mes for them on the spur of the moment; and they, if
they be choleric, tear off the handkerchiefs which blind them, and not
unfrequently pitch into one another, each thinking that the other must
have run against him on purpose. It is great fun to look at a jingling
match certainly, and Tom shouts and jumps on old Benjy's shoulders at
the sight, until the old man feels weary, and shifts him to the strong
young shoulders of the groom, who has just got down to the fun.

And now, while they are climbing the pole in another part of the field,
and muzzling in a flour-tub in another, the old farmer whose house, as
has been said, overlooks the field, and who is master of the revels,
gets up the steps on to the stage, and announces to all whom it may
concern that a half-sovereign in money will be forthcoming to the old
gamester who breaks most heads; to which the Squire and he have added a
new hat.

The amount of the prize is sufficient to stimulate the men of the
immediate neighbourhood, but not enough to bring any very high talent
from a distance; so, after a glance or two round, a tall fellow, who is
a down shepherd, chucks his hat on to the stage and climbs up the steps,
looking rather sheepish. The crowd, of course, first cheer, and then
chaff as usual, as he picks up his hat and begins handling the sticks to
see which will suit him.

"Wooy, Willum Smith, thee canst plaay wi' he arra daay," says his
companion to the blacksmith's apprentice, a stout young fellow of
nineteen or twenty. Willum's sweetheart is in the "veast" somewhere, and
has strictly enjoined him not to get his head broke at back-swording, on
pain of her highest displeasure; but as she is not to be seen (the women
pretend not to like to see the backsword play, and keep away from the
stage), and as his hat is decidedly getting old, he chucks it on to the
stage, and follows himself, hoping that he will only have to break other
people's heads, or that, after all, Rachel won't really mind.

Then follows the greasy cap lined with fur of a half-gipsy, poaching,
loafing fellow, who travels the Vale not for much good, I fancy:

"For twenty times was Peter feared
For once that Peter was respected,"

in fact. And then three or four other hats, including the glossy
castor of Joe Willis, the self-elected and would-be champion of
the neighbourhood, a well-to-do young butcher of twenty-eight or
thereabouts, and a great strapping fellow, with his full allowa