Chapter XVII: Appendix (2)

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.

V.

_THE CONSERVATISM OF CHILDREN._

Here, as girl's duty is, Timarete lays down her cymbals,
Places the ball that she loved, carries the net of her hair;
Maiden, and bride to be, her maids[26] to maid Artemis renders,
And with her favorites too offers their various wardrobe.

_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--

Patroclus, why dost thou weep, like a child too young to speak plainly,
A girl who runs after her mother, and cries in arms to be taken,
Catching hold of her garment, and keeping her back from her errand,
Looking up to her tearful, until she pauses and lifts her?

And the passage is almost too familiar to cite--

Hector the radiant spoke, and reached out his arms for the baby;
But the infant cried out, and hid his face in the bosom
Of his nurse gayly-girdled, fearing the look of his father,
Scared by the gleam of the bronze, and the helmet crested with
horse-hair,
Dreading to see it wave from the lofty height of the forehead.

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:

"O torti-tortoise, in the ring what doest thou?"

She answers:

"I twine the wool, and spin the fine Milesian thread."

The first again:

"Tell us, how was it that thy offspring died?"

To which she says:

"He plunged in ocean from the backs of horses white."

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:

None is so fair
As my daughter there.

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--

Boys and girls, come out to play,
The moon it shines as bright as day;

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

Ten hours said,
Maids to bed.

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:

In that early childish day
I was never tired to play
Games that children every one
Love until twelve years are done;
To dam up a rivulet
With a tile, or else to let
A small saucer for a boat
Down the purling gutter float;
Over two bricks, at our will,
To erect a water-mill;
And in the end wash clean from dirt,
In the streamlet, cap and shirt.
We gave heart and eye together
To see scud a sailing feather;
After I was put to school,
Where ignorance is brought to rule,
_There were girls as young as I_;
_These I courted, by-and-by_,
_Little trinkets offering--
A pear, an apple, or glass ring_;
For their favor to obtain
Seemed great prowess to me then,
_And, sober earnest, so it is_.
And now and then it pleased us well
To sift dust through a piercèd shell
On our coats; or in time ripe,
To cut out a wheaten pipe.
In those days for dice and chess
Cared we busy children less
Than mud pies and buns to make,
And heedfully in oven bake
Of four bricks; and when came Lent,
Out was brought a complement
Of river-shells, from secret hold,
Estimated above gold,
To play away, as I thought meet,
With the children of our street;
And as they tossed a counter, I
Stood and shouted, "Pitch it high!"
When the moon was shining bright
We would play in summer night
_Pince-merine_; and time so passed,
I was more eager at the last
Than outset, and I thought it shame
When I was made to stop my game.
More to tell, we practised too
The sport entitled _Queue loo loo_,[34]
_Hook_, _Trottot Merlot_, _Pebbles_, _Ball_;
And when we had assembled all,
_Pears_, swiftly running; or were lief
To play at _Engerrant the Thief_.
Now and then, for a race-course,
Of a staff we made a horse,
And called him _Gray_; or, in knight's guise,
We put our caps on helmet-wise;
And many a time, beside a maid,
A mimic house of shells I made.
Upon occasions we would choose
_The one who hit me I accuse_,
_Take Colin off_; and by-and-by
Selected _King who does not lie_,
_Ring_, _Prison-bars_; or were content,
When in-doors, with _Astonishment_,
_Oats_, _Scorn_, or _Riddles_; nor forget
_Replies_, and _Grasses_, _Cligne-musette_,
_Retreat_, and _Mule_, and _Hunt the Hare_;
_Leaping_ and _Palm-ball_ had their share,
_Salt Cowshorn_, and _Charette Michaut_;
And oftentimes we chose to throw
Pebbles or pence against a stake;
Or small pits in the ground would make,
And play at nuts, which he who lost,
His pleasure bitterly was crossed.
To drive a top was my delight
From early morning until night;
Or to blow, single or double,
Through a tube a bright soap-bubble,
Or a batch of three or four,
To rejoice our eyes the more.
Games like these, and more beside,
Late and early have I plied.
Followed a season of concern;
Latin I was made to learn;
And if I missed, I was a dunce,
And must be beaten for the nonce.
So manners changed, as hands severe
Trained me to knowledge and to fear.
Yet lessons done, when I was free,
Quiet I could never be,
But fought with my own mates, and thus
Was vanquished or victorious;
And many a time it was my fate
To come home in a ragged state
And meet reproof and chastisement;
But, after all, 'twas pains misspent;
For, let a comrade come in sight,
That moment I had taken flight,
And none could hinder; in that hour
Pleasure unto me was power,
Though oft I found, as I find still,
The two inadequate to my will.
Thus I did the time employ--
So may Heaven give me joy--
That all things tended to my pleasure,
Both my labor and my leisure,
Being alert and being still;
Hours had I at my own will.
Then a wreath of violets,
To give maids for coronets,
Was to me of more account
Than the present of a count,
Twenty marks, would be to-day;
I had a heart content and gay,
And a soul more free and light
Than the verse may well recite.
So, to fashion form and feature,
Co-operated Love and Nature:
Nature made the body strong,
And forces that to Love belong,
Soft and generous the heart;
Truly, if in every part
Of the body soul did live,
I should have been sensitive!
Not a splendor upon earth
I esteemed so seeing-worth
As clustered violets, or a bed
Of peonies or roses red.
When approached the winter-time,
And out-of-doors was cold and rime,
No loss had I what to do,
But read romances old and new,
And did prefer, the rest above,
Those of which the theme was love,
Imagining, as on I went,
Everything to my content.
Thus, since infantine delight
Oft inclines the heart aright,
After his own living form
Love my spirit did inform,
And pleasure into profit turned;
For the fortitude I learned,
And the soul of high emprise,
Hath such merit in my eyes,
That its worth and preciousness
Words of mine cannot express.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] Boston.

[2] See Nos. 40 and 58.

[3] See No. 21.

[4] See No. 2.

[5] See No. 1.

[6] More than three fourths of all children's games in the German collections are paralleled (it may be in widely varying forms) in the present volume. Allowing for the incompleteness of collections, the resemblance of French games is probably nearly as close. The case is not very different in Italy and Sweden, so far at least as concerns games of any dramatic interest. Not till we come to Russia, do we find anything like an independent usage. Taken altogether, our American games are as ancient and characteristic as any, and throw much light on the European system of childish tradition.

[7] See Nos. 150-153.

[8] Barley-break. See No. 101.

[9] No. 90.

[10] It must be remembered that in mediæval Europe, and in England till the end of the seventeenth century, a kiss was the usual salutation of a lady to a gentleman whom she wished to honor. The Portuguese ladies who came to England with the Infanta in 1662 were not used to the custom; but, as Pepys says, in ten days they had "learnt to kiss and look freely up and down." Kissing in games was, therefore, a matter of course, in all ranks.

[11] Mme. Élisabeth-Félicie Bayle-Mouillard, who wrote under this pseudonym, had in her day a great reputation as a writer on etiquette. Her "Manuel Complet de la Bonne Compagnie" reached six editions in the course of a few years, and was published in America in two different translations--at Boston in 1833, and Philadelphia in 1841.

[12] See Nos. 10 and 36.

[13] See No. 154, and note.

[14] _Ballad_, _ballet_, _ball_, from _ballare_, to dance.

[15] See Nos. 12-17.

[16] Yet there is no modern English treatise on the history of the ballad possessing critical pretensions. It is to the unselfish labors of an American--Professor Francis J. Child, of Harvard University--that we are soon to owe a complete and comparative edition of English ballads.

[17] In the country, in Massachusetts, _Thanksgiving_ evening was the particular occasion for these games.

[18] The feast of _Flora_, says Pliny, in order that everything should _flower_.

[19] So in Southern France--

"Catherine, ma mie--reveille-toi, s'il vous plaît;
Regarde à ta fenêtre le mai et le bouquet."

[20] "On May-day eve, young men and women still continue to play each other tricks by placing branches of trees, shrubs, or flowers under each other's windows, or before their doors."--Harland, "Lancashire Folk-lore."

[21] The "Shepheards Calender" recites how, in the month of May,

Youngthes folke now flocken in every where,
To gather _May-buskets_ and smelling brere;
And home they hasten the postes to dight,
And all the kirk-pillours eare day-light,
With hawthorn buds, and sweete eglantine,
And girlonds of roses, and soppes in wine.

"Sops in wine" are said to be pinks.

[22] See Nos. 23, 26, and 160.

[23] "In summer season howe doe the moste part of our yong men and maydes in earely rising and getting themselves into the fieldes at dauncing! What foolishe toyes shall not a man see among them!"--"Northbrooke's Treatise," 1577.

[24]

As I have seen the lady of the May
Set in an arbour (on a holy-day)
Built by the May-pole.

--Wm. Browne.

[25] In Cincinnati.

[26] The same Greek word, _kora_, signifies _maiden_ and _doll_.

[27] _Crepundia_; literally, _rattles_.

[28] See Nos. 105 and 108.

[29] See Nos. 91, 92, and 93.

[30] "The _pot-game_--the one in the middle sits, and is called a _pot_; the rest tweak him, or pinch him, or slap him while running round; and whoever is caught by him while so turning takes his place." We might suppose the disconnected verse of the "tortoise-game" to be imitated, perhaps in jest, from the high-sounding phrases of the drama.

[31] "Cheli-chelone," _torti-tortoise_.

[32] "Phitta Meliades."

[33] Froissart's account of the school he attended reminds us of the American _district school_, and his narration has the same character of charming simplicity as his allusion to playing _with the boys of our street_.

[34] For the games here mentioned, compare note in Appendix.

GAMES AND SONGS OF AMERICAN CHILDREN

I.

_LOVE-GAMES._

--Many a faire tourning,
Upon the grene gras springyng.

_The Romaunt of the Rose._

No. 1.

_Knights of Spain._

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.

"Here come three lords out of Spain,
A-courting of your daughter Jane."

"My daughter Jane is yet too young,
To be ruled by your flattering tongue."

"Be she young, or be she old,
'Tis for the price she may be sold.

"So fare you well, my lady gay,
We must turn another way."

"Turn back, turn back, you Spanish knight,
And scour your boots and spurs so bright."

"My boots and spurs they cost you nought,
For in this land they were not bought.

"Nor in this land will they be sold,
Either for silver or for gold.

"So fare you well, my lady gay,
We must turn another way."

"Turn back, turn back, you Spanish knight,
And choose the fairest in your sight."

"I'll not take one nor two nor three,
But pray, Miss [Lucy], walk with me."

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

"Here comes your daughter safe and sound,
In her pocket a thousand pound,

"On her finger a gay gold ring--
I bring your daughter home again."

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

"Here comes your daughter safe and sound,
In her pocket a thousand pound,

"On her finger a gay gold ring:
Will you take your daughter in?"

"No!"

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

"Here comes your daughter safe and sound,
In her pocket _no_ thousand pound,

On her finger _no_ gay gold ring,
Will you take your daughter in?"

"Yes!"

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

The following is a New England version:

"We are three brethren from Spain,
Come to court your daughter Jane."

"My daughter Jane is yet too young
To be courted by your flattering tongue."

"Be she young, or be she old,
It is for gold she must be sold.

Then fare ye well, my lady gay,
I must return another day."

"Come back, come back, you Spanish knight,
Your boots and spurs shine very bright."

"My boots and spurs they count you nought,
For in this town they were not bought."

"Come back, come back, you Spanish knight,
And choose the fairest in your sight."

"This is too black, and that is too brown,
And this is the fairest in the town."

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:

"Here comes a knight, a knight of Spain,
To court your daughter, lady Jane."

"My lady Jane, she is too young,
To be controlled by flattering tongue."

"Be she young or be she old,
Her beauty's fair, she must be sold."

"Go back, go back, you Spanish man,
And choose the fairest in the land."

"The fairest one that I can see,
Is [Annie Hobart] to walk with me."

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--

"Come ben beside Janet jo,
Janet jo, Janet jo,
Ye're welcome to Janet jo,
Janet, my jo."

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

Her tresses are not braided,
Her wedding-gown not done.

Similarly, we find in an English fragment,

My mead's not made, my cake's not baked,
And you cannot have my daughter Jane.

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--

And the bells will ring, and the birds will sing,
And we'll all clap hands together.

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--

"Turn thee, knight, come, turn thee hither,
The most fair I'll give to thee--
The most lovely and the sweetest,
Sweetest rose upon the tree."

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

"Thus I take her for her marriage,
Spouse and wedded wife to be."

The king addresses them on departure--

"Listen, knight, I do entreat thee,
Use to her all courtesy."

And the ambassadors reply--

"She, on throne of splendor seated,
Shall be shining to behold,
She shall lodge within a palace,
She shall dress in pearls and gold."

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.

No. 2.

_Three Kings._

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.

"Here come three soldiers three by three,
To court your daughter merrily;
Can we have a lodging, can we have a lodging,
Can we have a lodging here to-night?"

"Sleep, my daughter, do not wake--
Here come three soldiers, and they sha'n't take;
They sha'n't have a lodging, they sha'n't have a lodging,
They sha'n't have a lodging here to-night."

"Here come three sailors three by three,
To court your daughter merrily;
Can we have a lodging," etc.

"Sleep, my daughter, do not wake--
Here come three sailors and they sha'n't take;
They sha'n't have a lodging," etc.

"Here come three tinkers three by three,
To court your daughter merrily;
Can we have a lodging," etc.

"Sleep, my daughter, do not wake--
Here come three tinkers and they sha'n't take;
They sha'n't have a lodging," etc.

"Here come three kings, three by three,
To court your daughter merrily;
Can we have a lodging," etc.

"Wake, my daughter, do not sleep--
Here come three kings, and they _shall_ take;
They _shall_ have a lodging, they shall have a lodging,
They shall have a lodging here to-night."

(_To the kings_)--

"Here is my daughter safe and sound,
And in her pocket five hundred pound,
And on her finger a plain gold ring,
And she is fit to walk with the king."

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

"Here is your daughter _not_ safe and sound,
And in her pocket _not_ five hundred pound,
And on her finger no plain gold ring,
And she's not fit to walk with the king."

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

_Charlestown, W. Va._

No. 3.

_Here Comes a Duke._

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,

"Here comes a duke a-roving,
Roving, roving,
Here comes a duke a-roving,
With the ransy, tansy, tea!
With the ransy, tansy, tario!
With the ransy, tansy, tea!
Pretty fair maid, will you come out,
Will you come out, will you come out,
To join us in our dancing?"

Little girl answers,

"No."

Suitor steps backward, singing,

"Naughty girl,[39] she won't come out,
She won't come out, she won't come out,
To join us in our dancing."

Suitor advances as before. The answer now is,

"Yes."

These two now retire, singing together,

"Now we've got the flowers of May,
The flowers of May, the flowers of May,
To join us in our dancing."

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,

"Now we've got the flowers of May,
The flowers of May, the flowers of May,
To join us in our dancing."

_Concord, Mass._

Avulgarized 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,

"Open the gates and let the bride out," etc.;

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

"Open the gates and let the bride in," etc.

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:

A dis, a dis, a green grass,
A dis, a dis, a dis;
Come all ye pretty fair maids,
And dance along with us.

For we are going a-roving,
A-roving in this land;
We'll take this pretty fair maid,
We'll take her by the hand.

Ye shall get a duke, my dear,
And ye shall get a drake;
And ye shall get a young prince,
A young prince for your sake.

And if this young prince chance to die,
Ye shall get another;
The bells will ring, and the birds will sing,
And we'll all clap hands together.

No. 4.

_Tread, Tread the Green Grass._

Tread, tread the green grass,
Dust, dust, dust;
Come all ye pretty fair maids
And walk along with us.

If you be a fair maid,
As I suppose you be,
I'll take you by the lily-white hand
And lead you across the sea.

_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,

Tread, tread the green grass,
Adist, adist, adist.

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.

No. 5.

_I'll Give to You a Paper of Pins._

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.

"I'll give to you a paper of pins,
And that's the way my love begins;
If you will marry me, me, me,
If you will marry me."

"I don't accept your paper of pins,
If that's the way your love begins;
For I won't marry you, you, you,
For I won't marry you."

"I'll give to you an easy-chair,
To sit in and comb your golden hair.

"I'll give to you a silver spoon,
To feed your babe in the afternoon.

"I'll give to you a dress of green,
To make you look like any queen.[41]

"I'll give to you the key of my heart,
For you to lock and never to part.

"I'll give to you the key of my chest,
For you to have money at your request."

"I _do_ accept the key of your chest,
For me to have money at my request;
And I will marry you, you, you,
And I will marry you."

"Ha, ha, ha, money is all,
And I won't marry you at all;
For I won't marry you, you, you,
For I won't marry you."

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

"Oh, miss, I'll give you a paper of pins,
If you will tell me how love begins:
If you will marry, marry, marry,
If you will marry me."

"I'll not accept your paper of pins,
And I won't tell you how love begins;
For I won't marry, marry, marry,
For I won't marry you."

"O miss, I'll give you a coach and six,
Every horse as black as pitch.

"O miss, I'll give you a red silk gown,
With gold and laces hanging round.

"O miss, I'll give you a little gold bell,
To ring for the waiter[42] when you are not well.

"O miss, I'll give you the key to my heart,
That we may lock and never part.

"O miss, I'll give you the key to my chest,
That you may have money at your request."

"I will accept the key of your chest,
That I may have money at my request."

"Ah, I see, money is all,
Woman's love is none at all;
And I won't marry, marry, marry,
And I won't marry you."

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

"Will you have a paper of pins?
For that's the way my love begins--
And will you marry me, me, me,
And will you marry me?"

"No, I'll not have a paper of pins,
If that's the way your love begins."

"Will you have a little lap-dog,
Who may follow you abroad?

"Will you have a coach and four,
Footman behind and footman before?

"Will you have a dress of red,
All trimmed round with golden thread?

"Will you have a satin gown,
All set off with a golden crown?

"Will you have the key to my chest,
To draw out gold at your request?

"Will you have the key to my heart,
That we may love and never part?"

"Yes, I will have the key to your heart,
That we may love and never part,
And I will marry you, you, you,
And I will marry you."

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

"Will you come to the Highland braes,
_Bonny lassie, Highland lassie_?
Will you come to the Highland braes,
_My bonny Highland lassie_?"

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

"I will give you a golden comb,
If you will be mine and never roam;"

and finally inquires,

"Will you go to the kirk with me,
There to be my wedded wife?"

which is eagerly accepted:

"_And them's the words away to town_,
And I will get my wedding-gown."

No. 6.

_There She Stands, a Lovely Creature._

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.

"There she stands, a lovely creature,
Who she is, I do not know;
I have caught her for her beauty,--
Let her answer, yes or no.

"Madam, I have gold and silver,
Lady, I have houses and lands,
Lady, I have ships on the ocean,
All I have is at thy command."

"What care I for your gold and silver,
What care I for your houses and lands,
What care I for your ships on the ocean--
_All I want is a nice young man._"

_New York._

No. 7.

_Green Grow the Rushes, O!_

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--

"Green grow the rushes, O!
Green grow the rushes, O!
He who will my true love be,
Come and sit by the side of me."

Those waiting to be selected sang,

"Pick and choose, but choose not me,
Choose the fairest you can see."

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

No. 8.

_The Widow with Daughters to Marry._

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

There comes a poor widow from Barbary-land,[43]
With all her children in her hand;
One can brew, and one can bake,
And one can make a wedding-cake;
Pray take one,
Pray take two,
Pray take one that pleases you.[44]

_Philadelphia._

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

Sister, O Phoebe, how happy we be,
As we go under the juniper-tree!
We'll put on our night-caps to keep our heads warm,
And two or three kisses will do us no harm--
Will do us no harm, Io!
I am a poor widow, a-marching around,
And all of my daughters are married but one;
So rise up my daughter, and kiss whom you please,
And kiss whom you please, Io!

_Philadelphia._

Another old version of this round:

I am a rich widow, I live all alone,
I have but one daughter, and she is my own;
Go, daughter, go choose, go choose your one,
Go choose a good one, or else choose you none.

_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_.

Here _stands_ a poor widow a-walking around,
Io! Io! Io!
So put on the night-cap to keep her head warm,
To keep her head warm, Io!
So rise up my daughter, and kiss whom you please,
And kiss whom you please, Io!

_New York._