variety.  Holland, as is told by Engel, was infected too; industrious research, in fact, will probably show that the Morris in some shape or other was known throughout Europe, and beyond.  As for the date of its introduction into England that is impossible to state with certainty; but most authorities point to the time of Edward III., maybe when John of Gaunt returned from Spain, as probably the earliest when Morris-men were seen in England.  It is said also that we had it from the French; another lays its introduction to the credit of the Flemings.  The window with its Morris-men shown in our frontispiece is probably of the time of Edward IV.

Schemes of wider research, however, we are content to leave in the hands of the intrepid Folk-lorist.  We are concerned here to extract from a mass of notes and references some outstanding few, to remind practising and potential Morris-dancers of to-day that this new-old art, if not indigenous, has been, like many another foreign importation, assimilated much to our advantage.

The Morisco, from which our own Morris has obviously descended, seems to have been originally both a solo and square dance, the latter being performed by sides (that is, sets) of six.  The solo Morris existed all along, and still exists.  When we saw our friend Kimber (mentioned elsewhere) dance his Morris jig to the tune of “Rodney,” had our other old friend Tabourot been present in the spirit—­maybe he was—­he need have altered nothing in the description we have quoted but to substitute for the boy with his face blackened a sturdy English yeoman, and to note some differences in the get-up of the dancer.  The solo dance has been performed also at Bampton, between tobacco-pipes laid crosswise on the ground—­to the tune of the “Bacca Pipes” jig, or “Green Sleeves”—­suggesting the Scottish sword-dance, and in many other fashions.

Another feature in the history of the English Morris, which by this time may be called impossible to account for with any exactitude, is that in the elder days the Mummers and their plays, the Robin Hood games and other ancient diversions with their characters and customs, became allied—­or rather mixed up—­with the Morris-men, upon May-day and occasions of festivity such as the Leet-ales, Lamb-ales, Bride-ales, &c.  To what extent they were allied, or mixed, will probably baffle even the combined powers of all our archaeologists to discover.  In an old woodcut, for instance, preserved on the title of a penny history (Adam Bell, &c.) printed at Newcastle in 1772, is apparently the representation of a Morris dance, consisting of—­A Bishop (or friar), Robin Hood, the Potter or Beggar, Little John, Friar Tuck, Maid Marian.  Robin Hood and Little John carry bows of length befitting the size of each.  The window, too, shown in the frontispiece is proof that the Morris-dancers were attended by other characters.  The following, from Ben Jonson’s “The Metamorphosed Gipsies,” supplies further evidence to the same effect:—­