door to door singing the song of the Trimouzettes; they ask contributions for adorning the altar of the Virgin, for celebrating, in a joyous repast, the festival of the Queen of Heaven."

This May procession, which has been the custom of girls for centuries, from Spain to Denmark, existed, perhaps still exists, in New England. Until very recently, children in all parts of the United States maintained the ancient habit of rising at dawn of May-day, and sallying forth in search of flowers. The writer well remembers his own youthful excursions, sometimes rewarded, even in chilly Massachusetts, by the early blue star of the hepatica, or the pink drooping bell of the anemone. The maids, too, had rites of their own. In those days, troops of young girls might still be seen, bareheaded and dressed in white, their May-queen crowned with a garland of colored paper. But common-sense has prevailed at last over poetic tradition; and as an act of homage to east winds, a hostile force more powerful at that period than the breath of Flora, it has been agreed that summer in New England does not begin until June.

These May-day performances, however, were originally no children's custom; in this, as in so many other respects, the children have only proved more conservative of old habit than their elders. There can be no doubt that these are the survivals of the ancient processions of Ceres, Maia, Flora, or by whatever other name the "good goddess," the patroness of the fertile earth, was named, in which she was solemnly borne forth to view and bless the fields. The queen of May herself represents the mistress of Spring; she seems properly only to have overlooked the games in which she took no active part.[24]

A writer of the fifteenth century thus describes the European custom of his day: "A girl adorned with precious garments, seated on a chariot filled with leaves and flowers, was called the queen of May; and the girls who accompanied her as her handmaidens, addressing the youths who passed by, demanded money for their queen. This festivity is still preserved in many countries, especially Spain." The usage survives in the dolls which in parts of England children carry round in baskets of flowers on May-day, requesting contributions.

Of this custom a very poetical example, not noticed by English collectors, has fallen under our own observation. We will suppose ourselves in Cornwall on May-day; the grassy banks of the sunken lanes are gay with the domestic blooms dear to old poetry; the grass is starry with pink and white daisies; the spreading limbs of the beech are clad in verdure, and among the budding elms of the hedge-rows "birds of every sort" "send forth their notes and make great mirth." A file of children, rosy-faced boys of five or six years, is seen approaching; their leader is discoursing imitative music on a wooden fife, to whose imaginary notes the rest keep time with dancing steps. The second and third of the party carry a miniature ship; its cargo, its rigging, are blooms of the season, bluebells and wall-flowers; the ship is borne from door to door, where stand the smiling farmers and their wives; none is too poor to add a penny to the store. As the company vanishes at the turn of the lane, we feel that the merriment of the children has more poetically rendered the charm of the season than even the song of the birds.

There is in America no especial song of the festival, though children at the May parties of which we have spoken still keep up the "springing and leaping" which mediæval writers speak of as practised by them at this occasion. Popular songs are, however, still remembered in Europe, where their burden is, May has come! or, Welcome to May! Pleasing and lyric is the song of the "Trimazos," the lay of the processions of girls to which we have alluded, though its simplicity becomes more formal in our version of the provincial French:

So, in the Vosges, young girls fasten a bough of laurel to the hat of a young man whom they may meet on the way, wishing

They ask a gift, but not for themselves:

Corresponding to the French song from which we have quoted is the English May carol, similarly sung from dwelling to dwelling:

The frequent allusions of the earlier English poets to "doing May observance," or the "rite of May," show us how all ranks of society, in their time, were still animated by the spirit of those primitive faiths to which we owe much of our sensibility to natural impressions. Milton himself, though a Puritan, appears to approve the usages of the season, and even employs the ancient feminine impersonation of the maternal tenderness and bounty of nature, invoking the month:

Time, and the changes of taste, have at last proved too strong for the persistency of custom; the practices by which blooming youth expressed its sympathy with the bloom of the year have perished, taking with them much of the poetry of the season, and that inherited sentiment which was formerly the possession of the ignorant as well as of the cultivated class.

Minnesinger, 13th Century.

The student of popular traditions is accustomed to recognize the most trifling incidents of a tale, or the phrases of a song, as an adaptation of some ancient or foreign counterpart, perhaps removed by an interval of centuries. It is the same with rhymes of the sort included in this collection, in which formulas of sport, current in our own day and in the New World, will be continually found to be the legacy of other generations and languages. Should we then infer that childhood, devoid of inventive capacity, has no resource but mechanical repetition?

We may, on the contrary, affirm that children have an especially lively imagination. Observe a little girl who has attended her mother for an airing in some city park. The older person, quietly seated beside the footpath, is half absorbed in revery; takes little notice of passers-by, or of neighboring sights or sounds, further than to cast an occasional glance which may inform her of the child's security. The other, left to her own devices, wanders contented within the limited scope, incessantly prattling to herself; now climbing an adjoining rock, now flitting like a bird from one side of the pathway to the other. Listen to her monologue, flowing as incessantly and musically as the bubbling of a spring; if you can catch enough to follow her thought, you will find a perpetual romance unfolding itself in her mind. Imaginary personages accompany her footsteps; the properties of a childish theatre exist in her fancy; she sustains a conversation in three or four characters. The roughnesses of the ground, the hasty passage of a squirrel, the chirping of a sparrow, are occasions sufficient to suggest an exchange of impressions between the unreal figures with which her world is peopled. If she ascends, not without a stumble, the artificial rockwork, it is with the expressed solicitude of a mother who guides an infant by the edge of a precipice; if she raises her glance to the waving green overhead, it is with the cry of pleasure exchanged by playmates who trip from home on a sunshiny day. The older person is confined within the barriers of memory and experience; the younger breathes the free air of creative fancy.

A little older grown, such a child becomes the inventor of legend. Every house, every hill in the neighborhood, is the locality of an adventure. Every drive includes spots already famous in supposed history, and passes by the abodes of fancied acquaintances. Into a land with few traditions the imagination of six years has introduced a whole cycle of romance.

If the family or vicinity contains a group of such minds, fancy takes outward form in dramatic performance. The school history is vitalized into reality; wars are waged and battles performed in a more extended version, while pins and beans signify squadrons and regiments. Romances are acted, tales of adventure represented with distribution of rôles. Thus, in a family of our acquaintance, the children treasured up wood-engravings, especially such as were cut from the illustrated journals: runaway horses, Indian chiefs, and trappers of the wilderness were at an especial premium. These they stored in boxes, encamped in different corners of the room, and performed a whole library of sensational tales. A popular piece set forth the destruction of the villain of the story by a shark, while navigating a catamaran. The separated beds of the sleeping-room represented the open planks of the raft; the gentlest and most compliant character personified the malefactor; and the shark swam between the bedsteads.

Where sports require or allow such freedom, the ingenuity of children puts to shame the dulness of later years, and many a young lady of twenty would find it impossible to construct the dialogue which eight summers will devise without an effort. It was a favorite amusement of two girls just entering their teens to conduct a boarding-school. The scholars and the teachers of the imaginary school were all named, and these characters were taken in dialogue by the little actors, each sustaining several perfectly well-defined parts. The pupils pursued their pleasures and their studies according to their several tastes; while their progress, their individual accomplishments and offences, were subsequently gravely discussed by the instructors, and the condition, prospects, and management of the institution talked over. Thus, hour after hour, without hesitation or weariness, the conversation proceeded, with the duo of friends for actors and audience!

Oftentimes, with young children, an outward support is required for fancy, an object to be mentally transformed. One set of little girls collected in the fall birch-leaves, changed to yellow, out of which alone they created their little nursery. Another party employed pins, which they inserted in a board, and called pin-fairies. By the aid of these, long dramatizations were performed, costumes devised, and palaces decorated, under regulations rigidly observed.

Such exercises of imagination are usually conducted in strict privacy, and unremarked, or not understood, by parents; but when the attention of the latter is directed to these performances, they are often astonished by the readiness they disclose, and are apt to mistake for remarkable talent what is only the ease of the winged fancy of youth, which flies lightly to heights where later age must laboriously mount step by step.

As infancy begins to speak by the free though unconscious combination of linguistic elements, so childhood retains in language a measure of freedom. A little attention to the jargons invented by children might have been serviceable to certain philologists. Their love of originality finds the tongue of their elders too commonplace; besides, their fondness for mystery requires secret ways of communication. They therefore often create (so to speak) new languages, which are formed by changes in the mother-speech, but sometimes have quite complicated laws of structure, and a considerable arbitrary element.

The most common of these, which are classified by young friends under the general name of gibberish, goes in New England by the name of "Hog Latin." It consists simply in the addition of the syllable ery, preceded by the sound of hard g, to every word. Even this is puzzling to older persons, who do not at first perceive that "Wiggery youggery goggery wiggery miggery" means only "Will you go with me!" Children sometimes use this device so perpetually that parents fear lest they may never recover the command of their native English. When it ceases to give pleasure, new dialects are devised. Certain young friends of ours at first changed the termination thus—"Withus yoovus govus withus meevus?" which must be answered, "Ivus withus govus withus yoovus;" the language, seemingly, not admitting a direct affirmative. The next step was to make a more complicated system by prefixing a u (or oo) sound with a vowel suffix. Thus, "Will you go with me to lunch?" would be "Uwilla uoa ugoa uwitha umea utoa uluncha?" But this contrivance, adopted by all the children of a neighborhood,[25] was attended with variations incapable of reduction to rule, but dependent on practice and instinct. The speech could be learned, like any other, only by experience; and a little girl assured us that she could not comprehend a single word until, in the course of a month, she had learned it by ear. She added, in regard to a particular dialect, that it was much harder than French, and that her brother had to think a great deal when he used it. The application of euphonic rules was more or less arbitrary. Thus, understand would be uery-uinste. The following will answer for a specimen of a conversation between a child and a nurse who has learned the tongue: "Uery uisy uemy uity?" "Up-stairs, on the screen in your room." The child had asked, "Where is my hat?"

A group of children living near Boston invented the cat language, so called because its object was to admit of free intercourse with cats, to whom it was mostly talked, and by whom it was presumed to be comprehended. In this tongue the cat was naturally the chief subject of nomenclature; all feline positions were observed and named, and the language was rich in such epithets, as Arabic contains a vast number of expressions for lion. Euphonic changes were very arbitrary and various, differing for the same termination; but the adverbial ending ly was always osh; terribly, tirriblosh. A certain percentage of words were absolutely independent, or at least of obscure origin. The grammar tended to Chinese or infantine simplicity; ta represented any case of any personal pronoun. A proper name might vary in sound according to the euphonic requirement of the different Christian-names by which it was preceded. There were two dialects, one, however, stigmatized as provincial.

This invention of language must be very common, since other cases have fallen under our notice in which children have composed dictionaries of such.

It would be strange if children who exhibit so much inventive talent did not contrive new games; and we find accordingly that in many families a great part of the amusements of the children are of their own devising. The earliest age of which the writer has authentic record of such ingenuity is two and a half years.

Considering the space which our Indian tribes occupy in the imagination of young Americans, it is remarkable that the red man has no place whatever in the familiar and authorized sports. On the other hand, savage life has often furnished material for individual and local amusements.

Near the country place of a family within our knowledge was a patch of brushwood containing about forty acres, and furnishing an admirable ground for savage warfare. Accordingly, a regular game was devised. The players were divided into Indians and hunters, the former uttering their war-cry in such dialect as youthful imagination regarded as aboriginal. The players laid ambushes for each other in the forest, and the game ended with the extermination of one party or the other. This warfare was regulated by strict rules, the presentation of a musket at a fixed distance being regarded as equivalent to death.

In a town of Massachusetts, some thirty years since, it was customary for the school-girls, during recess, to divide themselves into separate tribes. Shawls spread over tent-poles represented Indian lodges, and a girl always resorted to her allotted habitation. This was kept up for the whole summer, and carried out with such earnestness that girls belonging to hostile tribes, though otherwise perfectly good friends, would often not speak to each other for weeks, in or out of school.

In the same town was a community of "Friends," or "Quakers." It was the custom for children of these to play at meeting. Sitting about the room on a "First-day" gathering, one of them would be moved by the spirit, rise, and exhort in the sing-song tone common to the meeting-house. There was a regular formula for this amusement—a speech which the children had somewhere heard and found laughable: "My de-ar friends, I've been a thinking and a thinking and a thinking; I see the blinking and the winking; pennyroyal tea is very good for a cold."

A young lady of our acquaintance, as a child, invented a game of pursuit, which she called Spider and Fly. The Flies, sitting on the house-stairs, buzzed in and out of the door, where they were exposed to the surprise of the Spider. The children of the neighborhood still maintain the sport, which is almost the exact equivalent of a world-old game whose formula is given in our collection.

We need not go on to illustrate our thesis. But it remains true that the great mass of the sports here presented are not merely old, but have existed in many countries, with formulas which have passed from generation to generation. How are we to reconcile this fact with the quick invention we ascribe to children?

The simple reason why the amusements of children are inherited is the same as the reason why language is inherited. It is the necessity of general currency, and the difficulty of obtaining it, which restricts the variation of one and of the other. If a sport is familiar only to one locality or one set of children, it passes away as soon as the youthful fancy of that region grows weary of it. Besides, the old games, which have prevailed and become familiar by a process of natural selection, are usually better adapted to children's taste than any new inventions can be; they are recommended by the quaintness of formulas which come from the remote past, and strike the young imagination as a sort of sacred law. From these causes, the same customs have survived for centuries through all changes of society, until the present age has involved all popular traditions, those of childhood as of maturity, in a general ruin.

Greek Anthology.

As the light-footed and devious fancy of childhood, within its assigned limits, easily outstrips the grave progress of mature years, so the obedience of children is far more scrupulous not to overstep the limits of the path. It is a provision of nature, in order to secure the preservation of the race, that each generation should begin with the unquestioning reception of the precepts of that which it follows. No deputy is so literal, no nurse so Rhadamanthine, as one child left in charge of another. The same precision appears in the conduct of sports. The formulas of play are as Scripture, of which no jot or tittle is to be repealed. Even the inconsequent rhymes of the nursery must be recited in the form in which they first became familiar; as many a mother has learned, who has found the versions familiar to her own infancy condemned as inaccurate, and who is herself sufficiently affected by superstition to feel a little shocked, as if a sacred canon had been irreligiously violated.

The life of the past never seems so comprehensible, and the historic interval never so insignificant, as when the conduct and demeanor of children are in question. Of all human relations, the most simple and permanent one is that of parent and child. The loyalty which makes a clansman account his own interests as trifling in comparison with those of his chieftain, or subjects consider their own prosperity as included in their sovereign's, belongs to a disappearing society; the affection of the sexes is dependent, for the form of its manifestation, on the varying usages of nations; but the behavior of little children, and of their parents in reference to them, has undergone small change since the beginnings of history. Homer might have taken for his model the nursery of our own day, when, in the words of Achilles' rebuke to the grief of Patroclus, he places before us a Greek mother and her baby—

And the passage is almost too familiar to cite—

In the same manner, too, as the feelings and tastes of children have not been changed by time, they are little altered by civilization, so that similar usages may be acceptable both to the cultivated nations of Europe and to the simpler races on their borders.

It is natural, therefore, that the common toys of children should be world-old. The tombs of Attica exhibit dolls of classic or ante-classic time, of ivory or terra-cotta, the finer specimens with jointed arms or legs. Even in Greece, as it seems, these favorites of the nursery were often modelled in wax; they were called by a pet name, indicating that their owners stood to them in the relation of mamma to baby; they had their own wardrobes and housekeeping apparatus. The Temple of Olympian Zeus at Elis contained, says Pausanias, the little bed with which Hippodamia had played. But the usage goes much further back. Whoever has seen the wooden slats which served for the cheaper class of the dolls of ancient Egypt, in which a few marks pass for mouth, nose, and eyes, will have no difficulty in imagining that their possessors regarded them with maternal affection, since all the world knows that a little girl will lavish more tenderness on a stuffed figure than on a Paris doll, the return of affection being proportional to the outlay of imagination.

When Greek and Roman girls had reached an age supposed to be superior to such amusements, they were expected to offer their toys on the altar of their patroness, to whatever goddess might belong that function, Athene or Artemis, Diana or Venus Libitina. If such an act of devotion was made at the age of seven years, as alleged, one can easily understand that many a child must have wept bitterly over the sacrifice. To this usage refers the charming quatrain, a version of which we have set as the motto of our chapter.

Children's rattles have from the most ancient times been an important article of nursery furniture. Hollow balls containing a loose pebble, which served this purpose, belong to the most ancient classic times. These "rattles," however, often had a more artistic form, lyre-shaped with a moving plectrum; or the name was used for little separate metallic figures—"charms," as we now say—strung together so as to jingle, and worn in a necklace. Such were afterwards preserved with great care; in the comic drama they replace the "strawberry mark" by which the father recognizes his long-lost child. Thus, in the "Rudens" of Plautus, Palæstra, who has lost in shipwreck her casket, finds a fisherman in possession of it, and claims her property. Both agree to accept Dæmones, the unknown father of the maiden, as arbiter. Dæmones demands, "Stand off, girl, and tell me, what is in the wallet?" "Playthings."[27] "Right, I see them; what do they look like?" "First, a little golden sword with letters on it." "Tell me, what are the letters?" "My father's name. Then there is a two-edged axe, also of gold, and lettered; my mother's name is on the axe.... Then a silver sickle, and two clasped hands, and a little pig, and a golden heart, which my father gave me on my birthday." "It is she; I can no longer keep myself from embracing her. Hail, my daughter!"

In the ancient North, too, children played with figures of animals. The six-year-old Arngrim is described in a saga as generously making a present of his little brass horse to his younger brother Steinolf; it was more suitable to the latter's age, he thought.

The weapons of boys still preserve the memory of those used by primitive man. The bow and arrow, the sling, the air-gun, the yet more primeval club or stone, are skilfully handled by them. Their use of the top and ball has varied but little from the Christian era to the present day. It is, therefore, not surprising that many games are nearly the same as when Pollux described them in the second century.[28] Yet it interests us to discover that not only the sports themselves, but also the words of the formulas by which they are conducted, are in certain cases older than the days of Plato and Xenophon.[29]

We have already set forth the history contained in certain appellations of the song and dance. If the very name of the chorus has survived in Europe to the present day, so the character of the classic round is perpetuated in the ring games of modern children. Only in a single instance, but that a most curious one, have the words of a Greek children's round been preserved. This is the "tortoise-game," given by Pollux, and we will let his words speak for themselves:

"The tortoise is a girl's game, like the pot; one sits, and is called tortoise. The rest go about asking:

She answers:

The first again:

To which she says:

Our author does not tell us how the game ended; but from his comparison to the "pot-game"[30] we conclude that the tortoise immediately dives into the "ocean" (the ring) to catch whom she can.

This quaint description shows us that the game-formulas of ancient times were to the full as incoherent and obscure as those of our day frequently are. The alliterative name of the tortoise,[31] too, reminding us of the repetitions of modern nursery tales, speaks volumes for the character of Greek childish song.

Kissing games, also, were as familiar in the classic period as in later time; for Pollux quotes the Athenian comic poet Crates as saying of a coquette that she "plays kissing games in rings of boys, preferring the handsome ones."

It must be confessed, however, that we can offer nothing so graceful as the cry with which Greek girls challenged each other to the race, an exclamation which we may render, "Now, fairies!"[32]—the maidens assuming for the nonce the character of the light-footed nymphs of forest or stream.

Coming down to mediæval time, we find that the poets constantly refer to the life of children, with which they have the deepest sympathy, and which they invest with a bright poetry, putting later writers to shame by comparison. That early period, in its frank enjoyment of life, was not far from the spirit of childhood. Wolfram of Eschenbach represents a little girl as praising her favorite doll:

The German proverb still is "Happy as a doll."

It has been remarked how, in all times, the different sex and destiny of boys and girls are unconsciously expressed in the choice and conduct of their pleasures. "Women," says a writer of the seventeenth century, "have an especial fondness for children. That is seen in little girls, who, though they know not so much as that they are maids, yet in their childish games carry about dolls made of rags, rock them, cradle them, and care for them; while boys build houses, ride on a hobby-horse, busy themselves with making swords and erecting altars."

Like causes have occasioned the simultaneous disappearance of like usages in countries widely separated. In the last generation children still sang in our own towns the ancient summons to the evening sports—

and similarly in Provence, the girls who conducted their ring-dances in the public squares, at the stroke of ten sang:

But the usage has departed in the quiet cities of Southern France, as in the busy marts of America.

It is much, however, to have the pleasant memory of the ancient rules which youth established to direct its own amusement, and to know that our own land, new as by comparison it is, has its legitimate share in the lore of childhood, in considering which we overleap the barriers of time, and are placed in communion with the happy infancy of all ages. Let us illustrate our point, and end these prefatory remarks, with a version of the description of his own youth given by a poet of half a thousand years since—no mean singer, though famous in another field of letters—the chronicler Jean Froissart. He regards all the careless pleasures of infancy as part of the unconscious education of the heart, and the thoughtless joy of childhood as the basis of the happiness of maturity; a deep and true conception, which we have nowhere seen so exquisitely developed, and which he illuminates with a ray of that genuine genius which remains always modern in its universal appropriateness, when, recounting the sports of his own early life,[33] many of which we recognize as still familiar, he writes:

GAMES AND SONGS OF AMERICAN CHILDREN

---

The Romaunt of the Rose.

This ancient and interesting, now nearly forgotten, game was in the last generation a universal favorite in the United States, imported, no doubt, by the early settlers of the country; and was equally familiar, in numerous variations, through England and Scotland. It is not, however, the exclusive property of English-speaking peoples, but current under a score of forms throughout Europe—from Latin France, Italy, and Spain, to Scandinavian Iceland, from the Finns of the Baltic coast to the Slavs of Moravia. Its theme is courtship; but courtship considered according to ancient ideas, as a mercantile negotiation. To "buy" a bride was the old Norse expression for marriage, and in a similar sense is to be understood the word "sold" in our rhyme. The frankly mercenary character of the original transaction ceasing to be considered natural, it was turned into a jest or satire in Sweden and Scotland. The present song assumed all the grace and courtesy characteristic of the mediæval English ballad, while a primitive form survived in Iceland; and a later outgrowth (our No. 3) represented the whole affair as one of coquetry instead of bargaining, substituting, for the head of the house or the mother, the bride herself as the negotiator.

Our first version shows the form of the game as played in New York in the early part of the century.

---

On a sofa, or row of chairs, a mother, with her daughters on either side, seated. Advance three suitors.

The Spanish knight takes the girl named by the hand, and marches off with her. Walking round the room, he returns, saying,

In Philadelphia the game had a peculiar ending, which, however, as we shall see, preserved, though in a corrupt form, an ancient trait:

The girl then runs away, the mother pursuing her. The Spanish knight catches her, and brings her back, saying,

The daughter then once more flies, and the Spanish knight has to catch her.

The following is a New England version:

The only part of the country, so far as we know, in which the game now survives is the neighborhood of Cincinnati, where it is still played in a reduced but original form:

The game now proceeds, "Here come two knights," then with three, four, etc., till all the players are mated.[35]

It will be proper to add some account of the comparative history of this curious game. The English and Scotch versions, though generally less well preserved, correspond to our American. But we find a more primitive type in Iceland, where it is, or a few years ago was, an amusement of winter evenings, played not by children, but by men and women, in a form which indicates a high antiquity. The women ask the men, as these advance, what they desire? The latter reply, "a maid," that is, wife. The inquiry now is, what will they give? It is answered, stone. This tender is scornfully refused, and the suitors retire in dudgeon, but return to raise their offer, and at last proffer gold, which is accepted, and the controversy ends in a dance.[36]

Curiously enough, modern Scotland retains this song in nearly all the rude simplicity of the Icelandic just referred to; though the negotiation, instead of being taken as a matter of course, is turned into a satire, being treated as the endeavor of a rich old bachelor to purchase a wife.

In the stewartry of Kirkendbright, says Chambers, Janet jo is a dramatic entertainment among young rustics on winter evenings. A youth, disguised as an old bachelor, enters the room bonnet in hand, bowing, and declaring that "he has come to court Janet jo." The goodwife then demands, "What'll ye gie for Janet jo?" He responds, a "peck of siller," but is told, "Gae awa', ye auld carle!" He retires, but soon returns, and increases his offer, which is less scornfully rejected, until he proffers "three pecks of gowd," which is accepted with the words—

The affair then ends in kissing. A comparison of details (such as the diminishing scorn of the bargainer, and chagrin of the suitors at each rejection) leaves no doubt that the Icelandic and Scotch forms of the game were once (but many centuries since) identical.

The German versions are numerous, but corrupt, and less ancient and characteristic. In one of the most spirited the mother assigns as a reason for refusing the suitor, that

Similarly, we find in an English fragment,

There is a French form, not otherwise especially interesting, which resembles our No. 3.[37]

More striking than the preceding, and abounding in singular correspondences with the first three numbers of our own collection, is the Italian version, as played in Venice. In this game, one of the rows is composed of a boy, who represents the head of the house, and five or six girls who stand at his right and left. The other row is formed by the ambassador, whose suite consists of boys and girls. These last advance towards the first row, singing, "The ambassador is come," then, retreating, sing a chorus, "Olà, olà, olà." The conversation then proceeds in a rhythmical way between the two rows as follows:

"What do you wish?"	"A maid."
"Which maid?"	"The fairest."
"Who is the fairest?"	"Nineta bella."
"What husband will you give her?"	"A chimney-sweep."
"That will not do."	"The king of France."
"That will do well."	"What dowry will you give her?"
"A ducat."	"It will not do."
"A zechin a day."	"That will do well."
"Come and take her."	"Here I come and take her."

The "ambassador" advances and takes the girl by the hand; then, as if changing his mind, rejects her, saying as he returns—

	"And now I don't want her!"
"Why do you not want her?"	"She is too little (or ugly)."
"Is that the trouble?"	"Yes, that is the trouble."
"Come, let us make peace."	"Peace is made."

The ambassador then takes by the hand the girl, who is presented to him by the head of the house; the two files unite to form a circle, and the bride receives the general congratulations of the company, who clap their hands, courtesy, and sing,[38] as in the pretty English equivalent—

In Spain, the game is known as the "Embassy of the Moorish King." The "King of the Moors" is seated on the ground, with crossed legs, his attendants about him. The "ambassador" makes three steps forward, and demands one of his daughters. The king replies, "If I have them, I have them not to give away; of the bread which I eat, they shall eat as well."

The ambassador withdraws angry: "In discontent I go from the king's palace." But the king, repenting, calls after him—

The ambassador crosses hands with one of his train to make a seat, on which the bride is placed in triumph, singing—

The king addresses them on departure—

And the ambassadors reply—

It will thus be seen that the three knights originally represent not suitors, but envoys. If we remember that marriage, in some simple countries, is still conducted through intermediaries, whose duty it is to argue, chaffer, and dispute, before coming to the decision all along intended, we shall see reason to believe that from a form representing more or less literally the usages of primitive society have sprung in the course of time a multitude of confused representations, colored by later tastes and feelings.

The spirit and substance of the courteous and chivalric English rhyme cannot be later than the fourteenth century; the identity and primitive rudeness of the song in Iceland, Scotland (and, we shall presently add, Virginia), supposes an earlier date; while even then we have to bridge the gap between these forms and the Italian. We may, therefore, be tolerably sure that the first diffusion of the game in Europe dates far back into the Middle Age.

This antique rhyme, which comes to us from West Virginia, is a rude and remarkable variety of the preceding game, but quite unlike any English version hitherto printed.

We find a singular and apparently connected equivalent in the Färöe isles. In the form of the dialogue there in use, as in the present game, the suitor is presented in successively higher characters, as a thrall, smith, and so on, until he is finally accepted as a prince. The Italian song has shown us a similar usage. Thus the surf-beaten rocks of the North Atlantic, with their scanty population of fishermen and shepherds, whose tongue is a dialect of the ancient Norse speech, are linked by the golden chain (or network) of tradition with the fertile vales of the Alleghenies, and the historic lagoons of Venice.

The corrupt ending, too, compared with the Philadelphia version already cited, and with the Venetian game, is seen to rest on an ancient basis. The children, having forgotten the happy close, and not understanding the haggling of the suitors, took the "three kings" for bandits.

---

On one side of the room a mother with her daughters. On the other three wooers, who advance.

(To the kings)—

(The daughter goes with the kings; but they are villains in disguise: they rob her, push her back to her mother, and sing)—

(The mother pursues the kings, and tries to catch and beat them).

Charlestown, W. Va.

This rhyme is only a later development of the same game. The suitor is now made to address himself directly to his mistress, and the mercenary character of the previous transaction is replaced by coquetry. Our New England song loses nothing by comparison with the pretty Scotch.

A company of little girls sit in a row. A little girl from the middle of the room goes dancing up to the first one in the row, singing,

Little girl answers,

Suitor steps backward, singing,

Suitor advances as before. The answer now is,

These two now retire, singing together,

They join hands and call out the next one in the row; thus the play goes on until the last is selected, when they form a ring, dance, and sing,

Concord, Mass.

A vulgarized form of the same game is common through the Middle States:

Boys.	"We are three ducks a-roving, (thrice)
	With a ransom dansom dee."
Girls.	"What is your good-will, sir?" etc.
Boys.	"My good-will is to marry," etc.
Girls.	"Which one of us will you have, sir?" etc.
Boys.	"You're all too black and blowzy," etc.
Girls.	"We are as good as you, sir," etc.
Boys.	"Then I will take you, miss," etc.

The pretended quarrel between intermediaries has here become a dispute of the principals.[40]

Finally, in the streets of New York the dialogue is made unrecognizable—

The Ring.	"Forty ducks are riding,
	My dilsey dulsey officer;
	Forty ducks are riding,
	My dilsey dulsey day.
	Which of the lot do you like best?"
Child in Centre.	"You're all too black and ugly—ugly," etc.
The Ring.	"We're not so black as you are," etc.

The child then selects a partner, when the rest sing,

and the couple pass under lifted hands, circle the ring, and similarly reenter, to the words,

We have thus a curious example of the way in which an apparently meaningless game, which might be supposed the invention of the gamins of the street, is, in fact, a degenerate form of the ancient poetry, which was brimful of grace, courtesy, and the joy of existence.

For a purpose presently to be mentioned, we must cite the corresponding Scotch rhyme, given by Chambers:

Philadelphia.

With this musical call to the dance, it was common, a generation since, for girls in this town to begin the evening dances on the green, singing as they marched in couples. The "dust" of the rhyme is a corruption. Comparing it with the Scotch song previously quoted, we do not doubt that it represents the Scotch (in other words, old English) adist, the opposite of ayont, meaning this way, come hither. We ought probably therefore to read,

This song was no mere dance of rustics; the children at least kept up the usage of the day when a pleasing popular poetry was the heritage of all ranks. The spirit of the strain carries us back to that "carolling" of ladies which was, in the time of Chaucer, no less than the gay green of the meadow or the melody of the birds, an accompaniment of summer.

This pretty and interesting, hitherto imprinted, children's song is more or less familiar throughout the Middle States. We have heard it with many variations from persons of all classes and ages. It may often be listened to in the upper part of the city of New York, as it is sung (with a mere apology for a melody) by three or four girls, walking with arms entwined, or crooned by mere infants seated on the casks which, in the poorer quarters, often encumber the sidewalk.

There are also English and Scotch versions, generally inferior as regards poetical merit and antiquity of language. The English form, however, seems to contain the primitive idea, where the wooer appears as a prince, who by splendid presents overcomes the objections of a lady. This mercenary character being repugnant to modern taste, the Scotch rhyme represents the suitor as the Evil One in person; while in the United States the hero is, in his turn, made to cast off the avaricious fair, or else the lady to demand only love for love.

The numerous couplets of the American rhyme are completely in the ballad style. A "paper of pins" is substituted for a "pennorth of pins." The "easy-chair" is modern, but the verse itself ancient, combing golden hair being a world-old occupation of beauties. The gown "trimmed with golden thread," or "set off with a golden crown," refers to the attire of olden times. The mediæval bride wore a crown on the head and flowing hair; a costume also mentioned in old ballads as the usual dress of a demoiselle of rank arrayed for the dance.

This is from a New York child; our next version is from Connecticut:

Finally, we have a variation with a more tender conclusion:

The same idea is contained in a song originally Scotch, but which comes to us (through an Irish medium) from Pennsylvania:

The reply is, "Na, na, it will not dee, bonnie laddie," etc.: when the wooer gradually increases his offers:

and finally inquires,

which is eagerly accepted:

This pretty song has been recited to us by informants of the most cultivated class, and, on the other hand, we have seen it played as a round by the very "Arabs of the street," in words identically the same. It is an old English song, which has been fitted for a ring-game by the composition of an additional verse, to allow the selection of a partner.

New York.

In former times, the amusements of young people at their winter-evening gatherings consisted almost entirely of "playing games." On such occasions the following rhyme was used (in eastern Massachusetts) about the beginning of the century, to select partners for the ring. Chairs were placed in a circle, and the players of one sex seated, so as to leave alternate vacant places, for which they chose occupants, singing—

Those waiting to be selected sang,

This dialogue was repeated for each player until all were taken in, which, if the party was numerous, of necessity took a long time.

A child, representing a mother, is followed by a file of daughters, each grasping the frock of the girl in front.

Philadelphia.

The "poor widow" is also represented as having only one daughter left.

Philadelphia.

Another old version of this round:

New York.

Finally, we have the modern corruption of the street, which, however, shows us the manner of playing:

A child stands in the ring, as the mother. The daughter reclines as if asleep, her head resting on her hands, till the words, rise up.

New York.

The widow with daughters to marry is a European celebrity. The titles rich and poor, moreover, in this and the last number, are not meaningless, but show that two independent characters have been united in one. In the original European game, which we have not encountered in an English form, there is both a rich and a poor mother; the latter begs away, one by one, the daughters of the former, until she has secured all. The present round and the preceding are only reductions, or adaptations to the dance, of this more ancient and dramatic game. Once more, the game of the rich and poor mothers, though centuries old, and existing in many European tongues, is itself but an outgrowth of a still more ancient childish drama, which has given birth to innumerable sports, dances, and songs, exhibiting very different external characteristics all over Europe, but of which primitive and complete versions at present seem to exist only in America.[45]

This rhyme has been familiar throughout the New England States. Some of our older readers will remember how the doors of all the apartments of an old-fashioned mansion, with its great chimney in the centre, would be thrown open at an evening party, and the children march through the house, and up and down the staircase, singing the familiar air—

Plymouth, Mass. (about 1800).

Another version:

Deerfield, Mass.

Why, of all the names of the Damon and Sylvia class, Philander,[48] which, according to derivation, should mean fondness for the male sex, came to be a proverbial expression for an amorous person, and contributed to the English language a verb (to philander) we cannot say. Children's intelligence made wild work of the word. A New England variation was, "Come, Lysanders;" and in Pennsylvania, on the Maryland border, the first line has been ingeniously distorted into "Cumberland city-town-boys" marching! Cumberland being a town in the latter state.

(1.) By this name was known in Massachusetts, at the beginning of the century, an elaborate dance (for such, though practised in a Puritan community, it really was) which has a very decided local flavor.

Partners having been chosen, the girl says—

The partners now separate, the lad saying—

The maid replies—

But, after walking round, rejoins her partner, who welcomes her—

The pair then address the row—

The other players, who stand each lad opposite his lass, raise arms, and the couple walk down under the arch so formed, pausing at the foot—

And the game proceeds with the next couple.

Scituate, Mass. (about 1800).

(2.) No better as respects poetry, but with more evidence of old English origin, is the following game, in which couples circle in a ring about two chairs, from time to time changing partners. We have not been clearly informed of the way of playing, but presume that at the time of the change the youth or girl in the ring must select a mate.

A change of partners.

A mate is finally chosen, and the ring sings—

Salem, Mass.

The "green carpet" is, of course, the grass, on which the village dance proceeds in the summer-time,[50] and the remains of an ancient "carol" appear in the corrupt rhyme.

(3.) To the game of Marriage, as played in France and Italy, the following closely corresponds:

A boy and girl having been chosen by singing our No. 17, and standing in the centre of the ring, the game proceeds, with imitative motion and gesture—

Such short rhymes are not used independently, but joined to some fragment of a ballad, which they serve to turn into a game, as may be seen in our No. 12.

(4.) We take this opportunity to give one or two other familiar examples of kissing rounds:

In Boston, half a century since, this ran—

In Georgia, at the present day—

(5.) The following is yet more inane, yet it furnishes a curious example of correspondence—

This is not much more crude than the French equivalent.[52]

(6.) We may add that the familiar American game, known as "Pillow," or "Pillows and Keys" (why keys?), in which a player kneels on a pillow and solicits a kiss, is no doubt a descendant of the "Cushion Dance," alluded to by old dramatists.

---

Round of Girls in Venice.

This childish drama has been familiar in the Middle States since the memory of the oldest inhabitant. The Scotch equivalent shows that the heroine's name was originally Jenny jo. "Jo" is an old English word for sweetheart, probably a corruption of joy, French joie, used as a term of endearment. Jenny my joy has thus been modernized into Miss Jennia (commonly understood to be a contraction for Virginia) Jones!

The story is originally a love-tale. The young lady, like Rosetina in the Venetian song (a part of which we have translated above) dies of blighted affection and the prohibition of cruel parents. The suitor, in America, is represented by feminine friends. Yet the drama has lived; a proof that in singing and playing love-tales the children rather imitated their elders than followed a necessity of their own nature.

From various versions we select the following:

A mother, seated. Miss Jennia Jones stands behind her chair, or reclines on her lap as if lying sick. A dancer advances from the ring.

The questions are repeated to the same air for every day of the week, and the reply is that Miss Jennia Jones is ironing, baking, or scrubbing. She is then represented as sick, as worse, and finally as dead, which announcement is received with signs of deep grief. The dancers of the ring then discuss the costume in which she shall be buried:

After the ceremonies of burial have been completed, the ghost of Miss Jennia Jones suddenly arises—

The ring breaks up, and flies with shrieks, and the one caught is to represent Miss Jennia Jones.

An interesting feature of our game is the symbolism of color. "Each of these colors," says an informant, "which denoted a profession, also typified a feeling. Thus, blue, which is said to be for sailors, suggested constancy."

In one version of the game, which comes to us from an Irish source, green is for grief, red for joy, black for mourning, and white for death. In another such version, white is for angels, and is the chosen color; a reading we would willingly adopt, as probably more ancient, and as expressing the original seriousness of the whole, and the feeling which the color of white symbolized. In more common Irish phrase, green is for Irish, yellow for Orangemen. In Cincinnati, purple is for kings and queens, gray for Quakers. In a Connecticut variation, yellow is for glad folks.

An English saying corresponds closely to the significance of colors in our game:

A variation from West Virginia makes the question apply to the dress of the mourners, not of the deceased: "What shall we dress in?" "In our red, in our blue," etc., are rejected, and the decision is, "In our white."

Such imitations of burial ceremonies are not merely imaginative. It was once the custom for the girls of a village to take an active part in the interment of one of their number. In a Flemish town, a generation since, when a young girl died, her body was carried to the church, thence to the cemetery, by her former companions. "The religious ceremony over, and the coffin deposited in the earth, all the young girls, holding in one hand the mortuary cloth, returned to the church, chanting the maiden's dance with a spirit and rhythm scarcely conceivable by one who has not heard it. The pall which they carried to the church was of sky-blue silk, having in the middle a great cross of white silk, on which were set three crowns of silver."

The following is a rendering of the "Maiden's Dance:"

Such touching customs show the profound original earnestness underlying the modern child's play, as well as the primitive religious significance of the dance. In England, too, it was the practice for the bearers of a virgin to be maids, as a ballad recites:

This round is remarkable for being introduced, wherever it occurs, by a stanza with a different melody, whereby the ballad is turned into a game. By this introduction the hero and heroine of the action are selected.

"Little Sally Waters," or "Uncle John," having been first played, the round proceeds about the couple standing in the ring:

Concord, Mass. (before 1800).

The version now played in New York streets is corrupt, but has a spirited melody:

The girl complying, the ballad proceeds—

The song before us furnishes a good example of the persistency of childish tradition. Not only is it still current in New England and the Middle States, with words closely corresponding to those given in our version of almost a century since, but these words are also nearly identical with the language of the round as we are told it is sung at the present day in Ireland.

Of a type similar to the foregoing is an ancient and curious, but unpublished, nursery song,[54] the first lines of which, at least, will be familiar to some of our readers:

The mention in this rhyme of the cupboard and the can carries us to a time not so remote indeed in years, but far removed in customs. At the beginning of the century, in the old colonial towns, tumblers were unknown; the silver can stood on the table, and was passed from hand to hand at the meal, the elders drinking first. This usage was accompanied with much ceremony. An informant (born in Salem, Mass.), whose memory goes back almost to the beginning of the century, recollects how, when it came to be his turn to drink, he was obliged to rise and wipe his lips (the use of the same vessel by a whole family made this habit proper), and repeat the words, while parents and friends laid down knives and forks and looked on, "Duty to Sir and Ma'am, respects to aunt, love to brother and sister, and health to myself." Sometimes, he said, sensitive children would rather "go dry" than endure this ordeal.

A girl in the centre of the ring, seated, and covering her face with her hands. At the word "rise," she chooses and salutes any one whom she pleases.

In the north of England the heroine's name is Sally Walker:

A ballad situation has been united with a dance-rhyme.

Georgia.

A girl sits in the ring, and turns her head gravely as a messenger advances, while the rest sing to a pleasing air—

There are only two lines left of the ballad, or rather reminiscence of one.

A French round begins similarly: "Ah, the bringer of letters! What news is this? Ah, it is news that you must change your love.[58] Must I change my love, I prefer to die; he is not here, nor in France; he is in England, where he serves the gracious king." To this fragment belong the ancient verses which we have set as the motto of Chapter II. of our Introduction. All the other ladies of Paris are at the dance; the king's daughter alone "regarde à coté," "turns her head," looking at a messenger who is approaching; he brings news of her love's unfaithfulness; a rival skilled in magic arts has enchanted him, in the far country where he is warring. There is no more left of the ancient ballad, which, we presume, went on to describe her departure in man's costume, and rescue of her lover. We cannot prove the identity of our fragment, but we see how the child's game may have arisen.

A ring of dancers who circle and sing—

After the words "governor's daughter" all the dancers fall down, and the last down stands apart, selects her confidential friend, and imparts with great mystery the initials of some boy in whom she takes an interest. She then returns, and takes her place in the ring with face reversed, while the friend announces the initials, and the dancers sing, using the letters given—

If the person representing "Uncle John" be a boy, his full name comes first in this rhyme, and the initials of the girl are used.

The choice of the confidante is said to require as much deliberation as the selection of an ambassador of state.

Hartford, Conn.

This is one of the most familiar of all children's rounds in our country. It is, we see, a love-history; and, thrice vulgarized as it is, bears traces of ancient origin, and may perhaps be the last echo of the mediæval song in which an imprisoned knight is saved from approaching death by the daughter of the king, or soldan, who keeps him in confinement.[62]

A row of hats of various sizes, and belonging to both sexes, are placed on the floor. The leader picks up the first hat, and puts it on his own head, marching and singing the verse. He then takes up the next hat, and places it on the head of any one he pleases; the person chosen stands behind him, and they once more march, singing. The process is continued, until all the company are arranged in line:

Orange, New Jersey.

The following rhyme is exceedingly familiar, throughout the Middle and Southern States, as a kissing-round:

The round is also familiar in Ireland. We learn from an informant that in her town it was formerly played in a peculiar manner. Over the head of a girl, who stood in the centre of a ring, was held a shawl, sustained by four others grasping the corners. The game then proceeded as follows:

Then followed the game-rhyme, repeated with each stanza, "Go choose you East," etc. King William is then supposed to enter—

He recognizes the disguised girl—

"He had gone to the war, and promised to marry her when he came back. She wrapped a shawl about her head, to see if he would recognize her." This was all the reciter could recollect; the lines of the ballad were sung by an old woman, the ring answering with the game-rhyme.

Waterford, Ireland.

The round now in use in the town whence this comes, but where the ballad is not at present known, begins:

In the year 1287, Folke Algotson, a high-born Swedish youth, carried off to Norway (at that time the refuge of such boldness) Ingrid, a daughter of the "law-man" or judge of East Gothland, who was betrothed to a Danish noble. Popular ballads attached themselves to the occurrence, which are still preserved. The substance of that version of the story with which we are concerned is as follows: A youth loves a maid, who returns his affection, but in his absence her friends have "given" her to another. He rides to the wedding ceremony with a troop of followers. The bride, seeing him approach, and wishing to test his affection, calls on her maidens to "take off her gold crown, and coif her in linen white." But the hero at once recognizes his love, mounts with her on horseback, and flees to Norway.

We cannot believe the resemblance to be accidental, and look upon our rhymes as a branch from the same ancient—but not historical—root.

The writer was not a little surprised to hear from a group of colored children, in the streets of New York city (though in a more incoherent form) the following ballad. He traced the song to a little girl living in one of the cabins near Central Park, from whom he obtained this version. The hut, rude as the habitation of a recent squatter on the plains, was perched on a rock still projecting above the excavations which had been made on either side, preparatory to the erection of the conventional "brown-stone fronts" of a New York street. Rocks flung by carelessly managed explosions flew over the roof, and clouds of dust were blown by every wind into the unswept hovel. In this unlikely spot lingered the relics of old English folk-song, amid all the stir of the busiest of cities. The mother of the family had herself been born in New York, of Irish parentage, but had learned from her own mother, and handed down to her children, such legends of the past as the ballad we cite. A pretty melody gave popularity to the verse, and so the thirteenth-century tradition, extinct perhaps in its native soil, had taken a new lease of existence as a song of negro children in New York.

Under the thin disguise of the heading will be recognized the ballad of "Hugh of Lincoln and the Jew's Daughter," the occasion of which is referred by Matthew Paris to the year 1255. Chaucer, in exquisite verse, has made his Prioress recount the same story: how the child,

has his throat cut by "false Jewes," and, cast into a pit, still sings his chant in honor of

and, when discovered, cannot be buried in peace till the magic grain is removed which "that blissful maiden fre" has laid under his tongue.

The conclusion is, in our version, only implied. In that given by Jamieson the murdered child, speaking from the well, bids his mother prepare the winding-sheet, for he will meet her in the morn "at the back of merry Lincoln;" and the funeral service is performed by angels.

In the first quarter of the century, this celebrated ballad was still used in New England as a children's game or dance at evening parties. We have here, perhaps, the latest English survival, in cultivated society, of a practice which had once been universal. It is noteworthy that while, in the town of which we speak,[69] the establishment, at the period alluded to, of a children's dancing-school was bitterly opposed, and the children of "church members" were hardly permitted to attend, no such prohibition applied to amusements like this, which were shared in irrespective of sectarian prejudice, by boys as well as by girls.

Our informant describes the performers as standing in couples, consisting each of a boy and a girl, facing each other. An elderly lady, who was in particular request at children's parties on account of her extensive stock of lore of the sort, sang the ballad, to which the dancers kept time with a slow metrical movement, balancing without any considerable change of place. At the final words, "Barbara Allen," which end every stanza, a courtesy took the place of the usual refrain. The whole performance is described as exceedingly pretty, stately, and decorous. It cannot be doubted that the version of the ballad sung was traditional, but we have not been able to secure it.

---

This dance, which we will not here attempt to describe, is no doubt well known to our readers; but we doubt if any of them has reflected on its significance. It is, in fact, an imitation of weaving. The first movements represent the shooting of the shuttle from side to side, and the passage of the woof over and under the threads of the warp; the last movements indicate the tightening of the threads, and bringing together of the cloth.[70]

There is a very similar Swedish dance, called "Weaving Woollen," in which the words sung are—

The originally imitative character of the dance is thus well illustrated. The "Hemp-dressers' Dance," in which George III. figured, seems to have resembled this, according to the description quoted in the memoir referred to in the heading of this chapter.

This round, although very familiar to all American children, seems, strangely enough, to be unknown in Great Britain; yet it is still a favorite in France, Provence, Spain, Italy, Sicily, Germany, and Sweden; it was played by Froissart (born 1337), and Rabelais (born 1483); while the general resemblance of the song in European countries proves that in the five centuries through which we thus trace it, even the words have undergone little change. Like the first game of our collection, it is properly a dance rather of young people than of children; and a comparative examination of versions inclines us to the belief that it is of Romance descent. The lines of the French refrain,[71] and the general form of the dance, suggest that the song may probably have had (perhaps in remote classic time) a religious and symbolic meaning, and formed part of rustic festivities designed to promote the fertility of the fields; an object which undoubtedly formed the original purpose of the May festival. So much for conjecture; but, in any case, it is pleasant to think of the many generations of children, in so many widely separated lands, who have rejoiced in the pretty game.

The ring circles, singing, about a child in the centre—

The children now pause, and sing with appropriate gestures—

The boy selects a girl, and the two kneel in the ring, and salute—

What we have said of the permanency of the words applies only to the action, the essential part, of the game. The amatory chorus, by which the song is made to serve the purpose of love-making, is very variable. Thus we have the quaint conclusion of the last line at greater length:

"Splitting the wood" was a very troublesome part of the New England farmer's ménage.

More commonplace are the choruses:

Or—

Or again—

In place of "sister and brother," the malicious wit of little girls substituted "cats and dogs."[73]

In the early part of the century the essential stanza went thus in New Hampshire:

The Swedish quatrain is nearly the same:

The French rhyme, by its exact correspondence, proves the great antiquity of the formula.[74]

The German game, as is often the case with German children's games and ballads in general, is more modernized than in the other tongues, and has become a coarse jest. It is represented how the farmer sows his oats, cuts it, binds it, carries it home, stores it, threshes it, takes it to market, sells it, spends the money in carousal, comes home drunk, and quarrels with his wife, because she has cooked him no supper! Verily, a satire from the lips of children!

Fauriel, in his history of Provençal literature, alludes to this song, which it seems he had seen danced in Provence, and considers to be derived from, and to represent, choral dances of Greek rustics. "The words of the song," he says, speaking of these ancient dances, "described an action, a succession of different situations, which the dancers reproduced by their gestures. The song was divided into many stanzas, and terminated by a refrain alike for all. The dancers acted or gesticulated only to imitate the action or situation described in each stanza; at the refrain they took each other by the hand and danced a round, with a movement more or less lively. There are everywhere popular dances derived from these, which more or less resemble them.... I remember to have seen in Provence some of these dances, of which the theme seems to be very ancient—one, among the rest, imitating successively the habitual actions of a poor laborer, working in his field, sowing his wheat or oats, mowing, and so on to the end. Each of the numerous couplets of the song was sung with a slow and dragging motion, as if to imitate the fatigue and the sullen air of the poor laborer; and the refrain was of a very lively movement, the dancers then giving way to all their gayety."[75]

The French, Italian, and Spanish versions of this game also represent a series of actions, sowing, reaping, etc., of which our own rhyme has retained only one stanza. There is a whole class of similar rounds, which describe the labors of the farmer, vine-dresser, etc. That such a song, danced in sowing-time, and representing the progress and abundance of the crop, should be supposed to bring a blessing on the labors of the year, is quite in conformity with what we know of popular belief, ancient and modern. When a French savant asked the peasants of La Châtre why they performed the dance of "Threading the Needle" (see No. 29), the answer was, "To make the hemp grow." It is not in the least unlikely that the original of the present chant was sung, with a like object, by Italian rustics in the days of Virgil.

Couples circle in a ring about a single player—

Each girl then lets go of her partner's arm, and takes the arm of the one in advance, and the solitary player endeavors meanwhile to slip into the line.

The following is a variation:

It is played by children in New York city as a kissing-game in the ring, as follows:

We meet our game once more in North Germany. But its prettiest form is among the Fins of the Baltic coast, where it is extremely pleasing and pastoral:

It is a remarkable fact that, even where this simple people have borrowed the dramatic idea of an amusement from their more civilized neighbors, they have developed it with a sweetness and grace which put the latter to shame.

In Massachusetts the song goes—

A variation makes the last line—

And so on, the performers lamenting the duty which lies upon them of scrubbing their floors, baking their bread, etc.

Louisiana.

This pretty dance, with its idiomatic English, which comes to us from the extreme South, is obviously not modern. The chorus refers, not to the place of the labor, but to the locality of the dance: it may have been originally in my lady's garden. Our informant remembers the game as danced by negro children, their scanty garments flying as the ring spun about the trunk of some large tree; but (though the naive appeal to pity may seem characteristic of Southern indolence) this is evidently no negro song.

A ROUND.

So on, indefinitely. The gentleman places his hands in his waistcoat pockets, and promenades up and down; the lady gathers her skirts haughtily together; the fireman makes a sound in imitation of the horns which firemen formerly blew; the shoemaker and hair-dresser are represented by appropriate motions, etc.

New York streets.

As with most street-games, further inquiry has shown us that the song is old in America. Not merely the substance (which is identical with our last two numbers), but also the expression, is paralleled in France and Italy, and even on the extreme limits of European Russia.

The well-known French name of this game "The Bridge of Avignon,"[77] indicates a high antiquity. This bridge, which figures in French nursery-lore as London Bridge does in our own, was built in 1177. Bridges, in the Middle Age, were the most important structures in the land, places of festivity and solemnity, dances, trials, and executions.

Two opposite rows of girls. One side advances and sings, the other side replying:

The game is continued until all players are brought to one side.

Charlestown, W. Va.

This game is probably a recent importation from England, where it is very well known. It seems likely that the imitative dance really belongs to the season of nut-gathering,[78] and that the phrase, "Nuts of May," and the refrain, have crept in from its later use as a May-game.

A ring of children clasp hands by clenching fingers; a single child within the circle repeats the rhyme, making appropriate gestures over successive pairs of hands; at the last words he (or she) throws himself (or herself) against what is thought the most penetrable point.

The following is a different version:

If the first attempt is not successful, the player within the ring runs to attack some other point. After the ring is broken, the child on his right continues the game. In New York, a violent form of the same sport goes by the name of "Bull in the Ring."

Four girls cross hands, and pull in rhythmical movement against each other while singing, one pair changing the position of their hands from above to below that of the other pair at the words, "Here we go under," etc.

New York.

In Massachusetts this was a ring game:

At the last words the girl within the ring endeavors to pass under the hands of one of the couples.

A boy and a girl, standing each on a stool, make an arch of their hands, under which an endless chain passes, until the hands are dropped, and one of the players is enclosed.

Or—

Massachusetts.

In the following more complicated form of the game, in use half a century ago, both a boy and a girl were caught by the players who raised their arms:

The pair then kissed, and the game proceeded as in "London Bridge," ending with a tug-of-war.

The name, "Threading the Needle," is still applied, in a district of central France, to a dance in which many hundred persons take part, in which from time to time the pair who form the head of the row raise their arms to allow the line to pass through, coiling and winding like a great serpent.

---

Andante.

Presto.

Andante.

Canadian Song.

First voice.—	"Soldier, soldier, will you marry me,
	With a knapsack, fife, and drum?"
	"Oh no, my pretty maiden, I cannot marry you,
	For I have no coat to put on."

Second voice.—	Then away she ran to the tailor's shop,
	As fast as legs could run;
	And bought him one of the very best,
	And the soldier put it on.

The question is then repeated, the soldier pleading his want of shoes gloves, etc., which the confiding fair procures, until at last—

This piece and the following are more or less familiar as children's songs through the United States. Our version was sung by children of from five to eight years of age, and made a favorite amusement at the afternoon gatherings. When one couple had finished, another pair would begin, and so on for hours at a time. The object was to provide for the soldier the most varied wardrobe possible; while the maiden put the question with spirit, laying her hand on her heart, respecting which the prevailing opinion was that it was under the left arm.

In this piece, two children (in costume or otherwise) impersonate a Quaker paying his addresses to a young lady of the world.

Hartford, Conn.

A mother and daughter in the centre of a ring, the daughter kneeling with closed eyes. Mother advances—

The reply is, "A slice of bread and a cup of tea," whereon Mary answers, "No, mother, I won't get up," and responds similarly to the call to dinner; but for supper the mother offers "a nice young man with rosy cheeks," which is accepted with the words, "Yes, mother, I will get up," whereon the ring clap their hands. The round is familiar in New York streets. There is a corresponding English song, with a tragic ending.

	"Whistle, daughter, whistle,
	And I'll give you a sheep."
[After an interval.]	"Mother, I'm asleep."
	"Whistle, daughter, whistle,
	And I'll give you a cow."
[A faint attempt.]	"Mother, I don't know how."
	"Whistle, daughter, whistle,
	And I'll give you a man."
[A loud and clear whistle.]	"Mother, now I can!"

New York.

The subject of this and the preceding number has furnished endless mirth to popular poetry. The present song is ancient; for it is identical with a German, Flemish, and French round of the fifteenth or sixteenth century, in which a nun (or monk) is tempted to dance by similar offers. The spirit of the latter piece seems to be rather light-hearted ridicule than puritanic satire, and the allusion does not show that the piece is subsequent to the Reformation.

We have obtained only three verses of the song, which was a favorite with little children as they sat on the door-step of a summer's evening. Another version of the ancient jest comes to us as sung by college students:

(Slow and mournful, in C minor.)

A ROUND.

New York.

A variation:

Massachusetts.

These corrupt rhymes are only interesting as illustrating the permanence of Hallowe'en customs, even in America. The Scotch rhyme of Chambers goes—

After repeating these words, the girl puts her knotted garter beneath her pillow, and sleeps on it, when her future husband will appear to her in a dream.

A ROUND.

A kiss was the prescription.

We insert this silly little round, chiefly because, according to Madame Celnart, a French equivalent was in favor, not with infants, but ladies and gentlemen in polite society, only half a century since. Our authority says:

"The master or the mistress of this round is called doctor. This doctor takes the arm of the person seated on his right, regards him or her with an eye of compassion, feels his pulse, and then gives his order, which everybody repeats, singing, 'Give me your arm that I may cure you, for you seem to me to look ill.'[80] Then, designating by a glance some person of the other sex, he says, 'Embrace monsieur (or madame) to cure you; it is an excellent remedy.' All the persons in the ring are submitted to this treatment, which the physician knows how to render piquant by the choice of the panacea which he recommends to his patient; when everybody is cured, the doctor passes over his science and dignity to the last person who has tested the efficacy of his prescription, and in his turn falls sick, to make trial of the pleasing remedy."

The general theme of our vulgarized round is more agreeably expressed in the quaint and ancient Canadian song which we have cited as the motto of the present chapter.

New York streets.

A friend informs us that he has often heard the words of this unintelligible round sung as a "shanty," or song used by sailors at their work, with the chorus, yeo heave-ho! In Cambridge, Mass., the name of the deceased was "Old Cromwell." We have also a version of half a century since, beginning,

Such is the peculiar title of this amusement in Virginia, where it is said to be enjoyed by pious people who will not dance. There is a row of couples, with an odd player at the head. At the sudden close of the song occurs a grand rush and change of partners.

Albemarle Co., Va.

This game, with verbal identity (save the title), was a few years since an amusement of well-bred girls in New York city. It has also been familiar in Massachusetts, with the exception of one line—

All participating are blindfolded, and, joining hands, march forward, singing—

The fun consists in bringing up against a door, or in causing a general downfall by tripping over some obstacle.

New York.

An odd number of players, of whom the one not paired stands in the centre of the ring. The others march in couples, each consisting of a girl and a boy, till the sudden end of the song, when each boy grasps the girl in front of him.

Western New York.

Another version:

Cincinnati.

The miller, whose pay used to be taken in a proportion of corn ground, was a common object of popular satire.

In Germany the mill-wheel, as it slowly revolves, is said to exclaim—

Then, moving more quickly—

And at last answers very fast, and without pausing—

"Round and Round, the Mill Goes Round," is mentioned as an English dance at the end of the seventeenth century. A song of "The Happy Miller" is printed in "Pills to Purge Melancholy" (1707), of which the first verse is—

This song was doubtless founded on the popular game; but the modern children's sport has preserved the idea, if not the elegance, of the old dance better than the printed words of a hundred and seventy years since. A variation of the same game is still familiar in Canada and Sweden.[81]

That the prejudice against the honesty of the miller was not confined to the Old World will appear from the following ballad:

Another version finds its way to us from the West, and ends with an uncomplimentary opinion as to the habitation of the miller in the other world.

---

Walther von der Vogelweide [A.D. 1170-1230].

Plucking one by one the petals of the ox-eye daisy (Leucanthemum vulgare), children ask:

Girls then take a second flower, and, getting some one else to name it, proceed, in order to determine where they are to live:

And in like manner use a third to discover in what dress they are to be married:

Finally, they consult a fourth, to find out what the bridal equipage is to be:

Another version gives for the second line of the first formula:

In Switzerland, girls in like manner say, as they pick off the flower-leaves of the common daisy (Bellis perennis):

And boys—

The marguerite (Doronicum bellidiastrum) is asked in the same country:

And in Styria is called "Love's Measure," because it determines the return of affection according to the well-known formula, "He loves me, he loves me not," for which a French equivalent is:

But in Switzerland again the questions for the marguerite exactly match ours:

The verse is similar in Italy. It is curious to see the precise correspondence of English and Continental forms.

Mediæval writers do not mention this use of flower-petals, but frequently allude to the custom of drawing spires of grass, to secure the longer (or shorter, as might be agreed). Thus lads might draw grasses, for the purpose of deciding to which of the two a maiden might belong as a partner. This was so usual a way of deciding a controversy that it was even recognized in law, where the parties to a suit drew straws from a thatch or sheaf. Children still resort to a like arbitrament, where one holds the straws in the hand, and the other draws, the shorter straw winning. To our surprise, we find that girls in Massachusetts still keep up the mediæval usage; they draw stalks of grass in the field, and match them, to decide who shall begin a game—be "it."[84]

We have seen that the formula "Loves me, loves me not," was used in the Middle Age with grasses. In Italy the oracle is consulted by means of the branch of a tree. A twig is taken having alternate leaves, and they are detached one by one, the consulter always turning the head as the words of the oracle are spoken. The formulas for this purpose closely resemble our own: thus, "This year, another year, soon, never," which is exactly identical with the English "This year, next year, some time, never;" or, "He loves me, longs for me, desires me, wishes me well; wishes me ill, does not care;" or, as in the Swiss form given, "Paradise, Purgatory, Caldron" (that is, Inferno).

Flowers are gathered and loved by children as they have always been, and are used by them in all sorts of imaginative exercises of their own invention, as, for instance, by girls in their imitative housekeeping; but there is singularly little employment of them in any definite games. Formerly it was otherwise; but the deep sympathy which blooming youth once felt and expressed for the bloom of the year seems to have almost disappeared.

In the Middle Age, as in classic antiquity, flowers were much in use for dances. Great attention was paid to the significance of particular blooms. "What flowers will you give me for a garland? What flowers are proper for adornment?" are mentioned as names of sports. It was a practice for the lover to approach his mistress with a flower or fruit which he offered for her acceptance. If the girl accepted the gift, the youth led her out, and the dance began. Another ancient practice was to throw to a girl some bloom, at the same time pronouncing a couplet which rhymed with the name of the flower. The ball, too, with which youths and maids played, was sometimes made of flowers.

Almost the only relic of ancient usage of this sort, with us, is the employment little girls make of dandelions, with which (in some parts of the country) they make long garlands, cutting off the heads and stringing them together.

This use of the dandelion is very old, from which it derives one of its many German names, the chain-flower or ring-flower. On account of its early bloom and golden hue it is especially the flower of spring, and seems to have had a religious and symbolic meaning. In Switzerland these garlands are used in the dance, the children holding a long wreath of the flowers so as to form a circle within the ring; and whoever breaks the chain pays forfeit. The plant is said to be of healing virtue, gives happiness to the lover, and, if plucked on particular days, will heal troubles of the eye. It has these qualities on account of its brightness, which causes it to be associated with the victorious power of light.

There are other ways of using this flower. A dandelion in seed is held to the lips; if the seeds can all be blown off in three attempts, it is a sign of successful love, of marriage within the year; or, with little girls, that "my mother wants me."

Little girls also split the stalks of the flower, and, dipping them in cold water, produce "curls," with which they adorn themselves. This usage, too, is German.

We may speak of the trifling lore of one or two other flowers. A buttercup is held against one child's chin by another, and a bright reflection is supposed (prosaically enough) to indicate a fondness for butter!

It was formerly said in New England that the heart's-ease (Viola tricolor) represented a "step-mother sitting on two chairs." The petals being turned up, the step-mother is seen to have two chairs, her children one each, and her step-children only one between them.

That this flower represents an unkind step-mother is stated in a Low-German rhyme of the fifteenth century; and step-mother is also an English name for the heart's-ease. There is another reason for the title besides that we have given. In Switzerland the flower is considered a type of malice, because the older the flower is the more yellow and "jealous" it becomes. Thus we have another striking example of the original similarity of English and German usage.

Boys in the spring are fond of blowing on the fresh blades of grass, with which they can make a loud but harsh trumpeting. This practice, in Germany, is mentioned at the beginning of the thirteenth century.

It is the custom still for boys to make whistles in the spring from the loosened bark of the willow; but they do not guess that this was originally a superstitious rite, the pipe cut from a tree which grows in the water being supposed to have the power of causing rain. The Swiss children, though unconsciously, still invoke the water-spirit as they separate the bark from the wood:

The following rhyme, used in New England at the beginning of the present century, remains unchanged in a single word, except the omission of the last three lines.

Apples formerly were an essential part of every entertainment in the country; in the winter season, a dish of such always stood on the sideboard. As the hours went by, a foaming dish of eggnog would be brought in, always with a red-hot poker inserted, for the purpose of keeping up the proper temperature. It was then that the apple, having been properly named, with a fillip of the finger was divided, to decide the fate of the person concerned according to its number of seeds.

We insert here, on account of the allusions to nature which they contain, several pieces which might also have found a place elsewhere in our collection; the present, for instance, being eminently a "love-game."

A single player stands in the centre of the ring, which circles and sings:

The youth or girl in the centre chooses a partner, and the ring sings:

Now follows a fragment of romance, which in our version is unhappily corrupt:

After a kiss, the first player takes his or her place in the ring, and the partner selected is left to continue the game.

Deerfield, Mass. (about 1810).

To the same game, perhaps, belongs the following fragment:

The comparison of a youth or maid to a rose is not uncommon in dances. We have a pretty French example in the Canadian round cited below;[85] and another English instance in our No. 62.

Savannah, Georgia.

This song is not known in the North, and it is equally unrecorded in English nursery-lore, but is very familiar in France (as well as Germany, Denmark, etc.). We are inclined to look on it as an adaptation from the French, made by the children of émigrés, like the curious game which makes our next number.[87]

In parts of Georgia and South Carolina, as soon as a group of girls are fairly out of the house for a morning's play, one suddenly points the finger at a companion with the exclamation, "Green!" The child so accosted must then produce some fragment of verdure, the leaf of a tree, a blade of grass, etc., from the apparel, or else pay forfeit to the first after the manner of "philop$oelig;na." It is rarely, therefore, that a child will go abroad without a bit of "green," the practice almost amounting to a superstition. The object of each is to make the rest believe that the required piece of verdure has been forgotten, and yet to keep it at hand. Sometimes it is drawn from the shoe, or carried in the brooch, or in the garter. Nurses find in the pockets, or in the lining of garments, all manner of fragments which have served this purpose. This curious practice is not known elsewhere in America; but it is mentioned by Rabelais, under the name by which it is still played in parts of Central France, "Je vous prends sans vert"—"I catch you without green." The game, however, is not merely a children's sport, and is played differently from our description. At Châtillon-sur-Inde it is during Lent, and only after the singing of the Angelus, that "green" is played. If any lady accost you and shows you her bough, you must immediately exhibit yours. If you have not such a one, or if your green is of a shade less rich than your adversary's, you lose a point; in case of doubt, the matter is referred to an umpire. The game was much in vogue from the thirteenth to the fourteenth century, and is described as a May-game. "During the first days of May, every one took care to carry on his person a little green bough, and those who were not so provided were liable to hear themselves addressed, I catch you without green, and to receive, at the same instant, a pail of water on the head. This amusement, however, was in use only among the members of certain societies, who took the name of Sans-vert. Those who belonged to these had a right to visit each other at any hour of the day, and administer the bath whenever they found each other unprovided. In addition, the members so surprised were condemned to a pecuniary fine, and the income of these fines was devoted to merry repasts which, at certain seasons of the year, united all the comrades of the Sans-vert."[88]

The practice has given to the French language a proverb: to take any one without green, to take him unawares.

Our child's game was doubtless imported by Huguenot immigrants, who established themselves in the states referred to two centuries since, where they long preserved their language and customs, and from whom many well-known families are descended.

---

St. Francis of Assisi.

The names of animals being distributed among children, one, in the centre of the ring, sings the words; at the proper point the child who represents the animal must imitate its cry; and as at each verse the animals who have already figured join in, the game becomes rather noisy.

And so on with the names of other beasts.

Georgia.

In another version, it is under the "green bay-tree" (Magnolia glauca) that the animals are stabled.

---

This is another of the games which have been widely distributed through Europe, and date back to a remote past. At present, with us it is a child's jest, the noisy imitation of animal cries; but, as in all such cases, sense preceded sound. Comparing German versions, we see that our game is properly a song, the idea of which consists in the enumeration by significant and comical names of the members and possessions of a family. "When I was a poor woman, I went over the Rhine: my goose was called Wag-tail, my maid So he said, my pig Lard-pot, my flea Hop-i'-straw" etc. A more courtly version gives us a pleasing pilgrim's song: "Whence come you?—From sunset. Whither will you?—To sunrise. To what country?—Home. Where is it?—A hundred miles away. What is your name?—The world names me Leap a-field, my sword is Honor worth, my wife Pastime, her maid Lie-a-bed, my child Rush-about," etc.

Thus we see the ancient earnestness appearing behind the modern mirth. It is likely that the origin of the song would take us back to those lists of mythical titles which were regarded as conveying real knowledge of the relations of things, at a time when a large part of learning consisted in the knowledge of the significant names which were given to objects.

A party of children, who represent frogs by a hopping motion. At the word "kough," they imitate the croaking of the frog.

Enter child in character of duck—

Every frog hops to his separate den, while pursued by the duck, the game after the duck's advent being extremely animated.

Georgia.

Within the ring is the shepherd; the wolf approaches from without. A dialogue ensues:

Salem, Mass.

A New Hampshire version makes the game represent a fox, who carries off chickens, thus:

The Esthonian Fins have a characteristic children's game, based on the same idea, which may be quoted, to show how much imagination and spirit enter into the sports of a simple people. A watchman on duty at the sheepfold announces his office in a soliloquy:

A girl entices away the shepherd, while a boy as wolf carries off part of the herd, and another as dog barks. The mother of the family hastens up, beats the traitor, and the herdsmen go with staves to seek the lost lamb. The garland it wore is found and identified. With shouts of, "Lamb, lamb," it is found at last, caressed, and its bruises examined.

A ring of girls with their hands clasped and lifted. A girl, called (according to the color of her dress) blue-bird, black-bird, yellow-bird, etc., enters, and passes into the ring under an arch formed by a pair of lifted hands, singing to any suitable tune:

She seizes a child, and waltzes off with her, singing:

After the dance the chosen partner leads, named, as before, according to the color of her costume. The child, as she enters, must imitate by her raised arms the flight of a bird, making a very pretty dance.

Cincinnati.

A girl, speaking the words "Ducks fly," raises her hand to imitate the flight of the bird; so on with robins, eagles, etc., while all the rest must imitate her example; but she finally says "Cats fly," or some similar expression, when any child who is incautious enough to raise the hand (or thumb) must pay forfeit.

New York.

Trifling as the catch is, it has been popular in Europe. In some countries, instead of birds who fly, the question is of beasts who have or do not have horns.

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Gammer Gurton's Garland.

This game is now a mere jest. A row of chairs is so arranged as to leave a vacant space, which is concealed by shawls or other coverings, and represents a throne. The courtiers having taken their places, the newly elected monarch is ceremoniously seated by the side of his consort, and the fun consists in witnessing his downfall.

By Strutt's description, it appears that in the beginning of the century this was in use as a species of "hazing" in English girls' schools:

"In some great boarding-schools for the fair sex it is customary, upon the introduction of a novice, for the scholars to receive her with much pretended solemnity, and decorate a throne in which she is to be installed, in order to hear a set speech, addressed to her by one of the young ladies in the name of the rest. The throne is wide enough for three persons to sit conveniently, and is made with two stools, having a tub nearly filled with water between them, and the whole is covered with a counterpane or blanket, ornamented with ribands and other trifling fineries, and drawn very tightly over the two stools, upon each of which a lady is seated to keep the blanket from giving way when the new scholar takes her place; and these are called her maids of honor. The speech consists of high-flown compliments calculated to flatter the vanity of the stranger; and as soon as it is concluded, the maids of honor rising suddenly together, the counterpane of course gives way, and poor miss is unexpectedly immerged in the water."

In Austria the same game is called "conferring knighthood." All present are dressed as knights, in paper helmets, great mustachios, sticks for lances, wooden swords, etc. Two, who represent the oldest knights, are seated on the two stools, between which is a vacant space, while the rest form a half-circle about the Grand Master, who wears a mask and wig, and holds a great roll of paper. Meanwhile the candidate, in a separate room, is prepared by two knights for the ceremony; these instruct him in his behavior, until the embassy arrives to lead him before the Grand Master. The latter delivers a solemn address, and from the document in his hands reads the rule of the order—silence, courage, truth, etc. Then follows the vow, the delivery of the knightly costume, and the solemn bestowal of the stroke which dubs the victim a knight. He is finally invited to take his seat in the circle, with the result described in our own jest.

The name, "King and Queen," recalls a game as old as history, that of electing a king, who proceeded to confer offices of state, and assign duties. Herodotus tells us how the child Cyrus showed his royal birth by the severity with which he punished his disobedient subjects. In Switzerland, the children still choose, by "counting out," a king and an executioner. The king proceeds to impose tasks. Geiler of Kaisersberg, in a sermon, A.D. 1507, gives the formula then in use in the game: "Sir king, I wish to serve you." "And what is your service?" "What you command me, I would execute." "I bid you do an honor to the king." For this game, as still played in Switzerland, a queen is also chosen; after a time, the king exclaims, "I make a journey," when the whole company, in couples, follow him through the chambers of the house or streets of the town on his royal progress. The old English game of "Questions and Commands" seems to have been the same. A writer in the Gentlemen's Magazine, February, 1738, gives its formula: "King I am," says one boy; another answers, "I am your man." Then his majesty demands what service will he do him; to which the obsequious courtier replies, "The best, and worst, and all I can."

In this game, the leader having been chosen by "speaking first," or "counting out," the rest must do whatever he does. It is usually played out-of-doors, and the children "follow their leader" in a row, across roads, fences, and ditches, jumping from heights, and creeping under barriers.[90] We are told that the game is played in a peculiarly reckless fashion in the South, where the leader will sometimes go under a horse's legs or between the wheels of a wagon, whereupon the driver, knowing what to expect, will stop for the rest.

No doubt this sport, now a mere exhibition of daring, has an ancient origin and history. Perhaps it was a development of the king game, already referred to.

The technical word for challenge among children in America is "stump." One boy "stumps" another to do a thing. Whence derived?

The game of "Truth," as played in Massachusetts, is described by Miss Alcott in her "Little Women," chapter xii. The players are there said to pile up their hands, choose a number, and draw out in turn, and the person who draws his or her hand from the pile at the number selected has to answer truly any questions put by the rest.

We have heard of a party of young people who met regularly to play this game, but have been assured that it proved prolific of quarrels.

We have seen that the imitation of the ceremony of knighthood is still a form of childish amusement in Europe. Here follows a jesting New England formula for such a purpose, though not a game of children, but belonging to an older age:

"You must promise to obey three rules: first, never to do to-day what you can put off till to-morrow; secondly, never to eat brown bread when you can get white; thirdly, never to kiss the maid when you can kiss the mistress, unless the maid is prettier than the mistress."

These vows having been taken, it is then said, "Now I dub you knight of the whistle." Meantime a whistle having been attached to the back of the candidate, the fun consists in his attempts to discover the person who blew it.

A child is chosen to be judge, two others for jurors (or, to speak with our little informant, juries), who sit at his right and left hand.

Each child must ask the permission of the judge before taking any step. A platter is brought in, and a child, rising, asks the judge, "May I go into the middle of the room?" "May I turn the platter?" "On which side shall it fall?"

If the platter falls on the wrong side, forfeit must be paid.

Cambridge, Mass.

The nursery, we see, does not understand republicanism. The fairy tale has never got beyond the period in which the monarch orders the wicked witch to immediate execution.

In the ancient world, however, where the courts were a place of resort, and law was not a specialized profession, the case was different. Maximus of Tyre tells us that the children had their laws and tribunals; condemnation extended to the forfeiture of toys. Cato the Younger, according to Plutarch, had his detestation of tyranny first awakened by the punishment inflicted on a playmate by such a tribunal. One of the younger boys had been sentenced to imprisonment; the doom was duly carried into effect, but Cato, moved by his cries, rescued him.

In a German game there is a king, a judge, an executioner, an accuser, and a thief. The parts are assigned by drawing lots, but the accuser does not know the name of the thief, and, if he makes an error, has to undergo the penalty in his stead. The judge finally addresses the king, inquiring if his majesty approves of his decision; and the king replies, "Yes, your sentence entitles you to my favor;" or, "No, your sentence entitles you to so many blows." Thus we see how modern child's play respects the dignity of the king as the fountain of law.

In a Swiss sport the thief flies, and is chased over stock and stone until caught, when he is made to kneel down, his cap pushed over his brows, and his head immediately struck off with the edge of a board. So is preserved the memory of the severity of ancient criminal law.

New York streets.

At the second verse, the little girls by whom this round is danced turn so as to follow each other in an endless chain, each grasping the skirts of the child in front, while they move faster and faster to the lively tune.

Some of our readers may think this song not a very creditable specimen of modern invention; but it is no doubt a relic of antiquity. A similar round, given in "Deuteromelia," 1609 (as cited by Chappell), begins:

The children of the poorer class, therefore, who still keep up in the streets of our cities the present ring-dance, are only maintaining the customs which belonged to courtiers and noble ladies in the time of Shakespeare.

This piece of doggerel may be of revolutionary origin, as it can be traced to near the beginning of the present century. It is unusual for political or military events to be alluded to in children's games.

So the game was played in Philadelphia in the childhood of a lady born at the end of the last century. In Massachusetts and Maine it continued to be popular until within a few years, as follows:

Worcester, Mass.

That the population of Dutch extraction in New York had no deep sympathy with the patriotic sentiments of revolutionary times seems to be indicated in a satirical stanza, which has come to us from an informant who learned it in youth of her aged grandmother, and which appears also to have been originally a dance-song. We hope that errors in spelling American Dutch may be forgiven:

That is,

in jesting allusion to the speed with which the patriots were supposed to make off. The refrain is in part unintelligible to us, but seems to belong to a dance.

A visitor approaches the ring from without, and pleads:

He is admitted into the circle, and proceeds to perform the designated actions. Having "lighted his pipe and warmed his toes," he suddenly attempts to make his exit from the ring (all the members of which have clasped hands in expectation of his onset), throwing himself with that object against a pair of linked arms.

Such was, and perhaps still is, the name of an amusement of a not very agreeable nature, familiar at children's parties in New England. A girl was seated on a chair in the middle of the room, and one child after another was led to her throne. She would turn away with an expression of contempt, until some one approached that pleased her, who, after a kiss, took her place.

"Derision" is the name of a game mentioned by Froissart as an amusement of his childhood. It is not at all unlikely that the present sport represents the old French pastime.

Speaking of representations of the passions, we may say that we have heard of a game formerly played in New York, called "Hatred and Revenge;" but have not succeeded in obtaining it.

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Minnesinger, 13th century.

This little round, universally familiar in America, meets us again in Germany and Provence. After the transit of various languages, and thousands of miles, the song retains the same essential characteristics.

New Bedford, Mass. (about 1790).

Another version:

At the end of the words the children suddenly stoop, and the last to get down undergoes some penalty, or has to take the place of the child in the centre, who represents the "rosie" (rose-tree; French, rosier).

Vulgarized forms of the round are common:

And finally it is deformed past recognition:

This last corruption was in use some forty years since in Connecticut.

A ring of dancers with clasped hands. A girl circles about the outside of the rest, who join in singing—

The players now let go hands, and she winds in and out of the circle, singing—

She now stands facing one of the children, who sing—

Taking the hand of one of the children, she salutes her—

The child selected then takes her place.

New York streets.

The first child chooses and places beside himself a second, then a third, and so on, while the rest sing to the same tune:

The "cheese" is "clapped out," and must begin again as the "farmer."

New York streets.

A girl is chosen to be the Ocean. The rest represent rivers. The rivers, by very devious courses (around school-desks, etc.), flow into the Ocean. Not unfrequently in their course to the sea, the rivers encounter somewhat violently.

New York.

The question is accompanied by a rapid movement of the right hand. The second child in the ring inquires in the same manner of the third; and so all round. Then the same question is asked with a like gesture of the left hand, and, after this has gone round, with both hands, left foot, right foot, both feet, and finally by uniting all the motions at once. "A nice long game," as our little informant said.

New York, Philadelphia, etc.

This absurd little rhyme was formerly used to accompany an animated dance, in which the arms were placed behind the waist, and the hands rested on the hips, with alternate motion.

Philadelphia; Massachusetts.

Then followed right ear and left ear, right foot and left foot, etc. The words we give were in use some sixty years since, when the game was danced deliberately and decorously, as old fashion was, with slow rhythmical motion. Now it has been turned into a romp, under various names (in Boston, "Ugly Mug"). The English name is "Hinkumbooby."

The person who gives orders beats time with one foot, then both feet, one hand and both feet, two hands and both feet, etc. The game, like the preceding, is performed with a dancing motion.

New York.

This game is for girls only. All present sit in a circle, then each girl gathers her skirts tightly, so as to enclose her feet. The leader begins some rhyme; all join in, and at a word previously agreed on, keeping the skirt tightly grasped, throw themselves over backward. The object now is to recover the former position without letting go the skirt.

New York.

This familiar little rhyme is accompanied by two players with alternate striking of the hands together and against the knees, in a way easier to practise than to describe. School-girls often use it to warm their hands on cold winter mornings.

Philadelphia.

We suppose the above formula to be a rhyme for starting in a race. The common schoolboy verse—

appears to be a parody of the older English rhyme,

We find mentioned in the "Girls' Own Book," Boston, 1856, a dance of girls which has the characteristics of an old game. Girls take hold of hands, one standing still; the rest twist about her until they form a knot. They then untwist in the same manner, singing, "Twine the garland, girls!" and, "Untwine the garland, girls!"

This name was formerly given in New England to a dance similar to that known in Scotland as Curcuddie. The hands were clasped under the knees, and the children slowly and solemnly described squares and triangles on the floor.

We may add here an unnamed amusement for school-girls, which consists in joining hands behind the back (giving the right hand to the left hand of a partner), and then turning, while retaining the hold, so as to stand facing each other. This movement is then repeated until the couple whirl about with considerable rapidity.

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Chaucer's Dreme.

A child lays on a table his clenched fist, with the thumb elevated; another grasps the raised thumb with his own fist, and so on until a pile of fists is built up. A player, who remains apart from the group, then addresses the child whose hand is at the top:

The same conversation is repeated with the next child, and so on; the fist being withdrawn as speedily as possible, to escape a rap from the questioner. When only one is left, the following dialogue ensues:

Then follows a general scattering; for some child is sure to laugh, and if he does not do so of his own accord, his neighbors will certainly tweak him, poke him, or otherwise excite his risibility.

Georgia.

In Pennsylvania the conversation ends:

This dialogue, based on a well-known nursery tale, has maintained itself with remarkable persistence, and even verbal identity, in several European languages. We meet it in Germany and Denmark, as well as England.

This celebrated game was formerly much played in New England during the winter evenings. A stick was lighted, and passed from hand to hand. It was an object to transfer it as quickly as possible; but each player, before handing it to his neighbor, must repeat the rhyme—

Or else, "Robin's alive," etc.

The "back-saddling" consisted in depositing the person, in whose hand the light went out, upon the back on the floor, and afterwards piling upon him (or her) chairs and other furniture.

Another formula is given in the "Girls' Own Book:"

"Robin's alive, and alive he shall be; if he dies in my hand, my mouth shall be bridled, my back shall be saddled, and I be sent home to the king's Whitehall."

When the light expired it was said: "Robin is dead, and dead he shall be; he has died in your hand, and your mouth shall be bridled, your back shall be saddled, to send you home to the king's Whitehall."

This game is played all over Europe with similar formulas; but we are not aware that the "back-saddling" feature has been practised out of England and America. The person in whose possession the light is extinguished usually pays forfeit.

It has been suggested, with plausibility, that the sport is connected with an ancient rite: namely, the races of torch-bearers, which formed part of certain festal ceremonies, and in which the courier in whose hands the torch went out was a loser. Such contests are repeatedly alluded to by classic writers; but their exact conduct is involved in some obscurity. In such a race, at Athens, the torch was kindled on the altar of Prometheus, and handed to the runner, whose duty it was to pass it, while still alight, to a second, and so on. This ceremony has suggested a celebrated line to Lucretius, who compares the flying ages to "runners who pass from one to another the torch of life."

There is a whole class of games of which the object is to excite to laughter by means of some ridiculous action.

Such games are sometimes played with a lighted candle. The players approach each other from opposite sides of the room, and sustain a dialogue in solemn tones, while they must keep a grave countenance on penalty of paying forfeit. For example:

"The king of Turkey is dead." "What did he die of?" "Doing so" (some ridiculous gesture).

A more characteristic version (in Nantucket, Mass.) had it: "The royal Russian princess, Husty Fusty, is defunct." To which it was necessary to answer soberly—"I'm very sorry to hear it; even the cats bewail her loss."

A game which was formerly popular with children in Massachusetts was to lean a staff in the corner, while a player was seated in the centre of the ring. Another child now entered, took up the staff, approached and addressed the one sitting, and a rhymed dialogue ensued:

If the staff-bearer laughed, he or she must take the chair; otherwise the next player continued the game.

A third amusement is for girls to excite one another to laugh by gently pinching in succession the ears, nose, lips, etc., while making use of some ridiculous expression.

This usage is alluded to more than three centuries ago by Rabelais.

In a Swiss game, this performance is complicated by a jest. Each child pinches his neighbor's ear; but by agreement the players blacken their fingers, keeping two of the party in ignorance. Each of the two victims imagines it to be the other who is the object of the uproarious mirth of the company.

The children sit in a row, with the exception of one, who goes in succession to each child, and asks him what he will give to the bachelor's kitchen. Each answers what he pleases, as a saucepan, a mousetrap, etc. When all have replied, the questioner returns to the first child, and puts all sorts of questions, which must be answered by the article which he before gave to the kitchen, and by no other word. For instance, he asks, "What do you wear on your head?" "Mousetrap." The object is to make the answerer laugh, and he is asked a number of questions, until he either laughs or is given up as a hard subject. The questioner then passes to the next child, and so on through the whole row. Those who laugh, or add any other word to their answer, must pay a forfeit, which is redeemed in the same way as in other games.

Cambridge, Mass.

Little girls, with appropriate motions of the closed fist, or of the inverted hand with raised fingers, say,

An Italian finger-game well exhibits the different mental state of children in the two countries. The words are: "This is the Inferno, and this the Paradiso." The fingers of the two hands, crossed within, represent the disturbed world of wretchedness; the back of the hands, turned, where all is calm, typify Paradise.

A tumbler of water and a thimble are required. One child is sent out of the room, and to each of the others a different color is allotted. The first is then expected to name the color of some child. If she succeeds in her guess, a thimbleful of water is thrown in her face. The guessing is continued till this takes place, when the thrower becomes the guesser for the next turn.

Cincinnati.

There are games in which the guesser has only Scogan's choice[91] between two sorts of disaster.

Thus, a party of boys pitch on two who are unacquainted with the game, and ask them if they would not like to play "Beetle and Wedge." "The fun is to be the Beetle and the Wedge," they explain. The victims consenting, the Beetle is then driven against the Wedge, back to back, with a force that "sends him flying." This amusement belongs to Connecticut.

In Philadelphia a boy is asked whether he prefers mustard or pepper; in either case receiving corresponding personal inflictions. So in the English game of "Trades" a boy is made to guess the trade of the questioner, and is hammered, planed, or rasped, accordingly.

All the children, except two, are seated in a row. One of these whispers in the ear of each child, "I present you with this." The second, in like manner, adds, "I advise you what to do with it."

Another old whispering-game, belonging, like the preceding, to New York, is called "Sentiment." Each child tells his neighbor on the right the name of a person, and repeats to the one on the left a verse of poetry, usually of a sentimental character. The name and verse are then to be repeated together as in the former game.

"I, genteel lady, always genteel, come from the genteel lady, always genteel, beg leave to inform you that my ship has just come in from China laden with apricots."

The next player has to repeat, adding some object beginning with b, such as biscuit; the next player one beginning with c, and so down the alphabet. If any one hesitates, or makes a mistake, a lighted "lamp-lighter" (New England, spill) is stuck in her hair, and she is the "one-horned," instead of the "genteel" lady; and for two mistakes the "two-horned" lady, and so on. This juxtaposition of curls and "lamp-lighters" is by no means always safe.

Georgia.

Of this game we observe that, like several amusements familiar in this State, it is of French origin.[92]

A member of the party throws to another a knotted handkerchief, saying one of the above words, and counting up to ten. The catcher must answer in the given time the name of some animal of the kind required, not already cited by some other player.

Whoever fails to reply while the counting is going on, is out of the game. After the names of commoner animals are exhausted, the game becomes a test of quickness and memory.

A picture of a wheel is drawn upon the slate, and a number written between each of its spokes. The eyes being then closed, the child whose turn it is raises a pencil in the air, twirling it, and saying,

At the last word the pencil is brought down; if the point of the pencil falls on a space, the number there written is scored; if on a line, or outside the circle, or on a number previously secured (and erased by a line), the turn is forfeited. The game is continued until a certain number has been scored by the winning player.

Georgia.

This (to children) exquisitely witty dialogue has its German counterpart.—"I went into the wood." "So did I." "I took an axe." "So did I." "I made a trough." "So did I." "Seven pigs ate of it." "So did I."[93]

Equally well known is the jest, "I am a gold lock," "I am a gold key," etc.—ending "I am a monk-lock," "I am a mon-key."

We may mention also a familiar catch, "Say my cat, my cat, and not my dog." "My dog" must not be spoken.

Of a different character are the following jests:

The lights being extinguished, a knife is passed round the circle of players, and the following conversation ensues, each phrase being continued from left to right of the ring:

All of the company who understand the jest shriek aloud, which accomplishes the object of terrifying the rest.

Somewhat similar (in New York) is the following:

In the following conversation, one sentence at a time is repeated in a whisper to the left-hand neighbor, and so passed round the circle, the fun consisting in the imitation of crowing at the end.

"Hath she feathers?" "Feathers she hath." "Doth she crow?" "Crow she doth." "How doth she crow?" (An imitation of crowing follows.)

An evening amusement formerly common in Massachusetts. All present laid their hands with fingers resting on the knees. The speaker then told off the words of the rhyme, one for each finger. The rhyme being thus recited, that finger to which the last syllable fell must be quickly withdrawn, on penalty of being sharply rapped by the hand of the leader. After all had been counted out but one person, he or she was liable to the same risk for every word of the rhyme—the result of which situation is alluded to by the epithet "black finger."

The girl who is to assign the penalty by which the forfeit must be redeemed lays her head on the lap of another who sits on a chair, while a third, standing behind, holds the article over her head and asks:

The sentence is then declared.

Another formula, used in the Middle and Southern States, is:

The German usage is nearly the same, the question being "Lord judge, what is your sentence, what shall he do whose pledge I have in my hand?"

The following are examples of old penalties, which usually involved kissing, with infinite variety of method:

This is a very popular game with girls in various parts of the United States.

The children sit in a row, with the exception of the mother, who comes up and asks each child in turn, "How did you tear your dress?" After hearing their various excuses, she again traverses the row, indicating the part of the dress to be mended, and saying:

She slaps her children on the shoulder and goes out, forbidding them to follow her. As soon as her back is turned, they all jump up and run after her, shouting, "Old mother Tipsy-toe,"[94] or, as in a variation from New York:

The mother now goes into a shop, and orders various articles, the children repeating after her whatever she says. For instance, the mother says, "I want two pounds of butter." "I want two pounds of butter," shout the children in chorus. Finally she says, "And I want a stick to whip my children with," upon which she turns to leave the shop, while the children rush before her, and scramble back to their seats before their mother comes home. The latter then goes to each child in turn, saying, "Let me see how well you have mended your dress." The children all hold the hem of their dresses as firmly as they can, with their hands somewhat apart. The mother strikes with her hand the part of the dress that is between their hands; and if they let it go, she scolds and beats them for their bad mending.

Cambridge, Mass.

In another way of playing, which makes the game one of chase, "Old mammy Tipsy-toe" addresses her children:

She then makes preparations to depart:

The children, of course, pursue her with shouts of defiance, upon which she turns and chases them, while they rush to their places. She comes back, and demands of the children:

"Have you been out to-day?" "No." "You have. Where have you been?" "To grandmother's." "What did you get?" "A slice of cake." "Where is my share?" "In the band-box." "But I might break my neck getting it." "I wish you would." On this, she chases the children, who fly and scatter. Any child she catches is out of the game, which is continued until all are captured.

Philadelphia.

The children being seated in a circle, a child, who does not take part in the game, whispers to each of the rest a name representing some color, as "Red-cap," "Blue-cap," "Yellow-cap," etc. Two players are excepted, one of whom is called "My man John," and one represents the cardinal. The latter now leaves the room, first placing in the hands of "John" a little billet of wood, bidding him take care of the Cardinal's hat, which at the same time he declares to be of some particular color, as green. "John" conceals this somewhere in the room. The child who went out then enters, armed with a cane, and demands the Cardinal's hat. "John" affects to have forgotten all about it, and asks, "What color was it? green?" and so on until he guesses the color. Being thus reminded, he declares that some one of the group, as, for example, "Red-cap," has stolen it. "Red-cap" is now asked by the questioner, "Red-cap, did you steal the Cardinal's hat?" He also must pass on the charge, saying, "No, it was White-cap" (or any other color). If he omits to do so, or names a color not included among the players, he must pay forfeit. Meanwhile the questioner becomes indignant at the numerous denials, and proceeds to extort confession by torture, rapping with his cane the fingers of those whom he addresses. If he succeeds in obliging any child to confess, the latter must pay forfeit. At last "My man John" owns the theft, produces the hat, and the game is begun again, until a sufficient number of forfeits have been collected.

Saratoga, New York.

This game is also played in Switzerland. The name of a color having been given to each child, a ball is stealthily passed about the circle. The "Abbot of St. Gall" enters, and exclaims, "The Abbot of St. Gall has lost his night-cap; they say White stole it." The player whose color is named, if he has the ball, must pass it behind his back to another, saying, "Not White, Red has it." Whoever is caught in passing the ball, or names a color not in the game, or fails to answer when his name is called, must pay forfeit, or have his face marked with burned cork. It will be seen that the Swiss game corresponds to the American, except that in the latter the ball is concealed instead of being passed round; but we think it likely that the memory of our informant (a child) may have been at fault in this respect.

The Gentleman's Magazine, February, 1738, mentions a game called "The Parson hath lost his Fuddling Cap." The Spectator, No. 268, also refers to this sport: "I desire to know in your next if the merry game of 'The Parson has lost his Cloak,' is not mightily in vogue amongst the fine ladies this Christmas, because I see they wear hoods of all colours, which I suppose is for that purpose." From this last extract it appears that the names "Red-cap," etc., are a reminiscence of the variously colored hoods once employed in the game.

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"As boys, when they play at 'how many,' hold out their hands in such a way that, having few, they pretend to have many, and having many, they make believe to have few."—Xenophon, Treatise on the Duties of a Cavalry Officer.

A small number of beans or other counters are held in the hand, and the question is, Odd or Even? If the guess is even, and the true number odd, it is said "Give me one to make it odd," and vice versâ. The game is continued until all the counters belong to one or other of the two players.

This amusement was familiar in ancient Greece and Rome, as it is in modern Europe. In the classic game the player gained or lost as many as he held in his hand.

This game is played by three, four, or more, who stand in a circle. A child then addresses his left-hand neighbor, and the dialogue is:

The second player then guesses the number, two guesses being sometimes allowed. If, for example, the guess is five, and the real number seven, the first responds, "Give me two to make it seven," and so on until all the counters have been gained by one player. The number allowed to be taken is often limited, by agreement, to six or ten.

The counters are beans, grains of corn, marbles, nuts, and, in the South, chinquapins.[95]

A childish trick is to expand the hand as if unable to hold the number of counters, when in fact they are but one or two. Oddly enough, this same device is alluded to by Xenophon as in use in his day in the game of "How many?"—the classic equivalent of our game, in which the question was, "How many have I in the hand?" just as we say, "Parcel how many?" So, in these sports, the interval of two thousand years vanishes.

A child hides his head on another's lap, and guesses the number of fingers raised. We find a rhyme for this given in the "Girls' Own Book."

Another form of this game consists in schoolboys mounting on each other's back and raising fingers, of which the number is to be guessed. The English formula for this purpose is given by Tylor thus, "Buck, buck, how many horns do I hold up?" We are not aware that the practice continues to exist in this country.

In the famous finger-game of "Morra," the sum of the fingers raised by the two players is counted. The game is played with such rapidity, and the calling is so rapid, that conjecture plays a larger part in the game than eyesight. "Morra" has been a favorite for nearly four thousand years, for it is represented on early Egyptian monuments, where the players are depicted as using the right hand, and scoring with the left, very much as is done in the south of Europe at the present day.

It is very likely, however, that the nursery usage we are now concerned with is as old. Petronius Arbiter, in the time of Nero, describes Trimalchio as so playing with a boy. The latter, mounting as on horseback, smote his shoulders with the open hand, and laughing said, "Bucca, bucca, how many?"[96]

We will not undertake to decide whether the reported coincidence of the Latin and English formulas is a genuine example of transmission. The game, however, and the question, "How many?" have certainly endured for two thousand years, and very likely existed as long before the days of Petronius, or from a time as remote as that to which can be traced the more complicated game of "Morra."

A common way of deciding a dispute, selecting players, or determining who shall begin a game, is to take a pebble or other object in the closed fist, and make a comrade guess in which hand it is contained.

The old-fashioned way of holding the hands, both in England and Germany, was to place one fist on top of the other; and a like usage formerly prevailed in New England, though we have not met with the English rhyme:

A child takes a bean in the hand, closes it, and asks a companion to guess under which finger it lies; if the latter fails, he must pay a bean.

A simple guessing-game, familiar to children in New England. One child of the party says to another, "It comes, it comes." The player addressed replies, "What do you come by?" The first replies by naming the initial letter of some object in the room; if, for instance, it is the table he has in mind, he says, "I come by T." The rest must now guess what thing, beginning with this letter, is meant.

The children sit in a circle, with hands closed; one takes the ring, and goes around with it, tapping the closed fists of the players as if inserting the ring, and saying:

Each child, in turn, is then required to guess who has the ring, and, if successful, takes the leader's place; if unsuccessful, he pays forfeit.

Georgia.

This is known in Massachusetts as,

Another form of the question is, "Fox, fox, who's got the box?"

In England the game goes,

A ball is concealed with some one of the children who form the circle. A girl is placed in the centre, and a dialogue ensues; the ring singing:

The girl answers:

If the person named has the ball, he or she takes her place; if not, she continues as before. In England, a rhyme is given for the latter case:

A coin is passed about the circle, and the central player is to guess who has it. The dollar is held in the palm, then passed about the ring by each player alternately clapping his hands together, and then extending his arms so as to touch the hands of his neighbor. For this purpose the right hand should be held downward, and the left turned upward, as the arms are extended. The coin is to be palmed from hand to hand, and the rhythmical motions being accompanied with song (to almost any tune) make a very pretty game, but one which requires much practice to master. The verse sung is,

Cincinnati.

The game is a modern translation from the German, presumably by the children themselves.

Among games of search may be mentioned the present, in which, the greater part of the company being sent out of the room, a thimble must be placed so as to escape notice, and yet in such a position as to be visible when the attention is once directed to it. As each of the party discovers the thimble, he indicates his success by saying "Rorum torum corum," or some such formula, and then takes his seat.

In other games, in which some small object is hidden, there are various ways of assisting the seeker when at fault; thus, it is said you freeze, you are cold, you are warm, you burn, according as the object is approached; or the search is directed by magical music, which grows louder as the person comes nearer to his object. These usages belong also to other countries. More original is a practice, common in Massachusetts, according to which the height of the concealed object above the floor of the room is indicated by the words "So high water," addressed by one of the company to the person who has been sent out, as he enters and begins his search.

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Old Song.

A party of young people stand at each end of a space, such as a portico, a field, etc., and a single player is stationed in the middle. The former address the latter:

The players at the ends of the field then run from side to side, and must be caught by the central player, whom they then assist to catch the rest.

Georgia.

This sport, which has been universally familiar in America, is a form of the old English game of "Barley Break," and probably the "marlow bright" of our version is a corruption of that name.

The Scotch variety given by Chambers has a very chivalric turn, which may give an idea of the song which must have accompanied the game in the time of Queen Elizabeth:

The poets of the Elizabethan age fully describe the game of "Barley Break," and seem to think it the most delightful of youthful amusements. They represent Diana and her nymphs as amusing themselves with this sport.

It appears from Sidney's description that the game was played by three couples, each of a youth and a maid, one couple standing at each end of the area, and the third remaining in the centre. The mating was determined by lot, and the last pair mated were obliged to take the central position, and saluted each other by a kiss. This pair were required to pursue with joined hands, while the others were at liberty to separate. Any maid caught replaced the maid, and any youth the youth, of the central couple. Notwithstanding the courtly nature of the sport, that its fundamental idea is the same as that of our game appears by the name of the central space, as Sidney gives it in the "Arcadia:"

A New England variation introduces blindfolding, thus adapting the game to a chamber. Two children are made to kneel on stools, their eyes bandaged, and the rest must run between. The dialogue is:

A hen with her brood. A child represents the "Old Buzzard," about whom the rest circle. The hen addresses the latter:

The Buzzard, meanwhile, is busied in building up a fire with sticks, and abruptly names any hour, when the question and answer are repeated for each child of the ring, until twelve o'clock, thus—

The ring now halts, and the dialogue proceeds:

The Buzzard gives chase and captures a child. He brings him back, lays him down, and proceeds to dress him for dinner. All the rest stand round in admiring silence. The Buzzard asks,

According to the choice he proceeds as if picking the feathers of a bird or scaling a fish, and continues, with appropriate action,

He drags the victim into one or another corner of the room, according to the reply, and the game proceeds as before.[97]

New England.

In the Southern States a witch takes the place of the bird of prey, and the rhyme is,

The witch names any hour, and questions and answers are repeated as before, up to twelve:

The witch tries to get past the hen, and seize the last of the line; the mother, spreading out her arms, bars the passage. The witch cries,

Each child caught drops out, and as the line grows shorter the struggle becomes desperate.

Georgia.

This latter way of playing is the older form of the game, and is also familiar, though without words, in the North, where it is known as "Fox and Chickens."

This game is one of the most widely diffused, and the dialogue is marvellously identical, from Russia to Italy.

In Schleswig-Holstein the conversation runs thus:

In our own country, among the Pennsylvania Germans, or, to use their own agreeable idiom, "De Pennsylfaunisch Deitsch," this game enjoys the distinction of being almost the only child's game which is accompanied by words, and is played as follows:

A boy who is digging in the earth is accosted by a second, who carries a handful of sticks, the longest of which represents the needle:

The stooping child now rises and pursues the rest.

A similar dialogue is used for a game of chase in New York:

In the same spirit, the Venetian game has:

Whereupon she pursues the questioners. In this version we find also the inquiry about the hour, the putting of the pot on the fire, the searching for the knife, and final scattering.

The Finns on the Baltic coast, too, have the game in the form of a long song, beginning,

Which exactly corresponds to the Scotch,

In this game a child, usually selected by "counting out," pursues his comrades till he has caught one who must replace him. There is generally some asylum of refuge, where the pursued are safe.

The original form of this game seems to have been "Iron Tag," or "Tag on Iron," once universal in the United States, and still here and there played. In Germany and Italy, also, this is the usual form of the sport. In this game the pursued party is safe whenever touching iron in any shape, as the ring of a post, horse-shoe, etc.[99] A writer in the Gentleman's Magazine, February, 1738, speaking of this amusement, says that "the lad saves himself by the touching of cold iron," and that "in later times this play has been altered amongst children of quality, by touching of gold instead of iron." In like manner, owing to the occasional scarcity of iron objects, wood-tag and stone-tag have been varieties of the sport in America.

This form of the game exhibits its original meaning. As in several other games of chase, the pursuer represents an evil spirit, from whose attack, according to ancient superstition, iron was a protection. Hence the challenge, in Silesia and Switzerland, is, "Father, I have no iron, hit me."[100] The chaser, it seems, was conceived as the aged but powerful dwarf, of malignant character. Thus we get a vivid idea of the extent to which such representations once affected the lives even of children, and see that an amusement which is now a mere pleasurable muscular exercise followed the direction imposed by belief.

There are numerous varieties of this game. In cross-tag, the pursuer must follow whoever comes between him and the pursued. In squat-tag, the fugitive is safe while in that position, or is allowed a given number of "squats," during which he cannot be touched. A peculiar variety (in Philadelphia) is "Tag, tag, tell a body." In this game every child is forbidden to tell who is "it," on penalty of replacing him. Sometimes the name of the pursuer is kept secret until revealed by his actions, or the child who has been tagged deceives the rest by keeping up his speed. On the other hand, the catcher is sometimes bound to turn his cap inside out, whence the game is called turn-cap.

"Pickadill" is a kind of tag played in Massachusetts during the winter. A large circle is made in the snow, with quartering paths; if there are many players, two circles are made. There is one tagger, and the centre is the place of safety.

"London Loo" is a particular species of the game (in Philadelphia) in which the following: formula is used:

This is an out-of-doors game. Each boy represents a wild beast, and has a separate tree, which represents his "den." Any player who leaves his den is liable to be tagged by any who has started out at a later moment. The best runner usually ventures first, a second pursues him, and so on, until all may be out at once. If a player can tag any one whom he has a right to capture, he takes him home to his own den, and the latter must help him to take the rest. The pursuer cannot be tagged while bringing home his prisoner.

Cambridge, Mass.

This game is world-old and world-wide. To judge by the description of Pollux (in the second century), it was then played exactly as American children play it to-day. "One of the party places himself in the middle of his comrades, and closes his eyes, unless some other covers them for him. The players run away and scatter. Then the pursuer opens his eyes and proceeds to look for them. It is each player's object to reach that one's[102] ground before him."

An ancient painting represents this game. Cupids are playing together. One of these, with his face turned away, has his hands before his eyes, and appears to be counting. Another is running to a place of concealment, while a third peeps from behind the door.

Children, with us, usually count a hundred before beginning the search; but there is an abbreviated method, not accounted fair—

The "home" is usually a tree. When the seeker catches sight of any of the players, he (or she) runs to the tree, and touches it thrice, saying, "One, two, three, for——" (naming the child). On the other hand, if the latter can reach the tree first, he touches it, saying, "One, two, three, for myself."[103]

In a variety of the game, a stick is set up against a tree. One of the players seizes it, and throws it as far as possible. The children hide, while the one who happens to be "it" gets and replaces the stick, after which he proceeds to look for the rest. Those whom he discovers he captures as above described, until all are taken. If any of the hiders can reach the tree and throw down the stick, all prisoners are released, and the seeker must begin over again. A similar game, in New York, is called "Yards off."

"Hide and Seek" differs only in this, that there is no home to be touched, but the game is ended when the concealment is discovered. When the players are hidden they announce it by "whooping."

This is a very ancient hiding-game. A wolf is chosen by "counting out" or otherwise, who conceals himself, and then indicates that he is ready by howling.

The rest of the party, who are supposed to be sheep, walk round the corner in a casual way, until one calls out, "I spy a wolf," whereupon all immediately take to their heels. Whoever is caught by the wolf before reaching home must take his place for the next turn. This game is nearly identical in most European countries.

New York.

A boy is selected by the following peculiar counting rhyme:

Lad after lad being successively excluded, the last remaining is "it," and has to hide himself, when he calls out,

The searcher may summon the fugitive to indicate his whereabouts:

Salem, Mass.

In Portland, Me., the shout of the concealed party is, "Blank, blank, Cornelia!" and in the western part of the State of New York, "Blancalilo!"

The searcher, on discovering one of the hidden players, calls "Hi spy!" and tries to touch the latter before he can reach goal, the rule being that

A blindfolded player is led into the centre of a room, taken by the shoulders, and turned about three times, after which he must catch somebody to replace him.

For this initiation there is in the Middle States a rhyme:

The English name, "Hoodman-blind," is derived from the manner of blindfolding formerly in use. When caps were worn which could be drawn at will over the face, the caps, reversed so as to cover the countenance, formed the mask.

This game belongs to all ages and most countries, and is known by many different names, frequently taken from animals, for example: "Blind Cow" in Germany; "Blind Goat" in Sweden; "Blind Mouse" in South Germany and Servia; "Blind Hen" in Spain; "Blind Fly," or "Blind Cat," in Italy. To the English name, "Blind-man's Buff," correspond the Polish "Blind Old Man," and the Norwegian "Blind Thief." In these titles a mythologic allusion is probably contained, which is quite clear in the Scotch "Belly-blind,"[105] the latter name representing a malicious demon. Thus again appears the conception of a supernatural adversary so common in games of pursuit.

A familiar variation makes this a ring-game. The blindfolded person stands in the centre, with a staff, while the ring circles about him. When he strikes the floor three times, the ring must pause. The person in whose direction he points must grasp the staff, and utter some sound, disguising the voice as much as possible. The first must then guess the name from the sound. In New York this form of the game is called "Peggy in the Ring," and the request is "to squeak."

In Cincinnati the game is also played in a dark room, without bandaging the eyes, and is then called "Devil in the Dark."

Another variety, also commonly played without blindfolding, goes by the name of "Still Pond," or "Still Palm." The child who is "it," counting up to ten, says,

All now keep their places. The catcher must guess by the touch the name of his captive.

The game of which we write is described by Pollux, as played seventeen hundred years since in various forms, all of which are still familiar: "The game of 'Muinda,' when any one, closing his eyes, cries, 'Look out!' and whomsoever he catches he makes him close his eyes instead; or when, keeping his eyes shut, he seeks after the children who have hidden until he catches them; or else he closes his eyes while the others touch him, and if anybody gives a clue himself, he speaks out and guesses till he gets it right."

When a bandage was used, the game was called the "Brazen Fly" (we may suppose a gaudy species of insect, from the zigzag motion, as boys run when chasing butterflies), and is thus described by the same author: "The eyes of a boy having been bound with a bandage, he goes round, saying, 'I shall chase the brazen fly;' but the others, answering, 'You will chase him but not catch him,' hit him with whips of papyrus, till he catches one of them." These papyrus whips were the equivalent of our knotted handkerchiefs.

One of the children is selected for a witch, and each of the others chooses some tree or post for a goal. The witch then marks out on the ground with a stick as many circles as there are players, which she calls "jars." The children run out from their homes, and are pursued by the witch. Whenever she catches one, she puts him in one of her jars, from which he cannot escape unless some one else chooses to free him by touching. Once freed, he cannot be recaught until he has reached his home, and ventures out once more. The freer, however, can be caught, and as the witch keeps guard over her prisoners, it is a dangerous task for a player to attempt to set his companions free. When all are caught, a new witch is chosen.

This game is also called "Prisoner's Bars;" but the first name, mentioned in "Cymbeline," seems the older, from which the latter has arisen by misunderstanding.

The game, which is also popular in Europe, is originally an imitation of warfare. The two armies stand facing each other, and have their bases each on a line parallel with that of the adversary. But in the United States the game has been changed, so that the two parties stand on the same line, and the bases are placed diagonally opposite at a distance of some thirty yards, so that each base is nearer to the enemy's forces than to those of the side to which it belongs. The game is opened by a challenge given by one leader to the other; each player can tag any one of the opponents who has quitted his line before he has left his own. Any player tagged must go to his base. Any player who can reach his base in safety may release a prisoner.

As it often happens that a half-dozen runners may be pursuing a single fugitive, who is cut off from his friends, the chase may be prolonged far from the point of departure, through streets of the town or fields of the country.

After the battle of Dunbar, Oliver Cromwell sent Colonel Fenwick with two regiments to reduce Hume Castle. The governor, Cockburn, when ordered to surrender, replied by quoting the following lines, which must have belonged to a boys' game of his day:

The rhyme, with small change, is still familiar in Scotland, and the game well known in Pennsylvania, where the defiance runs, less chivalrously,

Or, with a change of usage,

In the first case the defender maintains his post against assailants; in the latter, he endeavors to capture one of a group who have established themselves in his castle, represented usually by a cellar-door.

This game is played in an open field. A boy stands in the centre of the field, and the other players at the sides. With the cry "Lil lil!" they run across. The tagger must touch a runner three times on the back, and whoever is so caught must assist him. There is a rhyme for this game—

"Lil lil!" is also a cry (in Boston) of children "coasting," when the track is to be cleared.

Portland, Me.

We have not obtained information as to the manner in which this game was played, but it is evidently identical with the Scotch rhyme:

In the Scotch game, a boy, whose eyes are bandaged, rests his head against a wall, while the rest come up and lay their hands upon his back. He sends them to different places, according to the rhyme, and calls out, "Hickety, bickety!" till they have returned, when the last in must take his place. The "crow's nest" is close beside the blindfolded boy, and is a coveted position.

This game is also played in Switzerland. Each of the children receives the name of some animal, as Goat, Wolf, Snake, Frog, etc. To the swifter and more dangerous beasts are assigned the more distant positions. The keeper then shouts out that supper is ready, whereupon all rush home, each animal uttering his own peculiar cry. The last in is punished.

All the players join hands in a row, except one, who stands facing them at a distance of a few feet. The row slowly advances towards the solitary child, and then retreats, singing,

The mother, advancing and retreating in her turn, sings,

The dialogue then continues to the same air,

On this the indignant mother chases her daughters, and whoever is first caught must take the mother's place.

This game does not appear to be established in America, though we have heard of it as played in West Virginia. Our present version is from children lately arrived from England, where it seems to be a favorite.

A circle of children with arms raised. Enter keeper of garden:

New York.

This game is probably a recent translation from the German. It is also played in Italy in a more humorous form. The thief exclaims, as he picks each, "A delicious grape!" The guardian demands,

Which he accordingly does.

A company of players divide, each having the same number of sticks, which they deposit on each side of a line; whoever crosses the line may seize a stick, but if caught is confined in a prison, marked out for the purpose.

This is the game of "Scots and English," and may be classed among sports originating in border warfare.

A ring of players is formed, about the outside of which circles a child who carries a knotted handkerchief, with which he finally taps another on the shoulder, and starts to run round the ring. The child touched must pick up the handkerchief, and run in the opposite direction from the first. The two players, when they meet, must courtesy three times. The toucher endeavors to secure the other's place in the ring, failing which, he must begin again. As he goes about the circle, he recites the words:

Cambridge, Mass.

In Philadelphia, a corresponding rhyme begins:

A variation from New York:

The name of the game in England is "Drop-glove."

Another and apparently older way of playing "Hunt the Squirrel" is a game in which the child touched follows the toucher until he has caught him, pursuing him both in and out of the ring, being obliged to enter and leave the circle at the same point as the latter.

A kissing-game, in which the player who makes the circuit taps another on the shoulder, and then takes flight, while the person touched is entitled to a kiss if he can capture the fugitive before the latter has made the tour of the circle and gained the vacant place, is a favorite among the "Pennsylvania Dutch," under the name of "Hen-slauch" (Hand-slag), that is, striking with the hand. The game is there called "Ring," and has inspired certain verses of Harbach, the nearest approach to a poet which that unimaginative race has produced.[106]

In a similar game, formerly played in Massachusetts, the leader of the game touches one of the party on the shoulder, and asks, "Have you seen my sheep?" The first replies, "How was it dressed?" The toucher now describes the costume of some player, who, as soon as he recognizes the description of himself, must take flight, and endeavor to regain his place in safety.

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French Round.

Two little girls, clinching fingers, and bracing their feet against each other, whirl rapidly round, a movement which they call "Sailing the ship."

Three little girls join hands and swing about, being the simplest form of motion without song, to which they give the name of "Three Around."

Two little girls clasp hands tightly, singing,

While a third throws herself against them, and endeavors to break through.

Children sing, as they dance with clasped hands about one who stands in the centre of the ring:

At the last word all stoop, and if the child in the centre can catch any other before assuming that position, the latter must replace him.

Almost any summer evening, in certain streets of New York, children may be seen playing this round, which they sing on one note, with a shriek to conclude.

Played like the preceding.

Philadelphia.

A mother and children:

The children now retire to a safe distance, and sing:

A chase follows, and the child caught must replace the mother.

The dialogue (which belongs to Georgia) is also extended by the mother's threatening to send the cow, or the trees, after the children.

This game is differently played by little girls in Philadelphia, thus:

The indignant mother now pursues the disobedient children.

The children sit in a ring, and are named according to the articles of a lady's wardrobe. The child in the centre of the circle of players names some article, as, "My lady wants her brush, brush, brush." She who has received that name must answer before the third utterance or pay forfeit. The speaker naturally pronounces the word as fast as possible.

(A ROUND.)

To this familiar little round, girls five or six years of age, in New York, sometimes prefix a fragment of some ballad—

Philadelphia.

Philadelphia.

Georgia.

Massachusetts.

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