This page has been proofread, but needs to be validated.
170
WITH ENGLISH PEASANTS.

and about David's killing of the lion and the bear. Ah, how glad I felt that we hadn't such wild beastes to frighten, and maybe kill our sheep and us."

But still they had some enemies to contend with that do not exist now. Foxes would sometimes kill the young lambs, and ravens pick out the eyes of a poor ewe that had fallen down some steep part of the hill. Buzzards and wild turkeys frequented the Downs, and at times even an eagle made its appearance.

When June came sheep-shearing was performed with patriarchal joviality and good-fellowship. The men formed themselves into companies, and appointed a captain and a lieutenant. The former was distinguished by a cap with a gold band, the latter wore a silver one. Then they met at the cottage of the captain, where they had a feast and arranged their plans.

On the morning appointed they all assemble at the spot by seven o'clock: breakfast over they set to work. Clip, clip, went the shears, with many a merry laugh and shout; but the men worked with a will, only stopping for a short breathing-time, which they called lighting up, when they refreshed themselves with draughts of home-brewed ale, poured out by the farmer's daughter with no stinted hand. Dinner was a short meal, for they all looked forward to the event of the day—the sheep-shearing supper. And what a feast it was!—held in the barn or great kitchen of the farmhouse. The farmer and his wife would be present, and "Eat, drink, and spare not" was the welcome given to the guests.

Merry became the company as the evening advanced. Ere long they began to clear their throats, and pipe in hand, out came the old traditional songs sung to the old traditional tunes. Here is a true old Sussex sheep-shearing song. It has real pastoral flavour about it, and looks as if it might be co-eval with Shakespere. The first and last stanzas will afford a specimen of the rest:—

"Here's the rosebuds in June and the violets are blowing,
 The small birds they warble from every green bough;
     Here's the pink and the lily,
     And the daffydowndilly,
 To perfume and adorn the sweet meadows in June