There is an admirable foundation for a philosophicromance in the curious history of the early settlement ofMount Wollaston， or Merry Mount. In the slight sketchhere attempted the facts recorded on the grave pagesof our New England annalists have wrought themselvesalmost spontaneously into a sort of allegory. The masques，mummeries and festive customs described in the text arein accordance with the manners of the age. Authority onthese points may be found in Strutt’s Book of EnglishSports and Pastimes.
Bright were the days at Merry Mount when the Maypolewas the banner-staff of that gay colony. They who rearedit， should their banner be triumphant， were to poursunshine over New England’s rugged hills and scatterflower-seeds throughout the soil. Jollity and gloom werecontending for an empire. Midsummer eve had come，bringing deep verdure to the forest， and roses in her lap ofa more vivid hue than the tender buds of spring. But May，or her mirthful spirit， dwelt all the year round at MerryMount， sporting with the summer months and revellingwith autumn and basking in the glow of winter’s fireside.
Through a world of toil and care she flitted with a dreamlikesmile， and came hither to find a home among thelightsome hearts of Merry Mount.
Never had the Maypole been so gayly decked as atsunset on Midsummer eve. This venerated emblem was apine tree which had preserved the slender grace of youth，while it equalled the loftiest height of the old woodmonarchs.
From its top streamed a silken banner coloredlike the rainbow. Down nearly to the ground the pole wasdressed with birchen boughs， and others of the liveliestgreen， and some with silvery leaves fastened by ribbonsthat fluttered in fantastic knots of twenty different colors，but no sad ones. Garden-flowers and blossoms of thewilderness laughed gladly forth amid the verdure， so freshand dewy that they must have grown by magic on thathappy pine tree. Where this green and flowery splendorterminated the shaft of the Maypole was stained with theseven brilliant hues of the banner at its top. On the lowestgreen bough hung an abundant wreath of roses—somethat had been gathered in the sunniest spots of the forest，and others， of still richer blush， which the colonists hadreared from English seed. O people of the Golden Age，the chief of your husbandry was to raise flowers！
But what was the wild throng that stood hand in handabout the Maypole？ It could not be that the fauns andnymphs， when driven from their classic groves and homesof ancient fable， had sought refuge， as all the persecuteddid， in the fresh woods of the West. These were Gothicmonsters， though perhaps of Grecian ancestry. Onthe shoulders of a comely youth uprose the head andbranching antlers of a stag； a second， human in all otherpoints， had the grim visage of a wolf； a third， still withthe trunk and limbs of a mortal man， showed the beardand horns of a venerable he-goat. There was the likenessof a bear erect， brute in all but his hind legs， which wereadorned with pink silk stockings. And here， again， almostas wondrous， stood a real bear of the dark forest， lendingeach of his forepaws to the grasp of a human hand and asready for the dance as any in that circle. His inferior naturerose halfway to meet his companions as they stooped.
Other faces wore the similitude of man or woman， butdistorted or extravagant， with red noses pendulous beforetheir mouths， which seemed of awful depth and stretchedfrom ear to ear in an eternal fit of laughter. Here mightbe seen the salvage man—well known in heraldry—hairyas a baboon and girdled with green leaves. By his side—anobler figure， but still a counterfeit—appeared an Indianhunter with feathery crest and wampum-belt. Many ofthis strange company wore foolscaps and had little bellsappended to their garments， tinkling with a silvery soundresponsive to the inaudible music of their gleesome spirits.
Some youths and maidens were of soberer garb， yet wellmaintained their places in the irregular throng by theexpression of wild revelry upon their features.
Such were the colonists of Merry Mount as theystood in the broad smile of sunset round their veneratedMaypole. Had a wanderer bewildered in the melancholyforest heard their mirth and stolen a half-affrighted glance，he might have fancied them the crew of Comus， somealready transformed to brutes， some midway betweenman and beast， and the others rioting in the flow of tipsyjollity that foreran the change； but a band of Puritans whowatched the scene， invisible themselves， compared themasques to those devils and ruined souls with whom theirsuperstition peopled the black wilderness.
Within the ring of monsters appeared the two airiestforms that had ever trodden on any more solid footingthan a purple-and-golden cloud. One was a youth inglistening apparel with a scarf of the rainbow patterncrosswise on his breast. His right hand held a gildedstaff—the ensign of high dignity among the revellers—andhis left grasped the slender fingers of a fair maiden notless gayly decorated than himself. Bright roses glowed incontrast with the dark and glossy curls of each， and werescattered round their feet or had sprung up spontaneouslythere. Behind this lightsome couple， so close to theMaypole that its boughs shaded his jovial face， stood thefigure of an English priest， canonically dressed， yet deckedwith flowers， in heathen fashion， and wearing a chaplet ofthe native vine leaves. By the riot of his rolling eye and thepagan decorations of his holy garb， he seemed the wildestmonster there， and the very Comus of the crew.
