al subjects. The violence displayed at the matches
is evident from the records which have come down to us, and from the
opinions of several writers who condemn it severely. Free fights,
broken limbs, and deaths often resulted from old football
encounters; and when the games took place in the streets, lines of
broken windows marked the progress of the players. "A bloody and
murdering practice," "a devilish pastime," involving "beastly fury
and extreme violence," the breaking of necks, arms, legs and
backs--these were some of the descriptions of the football of olden
times. The Puritans set their faces against it, and the sport
languished for a long period as a general pastime. In some places it
was still practised with unwonted vigour, but it was not until the
second half of the present century that any revival took place. But
football players have quickly made up for lost time; few villages do
not possess their club, and our young men are ready to "Try it out
at football by the shins," with quite as much readiness as the
players in the good old days, although the play is generally less
violent, and more scientific.

Hurling, too, was a fast and furious game, very similar to our game
of hockey, and played with sticks and a ball. Two neighbouring
parishes used to compete, and the object was to drive the ball from
some central spot to one, or other, village. The contest was keen
and exciting; a ball was driven backwards and forwards, over hills,
dales, hedges, and ditches, through bushes, briars, mires, plashes,
and rivers, until at length the wished-for goal was gained.
Battledore and shuttlecock were favourite games for the girls, which
they played singing quaint rhymes--

"Great A, little A;
This is pancake day!"

and the men also indulged in tip-cat, or billet.

There is one other custom, of a most barbarous and cruel
description, which was practised on Shrove Tuesday by our
forefathers, and which happily has perished,[6] and that was
throwing at cocks or hens with sticks. The poor bird was tied by the
leg, and its tormentors stood twenty-two yards distant and had three
throws each for twopence, winning the bird if they could knock it
down. The cock was trained beforehand to avoid the sticks, so as to
win more money for its brutal master. Well might a learned
foreigner remark, "The English eat a certain cake on Shrove Tuesday,
upon which they immediately run mad, and kill their poor cocks."
Cock-fight