It is the morning of the fête arranged by Sir Marmaduke Wade—to celebrate the anniversary of his son’s birthday, and at the same time to commemorate his return to the paternal mansion.
The red aurora of an autumnal morning has given promise of a brilliant day; and as if to keep that promise, a golden sun, already some degrees above the horizon, is gradually mounting into a canopy of cloudless blue.
His beams striking obliquely through the foliage of the forest, fall with a subdued light upon the earth; but in the more open undulations of the park they have already kissed the dew from the grass; and the verdant turf seems to invite the footstep—like some vast carpet spread over the arena of the expected sports.
It is evident that the invitation of Sir Marmaduke had been extensively circulated, and accepted. On every road and path tending in the direction of his residence, and from a distance of many miles, groups of rustics in their gayest holiday dresses, have been seen from an early hour in the morning, proceeding towards the scene of the fête—old and young, fair and dark, comely and common-looking, all equally joyous and gleeful.
Within the lines of the old Saxon encampment a large company has assembled. There are thousands in all—some roaming over the ground, some seated under shady trees on the summit of the turf-grown moat. Here and there may be seen large numbers forming a “ring”—the spectators of some sport that is progressing in their midst.
Of sports there are many kinds carried on at the same time. Here is played the game of “balloon:” a huge leathern ball, inflated with hot air, and bandied about amidst a circle of players—the game being to keep the ball passing from one to the other.
There you may see another party engaged in a game of “bowls,” fashionable as the favourite of Royalty; and further on, a crowd clustered around a contest of “single-stick,” where two stout fellows are cudgelling one another, as if determined upon a mutual cracking of skulls—a feat, however, not so easy of accomplishment.
Not far off you may behold the gentler sport of “kiss in the ring,” where blue-eyed Saxon girls are pursued by their rustic beaux, and easily overtaken.
At other places you may witness a wrestling match, a game of foot-ball, or quoits, with “pitching the stone,” racing, leaping, and vaulting.