Amidst the woods we'll roam about,
Until the frightful wolf comes out.

Then comes a bit of prose. " Wolf, wolf,
are you there? " says the deer. The wolf
answers, first, " No," — afterwards, " Yes."
They then again become poetical—

Wolf. I'm a wolf, and I will eat you.
Deer. I'm a deer, and will defeat you.

The rest of the game consists of the wolf's
endeavour to snatch away the different joints
of the tail, while the deer defends them by
stretching out her arms, and repelling his
advances.

In England the Mulberry tree, which is
often a mulberry tree by name only, is the
central point round which children
successively imitate the various occupations of
cobblers, tailors and sempstresses, winding
up each imitation with a sudden dance and a
shout of " Here we go round the mulberry
tree!" &c. The French have precisely the
same game, with the peculiarity that the
supposed scene of action is the Bridge of
Avignon. The song runs thus:

On the bridge of Avignon
All the world will dance away;
On the bridge of Avignon
All will dance about.

This is the way the dandies go,
On the bridge of Avignon;
All the world will dance away, &c.
This is the wny the friars go, &c.

This last imitation shows that the young
ladies of France carry their sarcasm into
higher places than the sportive worshippers
of the English mulberry tree.

As far as the poetical merits of the pastimes
are concerned, the prettiest of all these young
lady-like games is Les Fleurs de Mai, (the
Flowers of May) for which some agreeable
stanzas have been written by M. Edouard
Neven. The person who sings them may
represent a male or a female gardener—
Jardinier or jardinière—while all the rest of
the party are supposed to be an assemblage
of flowers, each of whom is to join the dancing
circle as soon as his or her name is called.
The only singer is the gardener him (or her)
self, and the letters G or L, here affixed to
each stanza, are put for the purpose of
denoting whether the flower invited is a
gentleman or a lady:—

Flowers of the season, come along all,
Quick, quick, attend to my call.

To L. Join the dance, my pretty Rose,
Not a sweeter beauty blows;
Proudly you should hold your head,
Pairest jewel of our bed.

To G. Here, my Lily of the Valley,
Stand no longer shilly-shally,
Give the Rose your finest bow.
You, my Rose, should curtsey now.

To L. Flower, you shrink from human sight,
Yet your odour gives delight,
Come, my gentle Violet, come,
Glad our fields with your perfume.

To G. So, you 're there, my Poppy fine,
Special favourite of mine;
When you hear the cuckoo sing
Bring us news about the spring.

To L, You, who like a sovereign reign,
Let me not invite in vain;
Quickly say—  a little faster,
What you think, Queen China-aster.

To G. You, too, Monsieur Dahlia, pray,
          With your festal suit so gay,
          Come and join our floral fête;
          Never do we close our gate.

To L. Heart's-ease, here's a place for you,
Since you teach the maxim true,
Which descended from above,
Neighbours us ourselves to love.

To G. Ah ! my small prince, Jessamine,
Who was early taught to twine;
You will be a comrade meet,
Hither bring your odour sweet.

To L. You, whom all the world admires,
Whom a corset black attires,
Tulip, join the floral throng,
Who for you have waited long.

To G. Then as for you, good Master Pink,
My nosegay you will make, I think ;
Among the rest your place secure,
'Twill not be difficult, I'm sure.

Flowers of the season, come along all,
Quick, quick, attend to my call.

So far there is no great difficulty in the
game, since each flower is leisurely called and
can leisurely obey.

But when the following verse, which takes
in the names of all, is sung, and every flower
is expected to leave the round and join
the gardener under pain of a fine as soon
as his own name has been pronounced, there
is ample work for sharp memories and
nimble heels:—

Hasten, lovely Rose, to me,
Quick, my Lily, you must be;
Now, my gentle Violet—
Poppy, would you linger yet?
China-aster, pray make haste;
Dahlia, precious time you waste;
Heart's-ease, you're asleep, I think!
Hither, Jasmine, Tulip, Pink.
Flowers, come hasten, hasten all,
Be obedient to my call.

There is nothing very exciting, or perhaps
very ingenious, in these games. But cannot
you imagine that the groups formed by the