upon their breast. A bell is heard to ring in
the distance, and again do the drinkers become
a rabble rout; to leaving drink, everything,
behind them to see the sport. This time it is the
old climbing of a greased pole — not for a leg
of mutton, according to our tradition at home
—but for a new pair of breeks and a handsome
meerschaum pipe. Pipe and breeks
are won and lost in the old way; and then
we come to the aquatic sport, known as the
waterfall. This may be taken to be the most
infinitely diverting of all, and this is the way
the waterfall diversion was managed:

A sort of archway had been constructed,
from which hangs suspended a pail of water.
Hard by is a little hand-cart, and a daring
navigator in the shape of a gamin, or urchin,
of the most forward character, takes his
stand on the cart, holding a sort of spear in
his hand. A moment of expectancy, and the
munificent gentleman in hessians gives the
word, "Laissez aller." The cart is wheeled
forward at a good pace; and, as he passes
beneath the pail, the gamin strikes at it with
his javelin. If he can hold his own, and
empty the pail loyally, the prize shall be his.
But alack! it is so arranged that the
discharged stream shall only fall in the direction
of the gamin, by way of shower-bath.
Exactly proportioned to his intensity of
purpose, is the copiousness of the descent. So
would it seem to be cruelly ordered. First
gamin failed with dishonour, turning aside his
head at the first cupful; for, his javelin
relinquished, an unseemly struggle takes place—
other gamins contending with oaths and even
buffets who should try next. The hearts of
many fail them when the prize is all but won,
and there is but a cupful left, until one gamin
—stern of will—holds on to the last, and
is miserably drenched. But he is winner,
and takes away with him a complete, new, and
shiny suit of clothes.

Then came the remaining sports. What
was handsomely styled chasse au sanglier,
being no other than the pig with soaped
tail—to be held firmly by none. A strange
scene, then, succeeds in a sort of circus.
All gamins available—to the number of some
sixty, or so—gather together within the
circus, and are ordered by munificent
gentleman in the hessians to take off their shoes.
The shoes they cast into the middle, forming
a huge pile, and the gamins, formed in a
ring, wait word of command from the
munificent gentleman. On the signal given, the
gamins precipitate themselves wildly on the
heap, each with object of recovering his own,
and this heap becoming suddenly quickened
is transformed into a tumbling, buffeting,
struggling, scratching mass, rolling in waves
of unlicensed gaminism. The sight is enjoyed
intensely by the bystanders, and perhaps
not without reason.

Altogether, it was an eminently Dutch
entertainment of the tumbling order, of the
romping order. The facial muscles of the
portly bystanders must have ached wearily
against the next morning. They roared so
woundily.

So the shows went on, until one bystander,
at the least, fancied he had had enough, and
went his way. There was what is called a
sea-fight to come off in the slimy pool; to say
nothing of more music, more tumbling, and
the dancing, and the illuminated gardens. But
the bystander had had sufficient, and
retired from the struggle.

And that was "The Village Festival,"
to be painted by Teniers the younger, or his
fellows, whereof drink remains a prominent
feature.

MY FIRST PATRON.

I WAS so hard pressed for money at the
time I am going to write about; I suffered so
much vexation while everybody thought I
ought to be the happiest person alive, that it
may not be altogether out of place if I try to
communicate to elderly people who may be
practically unacquainted with such matters,
some idea of the small persecutions which
assail certain of their young friends, whose
position may present to their eyes all the
external appearances of perfect comfort and
prosperity.

I was in the position of a young man of two and
twenty, who, living in the bosom of his family, is
favoured by the friends of the same, if he
ever ventures to hint that his circumstances
might admit of improvement, with the assurance
that they wonder he is not ashamed to
complain with so many comforts around him.
And here, parenthetically, I would (if I dared)
express my regret that these same family
friends should always think it necessary,
because they are so very fond of the young
people, to be continually plaguing those
unfortunate minors with unpleasant remarks;
casting their comforts, in a manner, in their
teeth, until at last they are almost inclined to
compound for fewer of these advantages, and
are ready even to part with some of them
(say a sofa or two, or the drawing-room
curtains, or the cheese after dinner), if it would
procure them the privilege of escaping
reproachful congratulations on the enviable
nature of their circumstances in life.

Living thus, with nothing to complain of,
I was yet wicked enough not to be happy. I
was one of a large family, having opposed
their wishes by determining to be an artist
(how the family friends shuddered over that
decision!) My father was a medical man,
and professionally obliged to live fully up to
his income. Circumstanced thus, of course
nothing would have induced me to apply to
my family for the additional pocket-money
which I sorely wanted—not for extravagances,
but for necessaries of genteel life. It was
distressing enough to be obliged to burden
my friends with my keep: though I must do
them the justice to acknowledge that they