When the light expired it was said: "Robin is dead, and dead he shall be; he has died in your hand, and your mouth shall be bridled, your back shall be saddled, to send you home to the king's Whitehall."
This game is played all over Europe with similar formulas; but we are not aware that the "back-saddling" feature has been practised out of England and America. The person in whose possession the light is extinguished usually pays forfeit.
It has been suggested, with plausibility, that the sport is connected with an ancient rite: namely, the races of torch-bearers, which formed part of certain festal ceremonies, and in which the courier in whose hands the torch went out was a loser. Such contests are repeatedly alluded to by classic writers; but their exact conduct is involved in some obscurity. In such a race, at Athens, the torch was kindled on the altar of Prometheus, and handed to the runner, whose duty it was to pass it, while still alight, to a second, and so on. This ceremony has suggested a celebrated line to Lucretius, who compares the flying ages to "runners who pass from one to another the torch of life."
No. 77.
Laughter Games.
There is a whole class of games of which the object is to excite to laughter by means of some ridiculous action.
Such games are sometimes played with a lighted candle. The players approach each other from opposite sides of the room, and sustain a dialogue in solemn tones, while they must keep a grave countenance on penalty of paying forfeit. For example:
"The king of Turkey is dead." "What did he die of?" "Doing so" (some ridiculous gesture).
A more characteristic version (in Nantucket, Mass.) had it: "The royal Russian princess, Husty Fusty, is defunct." To which it was necessary to answer soberly—"I'm very sorry to hear it; even the cats bewail her loss."
A game which was formerly popular with children in Massachusetts was to lean a staff in the corner, while a player was seated in the centre of the ring. Another child now entered, took up the staff, approached and addressed the one sitting, and a rhymed dialogue ensued:
"My father sent me here with a staff,
To speak to you, and not to laugh."
"Methinks you smile." "Methinks I don't.
I smooth my face with ease and grace,
And set my staff in its proper place."