Book: St. Nicholas Magazine for Boys and Girls, Vol. 5, May, 1878, No. 7.

V >> Various >> St. Nicholas Magazine for Boys and Girls, Vol. 5, May, 1878, No. 7.




Great were the doings around the May-pole, for which the tallest and
straightest of trees was selected. It was drawn to its place by as many
as thirty or forty yoke of oxen, their horns decorated with flowers,
followed by all the lads and lassies of the village. The pole was wound
or painted with gay colors, and trimmed with garlands, bright
handkerchiefs, and ribbon streamers, from top to bottom.

With great ceremonies, and shouts of joy, it was lifted to its place by
ropes and pulleys, and set up firmly in the ground; and then the people
joined hands and danced around it. The whole day was given up to
merriment, every one dressed in holiday clothes, doors and windows were
adorned with green boughs and flowers, the bells rang, processions of
people in grotesque dresses were arranged, and the famous Morris
dancers performed.

In this dance the people assumed certain characters. There was always
Robin Hood, the great hero of the rustics; Maid Marian, the queen, with
gilt crown on her head; Friar Tuck; a fool, with his fool's-cap and
bells; and, above all, the hobby-horse. This animal was made of
pasteboard, painted a sort of pink color, and propelled by a man
inside, who made him perform various tricks not common to horses, such
as threading a needle and holding a ladle in his mouth for pennies.

The various characters labored to support their parts. The friar gave
solemn advice, the queen imitated lady-like manners, the fool joked and
made fun, and the horse pranced in true horsey style.

This Morris dance is supposed to have been brought in early times from
Spain, where the Moors danced it, and where it still survives as the
"fandango."

All this May-day merriment came to an end when our grim Puritan fathers
had power in England. Dancing around the May-pole looked to them like
heathen adoration of an idol. Parliament made a law against it, and all
the May-poles in the island were laid in the dust. The common people
had their turn, when, a few years later, under a new king, the
prohibitory law was repealed and a new May-pole, the highest ever in
England (one hundred and thirty-four feet), was set up in the Strand,
London, with great pomp. But the English people were fast outgrowing
the sport, and the customs have been dying out ever since. Now, a very
few May-poles in obscure villages are all that can be found.

Though May-pole and Morris dancing were the most common, there were
other curious customs in different parts of the kingdom. In one place,
the Mayers went out very early to the woods, and gathering green
boughs, decorated every door with one. A house containing a sweetheart
had a branch of birch, the door of a scold was disgraced with alder,
and a slatternly person had the mortification to find a branch of a
nut-tree at hers, while the young people who overslept found their
doors closed by a nail over the latch.

In other places, wreaths were made on hoops, with a gayly dressed doll
in the middle of each, and carried about by girls, the little owners
singing a ballad which had been sung since the time of Queen Bess,--and
expecting a shower of pennies, of course.

In Dublin, the youths decorated a bush, four or five feet high, with
candles, which they lighted and danced around till burnt out. They then
lighted a huge bonfire, threw the bush on it, and continued their dance
around that. In other parts of Ireland, the boys had a mischievous
habit of running through the streets with bundles of nettles, with
which they struck the face and hands of every one they met. The sting
of nettle, perhaps you know, is a very uncomfortable pain. The same
people are very superstitious, and they believed that the power of the
Evil Eye was greater on the first of May than at any other time; and
they insured a good supply of milk for the year by putting a green
bough against the house, which is certainly an easy way. In old times,
the Druids drove all the cattle through the fire, to keep them from
diseases, and this custom still survives in parts of Ireland, where
many a peasant who owns a cow and a bit of straw is careful to do the
same.

In the Scottish Highlands, in the eighteenth century, the boys had a
curious custom. They would go to the moors outside of the town, make a
round table in the sod, by cutting a trench around it, deep enough for
them to sit down to their grassy table. On this table they would kindle
a fire and cook a custard of eggs and milk, and knead a cake of
oat-meal, which was toasted by the fire. After eating the custard, the
cake was cut into as many parts as there were boys; one piece was made
black with coal, and then all put into a cap. Each boy was in turn
blindfolded, and made to take a piece, and the one who selected the
black one was to be sacrificed to Baal, whose favor they wished to ask
for their harvest. The victim in that day had only to leap through the
fire; but there is little doubt that the whole thing was a survival
from the days when human beings were really sacrificed.

In the island of Lewis, in the west of Scotland, there prevails a
custom of sending a man very early on May-day to cross a certain river,
believing that if a woman crossed it first the salmon would not come
into the stream for a year.

May-day festivals were not confined to the British islands. They were
found, with variations suited to the different races, all over Europe.
In France, the day was consecrated to the Virgin, and young girls
celebrated it by dressing the prettiest one in white, crowning, and
decorating her with flowers, and throning her under a canopy of flowers
and greens, built beside the road. There she sat in state, while her
attendants begged of passers-by, for the "Lady of the May," money,
which was used in a feast later in the day.

In Toulouse, there was an ancient custom of giving a prize of a golden
violet for the best poem. This custom held its place for more than four
centuries. May-poles also flourished in France, and had gilt pendants.

The Dutch May-pole was still different, being surrounded by trees stuck
into flower-pots, and ornamented with gay-colored flags, and hoops with
garlands and gilt balls hanging. Another sort had wooden dolls made to
represent the figures of peasants, nailed against the pole by their
hands and knees, as though climbing it. There were also figures of
birds and people. In some parts of Germany it was the firm belief of
the common people that certain ill-disposed beings met on a high
mountain on May-day to dance and feast, with no good intentions to
their human neighbors. Accordingly on the day before, every family was
careful to have a thorn of a certain kind, which was stuck into the
door as a protection.

[Illustration: AN OLD-TIME MAY-DAY IN "MERRIE ENGLAND."]

The Scandinavians, whose first of May is not very balmy, had of old a
curious fight between Summer and Winter. Winter--or the man
representing him--was dressed in skins, armed with fire-forks, and
threw snow-balls and pieces of ice. Summer was dressed in green leaves
and summer dress. They had a mock fight which was called "Driving away
Winter and welcoming Summer," and in the Isle of Man, where Norwegians
had rule for many years, this custom lingered until very lately.

But, as the years went on, these merry games died out, and a few years
ago May-day was in London simply the festival of chimney-sweeps and
milk-maids, certainly a falling off from the times of King Henry VIII.
The only traces of the old custom of going a-Maying were the garlands
of the milk-maids and the Jack-in-the-green of the sweeps. The garland
(so called) was made of silver plate, borrowed for the day, and
fastened upon a sort of pyramid. Accompanying this droll garland were
the maids themselves in gay dress, with ribbons and flowers, and
attended by musicians who played for them to dance in the street.
Sometimes a cow was dressed in festive array, with bouquets and ribbons
on her horns, neck and tail, and over her back a net, stuck full of
flowers. Thus highly ornamented, the meek creature was led through the
streets.

The sweeps brought out the Jack-in-the-green, which was a tall cone
made of green boughs, decorated with flowers, gay streamers and a
flag, and carried by a man inside. Each of these structures was
followed by a band of sweeps who assumed certain characters, the
fashion of which had been handed down from the palmy times of May-day.

There were always a lord and lady who wore ridiculous imitations of
fashionable dress, and made ludicrous attempts to imitate elegant
manners. Mad Moll and her husband were another pair who flourished in
tawdry, gay-colored rags, and tatters, he brandishing a sweep's broom
and she a ladle. Jim Crow and a fancifully bedizened ballet-dancer in
white muslin, often swelled the ranks, and the rest of the party rigged
out in a profusion of gilt paper, flowers, tinsel and gewgaws, their
faces and legs colored with brick-dust, made up a comical crowd. But
even these mild remains of the great festival are almost entirely
banished to the rural districts, and are almost extinct there.

Poor Flora! (if there ever was such a person) she has her wish (if that
wish ever existed save in the imagination of the Romans); she is not
forgotten; her story survives in musty books, though her personality be
questioned; various marble statues bear her pretty name, and, after
running this declining scale through the ages, she and her May-day are
softened by time to a fragrant memory.




WILD GEESE.

BY CELIA THAXTER.


The wind blows, the sun shines, the birds sing loud,
The blue, blue sky is flecked with fleecy dappled cloud,
Over earth's rejoicing fields the children dance and sing,
And the frogs pipe in chorus, "It is spring! it is spring!"

The grass comes, the flower laughs where lately lay the snow,
O'er the breezy hill-top hoarsely calls the crow,
By the flowing river the alder catkins swing,
And the sweet song-sparrow cries, "Spring! it is spring!"

Hark, what a clamor goes winging through the sky!
Look, children! Listen to the sound so wild and high!
Like a peal of broken bells,--kling, klang, kling,--
Far and high the wild geese cry, "Spring! it is spring!"

Bear the winter off with you, O wild geese dear!
Carry all the cold away, far away from here;
Chase the snow into the north, O strong of heart and wing,
While we share the robin's rapture, crying, "Spring! it is spring!"




THE CHARCOAL-BURNERS' FIRE; OR, EASTER EVE AMONG THE COSSACKS.

(_A Russian Legend._)

BY DAVID KER.


"If you want me to tell you any wonderful stories, Barin, such as
_you've_ been telling us," says Ostap Mordenko, shaking his bushy
yellow beard, as he finished his cup of tea, "you're just looking for
corn upon a rock, as the saying is; for _I_ never had an adventure
since the day I was born, except that time when I slipped through a
hole in the ice, last winter. But, perhaps, it will do as well if I
tell you an old tale that I've heard many a time from my grandfather,
that's dead (may the kingdom of heaven be his!), and which will show
you how there may be hope for a man, even when everything seems to be
at the very worst.

"Many, many years ago, there lived in a village on the Don River, a
poor man. When I say he was poor, I don't mean that he had a few holes
in his coat at times, or that he had to go without a dinner every now
and then, for that's what we've all had to do in our time; but it
fairly seemed as if poverty were his brother, and had come to stay with
him for good and all. Many a cold day his stove was unlighted, because
he couldn't afford to buy wood; and he lived on black bread and cold
water from the New Year to the Nativity--it was no good talking to
_him_ about cabbage soup, or salted cucumber, or tea with lemon in
it.[A]

"Now, if he had only had himself to be troubled about, it wouldn't have
mattered a kopeck,[B] for a _man_ can always make shift for himself.
But, you see, this man had been married once upon a time, and, although
his wife was gone, his three children were left, and he had _them_ to
care for as well as himself. And, what was worse, instead of being
boys, who might have gone out and earned something for themselves, they
were all girls, who could do nothing but stay at home and cry for food,
and many a time it went to his heart so that he stopped his ears, and
ran out of the house that he mightn't hear them.

"However, as the saying is, 'Bear up, Cossack, and thou'll be Maman
(chief) some day;' so he struggled on somehow or other, till at last it
came to Easter Eve. And then all the village was up like a fair, some
lighting candles before the pictures of the saints; some baking cakes
and pies, and all sorts of good things; others running about in their
best clothes, greeting their friends and relations; and, as soon as it
came to midnight, such a kissing and embracing, such a shaking of hands
and exchanging of good wishes, as I daresay you've seen many a time in
our villages; and nothing to be heard all over the place but 'Christ is
risen!' 'He is risen indeed!'[C]

"But, as you may think, our poor Stepka (Stephen) had neither new
clothes nor rejoicings in _his_ hut--nor lighted candles either, for
that matter. The good old priest had left him a few tapers as he
passed, for _he_ was always a kind man to the poor; but he had quote
forgotten that the poor fellow would have nothing to kindle them with,
and so, though the candles were in their places, all ready for
lighting, there was not a glimmer of light to be seen! And that
troubled poor Stepka more than all his other griefs, for he was a true
Russian, and thought it a sore thing that he could not even do honor to
the day on which our Lord had arisen from the dead. Besides, he had
hoped that the sight of the pretty light would amuse his children, and
make them forget their hunger a little; and at the thought of their
disappointment his heart was very sore.

"However, as the proverb says, 'Sitting still won't make one's corn
grow.' So he got up and went out to beg a light from some of his
neighbors. But the people of the village (it's a pity to have to say
it), were a hard-hearted, cross-grained set, who had not a morsel of
compassion for a man in trouble; for they forgot that the tears of the
poor are God's thunder-bolts, and that every one of them will burn into
a man's soul at last, as good father Arkadi used to tell us. So, when
poor Stepka came up to one door after another, saying humbly, 'Give me
a light for my Easter candles, good neighbors, for the love of Heaven,'
some mocked at him, and others bade him begone, and others asked why he
didn't take better care of his own concerns, instead of coming
bothering _them_; and one or two laughed, and told him there was a fine
bright moon overhead, and all he had to do was to reach up a good long
stick and get as much light as he wanted. So, you see, the poor fellow
didn't get much by _that_ move; and what with the disappointment, and
what with grief at finding himself so shabbily treated by his own
neighbors, just because he happened to be poor, he was ready to go out
of his wits outright.

"Just then he happened to look down into the plain (for the village
stood on the slope of a hill), and behold! there were ever so many
lights twinkling all over it, as if a regiment were encamped there; and
Stepka thought that this must be a gang of charcoal-burners halting for
the night, as they often did in passing to and fro. So, then the
thought struck him, "Why shouldn't I go and beg a light from _them_;
they can't well be harder upon me than my own neighbors have been. I'll
try, at any rate!"

"And off he set, down the hill, right toward the encampment.

"The nearer he came to it, the brighter the fires seemed to burn; and
the sight of the cheery light, and all the people coming and going
around it, all so busy and happy, made him feel comforted without
knowing why. He went right up to the nearest fire, and took off his
cap.

"'Christ is risen!' said he.

"'He is risen indeed!' answered one of the black men, in such a clear,
sweet voice, that it sounded to Stepka just like his mother singing him
to sleep when he was a child.

"'Give me a light for my Easter candles, good people, I pray you.'

"'You are heartily welcome,' said the other, pointing to the glowing
fire; 'but how are you going to carry it home?'

[Illustration: STEPKA CARRIES THE FIRE IN HIS CLOAK.]

"'Oh, dear me!' cried poor Stepka, striking his forehead, 'I never
thought about that!'

"'Well, that shows that you were very much in earnest, my friend,' said
the other, laughing; 'but never mind; I think we can manage it for you.
Lay down your coat.'

Stepka pulled off his old patched coat and laid it on the ground,
wondering what was to come next; but what was his amazement when the
man coolly threw two great shovelfuls of blazing wood into the coat, as
coolly as if it were a charcoal bucket!

"'Hallo! hallo!' cried Stepka, seizing his arm, 'what on earth are you
about, burning my coat that way?'

"'Your coat will be none the worse, brother,' said the charcoal-burner,
with a curious smile. 'Look and see!'

"And, sure enough, the fire lay quietly in the hollow of the coat, and
never singed a thread of it! Stepka was so startled, that for a moment
he thought he had to do, not with charcoal-burners, but with something
worse; but, remembering how they had greeted him in the Holy Name, he
became easy again.

"'Good luck to you, my lad,' said the strange man, as the Cossack took
up his load. 'You'll get it home all right, never fear.'

"Away went Stepka like one in a dream, and never stopped till he got to
his own house. He lighted all his candles, and then awoke his children
(who had cried themselves to sleep) that they might enjoy the bonny
light; and, when they saw it they clapped their hands and shouted for
joy.

"Just then Stepka happened to look toward his coat, which he had laid
down on the table, with the burning wood still in it, and started as if
he had been stung. It was choke-full of _gold_--good, solid ducats[D]
as ever were coined, more than he could have counted in a whole hour.
Then he knew that his strange companions were no charcoal-burners, but
God's own angels sent to help him in his need; and he kneeled down and
gave thanks to God for his mercy.

"Now, just at that moment one of the neighbors happened to be passing,
and, hearing the children hurrahing and clapping their hands, he peeped
through the window, wondering what _they_ could find to be merry about.
But, when he saw the heap of gold on the table, everything else went
clean out of his head, and he opened the door and burst in, like a wolf
flying from the dogs.

"'I say,' cried he, without even stopping to give Stepka the greeting
of the day, 'where did you get this fine legacy from? It makes one's
eyes blink to look at it!'

"Now, Stepka was a good-hearted fellow, as I've said, and he never
thought of remembering how badly this very man had treated him an hour
or two before, but just told him the whole story right out, exactly as
I tell it you now. The other hardly waited to hear the end of it, but
set off full speed to find these wonderful charcoal-burners and try if
_he_ couldn't get some gold out of them, too. And, as there had been
more than a few listeners at the door while the tale was being told, it
ended with the whole village running like mad in the same direction.

"When they got to the burners' camp, the charcoal men looked at them
rather queerly, as well they might, to see such a procession come to
ask for a light all at once. However, they said nothing, but signed to
them to lay their coats on the ground, and served out two shovelfuls of
burning wood to each; and away went the roguish villagers, chuckling at
the thought of getting rich so easily, and thinking what they would do
with their money.

"But they had hardly gone a quarter of the way home, when the foremost
suddenly gave a terrible howl and let fall his load; and in another
moment all the rest joined in, till there was a chorus that you might
have heard a mile off. And they had good reason; for, although the fire
had lain in Stepka's coat, it wouldn't lie in theirs--it had burned
right through, and their holiday clothes were spoiled, and their hands
famously blistered, and all that was left of their riches was a smoke
and smell like the burning of fifty tar-barrels. And when they turned
to abuse the charcoal-burners, the charcoal-burners were gone; fires,
camp and men had all vanished like a dream!

"But as for Stepka, _his_ gold stuck by him, and he used it well. And
always, on the day of his visit to the charcoal-burners, he gave a good
dinner to as many poor folk as he could get together, saying that he
must be good to others, even as God had been good to _him_. And that's
the end of my story."


[Footnote A: The three great dainties of the Russian peasant.]

[Footnote B: One third of a penny; one hundred kopecks equal one
rouble.]

[Footnote C: The Easter greeting, and reply.]

[Footnote D: The Russian word is "tchervontzi"--gold pieces worth five
dollars each.]




PARLOR BALLOONING.

BY L. HOPKINS.


[Illustration]


There goes the toy balloon man!

Here, take this ten-cent piece; run after him as hard as ever you can,
and bring me one of those over-grown ripe-cherry-looking things, and I
will show you a few queer tricks the toy balloon can do, which, I'll
venture to say, the inventor of toy balloons himself never thought of.

Ah! I see you have picked out a fine plump one. Now for a bit of
paper--any kind will do. This, torn from an old newspaper at random,
will serve the purpose admirably.

Now, I crumple it up at one corner, and tie it to Mr. Balloon's half
yard or so of tail, and turn him loose in the room. He rises slowly for
a little, and then as slowly settles down to the floor. That won't do.
I want to see him exactly balanced between floor and ceiling; so, of
course, the paper must be of exactly the same weight as the balloon
itself. We soon can accomplish that. See! I tear off a bit more. Top
heavy yet? He rises higher this time, and settles down more slowly to
the floor. Tear again. Whew! I took off too much that time. He rises to
the ceiling, bumping his head against it a few times, and finally
remains there in a sullen manner as if determined he will have no more
of our nonsense.

[Illustration]

I recapture him, and this time I add to the weight of his tail, by
dividing in two the last bit which I tore off, and twisting it around
the string.

Now, then, sir, you may go! See! he rises slowly, slowly, until about
midway between floor and ceiling, where he stops and turns slowly
about, as if making up his mind what to do next.

[Illustration]

Presto! a current of air strikes him, and he begins dodging about in a
frantic manner, as if to escape from some invisible enemy. Presently he
becomes calmer, and proceeds to explore every nook and corner of the
room; now going up close to the clock on the mantel, as if to ascertain
the time of day; now taking a look at himself in the mirror; then,
turning suddenly away (as if in confusion to find you have caught him
at it), he moves toward the window, and pretends to be interested in
what is going on outside; but, a draught of air coming briskly in, he
hastens away as fast as ever he can, as if in fear of taking cold.
Skimming along close to the floor, he reaches the opposite side of the
room, and, slowly rising again, peers into the canary's cage. The
occupant resents the liberty with erect feathers, and our balloon
quickly descends, and takes refuge under the piano. Recovering his
presence of mind, presently he peeps cautiously out, and begins to
ascend again. Here he comes toward us--slowly, majestically! Strike at
him with a fan, and lo! he retreats in great disorder to a remote
corner of the room, dodging about in most eccentric fashion, when,
recovering his self-possession after a time, he goes about examining
the pictures on the wall with the air of a critic. You lie down on
your back, on the comfortable sofa in the corner, watching the balloon
as it sails slowly about, and wondering what it will do next,
until--until you fall asleep!

[Illustration]

You are awakened by something tickling your nose; and, looking up, you
suddenly discover the toy balloon hovering over you, with its tail in
your face, and apparently enjoying your surprise.

[Illustration]

All this, and much more indeed, will a toy balloon do, if treated in
the manner I have described.

Begin with a piece of paper rather heavier than the balloon, and tear
off bit by bit until the two exactly balance.




DRIFTED INTO PORT.

BY EDWIN HODDER.


CHAPTER IX.

AMONG THE FISHER FOLKS.


We cannot follow the holiday party through all their pleasant
wanderings, nor tell of the impressions made upon them by the scenes,
celebrated in history and romance, through which they traveled.

Their drives in the midday heat, their strolls in the cool evening,
their resting hours as they talked over the events of the day, all were
harmonious and gladsome.

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