s, of other occasions when
they were used, and were thankful that rejoicings and thanksgivings were
the cause, and not invasions or conspiracies.

[10] This is a corruption of the old Norman-French word _oyez_,
"hear ye."

CHAPTER XXI

VILLAGE SPORTS AND PASTIMES

Decay of old sports--Twelfth Night--Shrovetide--Mothering Sunday--
Hocktide--May Day--Miracle plays--St. John's Day--Rush-bearing--Beating
the bounds--Archery--Quintain--Football--Christmas games--Stocks--
Cucking-stool.

It is the custom of some writers to represent the lot of an English
villager in past ages as having been particularly hard and disagreeable;
to enlarge upon the scanty wages which he received; and to compare his
position unfavourably with that of the agricultural labourer of the
present day. I have already pointed out that the small wages which he
received are no test of his poverty, because he received so much more in
lieu of wages; and certainly he had far more opportunities of enjoyment
and recreation than the present generation has. Now we have scarcely any
village games or sports, except when some energetic rector or curate
starts a cricket club. Old social customs, which added such diversity to
the lives of the rustics two centuries ago, have died out. The village
green, the source of so much innocent happiness, is no more; and a
recent writer has observed that the ordinary existence of agricultural
labourers is so dull that in East Anglia they have almost forgotten how
to laugh!

We will now try to realise how our village forefathers used to enjoy
themselves, how they used to spend their holidays, and to picture to
ourselves the scenes of happy social intercourse which once took place
in our own hamlet. Every season of the year had its holiday customs and
quaint manner of observance, some of them confined to particular
counties, but many of them universally observed.

On the eve of Twelfth Night, January 5th, we see the good farmer and his
labourers in Devonshire joining hands round his apple trees, and
singing--

"Here's to thee, old apple tree!
Hence thou mayst bud, and whence thou mayst blow!
And whence thou mayst bear apples enow!
Hats full! caps full!
Bushel, bushel, sacks full,
And my pockets full too! Huzza!"

A hearty supper followed, and with laughter, songs, and good wishes to
the farmer and his wife, the company passed a very joyous evening. In
Herefordshire, Yorkshire