sarabandes, and one or two tried a waltz, but country dances were the favourites, and there the elders joined in. Uncle and Aunt Preston danced, and old Mr. Jewson, who chose me for his partner, and took snuff at intervals, through the set, and nodded his wig at me, but never spoke.
Just before supper somebody called out for a game of forfeits, and "My Lady's Toilet" was fixed upon. Do you know how to play "Lady's Toilet?" It is an old-fashioned game that all our revered grandmothers played at, though exploded in polite society now, but I daresay it still survives at wold weddings. And this is the way of it. Each person in the company chooses the name of some article of a lady's dress, and all sit round the room in order except one, who stands in the middle with a trencher which he begins to spin on the floor, singing out monotonously—
"My lady went to her toilet,
In her chamber so pretty and neat,
And said to her damsel Oyclet,
'Bring me my bracelet, sweet.'"
And then the person called Bracelet must dash in and catch the trencher before it ceases to spin, on the penalty of a forfeit, which may be glove, handkerchief or what not. All the forfeits are kept until the close of the game, and then the penalties are exacted.
This part of the game is generally considered the most amusing, for the penalties, as at Rookwood Grange, are generally the most whimsical and ridiculous that can be devised. Bob Link was elected to the office of sentencer on this occasion, and when I saw what he inflicted, I began to quake for myself, as I remembered the one white glove of mine that lay in the confiscated heap before him. He took up a silk handkerchief and began—"Here is a thing, and a very pretty thing, whose, let me know, is this pretty thing?" Curly Mr. Dick acknowledged it, whereupon he was ordered to lie flat on the floor and repeat the following absurd lines:—
"Here lies the length of a long, lazy lubber,
And here must he lie
Till the lass he loves best comes and kisses him."
There seemed every chance of his continuing to decorate the floor all night, for in spite of his touching and laughable appeals, of course no one went near him; so, at last, up he sprang, and catching Cousin Kate, he kissed her; Kate not testifying any reliable signs of wrath, but only knitting her brows, while her eyes and lips laughed. Then lanky Cousin Joseph was ordered to "bow to the wittiest, kneel to the prettiest, and kiss the lass he loved best," all of which ceremonies he performed before one and the same person—namely, Cousin Sophy, who was unfeignedly indignant thereat—Cousin Joseph always testified for her a loutish but most sincere and humble admiration. Another young man had to sing a song, which he did in the dolefulest manner, ending each verse with an unsupported chorus of "If we fall, we'll get up again, we always did yet!" which was every word of the ditty that I could distinguish. Then I saw my own poor little glove drawn out, and Mr. Bob Link repeated
