ed about with starched dignity
among the rustics, who drew back from her with more awe than they did
from her mistress. Her mouth seemed shut as with a clasp; excepting
that I now and then heard the word "fellows!" escape from between her
lips, as she got accidentally jostled in the crowd.

But there was one other heart present that did not enter into the
merriment of the scene, which was that of the simple Phoebe Wilkins,
the housekeeper's niece. The poor girl has continued to pine and whine
for some time past, in consequence of the obstinate coldness of her
lover; never was a little flirtation more severely punished. She
appeared this day on the green, gallanted by a smart servant out of
livery, and had evidently resolved to try the hazardous experiment of
awakening the jealousy of her lover. She was dressed in her very best;
affected an air of great gayety; talked loud and girlishly, and
laughed when there was nothing to laugh at. There was, however, an
aching, heavy heart in the poor baggage's bosom, in spite of all her
levity. Her eye turned every now and then in quest of her reckless
lover, and her cheek grew pale, and her fictitious gayety vanished, on
seeing him paying his rustic homage to the little May-day Queen.

My attention was now diverted by a fresh stir and bustle. Music was
heard from a distance; a banner was seen advancing up the road,
preceded by a rustic band playing something like a march, and followed
by a sturdy throng of country lads, the chivalry of a neighbouring and
rival village.

No sooner had they reached the green, than they challenged the heroes
of the day to new trials of strength and activity. Several gymnastic
contests ensued, for the honour of the respective villages. In the
course of these exercises, young Tibbets and the champion of the
adverse party had an obstinate match at wrestling. They tugged, and
strained, and panted, without either getting the mastery, until both
came to the ground, and rolled upon the green. Just then, the
disconsolate Phoebe came by. She saw her recreant lover in fierce
contest, as she thought, and in danger. In a moment pride, pique, and
coquetry, were forgotten; she rushed into the ring, seized upon the
rival champion by the hair, and was on the point of wreaking on him
her puny vengeance, when a buxom, strapping country lass, the
sweetheart of the prostrate swain, pounced upon her like a hawk, and
would have stripped her of her fine plumage in a twin