scene at one of the towns. They had got up a band, which played
once a week in the evening. It was a beautiful summer evening, and
the window of my room at the end overlooked the open space they had
chosen for their performances. There was the great man of the
neighbourhood in his carriage looking as if he came partly on duty,
as well as for pleasure. Then there were burly tradesmen, with an
air of quiet satisfaction, sauntering about, or leaning against
railings. Some were no doubt critical--thought that Will Miller did
not play as well as usual this evening. Will's young wife, who had
come out to look again at him in his band dress (for the band had a
uniform), thought differently. Little boys broke out into imaginary
polkas, having some distant reference to the music: not without
grace though. The sweep was pre-eminent: as if he would say,
"Dirty and sooty as I am I have a great deal of fun in me. Indeed,
what would May-day be but for me?" Studious little boys of the
free-school, all green grasshopper-looking, walked about as boys
knowing something of Latin. Here and there went a couple of them in
childish loving way, with their arms about each other's necks.
Matrons and shy young maidens sat upon the door-steps near. Many a
merry laugh filled up the interludes of music. And when evening
came softly down upon us, the band finished with "God save the
Queen," the little circle of those who would hear the last note
moved off, there was a clattering of shutters, a shining of lights
through casement-windows, and soon the only sound to be heard was
the rough voice of some villager, who would have been too timid to
adventure anything by daylight, but now sang boldly out as he went
homewards.

Ellesmere. Very pretty, but it sounds to me somewhat fabulous.