{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_35707/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_35707","id":"gutenberg_35707","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/35707","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Children & Young Adult Reading","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Children's stories, English","Nursery rhymes, English"],"text":"</pre>\n\n\n\nLATELY PUBLISHED,\n\n_Royal 18mo, with 38 Designs by W. B. SCOTT, Director of the\nSchool of Design, Newcastle-on-Tyne, bound in illuminated\ncloth, 4s. 6d._\n\nTHE NURSERY RHYMES OF ENGLAND, COLLECTED CHIEFLY FROM ORAL TRADITION.\nBY JAMES ORCHARD HALLIWELL, ESQ. FOURTH EDITION.\n\n\n\n\nPOPULAR RHYMES\n\nAND\n\nNURSERY TALES:\n\nA SEQUEL TO THE\n\nNursery Rhymes of England.\n\nBY JAMES ORCHARD HALLIWELL, ESQ.\n\nLONDON:\n\nJOHN RUSSELL SMITH,\n\n4, OLD COMPTON STREET, SOHO SQUARE.\n\nMDCCCXLIX.\n\nC. AND J. ADLARD, PRINTERS, BARTHOLOMEW CLOSE.\n\n\n\n\n      Tales of my Nursery! shall that still loved spot,\n      That window corner, ever be forgot,\n      Where through the woodbine when with upward ray\n      Gleam'd the last shadow of departing day,\n      Still did I sit, and with unwearied eye,\n      Read while I wept, and scarcely paused to sigh!\n      In that gay drawer, with fairy fictions stored,\n      When some new tale was added to my hoard,\n      While o'er each page my eager glance was flung,\n      'Twas but to learn what female fate was sung;\n      If no sad maid the castle shut from light,\n      I heeded not the giant and the knight.\n\n      Sweet Cinderella, even before the ball,\n      How did I love thee\u2014ashes, rags, and all!\n      What bliss I deem'd it to have stood beside,\n      On every virgin when thy shoe was tried!\n      How long'd to see thy shape the slipper suit!\n      But, dearer than the slipper, loved the foot.\n\n                                                  ANON.\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\n\nIt were greatly to be desired that the instructors of our children could\nbe persuaded how much is lost by rejecting the venerable relics of\nnursery traditional literature, and substituting in their place the\npresent cold, unimaginative,\u2014I had almost said, unnatural,\u2014prosaic\ngood-boy stories. \"In the latter case,\" observes Sir Walter Scott,\n\"their minds are, as it were, put into the stocks, like their feet at\nthe dancing-school, and the moral always consists in good conduct being\ncrowned with success. Truth is, I would not give one tear shed over\nLittle Red Riding Hood for all the benefit to be derived from a hundred\nhistories of Jemmy Goodchild. I think the selfish tendencies will be\nsoon enough acquired in this arithmetical age; and that, to make the\nhigher class of character, our own wild fictions\u2014like our own simple\nmusic\u2014will have more effect in awakening the fancy and elevating the\ndisposition, than the colder and more elaborate compositions of modern\nauthors and composers.\"\n\nDeeply impressed with this truth, and firmly convinced of the\n\"imagination-nourishing\" power of the wild and fanciful lore of the old\nnursery, I have spared no labour in collecting the fragments which have\nbeen traditionally preserved in our provinces. The object is not so much\nto present to the reader a few literary trifles, though even their\ncuriosity and value in several important discussions must not be\ndespised, as to rescue in order to restore; a solemn recompense due from\nliterature for having driven them away; and to recall the memory to\nearly associations, in the hope that they who love such recollections\nwill not suffer the objects of them to disappear with the present\ngeneration.\n\nIn arranging the materials gathered for this little volume, I have\nfollowed, in some respects, the plan adopted by Mr. Robert Chambers, in\nhis elegant work, the Popular Rhymes of Scotland; but our vernacular\nanthology will be found to contain so much which does not occur in any\nshape in that of the sister country, that the two collections have not\nas much similarity as might have been expected. Together, they will\neventually contain nearly all that is worth preserving of what may be\ncalled the natural literature of Great Britain. Mr. Chambers, indeed,\nmay be said to have already exhausted the subject for his own land in\nthe last edition of his interesting publication, but no systematic\nattempt has yet been made in the same direction for this country; and\nalthough the curiosity and extent of the relics I have been enabled to\ncollect have far exceeded my expectations, I am fully aware how much\nmore can yet be accomplished. An additional number of foreign synonymes\ncould also no doubt be collected; though perhaps more easily by\nforeigners, for Continental works which contain notices of traditional\nliterature are procured with difficulty in England. The following pages,\nhowever, contain sufficient of these to exhibit the striking\nsimilarities between rhymes prevalent over England, and others which\nexist in the North of Europe.\n\nThe collection of Nursery Tales is not as extensive as could have been\nwished, but the difficulty of procuring the brief traditional stories\nwhich were current some century since, now for the most part only\nrecollected in obscure districts, is so great, that no apology is\nnecessary for the apparent deficiency of that section. The few which\nhave been obtained are of considerable curiosity and interest; and I\nwould venture to suggest to all readers of these pages the great\nobligation they would confer by the communication of any additions.\nStories of this kind are undoubtedly to be obtained from oral tradition,\nand perhaps some of literary importance may yet be recovered.\n\nThe compiler's best thanks are due to Captain Henry Smith for the very\ninteresting communication of rhymes current in the Isle of Wight; to\nMr. George Stephens for several curious fragments, and valuable\nreferences to Swedish songs; and to many kind correspondents who have\nfurnished me with rhymes current in the various districts in which they\nreside. It is only by a large provincial correspondence that a\ncollection of this kind can be rendered complete, and the minutest\ninformation on any of our popular tales or rhymes, forwarded to the\naddress given below, would be most thankfully and carefully\nacknowledged.\n\n      BRIXTON HILL, SURREY;\n\n      _April, 1849._\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n                                  PAGE\n\n\n      NURSERY ANTIQUITIES            1\n\n      FIRESIDE NURSERY STORIES      24\n\n      GAME-RHYMES                  101\n\n      ALPHABET-RHYMES              136\n\n      RIDDLE-RHYMES                141\n\n      NATURE-SONGS                 155\n\n      PROVERB-RHYMES               181\n\n      PLACES AND FAMILIES          188\n\n      SUPERSTITION-RHYMES          206\n\n      CUSTOM-RHYMES                230\n\n      NURSERY-SONGS                258\n\n\n\n\nPOPULAR RHYMES AND NURSERY TALES.\n\nI.\u2014NURSERY ANTIQUITIES.\n\n\nAlthough the names of Scott and Grimm may be enumerated amongst the\nwriters who have acknowledged the ethnological and philosophic value of\ntraditional nursery literature, it is difficult to impress on the public\nmind the importance of a subject apparently in the last degree trifling\nand insignificant, or to induce an opinion that the jingles and simple\nnarratives of a garrulous nurse can possess a worth beyond the circle of\ntheir own immediate influence.\n\nBut they who despise the humbler sources of literary illustration must\nbe content to be told, and hereafter to learn, that traces of the\nsimplest stories and most absurd superstitions are often more effectual\nin proving the affinity of different races, and determining other\nliterary questions, than a host of grander and more imposing monuments.\nThe history of fiction is continually efficacious in discussions of this\nkind, and the identities of puerile sayings frequently answer a similar\npurpose. Both, indeed, are of high value. The humble chap-book is found\nto be descended not only from medieval romance, but also not\nunfrequently from the more ancient mythology, whilst some of our\nsimplest nursery-rhymes are chanted to this day by the children of\nGermany, Denmark, and Sweden, a fact strikingly exhibiting their great\nantiquity and remote origin.\n\nThe subject, however curious and interesting, is far too diffuse to be\ninvestigated at any length in a work like the present; and, indeed, the\nmaterials are for the most part so scattered and difficult of access,\nthat it would require the research of many years to accomplish the task\nsatisfactorily. I shall, then, content myself with indicating a few of\nthe most striking analogies between the rhymes of foreign countries and\nthose of our own, for this portion of the inquiry has been scarcely\nalluded to by my predecessors. With regard to the tales, a few notices\nof their antiquity will be found in the prefaces or notes to the stories\nthemselves, and few readers will require to be informed that\nWhittington's cat realized his price in India, and that Arlotto related\nthe story long before the Lord Mayor was born; that Jack the\nGiant-killer is founded on an Edda; or that the slipper of Cinderella\nfinds a parallel in the history of the celebrated Rhodope. To enter into\nthese discussions would be merely to repeat an oft-told tale, and I\nprefer offering a few notes which will be found to possess a little more\nnovelty.\n\nOf the many who must recollect the nursery jingles of their youth, how\nfew in number are those who have suspected their immense age, or that\nthey were ever more than unmeaning nonsense; far less that their\ncreation belongs to a period before that at which the authentic records\nof our history commence. Yet there is no exaggeration in such a\nstatement. We find the same trifles which erewhile lulled or amused the\nEnglish infant, are current in slightly varied forms throughout the\nNorth of Europe; we know that they have been sung in the northern\ncountries for centuries, and that there has been no modern outlet for\ntheir dissemination across the German Ocean. The most natural inference\nis to adopt the theory of a Teutonic origin, and thus give to every\ngenuine child-rhyme, found current in England and Sweden, an immense\nantiquity. There is nothing improbable in the supposition, for the\npreservation of the relics of primitive literature often bears an\ninverse ratio to their importance. Thus, for example, a well-known\nEnglish nursery rhyme tells us,\u2014\n\n      There was an old man,\n      And he had a calf,\n                  And that's half;\n      He took him out of the stall,\n      And put him on the wall,\n                  And that's all.\n\nA composition apparently of little interest or curiosity; but Arwidsson,\nunacquainted with the English rhyme, produces the following as current\nin Sweden, Svenska Forns\u00e5nger, iii. 488, which bears far too striking a\nsimilarity to the above to have had a different origin,\u2014\n\n      Gubben och gumman hade en kalf,\n      Och nu \u00e4r visan half!\n      Och begge s\u00e5 k\u00f6rde de halfven i vall,\n      Och nu \u00e4r visan all!\n\nWe could not, perhaps, select a better instance of this kind of\nsimilarity in nepial songs as current throughout the great northern\nstates of Europe than the pretty stanza on the ladybird. Variations of\nthis familiar song belong to the vernacular literature of England,\nGermany, Denmark, and Sweden. The version at present current in the\nNorth of England is as follows:\n\n      Lady-cow, lady-cow, fly thy way home,\n      Thy house is on fire, thy children all gone;\n      All but one that ligs under a stone,\n      Fly thee home, lady-cow, ere it be gone![1]\n\n      [Footnote 1: In Norfolk the lady-bird is called\n      _burny-bee_, and the following lines are current:\n\n      Burnie bee, burnie bee,\n      Tell me when your wedding be.\n      If it be to-morrow day,\n      Take your wings and fly away.]\n\nThese lines are said by children, when they throw the beautiful little\ninsect into the air, to make it take flight. Two Scottish variations are\ngiven by Mr. Chambers, p. 170. In Germany it is called the Virgin Mary's\nchafer, _Marienw\u00fcrmchen_, or the May-chafer, _Maik\u00e4ferchen_, or the\ngold-bird, _Guldvogel_. In Sweden, gold-hen, gold-cow, or the Virgin\nMary's maid. In Denmark, our Lord's hen, or our Lady's hen. We may first\nmention the German song translated by Taylor as frequently alluded to by\nwriters on this subject. The second verse is the only one preserved in\nEngland.\n\n      Lady-bird! lady-bird! pretty one! stay!\n      Come sit on my finger, so happy and gay;\n          With me shall no mischief betide thee;\n      No harm would I do thee, no foeman is near,\n      I only would gaze on thy beauties so dear,\n          Those beautiful winglets beside thee.\n\n      Lady-bird! lady-bird! fly away home;\n      Thy house is a-fire, thy children will roam!\n          List! list! to their cry and bewailing!\n      The pitiless spider is weaving their doom,\n      Then, lady-bird! lady-bird! fly away home!\n          Hark! hark! to thy children's bewailing.\n\n      Fly back again, back again, lady-bird dear!\n      Thy neighbours will merrily welcome thee here;\n          With them shall no perils attend thee!\n      They'll guard thee so safely from danger or care,\n      They'll gaze on thy beautiful winglets so fair,\n          And comfort, and love, and befriend thee!\n\nIn Des Knaben Wunderhorn, Arnim und Brentano, 1808, iii. 82, 83, 90, we\nhave three German songs relating to the lady-bird. The first two of\nthese are here given:\n\n_Der Guldvogel._\n\n      Guldvogel, flieg aus,\n      Flieg auf die Stangen,\n      K\u00e4sebrode langen;\n      Mir eins, dir eins,\n      Alle gute G'sellen eins.\n\n\"Gold-bird, get thee gone, fly to thy perch, bring cheese-cakes, one for\nme, one for thee, and one for all good people.\"\n\n      Maik\u00e4ferchen, Maik\u00e4ferchen, fliege weg!\n      Dein H\u00e4usgen brennt,\n      Dein M\u00fctterchen flennt,\n      Dein Vater sitzt auf der Schwelle,\n      Flieg in Himmel aus der H\u00f6lle.\n\n\"May-bird, May-bird, fly away. Thy house burns, thy mother weeps, thy\nfather stays at his threshold, fly from hell into heaven!\"\u2014The third is\nnot so similar to our version. Another German one is given in Kuhn und\nSchwark, Norddeutsche Sagen, 1848, p. 375:\n\n      Maik\u00e4ferchen, fliege,\n      Dein Vater ist im Kriege,\n      Dein Mutter ist in Pommerland,\n      Pommerland ist abgebrannt!\n      Maik\u00e4ferchen, fliege.\n\n\"May-bird, fly. Thy father is in the war, thy mother is in Pomerania,\nPomerania is burnt! May-bird, fly.\"\u2014See, also, Erk und Irmer, Die\nDeutschen Volkslieder, Berlin, 1839, iv. 7, Das Maik\u00e4ferlied. For the\ntwo pretty Swedish songs which follow I am indebted to the MS. of Mr.\nStephens. The first is common in the southern parts of that country, the\nother in the northern.\n\n      Guld-h\u00f6na, guld-ko!\n      Flyg \u00f6ster, flyg vester,\n      Dit du flyger der bor din \u00e4lskade!\n\n\"Gold-hen, gold-cow! fly east, fly west, you will fly where your\nsweetheart is.\"\n\n      Jungfru Marias Nyckelpiga!\n      Flyg \u00f6ster, flyg vester,\n      Flyg dit der min k\u00e4resta bor![2]\n\n      [Footnote 2: This is a very remarkable\n      coincidence with an English rhyme:\n\n      Fly, lady-bird, fly!\n        North, south, east, or west;\n      Fly to the pretty girl\n        That I love best.]\n\n\"Fly, our holy Virgin's bower-maid! fly east, fly west, fly where my\nloved-one dwelleth.\" In Denmark they sing (Thiele, iii. 134):\n\n      Fly, fly, our Lord's own hen!\n      To-morrow the weather fair will be,\n      And eke the next day too.[3]\n\n      [Footnote 3: The lady-bird, observes Mr.\n      Chambers, is always connected with fine weather\n      in Germany and the north.]\n\nAccumulative tales are of very high antiquity. The original of \"the\nHouse that Jack Built\" is well known to be an old Hebrew hymn in Sepher\nHaggadah. It is also found in Danish, but in a somewhat shorter form;\n(See Thiele, Danske Folkesagn, II. iii. 146, _Der har du det Huus som\nJacob bygde_;) and the English version is probably very old, as may be\ninferred from the mention of \"the priest all shaven and shorn.\" A\nversion of the old woman and her sixpence occurs in the same collection,\nII. iv. 161, _Konen och Grisen Fick_, the old wife and her piggy\nFick,\u2014\"There was once upon a time an old woman who had a little pig\nhight Fick, who would never go home late in the evening. So the old\nwoman said to her stick:\n\n      'Stick, beat Fick, I say!\n      Piggie will not go home to-day!'\"\n\nThis chant-tale is also common in Sweden. One copy has been printed by\nN. Lilja in his Violen en Samling Jullekar, Barns\u00e5nger och Sagor, i. 20,\n_Gossen och Geten N\u00e4ppa_, the boy and the goat Neppa,\u2014\"There was once a\nyeoman who had a goat called Neppa, but Neppa would never go home from\nthe field. The yeoman was therefore forced to promise his daughter in\nmarriage to whoever could get Neppa home. Many tried their fortune in\nvain, but at last a sharp boy offered to ward the goat. All the next day\nhe followed Neppa, and when evening came, he said, 'Now will we\nhomeward go?' but Neppa answered, 'Pluck me a tuft or so,'\" &c. The\nstory is conducted in an exactly similar manner in which the\n_d\u00e9no\u00fbement_ is brought about in the English tale.[4]\n\n      [Footnote 4: Two other variations occur in\n      Arwidsson, Svenska Forns\u00e5nger, 1842, iii. 387-8,\n      and Mr. Stephens tells me he has a MS. Swedish\n      copy entitled the Schoolboy and the Birch. It is\n      also well known in Alsace, and is printed in that\n      dialect in St\u00f6ber's Elsassisches Volksb\u00fcchlein,\n      1842, pp. 93-5. Compare, also, Kuhn und Schwark,\n      Norddeutsche Sagen, M\u00e4rchen und Gebr\u00e4uche, 1848,\n      p. 358, \"Die fr\u00e2, dos hippel un dos hindel.\"]\n\nThe well-known song of \"There was a lady lov'd a swine,\" is found in an\nunpublished play of the time of Charles I. in the Bodleian Library, MS.\nBodl. 30:\n\n      There was a lady lov'd a hogge;\n        Hony, quoth shee,\n      Woo't thou lie with me to-night?\n        Ugh, quoth hee.\n\nA similar song is current in Sweden, as we learn from Arwidsson, Svenska\nForns\u00e5nger, iii. 482, who gives a version in which an old woman, who had\nno children, took a little foal, which she called Longshanks, and rocked\nand nursed it as if it had been her own child:[5]\n\n      Gumman ville vagga\n        Och inga barn hade hon;\n            D\u00e5 tog hon in\n            F\u00f6lungen sin,\n        Och lade den i vaggan sin.\n        Vyssa, vyssa, l\u00e5ngsk\u00e5nken min,\n        L\u00e5nga ben bar du;\n        Lefver du till sommaren,\n        Blir du lik far din.\n\n      [Footnote 5: It is still more similar to a pretty\n      little song in Chambers, p. 188, commencing,\n      \"There was a miller's dochter.\"]\n\nAnother paradoxical song-tale, respecting the old woman who went to\nmarket, and had her petticoats cut off at her knees \"by a pedlar whose\nname was Stout,\" is found in some shape or other in most countries in\nEurope. A Norwegian version is given by Asbj\u00f6rnsen og Moe, Norske\nFolkeeventyr, 1843, and, if I recollect rightly, it is also found in\nGrimm.\n\nThe riddle-rhyme of \"Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall\" is, in one form or\nother, a favorite throughout Europe. A curious Danish version is given\nby Thiele, iii. 148:\n\n      Lille Trille\n      Laae paa Hylde;\n      Lille Trille\n      Faldt ned af Hylde.\n      Ingen Mand\n      I hele Land\n      Lille Trille curere kan.\n\nWhich may be thus translated:\n\n          Little Trille\n          Lay on a shelf:\n          Little Trille\n          Thence pitch'd himself:\n          Not all the men\n          In our land, I ken,\n          Can put Little Trille right again.\n\nAnd Mr. Stephens has preserved two copies in his MS. Swedish\ncollections. The first is from the province of Upland:\n\n      Thille Lille\n        Satt p\u00e5 take';\n      Thille Lille\n        Trilla' ner;\n      Ingen l\u00e4kare i hela verlden\n      Thille Lille laga kan.\n\n          Thille Lille\n            On the roof-tree sat;\n          Thille Lille\n            Down fell flat;\n          Never a leech the world can show\n          That Thille Lille can heal, I trow.\n\nAnother from the province of Sm\u00e5land:\n\n      Lille Bulle\n      Trilla' ner \u00e5 skulle;\n      Ingen man i detta lan'\n      Lille Bulle laga kan.\n\n          Down on the shed\n          Lille Bulle rolled;\n          Never a man in all this land\n          Lille Bulle helpen can.\n\nIt will now only be necessary to refer to the similarities pointed out\nin other parts of this work, to convince the reader that, at all events,\na very fair case is made out for the truth of the positions we have\ncontended for, if, indeed, sufficient evidence of their absolute truth\nis not adduced. They who are accustomed to researches of this kind, are\ntoo well aware of the facility with which the most plausible theories\nare frequently nullified by subsequent discovery; but there appears in\nthe present case to be numerous conditions insoluble by any other\nsupposition than that of a common origin, and we are therefore fully\njustified in adopting it as proved.\n\nTurning to the nursery rhymes of our own country, it will tend\nmaterially to strengthen the results to which we have arrived, if we\nsucceed in proving their antiquity in this island. We shall be enabled\nto do so satisfactorily, and to show that they are not the modern\nnonsense some folks may pronounce them to be. They illustrate the\nhistory and manners of the people for centuries. Here, for instance, is\na relic in the form of a nursery rhyme, but in reality part of a\npolitical song, referring to the rebellious times of Richard the\nSecond.[6]\n\n      My father he died, I cannot tell how,\n      But he left me six horses to drive out my plough!\n      With a wimmy lo! wommy lo! _Jack Straw, blazey-boys!_\n      Wimmy lo! wommy lo! wob, wob, wob!\n\n      [Footnote 6: I am here, and in a few other cases,\n      quoting from myself. It may be necessary to say\n      so, for my former collections on this subject\n      have been appropriated\u2014\"convey, the wise it\n      call\"\u2014in a work by a learned Doctor, the preface\n      to which is an amusing instance of plagiarism.]\n\nAn infant of the nineteenth century recalling our recollection to Jack\nStraw and his \"blazey-boys!\" Far better this than teaching history with\nnotes \"suited to the capacity of the youngest.\" Another refers to Joanna\nof Castile, who visited the court of Henry the Seventh in 1506:\n\n      I had a little nut-tree, nothing would it bear\n      But a golden nutmeg and a silver pear;\n      The King of Spain's daughter came to visit me,\n      And all for the sake of my little nut-tree.\n\nWe have distinct evidence that the well-known rhyme,[7]\n\n      The King of France went up the hill,\n        With twenty thousand men:\n      The King of France came down the hill,\n        And ne'er went up again\u2014\n\nwas composed before 1588, It occurs in an old tract called Pigges\nCorantoe, 1642, where it is entitled \"Old Tarlton's Song,\" referring to\nTarlton the jester, who died in 1588. The following one belongs to the\nseventeenth century:\n\n      As I was going by Charing Cross,\n      I saw a black man upon a black horse;\n      They told me it was King Charles the First;\n      Oh dear, my heart was ready to burst!\n\n      [Footnote 7: An early variation occurs in MS.\n      Sloane 1489:\n\n      The king of France, and four thousand men,\n      They drew their swords, and put them up again.]\n\nPolitical nursery-rhymes, or rather political rhymes of a jingling\ncharacter, which, losing their original application, are preserved only\nin the nursery, were probably common in the seventeenth century. The two\njust quoted have evidently an historical application. The manuscript\nmiscellanies of the time of James I. and Charles I. contain several\ncopies of literal rhymes not very unlike \"A, B, C, tumble-down D.\" In\nthe reign of Charles II. political pasquinades constantly partook of\nthe genuine nursery character. We may select the following example, of\ncourse put into the mouth of that sovereign, preserved in MS. Douce 357,\nf. 124, in the Bodleian Library:\n\n      See-saw, sack-a-day;\n      Monmouth is a pretie boy,\n        Richmond is another,\n      Grafton is my onely joy,\n      And why should I these three destroy\n        To please a pious brother?\n\n\"What is the rhyme for porringer?\" was written on occasion of the\nmarriage of Mary, the daughter of James Duke of York, afterwards James\nII., with the young Prince of Orange: and the following alludes to\nWilliam III. and George Prince of Denmark:\n\n      William and Mary, George and Anne,\n      Four such children had never a man:\n      They put their father to flight and shame,\n      And call'd their brother a shocking bad name.\n\nAnother nursery song on King William is not yet obsolete, but its\napplication is not generally known. My authority is the title of it in\nMS. Harl. 7316:\n\n      As I walk'd by myself,\n      And talked to myself,\n        Myself said unto me,\n      Look to thyself,\n      Take care of thyself,\n        For nobody cares for thee.\n\n      I answer'd myself,\n      And said to myself\n        In the self-same repartee,\n      Look to thyself,\n      Or not look to thyself,\n        The self-same thing will be.\n\nTo this class of rhymes I may add the following on Dr. Sacheverel,\nwhich was obtained from oral tradition:\n\n      Doctor Sacheverel\n      Did very well,\n      But Jacky Dawbin\n      Gave him a warning.\n\nWhen there are no allusions to guide us, it is only by accident that we\ncan hope to test the history and antiquity of these kind of scraps, but\nwe have no doubt whatever that many of them are centuries old. The\nfollowing has been traced to the time of Henry VI., a singular doggerel,\nthe joke of which consists in saying it so quickly that it cannot be\ntold whether it is English or gibberish:\n\n      In fir tar is,\n      In oak none is,\n      In mud eel is,\n      In clay none is,\n      Goat eat ivy,\n      Mare eat oats.\n\n\"Multiplication is vexation,\" a painful reality to schoolboys, was found\na few years ago in a manuscript dated 1570; and the memorial lines,\n\"Thirty days hath September,\" occur in the Return from Parnassus, an old\nplay printed in 1606. Our own reminiscences of such matters, and those\nof Shakespeare, may thus have been identical! \"To market, to market, to\nbuy a plum-bun,\" is partially quoted in Florio's New World of Words,\n1611, in v. 'Ab\u00f3mba.' The old song of the \"Carrion Crow sat on an Oak,\"\nwas discovered by me in MS. Sloane 1489, of the time of Charles I., but\nunder a different form:\n\n      Hic, hoc, the carrion crow,\n      For I have shot something too low:\n      I have quite missed my mark,\n      And shot the poor sow to the heart;\n      Wife, bring treacle in a spoon,\n      Or else the poor sow's heart will down.\n\n\"Sing a song of sixpence\" is quoted by Beaumont and Fletcher. \"Buz,\nquoth the blue fly,\" which is printed in the nursery halfpenny books,\nbelongs to Ben Jonson's Masque of Oberon; the old ditty of \"Three Blind\nMice\" is found in the curious music book entitled Deuteromelia, or the\nSecond Part of Musicke's Melodie, 1609; and the song, \"When I was a\nlittle girl, I wash'd my mammy's dishes,\" is given by Aubrey in MS.\nLansd. 231. \"A swarm of bees in May,\" is quoted by Miege, 1687. And so\non of others, fragments of old catches and popular songs being\nconstantly traced in the apparently unmeaning rhymes of the nursery.\n\nMost of us have heard in time past the school address to a story-teller:\n\n      Liar, liar, lick dish,\n      Turn about the candlestick.\n\nNot very important lines, one would imagine, but they explain a passage\nin Chettle's play of the Tragedy of Hoffman, or a Revenge for a Father,\n4to. Lond, 1631, which would be partially inexplicable without such\nassistance:\n\n      _Lor._ By heaven! it seemes hee did, but all was vaine;\n             The flinty rockes had cut his tender scull,\n             And the rough water wash't away his braine.\n      _Luc._ Lyer, lyer, licke dish!\n\nThe intention of the last speaker is sufficiently intelligible, but a\nfuture editor, anxious to investigate his author minutely, might search\nin vain for an explanation of _licke dish_. Another instance[8] of the\nantiquity of children's rhymes I met with lately at Stratford-on-Avon,\nin a MS. of the seventeenth century, in the collection of the late\nCaptain James Saunders, where, amongst common-place memoranda on more\nserious subjects, written about the year 1630, occurred a version of\none of our most favorite nursery songs:\n\n      I had a little bonny nagg,\n        His name was Dapple Gray;\n      And he would bring me to an ale-house\n        A mile out of my way.\n\n      [Footnote 8: A dance called _Hey, diddle,\n      diddle_, is mentioned in the play of _King\n      Cambises_, written about 1561, and the several\n      rhymes commencing with the words may have been\n      original adaptations to that dance-tune.]\n\n\"Three children sliding on the ice\" is founded on a metrical tale\npublished at the end of a translation of Ovid de Arte Amandi, 1662.[9]\nThe lines,\n\n      There was an old woman\n        Liv'd under a hill,\n      And if she ben't gone,\n        She lives there still\u2014\n\n      [Footnote 9: See the whole poem in my Nursery\n      Rhymes of England, ed. 1842, p. 19.]\n\nform part of an old catch, printed in the Academy of Complements, ed.\n1714, p. 108. The same volume (p. 140) contains the original words to\nanother catch, which has been corrupted in its passage to the nursery:\n\n      There was an old man had three sons,\n      Had three sons, had three sons;\n      There was an old man had three sons,\n          Jeffery, James, and Jack.\n      Jeffery was hang'd and James was drown'd,\n      And Jack was lost, that he could not be found,\n      And the old man fell into a swoon,\n          For want of a cup of sack!\n\nIt is not improbable that Shakespeare, who has alluded so much and so\nintricately to the vernacular rural literature of his day, has more\nnotices of nursery-rhymes and tales than research has hitherto elicited.\nI am only acquainted with one reference to the former, \"Pillicock sat on\nPillicock hill,\" which is quoted by Edgar in King Lear, iii. 4, and is\nfound in Gammer Gurton's Garland, and in most modern collections of\nEnglish nursery-rhymes. The secret meaning is not very delicate, nor is\nit necessary to enter into any explanation on the subject. It may,\nhowever, be worthy of remark, that the term _pillicock_ is found in a\nmanuscript (Harl. 913) in the British Museum of the thirteenth century.\n\nEnglish children accompanied their amusements with trivial verses from a\nvery early period, but as it is only by accident that any allusions to\nthem have been made, it is difficult to sustain the fact by many\nexamples. The Nomenclator or Remembrancer of Adrianus Junius, translated\nby Higins, and edited by Fleming, 8vo. 1585, contains a few notices of\nthis kind; p. 298, \"\u03b2\u03b1\u03c3\u03b9\u03bb\u03b9\u03bd\u03b4\u03b1, the playe called one penie, one\npenie, come after me; \u03c7\u03c5\u03c4\u03c1\u03b9\u03bd\u03b4\u03b1, the play called selling of\npeares, or how many plums for a penie; p. 299, \u03c7\u03bf\u03b9\u03bd\u03bf\u03c6\u03b9\u03bb\u03b9\u03bd\u03b4\u03b1,\na kinde of playe called\n\n      Clowt, clowt,\n      To beare about,\n\nor my hen hath layd; \u03b9\u03c0\u03bf\u03c3\u03c4\u03c1\u03b1\u03ba\u03b9\u03c3\u03bc\u03bf\u03c2, a kind of sport or play\nwith an oister shell or a stone throwne into the water, and making\ncircles yer it sinke, &c.; it is called,\n\n      A ducke and a drake,\n      And a halfe penie cake.\"\n\nThis last notice is particularly curious, for similar verses are used by\nboys at the present day at the game of water-skimming. The amusement\nitself is very ancient, and a description of it may be seen in Minucius\nFelix, Lugd. Bat. 1652, p. 3. There cannot be a doubt but that many of\nthe inexplicable nonsense-rhymes of our nursery belonged to antique\nrecreations, but it is very seldom their original application can be\nrecovered. The well-known doggerel respecting the tailor of Bicester may\nbe mentioned as a remarkable instance of this, for it is one of the most\ncommon nursery-rhymes of the present day, and Aubrey, MS. Lansd. 231,\nwriting in the latter part of the seventeenth century, preserved it as\npart of the formula of a game called _leap-candle_. \"The young girls in\nand about Oxford have a sport called Leap-Candle, for which they set a\ncandle in the middle of the room in a candlestick, and then draw up\ntheir coats into the form of breaches, and dance over the candle back\nand forth, with these words:\n\n      The tailor of Biciter,\n        He has but one eye,\n      He cannot cut a pair of green galagaskins,\n        If he were to die.\n\nThis sport in other parts is called _Dancing the Candle Rush_.\" It may be\nnecessary to observe that _galagaskins_ were wide loose trousers.\n\nThe rhyme of Jack Horner has been stated to be a satire on the\nPuritanical aversion to Christmas pies and suchlike abominations. It\nforms part of a metrical chap-book history, founded on the same story as\nthe Friar and the Boy, entitled \"The Pleasant History of Jack Horner,\ncontaining his witty tricks, and pleasant pranks, which he played from\nhis youth to his riper years: right pleasant and delightful for winter\nand summer's recreation,\" embellished with frightful woodcuts, which\nhave not much connexion with the tale. The pleasant history commences as\nfollows:\n\n      Jack Horner was a pretty lad,\n        Near London he did dwell,\n      His father's heart he made full glad,\n        His mother lov'd him well.\n      While little Jack was sweet and young,\n        If he by chance should cry,\n      His mother pretty sonnets sung,\n        With a lul-la-ba-by,\n      With such a dainty curious tone,\n        As Jack sat on her knee,\n      So that, e'er he could go alone,\n        He sung as well as she.\n      A pretty boy of curious wit,\n        All people spoke his praise,\n      And in the corner would he sit\n        In Christmas holydays.\n      When friends they did together meet,\n        To pass away the time\u2014\n      Why, little Jack, he sure would eat\n        His Christmas pie in rhyme.\n      And said, Jack Horner, in the corner,\n        Eats good Christmas pie,\n      And with his thumbs pulls out the plumbs,\n        And said, Good boy am I!\n\nHere we have an important discovery! Who before suspected that the\nnursery-rhyme was written by Jack Horner himself?\n\nFew children's rhymes are more common than those relating to Jack Sprat\nand his wife, \"Jack Sprat could eat no fat,\" &c.; but it is little\nthought they have been current for two centuries. Such, however, is the\nfact, and when Howell published his collection of Proverbs in 1659, p.\n20, the story related to no less exalted a personage than an archdeacon:\n\n      Archdeacon Pratt would eat no fatt,\n        His wife would eat no lean;\n      'Twixt Archdeacon Pratt and Joan his wife,\n        The meat was eat up clean.\n\nOn the same page of this collection we find the commencement of the\nrigmarole, \"A man of words and not of deeds,\" which in the next century\nwas converted into a burlesque song on the battle of Culloden![10]\n\n      Double Dee Double Day,\n      Set a garden full of seeds;\n      When the seeds began to grow,\n      It's like a garden full of snow.\n      When the snow began to melt,\n      Like a ship without a belt.\n      When the ship began to sail,\n      Like a bird without a tail.\n      When the bird began to fly,\n      Like an eagle in the sky.\n      When the sky began to roar,\n      Like a lion at the door.\n      When the door began to crack,\n      Like a stick laid o'er my back.\n      When my back began to smart,\n      Like a penknife in my heart.\n      When my heart began to bleed,\n      Like a needleful of thread.\n      When the thread began to rot,\n      Like a turnip in the pot.\n      When the pot began to boil,\n      Like a bottle full of oil.\n      When the oil began to settle,\n      Like our Geordies bloody battle.\n\n      [Footnote 10: The following nursery game, played\n      by two girls, one personating the mistress and\n      the other a servant, was obtained from Yorkshire,\n      and may be interpreted as a dialogue between a\n      lady and her Jacobite maid:\n\n      _Lady._ Jenny, come here! So I hear you have\n              been to see that man.\n      _Maid._ What man, madam?\n      _Lady._ Why, the handsome man.\n      _Maid._ Why, madam, as I was a-passing by,\n              Thinking no harm, no not in the least, not I,\n              I did go in,\n              But had no ill intention in the thing,\n              For, as folks say, a cat may look at a king.\n      _Lady._ A king do you call him? You rebellious slut!\n      _Maid._ I did not call him so, dear lady, but\u2014\n      _Lady._ But me none of your buttings, for not another day\n              Shall any rebel in my service stay;\n              I owe you twenty shillings\u2014there's a guinea!\n              Go, pack your clothes, and get about your business,\n              Jenny.]\n\nThe earliest copy of the saying, \"A man of words and not of deeds,\" I\nhave hitherto met with, occurs in MS. Harl. 1927, of the time of James\nI. Another version, written towards the close of the seventeenth\ncentury, but unfitted for publication, is preserved on the last leaf of\nMS. Harl. 6580.\n\nMany of the metrical nonsense-riddles of the nursery are of considerable\nantiquity. A collection of conundrums formed early in the seventeenth\ncentury by Randle Holmes, the Chester antiquary, and now preserved in\nMS. Harl. 1962, contains several which have been traditionally\nremembered up to the present day. Thus we find versions of \"Little Nancy\nEtticoat in a white petticoat,\" \"Two legs sat upon three legs,\" \"As\nround as an apple,\" and others.[11]\n\n      [Footnote 11: A vast number of these kind of\n      rhymes have become obsolete, and old manuscripts\n      contain many not very intelligible. Take the\n      following as a specimen:\n\n      Ruste duste tarbotell,\n      Bagpipelorum hybattell.\u2014_MS. Harl._ 7332, xvij. cent.]\n\nDuring the latter portion of the seventeenth century numerous songs and\ngames were introduced which were long remembered in the English nursery.\n\"Questions and Commands\" was a common game, played under various systems\nof representation. One boy would enact king, and the subjects would give\nburlesque answers, e. g.:\n\n      _K._ King I am!\n      _S._ I am your man.\n      _K._ What service will you do?\n      _S._ The best and worst, and all I can!\n\nA clever writer in the Gentleman's Magazine for 1738, says this was\nplayed during the Commonwealth in ridicule of sovereignty! He humorously\nadds, continually quoting games then current: \"During all Oliver's time,\nthe chief diversion was, 'The parson hath lost his fuddling-cap,' which\nneeds no explanation. At the Restoration succeeded love-games, as 'I\nlove my love with an A,' a 'Flower and a lady,' and 'I am a lusty\nwooer;' changed in the latter end of this reign, as well as all King\nJames II.'s, to 'I am come to torment you.' At the Revolution, when all\npeople recovered their liberty, the children played promiscuously at\nwhat game they liked best. The most favorite one, however, was 'Puss in\nthe corner.'\" The same writer also mentions the game of \"I am a Spanish\nmerchant.\"\n\nThe following nursery-rhyme is quoted in Parkin's Reply to Dr.\nStukeley's second number of the Origines Roystonian\u00e6, 4to. 1748, p. 6,\nbut I am not aware that it is still current:\u2014\n\n      Peter White will ne'er go right,\n        And would you know the reason why?\n      He follows his nose where'er he goes,\n        And that stands all awry.\n\nThe tale of \"Old Mother Hubbard\" is undoubtedly of some antiquity, were\nwe merely to judge of the rhyme of _laughing_ to _coffin_ in the third\nverse.[12] \"There was an old woman toss'd up in a blanket\" is supposed\nto be the original song of \"Lilliburlero, or Old Woman, whither so\nhigh?\" the tune to which was published in 1678.[13] \"Come, drink old ale\nwith me,\" a nursery catch, with an improper meaning now lost, is found\nin MS. Harl. 7332, of the seventeenth century. \"Round about, round\nabout, magotty-pie,\" is probably as old, magot-pie being an obsolete\nterm for a magpie. For a similar reason, the antiquity of \"Here am I,\nlittle Jumping Joan,\" may be inferred. Jumping Joan was the Cant term\nfor a lady of little reputation.[14] The well-known riddle, \"As I was\ngoing to St. Ives,\" occurs in MS. Harl. 7316, of the early part of the\nlast century; and the following extract from Poor Robin's Almanack for\n1693, may furnish us with the original of the celebrated ballad on Tom\nof Islington, though the latter buried his troublesome wife on Sunday:\n\"How one saw a lady on the Saturday, married her on the Sunday, she was\nbrought to bed on the Monday, the child christened on the Tuesday, it\ndied on the Wednesday, was buried on the Thursday, the bride's portion\nwas paid on the Friday, and the bridegroom ran clear away on the\nSaturday!\"\n\n      [Footnote 12: The first three verses are all the\n      original. The rest is modern, and was added when\n      Mother Hubbard was the first of a series of\n      eighteen-penny books published by Harris.]\n\n      [Footnote 13: Chappell's National Airs, p. 89.]\n\n      [Footnote 14: Beaumont and Fletcher, ed. Dyce,\n      viii. 176. The tune of Jumping Joan is mentioned\n      in MS. Harl. 7316, p. 67.]\n\nThe antiquity of a rhyme is not unfrequently determined by the use of\nan obsolete expression. Thus it may be safely concluded that the common\nnursery address to the white moth is no modern composition, from the use\nof the term _dustipoll_, a very old nickname for a miller, which has\nlong fallen into disuse:\n\n      Millery, millery, dustipoll,\n      How many sacks have you stole?\n      Four and twenty and a peck:\n      Hang the miller up by his neck!\n\nThe expression is used by Robin Goodfellow in the old play of Grim, the\nCollier of Croydon, first printed in 1662, but written considerably\nbefore that period:\n\n      Now, miller, miller, dustipole,\n      I'll clapper-claw your jobbernole![15]\n\n      [Footnote 15: \"Oh, madam, I will give you the\n      keys of Canterbury,\" must be a very ancient song,\n      as it mentions chopines, or high cork shoes, and\n      appears, from another passage, to have been\n      written before the invention of bell-pulls. The\n      obsolete term _delve_, to dig, exhibits the\n      antiquity of the rhyme \"One, two, buckle my\n      shoe.\" _Minikin_ occurs in a rhyme printed in the\n      Nursery Rhymes of England, p. 145; _coif_, ibid.\n      p. 150; _snaps_, small fragments, ibid. p. 190;\n      _moppet_, a little pet, ibid. p. 193, &c.]\n\nA very curious ballad, written about the year 1720, in the possession of\nMr. Crofton Croker, establishes the antiquity of the rhymes of\n\"Jack-a-Dandy,\" \"Boys and girls come out to play,\" \"Tom Tidler's on the\nFriar's ground,\" \"London bridge is broken down,\" \"Who comes here, a\ngrenadier,\" and \"See, saw, sacradown,\" besides mentioning others we have\nbefore alluded to. The ballad is entitled, \"Namby Pamby, or a Panegyric\non the New Versification, addressed to A. F., Esq.\"\n\n      Nanty Panty, Jack-a-Dandy,\n      Stole a piece of sugar-candy,\n      From the grocer's shoppy shop,\n      And away did hoppy hop.\n\nIn the course of the ballad, the writer thus introduces the titles of\nthe nursery rhymes,\u2014\n\n      Namby Pamby's double mild,\n      Once a man, and twice a child;\n      To his hanging sleeves restor'd,\n      Now he fools it like a lord;\n      Now he pumps his little wits\n      All by little tiny bits.\n      Now, methinks, I hear him say,\n      Boys and girls, come out to play,\n      Moon do's shine as bright as day:\n      Now my Namby Pamby's[16] found\n      Sitting on the Friar's ground,\n      Picking silver, picking gold,\u2014\n      Namby Pamby's never old:\n      Bally-cally they begin,\n      Namby Pamby still keeps in.\n      Namby Pamby is no clown\u2014\n      London Bridge is broken down;\n      Now he courts the gay ladee,\n      Dancing o'er the Lady Lee:\n      Now he sings of Lickspit Liar,\n      Burning in the brimstone fire;\n      Lyar, lyar, Lickspit, lick,\n      Turn about the candlestick.\n      Now he sings of Jacky Horner,\n      Sitting in the chimney corner,\n      Eating of a Christmas pie,\n      Putting in his thumb, oh! fie!\n      Putting in, oh! fie, his thumb,\n      Pulling out, oh! strange, a plumb!\n      Now he acts the grenadier,\n      Calling for a pot of beer:\n      Where's his money? He's forgot\u2014\n      Get him gone, a drunken sot!\n      Now on cock-horse does he ride,\n      And anon on timber stride,\n      Se and saw, and sack'ry down,\n      London is a gallant town!\n\n      [Footnote 16: Namby Pamby is said to have been a\n      nickname for Ambrose Phillips. Another ballad,\n      written about the same time as the above, alludes\n      to the rhyme of \"Goosy Goosy, Gander.\"]\n\nThis ballad is a very important illustration of the history of these\npuerile rhymes, for it establishes the fact that some we might aptly\nconsider modern are at least more than a century old; and who would have\nthought such nonsense as,\n\n      Who comes here?\n      A grenadier!\n      What do you want?\n      A pot of beer!\n      Where's your money?\n      I've forgot!\n      Get you gone,\n      You drunken sot!\n\ncould have descended in all its purity for several generations, even\nalthough it really may have a deep meaning and an unexceptionable moral?\n\nHaving thus, I trust, shown that the nursery has an arch\u00e6ology, the\nstudy of which may eventually lead to important results, the jingles and\nsongs of our childhood are defended from the imputation of exclusive\nfrivolity. We may hope that, henceforth, those who have the opportunity\nwill not consider it a derogatory task to add to these memorials. But\nthey must hasten to the rescue. The antiquities of the people are\nrapidly disappearing before the spread of education; and before many\nyears have elapsed, they will be lost, or recorded only in the\ncollections of the antiquary, perhaps requiring evidence that they ever\nexisted. This is the latest period at which there is a chance of our\narresting their disappearance. If, unfortunately, the most valuable\nrelics of this kind are wholly lost, many, doubtlessly, remain in the\nremote districts sufficiently curious to reward the collector; and it is\nto be hoped they will not be allowed to share the fate of Wade and his\nboat Guingelot.\n\n\n\n\nII.\u2014FIRESIDE NURSERY STORIES.\n\n\nThe efforts of modern romance are so greatly superior to the best\nfictions of a former age, that old wives' tales are not so readily\ntolerated as they were in times past. We question whether any one in\nthese days, save a very grave antiquary, could read two chapters of the\nMorte Arthure without a yawn. Let us, then, turn to that simpler class\nof narratives which bears the same relation to novels that rural ballads\ndo to the poem; and ascertain whether the wild interest which, in the\nprimitive tales erewhile taught by nurse, first awakened our\nimagination, can be so reflected as to render their resuscitation\nagreeable. We rely a good deal for the success of the experiment on the\npower of association; for though these inventions may, in their\ncharacter, be suited to the dawn of intellect, they not infrequently\nbear the impress of creative fancy, and their imperceptible influence\nover the mind does not always evaporate at a later age.\n\nFew persons, indeed, there are, even amongst those who affect to be\ninsignificantly touched by the imagination, who can be recalled to the\nstories and carols that charmed them in their childhood wholly without\nemotion. An affectation of indifference in such matters is, of course,\nnot unusual, for most thoughts springing from early associations, and\nthose on which so many minds love to dwell, may not be indiscriminately\ndivulged. It is impossible they should be generally appreciated or\nunderstood. Most of us, however, are liable to be occasionally touched\nby allusions breathing of happy days, bearing our memories downward to\nbehold the shadows of joys that have long passed away like a dream. They\nnow serve only \"to mellow our occasions,\" like that \"old and antique\nsong\" which relieved the passion of the Duke Orsino.\n\n\nTEENY-TINY.\n\n[This simple tale seldom fails to rivet the attention of children,\nespecially if well told. The last two words should be said loudly with a\nstart. It was obtained from oral tradition, and has not, I believe, been\nprinted.]\n\nOnce upon a time there was a teeny-tiny woman lived in a teeny-tiny\nhouse in a teeny-tiny village. Now, one day this teeny-tiny woman put on\nher teeny-tiny bonnet, and went out of her teeny-tiny house to take a\nteeny-tiny walk. And when this teeny-tiny woman had gone a teeny-tiny\nway, she came to a teeny-tiny gate; so the teeny-tiny woman opened the\nteeny-tiny gate, and went into a teeny-tiny churchyard. And when this\nteeny-tiny woman had got into the teeny-tiny churchyard, she saw a\nteeny-tiny bone on a teeny-tiny grave, and the teeny-tiny woman said to\nher teeny-tiny self, \"This teeny-tiny bone will make me some teeny-tiny\nsoup for my teeny-tiny supper.\" So the teeny-tiny woman put the\nteeny-tiny bone into her teeny-tiny pocket, and went home to her\nteeny-tiny house.\n\nNow when the teeny-tiny woman got home to her teeny-tiny house, she was\na teeny-tiny tired; so she went up her teeny-tiny stairs to her\nteeny-tiny bed, and put the teeny-tiny bone into a teeny-tiny cupboard.\nAnd when this teeny-tiny woman had been to sleep a teeny-tiny time, she\nwas awakened by a teeny-tiny voice from the teeny-tiny cupboard, which\nsaid, \"Give me my bone!\" And this teeny-tiny woman was a teeny-tiny\nfrightened, so she hid her teeny-tiny head under the teeny-tiny clothes,\nand went to sleep again. And when she had been to sleep again a\nteeny-tiny time, the teeny-tiny voice again cried out from the\nteeny-tiny cupboard a teeny-tiny louder, \"Give me my bone!\" This made\nthe teeny-tiny woman a teeny-tiny more frightened, so she hid her\nteeny-tiny head a teeny-tiny further under the teeny-tiny clothes. And\nwhen the teeny-tiny woman had been to sleep again a teeny-tiny time,\nthe teeny-tiny voice from the teeny-tiny cupboard said again a\nteeny-tiny louder, \"Give me my bone!\" And this teeny-tiny woman was a\nteeny-tiny bit more frightened, but she put her teeny-tiny head out of\nthe teeny-tiny clothes, and said in her loudest teeny-tiny voice, \"Take\nit!\"\n\n\nTHE STORY OF MR. VINEGAR.\n\n[This story was obtained from oral tradition in the West of England. It\nis undoubtedly a variation of the \"Hans im Gl\u00fcck\" of Grimm, which is\ncurrent in Germany.]\n\nMr. and Mrs. Vinegar lived in a vinegar bottle. Now one day, when Mr.\nVinegar was from home, Mrs. Vinegar, who was a very good housewife, was\nbusily sweeping her house, when an unlucky thump of the broom brought\nthe whole house clitter-clatter, clitter-clatter, about her ears. In a\nparoxysm of grief she rushed forth to meet her husband. On seeing him\nshe exclaimed, \"Oh, Mr. Vinegar, Mr. Vinegar, we are ruined, we are\nruined: I have knocked the house down, and it is all to pieces!\" Mr.\nVinegar then said, \"My dear, let us see what can be done. Here is the\ndoor; I will take it on my back, and we will go forth to seek our\nfortune.\" They walked all that day, and at nightfall entered a thick\nforest. They were both excessively tired, and Mr. Vinegar said, \"My\nlove, I will climb up into a tree, drag up the door, and you shall\nfollow.\" He accordingly did so, and they both stretched their weary\nlimbs on the door, and fell fast asleep. In the middle of the night Mr.\nVinegar was disturbed by the sound of voices beneath, and to his\ninexpressible dismay perceived that a party of thieves were met to\ndivide their booty. \"Here, Jack,\" said one, \"here's five pounds for you;\nhere, Bill, here's ten pounds for you; here, Bob, here's three pounds\nfor you.\" Mr. Vinegar could listen no longer; his terror was so intense\nthat he trembled most violently, and shook down the door on their\nheads. Away scampered the thieves, but Mr. Vinegar dared not quit his\nretreat till broad daylight. He then scrambled out of the tree, and went\nto lift up the door. What did he behold but a number of golden guineas!\n\"Come down, Mrs. Vinegar,\" he cried, \"come down, I say; our fortune's\nmade, our fortune's made! come down, I say.\" Mrs. Vinegar got down as\nfast as she could, and saw the money with equal delight. \"Now, my dear,\"\nsaid she, \"I'll tell you what you shall do. There is a fair at the\nneighbouring town; you shall take these forty guineas and buy a cow. I\ncan make butter and cheese, which you shall sell at market, and we shall\nthen be able to live very comfortably.\" Mr. Vinegar joyfully assents,\ntakes the money, and goes off to the fair. When he arrived, he walked up\nand down, and at length saw a beautiful red cow. It was an excellent\nmilker, and perfect in every respect. Oh! thought Mr. Vinegar, if I had\nbut that cow I should be the happiest man alive; so he offers the forty\nguineas for the cow, and the owner declaring that, as he was a friend,\nhe'd oblige him, the bargain was made. Proud of his purchase, he drove\nthe cow backwards and forwards to show it. By-and-by he saw a man\nplaying the bagpipes, Tweedle dum, tweedle dee; the children followed\nhim about, and he appeared to be pocketing money on all sides. Well,\nthought Mr. Vinegar, if I had but that beautiful instrument I should be\nthe happiest man alive\u2014my fortune would be made. So he went up to the\nman, \"Friend,\" says he, \"what a beautiful instrument that is, and what a\ndeal of money you must make.\" \"Why, yes,\" said the man, \"I make a great\ndeal of money, to be sure, and it is a wonderful instrument.\" \"Oh!\"\ncried Mr. Vinegar, \"how I should like to possess it!\" \"Well,\" said the\nman, \"as you are a friend, I don't much mind parting with it; you shall\nhave it for that red cow.\" \"Done,\" said the delighted Mr. Vinegar; so\nthe beautiful red cow was given for the bagpipes. He walked up and down\nwith his purchase, but in vain he attempted to play a tune, and instead\nof pocketing pence, the boys followed him hooting, laughing, and\npelting. Poor Mr. Vinegar, his fingers grew very cold, and, heartily\nashamed and mortified, he was leaving the town, when he met a man with a\nfine thick pair of gloves. \"Oh, my fingers are so very cold,\" said Mr.\nVinegar to himself; \"if I had but those beautiful gloves I should be the\nhappiest man alive.\" He went up to the man, and said to him, \"Friend,\nyou seem to have a capital pair of gloves there.\" \"Yes, truly,\" cried\nthe man; \"and my hands are as warm as possible this cold November day.\"\n\"Well,\" said Mr. Vinegar, \"I should like to have them.\" \"What will you\ngive?\" said the man; \"as you are a friend, I don't much mind letting you\nhave them for those bagpipes.\" \"Done,\" cried Mr. Vinegar. He put on the\ngloves, and felt perfectly happy as he trudged homewards. At last he\ngrew very tired, when he saw a man coming towards him with a good stout\nstick in his hand. \"Oh,\" said Mr. Vinegar, \"that I had but that stick! I\nshould then be the happiest man alive.\" He accosted the man\u2014\"Friend!\nwhat a rare good stick you have got.\" \"Yes,\" said the man, \"I have used\nit for many a long mile, and a good friend it has been, but if you have\na fancy for it, as you are a friend, I don't mind giving it to you for\nthat pair of gloves.\" Mr. Vinegar's hands were so warm, and his legs so\ntired, that he gladly exchanged. As he drew near to the wood where he\nhad left his wife, he heard a parrot on a tree calling out his\nname\u2014\"Mr. Vinegar, you foolish man, you blockhead, you simpleton; you\nwent to the fair, and laid out all your money in buying a cow; not\ncontent with that, you changed it for bagpipes, on which you could not\nplay, and which were not worth one tenth of the money. You fool,\nyou\u2014you had no sooner got the bagpipes than you changed them for the\ngloves, which were not worth one quarter of the money; and when you had\ngot the gloves, you changed them for a poor miserable stick; and now for\nyour forty guineas, cow, bagpipes, and gloves, you have nothing to show\nbut that poor miserable stick, which you might have cut in any hedge.\"\nOn this the bird laughed immoderately, and Mr. Vinegar, falling into a\nviolent rage, threw the stick at its head. The stick lodged in the tree,\nand he returned to his wife without money, cow, bagpipes, gloves, or\nstick, and she instantly gave him such a sound cudgelling that she\nalmost broke every bone in his skin.\n\n\nTHE STORY OF CHICKEN-LICKEN.\n\n[A shorter and very different version of this is given by Mr. Chambers,\np. 211.]\n\nAs Chicken-licken went one day to the wood, an acorn fell upon her poor\nbald pate, and she thought the sky had fallen. So she said she would go\nand tell the king that the sky had fallen. So chicken-licken turned\nback, and met Hen-len. \"Well, hen-len, where are you going?\" And hen-len\nsaid, \"I'm going to the wood for some meat.\" And chicken-licken said,\n\"Oh! hen-len, don't go, for I was going, and the sky fell upon my poor\nbald pate, and I'm going to tell the king.\" So hen-len turned back with\nchicken-licken, and met Cock-lock. \"Oh! cock-lock, where are you going?\"\nAnd cock-lock said, \"I'm going to the wood for some meat.\" Then hen-len\nsaid, \"Oh! cock-lock, don't go, for I was going, and I met\nchicken-licken, and chicken-licken had been at the wood, and the sky had\nfallen on her poor bald pate, and we are going to tell the king.\"\n\nSo cock-lock turned back, and met Duck-luck. \"Well, duck-luck, where are\nyou going?\" And duck-luck said, \"I'm going to the wood for some meat.\"\nThen cock-lock said, \"Oh! duck-luck, don't go, for I was going, and I\nmet hen-len, and hen-len met chicken-licken, and chicken-licken had been\nat the wood, and the sky had fallen on her poor bald pate, and we are\ngoing to tell the king.\"\n\nSo duck-luck turned back, and met Drake-lake. \"Well, drake-lake, where\nare you going?\" And drake-lake said, \"I'm going to the wood for some\nmeat.\" Then duck-luck said, \"Oh! drake-lake, don't go, for I was going,\nand I met cock-lock, and cock-lock met hen-len, and hen-len met\nchicken-licken, and chicken-licken had been at the wood, and the sky had\nfallen on her poor bald pate, and we are going to tell the king.\"\n\nSo drake-lake turned back, and met Goose-loose. \"Well, goose-loose,\nwhere are you going?\" And goose-loose said, \"I'm going to the wood for\nsome meat.\" Then drake-lake said, \"Oh! goose-loose, don't go, for I was\ngoing, and I met duck-luck, and duck-luck met cock-lock, and cock-lock\nmet hen-len, and hen-len met chicken-licken, and chicken-licken had been\nat the wood, and the sky had fallen on her poor bald pate, and we are\ngoing to tell the king.\"\n\nSo goose-loose turned back, and met Gander-lander. \"Well, gander-lander,\nwhere are you going?\" And gander-lander said, \"I'm going to the wood for\nsome meat.\" Then goose-loose said, \"Oh! gander-lander, don't go, for I\nwas going, and I met drake-lake, and drake-lake met duck-luck, and\nduck-luck met cock-lock, and cock-lock met hen-len, and hen-len met\nchicken-licken, and chicken-licken had been at the wood, and the sky had\nfallen on her poor bald pate, and we are going to tell the king.\"\n\nSo gander-lander turned back, and met Turkey-lurkey. \"Well,\nturkey-lurkey, where are you going?\" And turkey-lurkey said, \"I'm going\nto the wood for some meat.\" Then gander-lander said, \"Oh! turkey-lurkey,\ndon't go, for I was going, and I met goose-loose, and goose-loose met\ndrake-lake, and drake-lake met duck-luck, and duck-luck met cock-lock,\nand cock-lock met hen-len, and hen-len met chicken-licken, and\nchicken-licken had been at the wood, and the sky had fallen on her poor\nbald pate, and we are going to tell the king.\"\n\nSo turkey-lurkey turned back, and walked with gander-lander,\ngoose-loose, drake-lake, duck-luck, cock-lock, hen-len, and\nchicken-licken. And as they were going along, they met Fox-lox. And\nfox-lox said, \"Where are you going, my pretty maids?\" And they said,\n\"Chicken-licken went to the wood, and the sky fell upon her poor bald\npate, and we are going to tell the king.\" And fox-lox said, \"Come along\nwith me, and I will show you the way.\" But fox-lox took them into the\nfox's hole, and he and his young ones soon ate up poor chicken-licken,\nhen-len, cock-lock, duck-luck, drake-lake, goose-loose, gander-lander,\nand turkey-lurkey, and they never saw the king, to tell him that the sky\nhad fallen!\n\n\nTHE MISER AND HIS WIFE.\n\n[\"Let us cast away nothing,\" says Mr. Gifford, \"for we know not what use\nwe may have for it.\" So will every one admit whose reading has been\nsufficiently extensive to enable him to judge of the value of the\nsimplest traditional tales. The present illustrates a passage in Ben\nJonson in a very remarkable manner,\u2014\n\n                \u2014\u2014Say we are robb'd,\n      If any come to borrow a spoon or so;\n      I will not have Good Fortune or God's Blessing\n      Let in, while I am busy.]\n\nOnce upon a time there was an old miser, who lived with his wife near a\ngreat town, and used to put by every bit of money he could lay his hands\non. His wife was a simple woman, and they lived together without\nquarrelling, but she was obliged to put up with very hard fare. Now,\nsometimes, when there was a sixpence she thought might be spared for a\ncomfortable dinner or supper, she used to ask the miser for it, but he\nwould say, \"No, wife, it must be put by for Good Fortune.\" It was the\nsame with every penny he could get hold of, and notwithstanding all she\ncould say, almost every coin that came into the house was put by \"for\nGood Fortune.\"\n\nThe miser said this so often, that some of his neighbours heard him, and\none of them thought of a trick by which he might get the money. So the\nfirst day that the old chuff was away from home, he dressed himself like\na wayfaring man, and knocked at the door. \"Who are you?\" said the wife.\nHe answered, \"I am Good Fortune, and I am come for the money which your\nhusband has laid by for me.\" So this simple woman, not suspecting any\ntrickery, readily gave it to him, and, when her good man came home, told\nhim very pleasantly that Good Fortune had called for the money which had\nbeen kept so long for him.\n\n\nTHE THREE QUESTIONS.\n\nThere lived formerly in the county of Cumberland a nobleman who had\nthree sons, two of whom were comely and clever youths, but the other a\nnatural fool, named Jack, who was generally dressed in a party-coloured\ncoat, and a steeple-crowned hat with a tassel, as became his condition.\nNow the King of the East Angles had a beautiful daughter, who was\ndistinguished by her great ingenuity and wit, and he issued a decree\nthat whoever should answer three questions put to him by the princess\nshould have her in marriage, and be heir to the crown at his decease.\nShortly after this decree was published, news of it reached the ears of\nthe nobleman's sons, and the two clever ones determined to have a trial,\nbut they were sadly at a loss to prevent their idiot brother from going\nwith them. They could not, by any means, get rid of him, and were\ncompelled at length to let Jack accompany them. They had not gone far,\nbefore Jack shrieked with laughter, saying, \"I've found an egg.\" \"Put it\nin your pocket,\" said the brothers. A little while afterwards, he burst\nout into another fit of laughter on finding a crooked hazel stick, which\nhe also put in his pocket: and a third time, he again laughed\nextravagantly because he found a nut. That also was put with his other\ntreasures.\n\nWhen they arrived at the palace, they were immediately admitted on\nmentioning the nature of their business, and were ushered into a room\nwhere the princess and her suite were sitting. Jack, who never stood on\nceremony, bawled out, \"What a troop of fair ladies we've got here!\"\n\"Yes,\" said the princess, \"we are fair ladies, for we carry fire in our\nbosoms.\" \"Do you,\" said Jack, \"then roast me an egg,\" pulling out the\negg from his pocket. \"How will you get it out again?\" said the princess.\n\"With a crooked stick,\" replied Jack, producing the hazel. \"Where did\nthat come from?\" said the princess. \"From a nut,\" answered Jack, pulling\nout the nut from his pocket. And thus the \"fool of the family,\" having\nbeen the first to answer the questions of the princess, was married to\nher the next day, and ultimately succeeded to the throne.\n\n\nTHE CAT AND THE MOUSE.\n\n[This tale has been traced back fifty years, but it is probably\nconsiderably older.]\n\n      The cat and the mouse\n      Play'd in the malt-house:\n\nThe cat bit the mouse's tail off. Pray, puss, give me my tail. No, says\nthe cat, I'll not give you your tail, till you go to the cow, and fetch\nme some milk:\n\n      First she leapt, and then she ran,\n      Till she came to the cow, and thus began,\u2014\n\nPray, Cow, give me milk, that I may give cat milk, that cat may give me\nmy own tail again. No, said the cow, I will give you no milk, till you\ngo to the farmer and get me some hay.\n\n      First she leapt, and then she ran,\n      Till she came to the farmer, and thus began,\u2014\n\nPray, Farmer, give me hay, that I may give cow hay, that cow may give me\nmilk, that I may give cat milk, that cat may give me my own tail again.\nNo, says the farmer, I'll give you no hay, till you go to the butcher\nand fetch me some meat.\n\n      First she leapt, and then she ran,\n      Till she came to the butcher, and thus began,\u2014\n\nPray, Butcher, give me meat, that I may give farmer meat, that farmer\nmay give me hay, that I may give cow hay, that cow may give me milk,\nthat I may give cat milk, that cat may give me my own tail again. No,\nsays the butcher, I'll give you no meat, till you go to the baker and\nfetch me some bread.\n\n      First she leapt, and then she ran,\n      Till she came to the baker, and thus began,\u2014\n\nPray, Baker, give me bread, that I may give butcher bread, that butcher\nmay give me meat, that I may give farmer meat, that farmer may give me\nhay, that I may give cow hay, that cow may give me milk, that I may give\ncat milk, that cat may give me my own tail again.\n\n      Yes, says the baker, I'll give you some bread,\n      But if you eat my meal, I'll cut off your head.\n\nThen the baker gave mouse bread, and mouse gave butcher bread, and\nbutcher gave mouse meat, and mouse gave farmer meat, and farmer gave\nmouse hay, and mouse gave cow hay, and cow gave mouse milk, and mouse\ngave cat milk, and cat gave mouse her own tail again!\n\n\nTHE PRINCESS OF CANTERBURY.\n\nIn days of yore, when this country was governed by several sovereigns,\namongst them was the King of Canterbury, who had an only daughter, wise,\nfair, and beautiful. She was unmarried, and according to a custom not\nunusual in those days, of assigning an arbitrary action for the present\nof a lady's hand, the king issued a proclamation that whoever would\nwatch one night with his daughter, and neither sleep nor doze, should\nhave her the next day in marriage; but if he did either, he should lose\nhis head. Many knights attempted to fulfil the condition, and, having\nfailed in the attempt, forfeited their lives.\n\nNow it happened that a young shepherd, grazing his flock near the road,\nsaid to his master, \"Zur,[17] I zee many gentlemen ride to the court at\nCanterbury, but I ne'er zee 'em return again.\" \"O, shepherd,\" said his\nmaster, \"I know not how you should, for they attempt to watch with the\nking's daughter, according to the decree, and not performing it, they\nare all beheaded.\" \"Well,\" said the shepherd, \"I'll try my vorton; zo\nnow vor a king's daughter, or a headless shepherd!\" And taking his\nbottle and bag, he trudged to the court. In his way thither, he was\nobliged to cross a river, and pulling off his shoes and stockings, while\nhe was passing over he observed several pretty fish bobbing against his\nfeet; so he caught some, and put them into his pocket. When he reached\nthe palace, he knocked at the gate loudly with his crook, and having\nmentioned the object of his visit, he was immediately conducted to a\nhall, where the king's daughter sat ready prepared to receive her\nlovers. He was placed in a luxurious chair, and rich wines and spices\nwere set before him, and all sorts of delicate meats. The shepherd,\nunused to such fare, eat and drank plentifully, so that he was nearly\ndozing before midnight. \"O shepherd,\" said the lady, \"I have caught you\nnapping!\" \"Noa, sweet ally, I was busy a-feeshing.\" \"A-fishing!\" said\nthe princess in the utmost astonishment: \"Nay, shepherd, there is no\nfish-pond in the hall.\" \"No matter vor that, I have been feeshing in my\npocket, and have just caught one.\" \"Oh me!\" said she, \"let me see it.\"\nThe shepherd slily drew the fish out of his pocket, and pretending to\nhave caught it, showed it her, and she declared it was the finest she\never saw. About half an hour afterwards, she said, \"Shepherd, do you\nthink you could get me one more?\" He replied, \"Mayhap I may, when I have\nbaited my hook;\" and after a little while he brought out another, which\nwas finer than the first, and the princess was so delighted that she\ngave him leave to go to sleep, and promised to excuse him to her father.\n\n      [Footnote 17: The present Kentish dialect does\n      not adopt this form, but anciently some of the\n      peculiarities of what is now the western dialect\n      of England extended all over the southern\n      counties.]\n\nIn the morning the princess told the king, to his great astonishment,\nthat the shepherd must not be beheaded, for he had been fishing in the\nhall all night; but when he heard how the shepherd had caught such\nbeautiful fish out of his pocket, he asked him to catch one in his own.\nThe shepherd readily undertook the task, and bidding the king lie down,\nhe pretended to fish in his pocket, having another fish concealed ready\nin his hand, and giving him a sly prick with a needle, he held up the\nfish, and showed it to the king. His majesty did not much relish the\noperation, but he assented to the marvel of it, and the princess and\nshepherd were united the same day, and lived for many years in happiness\nand prosperity.\n\n\nLAZY JACK.\n\n[From oral tradition in Yorkshire.]\n\nOnce upon a time there was a boy whose name was Jack, and he lived with\nhis mother on a dreary common. They were very poor, and the old woman\ngot her living by spinning, but Jack was so lazy that he would do\nnothing but bask in the sun in the hot weather, and sit by the corner of\nthe hearth in the winter time. His mother could not persuade him to do\nanything for her, and was obliged at last to tell him that if he did not\nbegin to work for his porridge, she would turn him out to get his living\nas he could.\n\nThis threat at length roused Jack, and he went out and hired himself for\nthe day to a neighbouring farmer for a penny; but as he was coming home,\nnever having had any money in his possession before, he lost it in\npassing over a brook. \"You stupid boy,\" said his mother, \"you should\nhave put it in your pocket.\" \"I'll do so another time,\" replied Jack.\n\nThe next day Jack went out again, and hired himself to a cowkeeper, who\ngave him a jar of milk for his day's work. Jack took the jar and put it\ninto the large pocket of his jacket, spilling it all, long before he got\nhome. \"Dear me!\" said the old woman; \"you should have carried it on your\nhead.\" \"I'll do so another time,\" replied Jack.\n\nThe following day Jack hired himself again to a farmer, who agreed to\ngive him a cream cheese for his services. In the evening, Jack took the\ncheese, and went home with it on his head. By the time he got home the\ncheese was completely spoilt, part of it being lost, and part matted\nwith his hair. \"You stupid lout,\" said his mother, \"you should have\ncarried it very carefully in your hands.\" \"I'll do so another time,\"\nreplied Jack.\n\nThe day after this Jack again went out, and hired himself to a baker,\nwho would give him nothing for his work but a large tom-cat. Jack took\nthe cat, and began carrying it very carefully in his hands, but in a\nshort time Pussy scratched him so much that he was compelled to let it\ngo. When he got home, his mother said to him, \"You silly fellow, you\nshould have tied it with a string, and dragged it along after you.\"\n\"I'll do so another time,\" said Jack.\n\nThe next day Jack hired himself to a butcher, who rewarded his labours\nby the handsome present of a shoulder of mutton. Jack took the mutton,\ntied it to a string, and trailed it along after him in the dirt, so that\nby the time he had got home the meat was completely spoilt. His mother\nwas this time quite out of patience with him, for the next day was\nSunday, and she was obliged to content herself with cabbage for her\ndinner. \"You ninnyhammer,\" said she to her son, \"you should have carried\nit on your shoulder.\" \"I'll do so another time,\" replied Jack.\n\nOn the Monday Jack went once more, and hired himself to a cattle-keeper,\nwho gave him a donkey for his trouble. Although Jack was very strong, he\nfound some difficulty in hoisting the donkey on his shoulders, but at\nlast he accomplished it, and began walking slowly home with his prize.\nNow it happened that in the course of his journey there lived a rich man\nwith his only daughter, a beautiful girl, but unfortunately deaf and\ndumb; she had never laughed in her life, and the doctors said she would\nnever recover till somebody made her laugh.[18] Many tried without\nsuccess, and at last the father, in despair, offered her in marriage to\nthe first man who could make her laugh. This young lady happened to be\nlooking out of the window when Jack was passing with the donkey on his\nshoulders, the legs sticking up in the air, and the sight was so comical\nand strange, that she burst out into a great fit of laughter, and\nimmediately recovered her speech and hearing. Her father was overjoyed,\nand fulfilled his promise by marrying her to Jack, who was thus made a\nrich gentleman. They lived in a large house, and Jack's mother lived\nwith them in great happiness until she died.\n\n      [Footnote 18: An incident analogous to this\n      occurs in Grimm, Die Goldene Gans. See Edgar\n      Taylor's Gammer Grethel, 1839, p. 5.]\n\n\nTHE THREE HEADS OF THE WELL.\n\n[This story is abridged from the old chap-book of the Three Kings of\nColchester. The incident of the heads rising out of the well is very\nsimilar to one introduced in Peele's Old Wives Tale, 1595, and the verse\nis also of a similar character.]\n\nLong before Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table, there reigned in\nthe eastern part of England a king who kept his court at Colchester. He\nwas witty, strong, and valiant, by which means he subdued his enemies\nabroad, and secured peace among his subjects at home. Nevertheless, in\nthe midst of his glory, his queen died, leaving behind her an only\ndaughter, about fifteen years of age. This lady, from her courtly\ncarriage, beauty, and affability, was the wonder of all that knew her;\nbut, as covetousness is said to be the root of all evil, so it happened\nin this instance. The king hearing of a lady who had likewise an only\ndaughter, for the sake of her riches had a mind to marry; though she was\nold, ugly, hook-nosed, and humpbacked, yet all this could not deter him\nfrom marrying her. Her daughter, also, was a yellow dowdy, full of envy\nand ill-nature; and, in short, was much of the same mould as her mother.\nThis signified nothing, for in a few weeks the king, attended by the\nnobility and gentry, brought his intended bride to his palace, where the\nmarriage rites were performed. They had not been long in the court\nbefore they set the king against his own beautiful daughter, which was\ndone by false reports and accusations. The young princess, having lost\nher father's love, grew weary of the court, and one day meeting with\nher father in the garden, she desired him, with tears in her eyes, to\ngive her a small subsistence, and she would go and seek her fortune; to\nwhich the king consented, and ordered her mother-in-law to make up a\nsmall sum according to her discretion. She went to the queen, who gave\nher a canvass bag of brown bread and hard cheese, with a bottle of beer;\nthough this was but a very pitiful dowry for a king's daughter. She took\nit, returned thanks, and proceeded on her journey, passing through\ngroves, woods, and valleys, till at length she saw an old man sitting on\na stone at the mouth of a cave, who said, \"Good morrow, fair maiden,\nwhither away so fast?\" \"Aged father,\" says she, \"I am going to seek my\nfortune.\" \"What has thou in thy bag and bottle?\" \"In my bag I have got\nbread and cheese, and in my bottle good small beer; will you please to\npartake of either?\" \"Yes,\" said he, \"with all my heart.\" With that the\nlady pulled out her provisions, and bid him eat and welcome. He did so,\nand gave her many thanks, saying thus: \"There is a thick thorny hedge\nbefore you, which will appear impassable, but take this wand in your\nhand, strike three times, and say, 'Pray, hedge, let me come through,'\nand it will open immediately; then, a little further, you will find a\nwell; sit down on the brink of it, and there will come up three golden\nheads, which will speak: pray do whatever they require.\" Promising she\nwould follow his directions, she took her leave of him. Arriving at the\nhedge, and pursuing the old man's directions, it divided, and gave her a\npassage; then, going to the well, she had no sooner sat down than a\ngolden head came up singing\u2014\n\n      Wash me, and comb me,\n      And lay me down softly,\n      And lay me on a bank to dry,\n      That I may look pretty,\n      When somebody comes by.\n\n\"Yes,\" said she, and putting forth her hand, with a silver comb\nperformed the office, placing it upon a primrose bank. Then came up a\nsecond and a third head, making the same request, which she complied\nwith. She then pulled out her provisions and ate her dinner. Then said\nthe heads one to another, \"What shall we do for this lady who hath used\nus so kindly?\" The first said, \"I will cause such addition to her beauty\nas shall charm the most powerful prince in the world.\" The second said,\n\"I will endow her with such perfume, both in body and breath, as shall\nfar exceed the sweetest flowers.\" The third said, \"My gift shall be none\nof the least, for, as she is a king's daughter, I'll make her so\nfortunate that she shall become queen to the greatest prince that\nreigns.\" This done, at their request she let them down into the well\nagain, and so proceeded on her journey. She had not travelled long\nbefore she saw a king hunting in the park with his nobles; she would\nhave avoided him, but the king having caught a sight of her, approached,\nand what with her beauty and perfumed breath, was so powerfully smitten,\nthat he was not able to subdue his passion, but commenced his courtship\nimmediately, and was so successful that he gained her love, and,\nconducting her to his palace, he caused her to be clothed in the most\nmagnificent manner.\n\nThis being ended, and the king finding that she was the king of\nColchester's daughter, ordered some chariots to be got ready, that he\nmight pay the king a visit. The chariot in which the king and queen rode\nwas adorned with rich ornamental gems of gold. The king, her father, was\nat first astonished that his daughter had been so fortunate as she was,\ntill the young king made him sensible of all that happened. Great was\nthe joy at court amongst all, with the exception of the queen and her\nclub-footed daughter, who were ready to burst with malice, and envied\nher happiness; and the greater was their madness because she was now\nabove them all. Great rejoicings, with feasting and dancing, continued\nmany days. Then at length, with the dowry her father gave her they\nreturned home.\n\nThe deformed daughter perceiving that her sister had been so happy in\nseeking her fortune, would needs do the same; so disclosing her mind to\nher mother, all preparations were made, and she was furnished not only\nwith rich apparel, but sweetmeats, sugar, almonds, &c., in great\nquantities, and a large bottle of Malaga sack. Thus provided, she went\nthe same road as her sister, and coming near the cave, the old man said,\n\"Young woman, whither so fast?\" \"What is that to you,\" said she. \"Then,\"\nsaid he, \"what have you in your bag and bottle?\" She answered, \"Good\nthings, which you shall not be troubled with.\" \"Won't you give me some?\"\nsaid he. \"No, not a bit, nor a drop, unless it would choke you.\" The old\nman frowned, saying, \"Evil fortune attend thee.\" Going on, she came to\nthe hedge, through which she espied a gap, and thought to pass through\nit, but, going in, the hedge closed, and the thorns run into her flesh,\nso that it was with great difficulty that she got out. Being now in a\npainful condition, she searched for water to wash herself, and, looking\nround, she saw the well; she sat down on the brink of it, and one of the\nheads came up, saying, \"Wash me, comb me, and lay me down softly, &c.\"\nbut she banged it with her bottle, saying, \"Take this for your washing.\"\nSo the second and third heads came up, and met with no better treatment\nthan the first; whereupon the heads consulted among themselves what\nevils to plague her with for such usage. The first said, \"Let her be\nstruck with leprosy in her face.\" The second, \"Let an additional smell\nbe added to her breath.\" The third bestowed on her a husband, though but\na poor country cobler. This done, she goes on till she came to a town,\nand it being market day, the people looked at her, and seeing such an\nevil face fled out of her sight, all but a poor cobler (who not long\nbefore had mended the shoes of an old hermit, who having no money, gave\nhim a box of ointment for the cure of the leprosy, and a bottle of\nspirits for a stinking breath). Now the cobler having a mind to do an\nact of charity, was induced to go up to her and ask her who she was. \"I\nam,\" said she, \"the king of Colchester's daughter-in-law.\" \"Well,\" said\nthe cobler, \"if I restore you to your natural complexion, and make a\nsound cure both in face and breath, will you in reward take me for a\nhusband?\" \"Yes, friend,\" replied she, \"with all my heart.\" With this the\ncobler applied the remedies, and they worked the effect in a few weeks,\nand then they were married, and after a few days they set forward for\nthe court at Colchester. When the queen understood she had married a\npoor cobler, she fell into distraction, and hanged herself for vexation.\nThe death of the queen was not a source of sorrow to the king, who had\nonly married her for her fortune, and bore her no affection; and shortly\nafterwards he gave the cobler a hundred pounds to take the daughter to a\nremote part of the kingdom, where he lived many years mending shoes,\nwhile his wife assisted the housekeeping by spinning, and selling the\nresults of her labours at the country market.\n\n\nTHE MAIDEN AND THE FROG.\n\n[This tale of the frog-lover is known in every part of Germany, and is\nalluded to by several old writers of that country. It is the tale \"Der\nFroschk\u00f6nig, oder der Eiserne Heinrich,\" in Grimm. \"These enchanted\nfrogs,\" says Sir W. Scott, \"have migrated from afar, and we suspect that\nthey were originally crocodiles; we trace them in a tale forming part of\na series of stories entitled the Relations of Ssidi Kur, extant amongst\nthe Calmuck Tartars.\" Mr. Chambers has given a Scotch version of the\ntale, under the title of \"The well o' the warld's end,\" in his Popular\nRhymes, p. 236. The rhymes in the copy given above were obtained from\nthe North of England, without, however, any reference to the story to\nwhich they evidently belong. The application, however, is so obvious to\nany one acquainted with the German and Scotch tale, that the framework I\nhave ventured to give them cannot be considered incongruous; although I\nneed not add how very desirable it would be to procure the traditional\ntale as related by the English peasantry. Perhaps some of our readers\nmay be enabled to supply it.]\n\nMany years ago there lived on the brow of a mountain, in the North of\nEngland, an old woman and her daughter. They were very poor, and\nobliged to work very hard for their living, and the old woman's temper\nwas not very good, so that the maiden, who was very beautiful, led but\nan ill life with her. The girl, indeed, was compelled to do the hardest\nwork, for her mother got their principal means of subsistence by\ntravelling to places in the neighbourhood with small articles for sale,\nand when she came home in the afternoon she was not able to do much more\nwork. Nearly the whole domestic labour of the cottage devolved therefore\non the daughter, the most wearisome part of which consisted in the\nnecessity of fetching all the water they required from a well on the\nother side of the hill, there being no river or spring near their own\ncottage.\n\nIt happened one morning that the daughter had the misfortune, in going\nto the well, to break the only pitcher they possessed, and having no\nother utensil she could use for the purpose, she was obliged to go home\nwithout bringing any water. When her mother returned, she was\nunfortunately troubled with excessive thirst, and the girl, though\ntrembling for the consequences of her misfortune, told her exactly the\ncircumstance that had occurred. The old woman was furiously angry, and\nso far from making any allowances for her daughter, pointed to a sieve\nwhich happened to be on the table, and told her to go at once to the\nwell and bring her some water in that, or never venture to appear again\nin her sight.\n\nThe young maiden, frightened almost out of her wits by her mother's\nfury, speedily took the sieve, and though she considered the task a\nhopeless one to accomplish, almost unconsciously hastened to the well.\nWhen she arrived there, beginning to reflect on the painful situation in\nwhich she was placed, and the utter impossibility of her obtaining a\nliving by herself, she threw herself down on the brink of the well in an\nagony of despair. Whilst she was in this condition, a large frog came up\nto the top of the water, and asked her for what she was crying so\nbitterly. She was somewhat surprised at this, but not being the least\nfrightened, told him the whole story, and that she was crying because\nshe could not carry away water in the sieve. \"Is that all?\" said the\nfrog; \"cheer up, my hinny! for if you will only let me sleep with you\nfor two nights, and then chop off my head, I will tell you how to do\nit.\" The maiden thought the frog could not be in earnest, but she was\ntoo impatient to consider much about it, and at once made the required\npromise. The frog then instructed her in the following words,\u2014\n\n      Stop with fog (_moss_),\n        And daub with clay;\n      And that will carry\n        The water away.\n\nHaving said this, he dived immediately under the water, and the girl,\nhaving followed his advice, got the sieve full of water, and returned\nhome with it, not thinking much of her promise to the frog. By the time\nshe reached home the old woman's wrath was appeased, but as they were\neating their frugal supper very quietly, what should they hear but the\nsplashing and croaking of a frog near the door, and shortly afterwards\nthe daughter recognised the voice of the frog of the well saying,\u2014\n\n      Open the door, my hinny, my heart,\n        Open the door, my own darling;\n      Remember the words you spoke to me,\n        In the meadow by the well-spring.\n\nShe was now dreadfully frightened, and hurriedly explained the matter to\nher mother, who was also so much alarmed at the circumstance, that she\ndared not refuse admittance to the frog, who, when the door was opened,\nleapt into the room, exclaiming:\n\n      Go wi' me to bed, my hinny, my heart,\n        Go wi' me to bed, my own darling;\n      Remember the words you spoke to me,\n        In the meadow by the well-spring.\n\nThis command was also obeyed, although, as may be readily supposed, she\ndid not much relish such a bedfellow. The next day, the frog was very\nquiet, and evidently enjoyed the fare they placed before him,\u2014the\npurest milk and the finest bread they could procure. In fact, neither\nthe old woman nor her daughter spared any pains to render the frog\ncomfortable. That night, immediately supper was finished, the frog again\nexclaimed:\n\n      Go wi' me to bed, my hinny, my heart,\n        Go wi' me to bed, my own darling;\n      Remember the words you spoke to me,\n        In the meadow by the well-spring.\n\nShe again allowed the frog to share her couch, and in the morning, as\nsoon as she was dressed, he jumped towards her, saying:\n\n      Chop off my head, my hinny, my heart,\n        Chop off my head, my own darling;\n      Remember the words you spoke to me,\n        In the meadow by the well-spring.\n\nThe maiden had no sooner accomplished this last request, than in the\nstead of the frog there stood by her side the handsomest prince in the\nworld, who had long been transformed by a magician, and who could never\nhave recovered his natural shape until a beautiful virgin had consented,\nof her own accord, to make him her bedfellow for two nights. The joy of\nall parties was complete; the girl and the prince were shortly\nafterwards married, and lived for many years in the enjoyment of every\nhappiness.\n\n\nTHE STORY OF MR. FOX.\n\n[A simple, but very curious tale, of considerable antiquity. It is\nalluded to by Shakespeare, and was contributed to the variorum edition\nby Blakeway. Part of this story will recall to the reader's memory the\nenchanted chamber of Britomart.]\n\nOnce upon a time there was a young lady called Lady Mary, who had two\nbrothers. One summer they all three went to a country seat of theirs\nwhich they had not before visited. Among the other gentry in the\nneighbourhood who came to see them was a Mr. Fox, a bachelor, with whom\nthey, particularly the young lady, were much pleased. He used often to\ndine with them, and frequently invited Lady Mary to come and see his\nhouse. One day, when her brothers were absent elsewhere, and she had\nnothing better to do, she determined to go thither, and accordingly set\nout unattended. When she arrived at the house and knocked at the door,\nno one answered. At length she opened it and went in, and over the\nportal of the door was written:\n\n      Be bold, be bold, but not too bold.\n\nShe advanced, and found the same inscription over the staircase; again\nat the entrance of a gallery; and lastly, at the door of a chamber, with\nthe addition of a line:\n\n      Be bold, be bold, but not too bold,\n      Lest that your heart's blood should run cold!\n\nShe opened it, and what was her terror and astonishment to find the\nfloor covered with bones and blood. She retreated in haste, and coming\ndown stairs, she saw from a window Mr. Fox advancing towards the house\nwith a drawn sword in one hand, while with the other he dragged along a\nyoung lady by the hair of her head. Lady Mary had just time to slip\ndown, and hide herself under the stairs, before Mr. Fox and his victim\narrived at the foot of them. As he pulled the young lady upstairs, she\ncaught hold of one of the bannisters with her hand, on which was a rich\nbracelet. Mr. Fox cut it off with his sword: the hand and bracelet fell\ninto Lady Mary's lap, who then contrived to escape unobserved, and got\nsafe home to her brothers' house.\n\nA few days afterwards, Mr. Fox came to dine with them as usual. After\ndinner, the guests began to amuse each other with extraordinary\nanecdotes, and Lady Mary said she would relate to them a remarkable\ndream she had lately had. I dreamt, said she, that as you, Mr. Fox, had\noften invited me to your house, I would go there one morning. When I\ncame to the house, I knocked at the door, but no one answered. When I\nopened the door, over the hall I saw written, \"Be bold, be bold, but not\ntoo bold.\" But, said she, turning to Mr. Fox, and smiling, \"It is not\nso, nor it was not so.\" Then she pursued the rest of the story,\nconcluding at every turn with, \"It is not so, nor it was not so,\" till\nshe came to the discovery of the room full of bones, when Mr. Fox took\nup the burden of the tale, and said:\n\n      It is not so, nor it was not so,\n      And God forbid it should be so!\n\nwhich he continued to repeat at every subsequent turn of the dreadful\nstory, till she came to the circumstance of his cutting off the young\nlady's hand, when, upon his saying, as usual,\n\n      It is not so, nor it was not so,\n      And God forbid it should be so!\n\nLady Mary retorts by saying,\n\n      But it is so, and it was so,\n      And here the hand I have to show!\n\nat the same moment producing the hand and bracelet from her lap.\nWhereupon the guests drew their swords, and instantly cut Mr. Fox into a\nthousand pieces.\n\n\nTHE OXFORD STUDENT.\n\n[Obtained in Oxfordshire from tradition.]\n\nMany years ago there lived at the University of Oxford a young student,\nwho, having seduced the daughter of a tradesman, sought to conceal his\ncrime by committing the more heinous one of murder. With this view, he\nmade an appointment to meet her one evening in a secluded field. She was\nat the rendezvous considerably before the time agreed upon for their\nmeeting, and hid herself in a tree. The student arrived on the spot\nshortly afterwards, but what was the astonishment of the girl to observe\nthat he commenced digging a grave. Her fears and suspicions were\naroused, and she did not leave her place of concealment till the\nstudent, despairing of her arrival, returned to his college. The next\nday, when she was at the door of her father's house, he passed and\nsaluted her as usual. She returned his greeting by repeating the\nfollowing lines:\n\n      One moonshiny night, as I sat high,\n      Waiting for one to come by,\n      The boughs did bend; my heart did ache\n      To see what hole the fox did make.\n\nAstounded by her unexpected knowledge of his base design, in a moment of\nfury he stabbed her to the heart. This murder occasioned a violent\nconflict between the tradespeople and the students, the latter taking\npart with the murderer, and so fierce was the skirmish, that Brewer's\nLane, it is said, ran down with blood. The place of appointment was\nadjoining the Divinity Walk, which was in time past far more secluded\nthan at the present day, and she is said to have been buried in the\ngrave made for her by her paramour.\n\nAccording to another version of the tale, the name of the student was\nFox, and a fellow-student went with him to assist in digging the grave.\nThe verses in this account differ somewhat from the above.\n\n      As I went out in a moonlight night,\n      I set my back against the moon,\n      I looked for one, and saw two come:\n      The boughs did bend, the leaves did shake,\n      I saw the hole the Fox did make.\n\n\nJACK HORNBY.\n\n[This little tale was most likely copied from the commencement of the\noriginal edition of Jack the Giant-killer, where similar incidents are\nrelated of that renowned hero.]\n\nIn the reign of King Arthur there lived near the Land's End, in\nCornwall, a wealthy farmer, who had an only son, commonly called Jack\nHornby. He was of a brisk and ready wit, and he was never known to be\noutwitted in any transaction.\n\nOne day, when he was no more than seven years of age, his father sent\nhim into the field to look after his oxen. While he was attending to\nthem, the lord of the manor came across the field, and as Jack was known\nto be a clever boy, he began asking him questions. His first was, \"How\nmany commandments are there?\" Jack told him there were nine. The lord\ncorrected him, saying there were ten. \"Nay,\" quoth Jack, \"you are wrong\nthere: it is true there were ten, but you broke one of them when you\nstole my father's cow for your rent.\" The lord of the manor was so\nstruck by this answer, that he promised to return the poor man's cow.\n\n\"Now,\" quoth Jack, \"it is my turn to ask a question. Can you tell me how\nmany sticks go to build a crow's nest?\" \"Yes,\" said he, \"there are as\nmany go as are sufficient for the size of the nest.\" \"Oh!\" quoth Jack,\n\"you are out again; there are none go, for they are all carried!\"\n\nJack Hornby was never more troubled with questions by the lord of the\nmanor.\n\n\nMALLY DIXON AND KNURRE-MURRE.\n\nStories of fairies appearing in the shape of cats are common in the\nNorth of England. Mr. Longstaffe relates that a farmer of Staindrop, in\nDurham, was one night crossing a bridge, when a cat jumped out, stood\nbefore him, and looking him full in the face, said:\n\n      Johnny Reed! Johnny Reed!\n      Tell Madam Momfort\n      That Mally Dixon's dead.\n\nThe farmer returned home, and in mickle wonder recited this awfu' stanza\nto his wife, when up started their black cat, saying, \"Is she?\" and\ndisappeared for ever. It was supposed she was a fairy in disguise, who\nthus went to attend a sister's funeral, for in the North fairies do die,\nand green shady spots are pointed out by the country folks as the\ncemeteries of the tiny people. An analogous story is found in the\npeople-literature of Denmark. Near a town called Lyng is the hill of\nBrondho\u00eb, inhabited by the trold-folk, or imps. Amongst these trolds was\nan old sickly devil, peevish and ill-tempered, because he was married to\na young wife. This unhappy trold often set the rest by the ears, so they\nnicknamed him Knurre-Murre, or Rumble-Grumble. Now it came to pass, that\nKnurre-Murre discovered that his young wife was inclined to honour him\nwith a supplemental pair of horns; and the object of his jealousy, to\navoid his vengeance, was compelled to fly for his life from the cavern,\nand take refuge, in the shape of a tortoise-shell cat, in the house of\nGoodman Platt, who harboured him with much hospitality, let him lie on\nthe great wicker chair, and fed him twice a day with bread and milk out\nof a red earthenware pipkin. One evening the goodman came home, at a\nlate hour, full of wonderment. \"Goody,\" exclaimed he to his wife, \"as I\nwas passing by Brondho\u00eb, there came out a trold, who spake to me,\nsaying,\n\n      H\u00f6r du Plat,\n      S\u00fcg til din cat\n      At Knurre-Murre er d\u00f6d.\n\n      Hear thou, Platt,\n      Say to thy cat\n      That Knurre-Murre is dead.\"\n\nThe tortoise-shell cat was lying on the great wicker chair, and eating\nhis supper of bread and milk out of the red earthenware pipkin, when the\ngoodman came in; but as soon as the message was delivered, he jumped\nbolt upright upon his two hind legs, for all the world like a Christian,\nand kicking the red earthenware pipkin and the rest of the bread and\nmilk before him, he whisked through the cottage door, mewing, \"What! is\nKnurre-Murre dead? then I may go home again!\"[19]\n\n      [Footnote 19: This analysis of the Danish tale is\n      taken from an article in the Quarterly Review,\n      xxi. 98.]\n\n\nTHE BULL OF NORROWAY\n\n[This is a modern version, taken down from recitation, of the very old\ntale of the _Black Bull of Norroway_, mentioned in the Complaynt of\nScotland, 1548. It is here taken, by the author's kind permission, from\nthe Popular Rhymes of Scotland, by Mr. Robert Chambers, the most\ndelightful book of the kind ever published.]\n\n      To wilder measures next they turn:\n        The black black bull of Norroway!\n      Sudden the tapers cease to burn,\n        The minstrels cease to play!\n\nOnce upon a time there lived a king who had three daughters; the two\neldest were proud and ugly, but the youngest was the gentlest and most\nbeautiful creature ever seen, and the pride not only of her father and\nmother, but of all in the land. As it fell out, the three princesses\nwere talking one night of whom they would marry. \"I will have no one\nlower than a king,\" said the eldest princess; the second would take a\nprince, or a great duke even. \"Pho, pho,\" said the youngest, laughing,\n\"you are both so proud; now, I would be content with the Red Bull o'\nNorroway.\" Well, they thought no more of the matter till the next\nmorning, when, as they sat at breakfast, they heard the most dreadful\nbellowing at the door, and what should it be but the Red Bull come for\nhis bride. You may be sure they were all terribly frightened at this,\nfor the Red Bull was one of the most horrible creatures ever seen in the\nworld. And the king and queen did not know how to save their daughter.\nAt last they determined to send him off with the old henwife. So they\nput her on his back, and away he went with her till he came to a great\nblack forest, when, throwing her down, he returned, roaring louder and\nmore frightfully than ever. They then sent, one by one, all the\nservants, then the two eldest princesses; but not one of them met with\nany better treatment than the old henwife, and at last they were forced\nto send their youngest and favorite child.\n\nOn travelled the lady and the bull through many dreadful forests and\nlonely wastes, till they came at last to a noble castle, where a large\ncompany was assembled. The lord of the castle pressed them to stay,\nthough much he wondered at the lovely princess and her strange\ncompanion. When they went in among the company, the princess espied a\npin sticking in the bull's hide, which she pulled out, and, to the\nsurprise of all, there appeared not a frightful wild beast, but one of\nthe most beautiful princes ever beheld. You may believe how delighted\nthe princess was to see him fall at her feet, and thank her for breaking\nhis cruel enchantment. There were great rejoicings in the castle at\nthis; but, alas! at that moment he suddenly disappeared, and though\nevery place was sought, he was nowhere to be found. The princess,\nhowever, determined to seek through all the world for him, and many\nweary ways she went, but nothing could she hear of her lover. Travelling\nonce through a dark wood, she lost her way, and as night was coming on,\nshe thought she must now certainly die of cold and hunger; but seeing a\nlight through the trees, she went on till she came to a little hut,\nwhere an old woman lived, who took her in, and gave her both food and\nshelter. In the morning, the old wifie gave her three nuts, that she was\nnot to break till her heart was \"like to break, and owre again like to\nbreak;\" so, showing her the way, she bade God speed her, and the\nprincess once more set out on her wearisome journey.\n\nShe had not gone far till a company of lords and ladies rode past her,\nall talking merrily of the fine doings they expected at the Duke o'\nNorroway's wedding. Then she came up to a number of people carrying all\nsorts of fine things, and they, too, were going to the duke's wedding.\nAt last she came to a castle, where nothing was to be seen but cooks and\nbakers, some running one way, and some another, and all so busy that\nthey did not know what to do first. Whilst she was looking at all this,\nshe heard a noise of hunters behind her, and some one cried out, \"Make\nway for the Duke o' Norroway!\" and who should ride past but the prince\nand a beautiful lady! You may be sure her heart was now \"like to break,\nand owre again like to break,\" at this sad sight; so she broke one of\nthe nuts, and out came a wee wifie carding. The princess then went into\nthe castle, and asked to see the lady, who no sooner saw the wee wifie\nso hard at work, than she offered the princess anything in her castle\nfor it. \"I will give it to you,\" said she, \"only on condition that you\nput off for one day your marriage with the Duke o' Norroway, and that I\nmay go into his room alone to-night.\" So anxious was the lady for the\nnut, that she consented. And when dark night was come, and the duke fast\nasleep, the princess was put alone into his chamber. Sitting down by\nhis bedside, she began singing:\n\n      Far hae I sought ye, near am I brought to ye;\n      Dear Duke of Norroway, will ye no turn and speak to me?\n\nThough she sang this over and over again, the duke never wakened, and in\nthe morning the princess had to leave him, without his knowing she had\never been there. She then broke the second nut, and out came a wee wifie\nspinning, which so delighted the lady, that she readily agreed to put\noff her marriage another day for it; but the princess came no better\nspeed the second night than the first, and, almost in despair, she broke\nthe last nut, which contained a wee wifie reeling; and on the same\ncondition as before, the lady got possession of it. When the duke was\ndressing in the morning, his man asked him what the strange singing and\nmoaning that had been heard in his room for two nights meant. \"I heard\nnothing,\" said the duke; \"it could only have been your fancy.\" \"Take no\nsleeping-draught to night, and be sure to lay aside your pillow of\nheaviness,\" said the man, \"and you also will hear what for two nights\nhas kept me awake.\" The duke did so, and the princess coming in, sat\ndown sighing at his bedside, thinking this the last time she might ever\nsee him. The duke started up when he heard the voice of his dearly-loved\nprincess; and with many endearing expressions of surprise and joy,\nexplained to her that he had long been in the power of an enchantress,\nwhose spells over him were now happily ended by their once again\nmeeting. The princess, happy to be the instrument of his second\ndeliverance, consented to marry him, and the enchantress, who fled that\ncountry, afraid of the duke's anger, has never since been heard of. All\nwas hurry and preparation in the castle, and the marriage which now took\nplace at once ended the adventures of the Red Bull o' Norroway and the\nwanderings of the king's daughter.\n\n\nPUSS IN BOOTS.\n\n[One of the tales of Perrault, 1697. The plot was taken from the first\nnovel of the eleventh night of Straparola. Its moral is that talents are\nequivalent to fortune. We have inserted this in our collection, although\ngenerally remembered, as a specimen of the simple tales founded by\nPerrault on older stories, and which soon became popular in this\ncountry. The others, as Blue Beard, and Little Riding Hood, are\nvanishing from the nursery, but are so universally known that reprints\nof them would be superfluous.]\n\nThere was a miller, who left no more estate to his three sons than his\nmill, his ass, and his cat. The partition was soon made, neither\nscrivener nor attorney being sent for. They would soon have eaten up all\nthe patrimony. The eldest had the mill, the second the ass, and the\nyoungest nothing but the cat.\n\nThe poor young fellow was quite downcast at so poor a lot. \"My\nbrothers,\" said he, \"may get their living handsomely enough by joining\ntheir stocks together, but for my part, when I have eaten up my cat, and\nmade me a muff of his skin, I must die with hunger.\" The cat, who heard\nall this, yet made as if he did not, said to him, with a grave and\nserious air, \"Do not thus afflict yourself, my good master; you have\nnothing else to do but give me a bag, and get a pair of boots made for\nme, that I may scamper through the dirt and the brambles, and you shall\nsee that you have not so bad a portion as you imagine.\" Though he did\nnot build very much upon what the cat said, he had however often seen\nhim play a great many cunning tricks to catch rats and mice: as when he\nused to hang by the heels, or hide himself in the meal, and make as if\nhe were dead; so that he did not altogether despair of his affording him\nsome help in his miserable condition. When the cat had what he asked\nfor, he booted himself very gallantly; and putting the bag about his\nneck, held the strings of it in his two fore paws, and went into a\nwarren where there was a great abundance of rabbits. He put bran and\nsow-thistles into the bag, and stretching himself out at length, as if\nhe had been dead, he waited for some young rabbits not yet acquainted\nwith the deceits of the world, to come and rummage his bag for what he\nhad put into it.\n\nScarce was he laid down, but he had what he wanted; a rash and foolish\nyoung rabbit jumped into his bag, and Monsieur Puss immediately drawing\nthe strings close, took and killed him without pity. Proud of his prey,\nhe went with it into the palace, and asked to speak with his majesty. He\nwas shown upstairs into the king's apartment, and, making a low\nreverence, said to him, \"I have brought you, Sire, a rabbit of the\nwarren, which my noble lord, the Marquis of Carabas (for that was the\ntitle which Puss was pleased to give his master), has commanded me to\npresent to your majesty from him.\" \"Tell thy master,\" said the king,\n\"that I thank him, and he does me a great deal of pleasure.\"\n\nAnother time he went and hid himself amongst some standing corn, holding\nhis bag open; and when a brace of partridges ran into it, he drew the\nstrings, and so caught them both. He went and made a present of these to\nthe king, as he had done before of the rabbit. The king received the\npartridges with great pleasure, and ordered him some money for drink.\n\nThe cat continued, for two or three months, to carry game to his\nmajesty. One day in particular, when he knew that the king was to take\nthe air along the river side, with his daughter, the most beautiful\nprincess in the world, he said to his master, \"If you will follow my\nadvice, your fortune is made; you have nothing else to do, but go and\nwash yourself in the river, in that part I shall show you, and leave the\nrest to me.\" The Marquis of Carabas did what the cat advised, without\nknowing why or wherefore.\n\nWhile he was washing, the king passed by, and the cat began to cry out,\nas loud as he could, \"Help, help! my Lord Marquis of Carabas is going to\nbe drowned!\" At this noise the king put his head out of the\ncoach-window, and finding it was the cat who had so often brought him\nsuch good game, he commanded the guards to run immediately to the\nassistance of his lordship, the Marquis of Carabas.\n\nWhile they were drawing the poor marquis out of the river, the cat came\nup to the coach and told the king, that, while his master was washing,\nthere came by some rogues who went off with his clothes, though he had\ncried out, \"Thieves! thieves!\" several times, as loud as he could. This\ncunning cat had hidden them under a great stone. The king immediately\ncommanded the officers of his wardrobe to run and fetch one of his best\nsuits for the Lord Marquis of Carabas.\n\nThe king caressed him after a very extraordinary manner, and as the fine\nclothes he had given him extremely set off his good mien (for he was\nwell-made and very handsome in his person), the king's daughter took a\nsecret inclination to him, and the Marquis of Carabas had no sooner cast\ntwo or three respectful and tender glances, but she fell in love with\nhim to distraction; and the king would have him come into his coach. The\ncat, overjoyed to see his project begin to succeed, marched on before,\nand meeting with some countrymen who were mowing a meadow, he said to\nthem, \"Good people, if you do not tell the king that the meadow you mow\nbelongs to the Marquis of Carabas, you shall be chopped as small as\nherbs for the pot.\"\n\nThe king did not fail to ask the mowers to whom the meadow they were\nmowing belonged. \"To my Lord Marquis of Carabas,\" answered they all\ntogether; for the cat's threats had made them terribly afraid. \"You see,\nsir,\" said the marquis, \"this is a meadow that never fails to yield a\nplentiful harvest every year.\" The cat, who still went on before, met\nwith some reapers, and said to them, \"Good people, you who are reaping,\nif you do not tell the king that all this corn belongs to the Marquis\nof Carabas, you shall be chopped as small as herbs for the pot.\" The\nking, who passed by a moment after, would needs know to whom all that\ncorn did belong. \"To my Lord Marquis of Carabas,\" replied the reapers;\nand the king was very well pleased with it, as well as the marquis, whom\nhe congratulated thereupon. The master cat went always before, saying\nthe same words to all he met; and the king was astonished at the vast\nestates of my Lord Marquis of Carabas. Monsieur Puss came at last to a\nstately castle, the master of which was an ogre, the richest that had\never been known; for all the lands the king had then gone over belonged\nto him; the cat, having taken care to inform himself who this ogre was,\nand what he could do, asked to speak to him, saying, \"He could not pass\nso near his castle, without having the honour of paying his respects to\nhim.\"\n\nThe ogre received him as civilly as an ogre could do, and made him sit\ndown. \"I have been assured,\" said the cat, \"that you have the gift of\nbeing able to change yourself into all sorts of creatures you have a\nmind to; you can, for example, transform yourself into a lion or\nelephant, and the like.\" \"This is true,\" answered the ogre, very briskly,\n\"and to convince you, you shall see me now become a lion.\" Puss was so\nsadly terrified at the sight of a lion so near him, that he immediately\ngot into the gutter, not without great trouble and danger, because of\nhis boots, which were of no use at all to him in walking upon the tiles.\nA little while after, when Puss saw that the ogre had resumed his\nnatural form, he came down, and owned that he had been very much\nfrightened.\n\n\"I have been moreover informed,\" said the cat, \"but I know not how to\nbelieve it, that you have also the power to take upon you the smallest\nanimals, for example, to change yourself into a rat or a mouse, but I\nmust own to you, I take this to be impossible.\" \"Impossible!\" cried the\nogre, \"you shall see that presently;\" and at the same time changed\nhimself into a mouse, and began to run about the floor. Puss no sooner\nperceived this, but he fell upon him, and eat him up.\n\nMeanwhile the king, who saw as he passed this fine castle of the ogre's,\nhad a mind to go into it. Puss, who heard the noise of his majesty's\ncoach running over the drawbridge, ran out, and said to the king, \"Your\nmajesty is welcome to this castle of the Lord Marquis of Carabas.\"\n\"What! my lord marquis,\" cried the king, \"and does this castle also\nbelong to you? there can be nothing finer than this court, and all the\nstately buildings which surround it: let us go into it, if you please.\"\n\nThe king went up first, the marquis, handing the princess, following;\nthey passed into a spacious hall, where they found a magnificent\ncollation the ogre had prepared for his friends, who dared not enter,\nknowing the king was there. His majesty was perfectly charmed with the\ngood qualities of the marquis, and his daughter was violently in love\nwith him. The king, after having drank five or six glasses, said to him,\n\"My lord marquis, you will be only to blame, if you are not my\nson-in-law.\" The marquis, making several low bows, accepted the honour\nhis majesty conferred upon him, and forthwith the very same day married\nthe princess.\n\nPuss became a great lord, and never ran after mice any more but only for\nhis diversion.\n\n\nJACK AND THE GIANTS.\n\n[The present copy of this tale is taken, with a few necessary\nalterations, from the original editions, which differ very considerably\nfrom the modern versions; and it is worthy of preservation in its\nantique costume, for the story is undoubtedly of Teutonic origin. \"Jack,\ncommonly called the Giant Killer,\" says Sir W. Scott, \"and Thomas Thumb\nlanded in England from the very same keels and war-ships which conveyed\nHengist and Horsa, and Ebba the Saxon.\" One incident in the romance\nexactly corresponds to a device played by the giant Skrimner, when he\nand Thor travelled to Utgard Castle, related in the Edda of Snorro.\nSkrimner placed an immense rock on the leafy couch where Thor supposed\nhe was sleeping, and when the latter, desiring to rid himself of his\ncompanion, heard the giant snore, he struck the rock with his tremendous\nhammer, thinking it was the monster's head. \"Hath a leaf fallen upon me\nfrom the tree?\" exclaimed the awakened giant. He went to sleep again,\nand snoring louder than ever, Thor gave a blow which he thought must\nhave cracked his skull. \"What is the matter?\" quoth Skrimner, \"hath an\nacorn fallen on my head?\" A third time the snore was heard, and a third\ntime the hammer fell with redoubled force, insomuch that Thor weened the\niron had buried itself in Skrimner's temples. \"Methinks,\" quoth the\ngiant, rubbing his cheek, \"some moss hath fallen on my face!\" Jack's\ninvisible coat, his magic sword, and his shoes of swiftness, are also\nundoubtedly borrowed from Northern romance.[20]\n\n      [Footnote 20: The last is also found in the\n      second relation of Ssidi Kur, a Calmuck romance.]\n\nAn incident very similar to the blows with the rat's tail occurs in the\nstory of the Brave Little Tailor, in Grimm; who outwits a giant in\nseveral ingenious ways, one of which may be described. On one occasion\nthe giant wished to try the strength of the tailor, by challenging him\nto carry a tree. The latter said, \"Very well, you carry the butt-end,\nwhile I will carry all the branches, by far the heaviest part of the\ntree.\" So the giant lifted the tree up on his shoulders, and the tailor\nvery coolly sat on the branches while the giant carried the tree. At\nlength he was so tired with his load, he was obliged to drop it, and the\ntailor, nimbly jumping off, made belief as if he had been carrying the\nbranches all the time, and said: \"A pretty fellow you are, that can't\ncarry a tree!\"\n\nThe edition of Jack the Giant-killer here used was printed at\nNewcastle-on-Tyne in 1711. The earliest in the British Museum is dated\n1809, nor does the Bodleian, I believe, contain a copy of a more ancient\ntype.\n\nJack and the Bean-stalk may be added to the series of English\nnursery-tales derived from the Teutonic. The bean-stalk is a descendant\nof the wonderful ash in the Edda. The distich put into the mouth of the\ngiant,\n\n      Snouk but, snouk ben,\n      I find the smell of earthly men;\n\nis, says Scott, scarcely inferior to the keen-scented anthropophaginian\nin Jack the Giant-killer.]\n\nIn the reign of King Arthur, and in the county of Cornwall, near to the\nLand's End of England, there lived a wealthy farmer, who had an only son\nnamed Jack. He was brisk, and of a lively ready wit, so that whatever he\ncould not perform by force and strength, he accomplished by ingenious\nwit and policy. Never was any person heard of that could worst him, and\nhe very often even baffled the learned by his sharp and ready\ninventions.\n\nIn those days the Mount of Cornwall was kept by a huge and monstrous\ngiant of eighteen feet in height, and about three yards in compass, of a\nfierce and grim countenance, the terror of all the neighbouring towns\nand villages. He inhabited a cave in the middle of the mount, and he was\nsuch a selfish monster that he would not suffer any one to live near\nhim. He fed on other men's cattle, which often became his prey, for\nwhensoever he wanted food, he would wade over to the main land, where he\nwould furnish himself with whatever came in his way. The inhabitants, at\nhis approach, forsook their habitations, while he seized on their\ncattle, making nothing of carrying half-a-dozen oxen on his back at a\ntime; and as for their sheep and hogs, he would tie them round his waist\nlike a bunch of bandoleers.[21] This course he had followed for many\nyears, so that a great part of the county was impoverished by his\ndepredations.\n\n      [Footnote 21: _Bandoleers_ were little wooden\n      cases covered with leather, each of them\n      containing the charge of powder for a musket, and\n      fastened to a broad band of leather, which the\n      person who was to use them put round his neck.]\n\nThis was the state of affairs, when Jack, happening one day to be\npresent at the town-hall when the authorities were consulting about the\ngiant, had the curiosity to ask what reward would be given to the person\nwho destroyed him. The giant's treasure was declared as the recompense,\nand Jack at once undertook the task.\n\nIn order to accomplish his purpose, he furnished himself with a horn,\nshovel, and pickaxe, and went over to the Mount in the beginning of a\ndark winter's evening, when he fell to work, and before morning had dug\na pit twenty-two feet deep, and nearly as broad, covering it over with\nlong sticks and straw. Then strewing a little mould upon it, it appeared\nlike plain ground. This accomplished, Jack placed himself on the side of\nthe pit which was furthest from the giant's lodging, and, just at the\nbreak of day, he put the horn to his mouth, and blew with all his might,\nAlthough Jack was a little fellow, and the powers of his voice are not\ndescribed as being very great, he managed to make noise enough to arouse\nthe giant, and excite his indignation. The monster accordingly rushed\nfrom his cave, exclaiming, \"You incorrigible villain, are you come here\nto disturb my rest? you shall pay dearly for this. Satisfaction I will\nhave, for I will take you whole and broil you for breakfast.\" He had no\nsooner uttered this cruel threat, than tumbling into the pit, he made\nthe very foundations of the Mount ring again. \"Oh, giant,\" said Jack,\n\"where are you now? Oh faith, you are gotten now into Lob's Pound,[22]\nwhere I will surely plague you for your threatening words: what do you\nthink now of broiling me for your breakfast? will no other diet serve\nyou but poor Jack?\" Thus did little Jack tantalize the big giant, as a\ncat does a mouse when she knows it cannot escape, and when he had tired\nof that amusement, he gave him a heavy blow with his pickaxe on the very\ncrown of his head, which \"tumbled him down,\" and killed him on the spot.\nWhen Jack saw he was dead, he filled up the pit with earth, and went to\nsearch the cave, which he found contained much treasure. The\nmagistrates, in the exuberance of their joy, did not add to Jack's gains\nfrom their own, but after the best and cheapest mode of payment, made a\ndeclaration he should henceforth be termed _Jack the Giant-killer_, and\npresented him with a sword and embroidered belt, on the latter of which\nwere inscribed these words in letters of gold:\n\n      Here's the right valiant Cornish man,\n      Who slew the giant Cormelian.\n\n      [Footnote 22: An old jocular term for a prison,\n      or any place of confinement.]\n\nThe news of Jack's victory, as might be expected, soon spread over all\nthe West of England, so that another giant, named Thunderbore, hearing\nof it, and entertaining a partiality for his race, vowed to be revenged\non the little hero, if ever it was his fortune to light on him. This\ngiant was the lord of an enchanted castle, situated in the midst of a\nlonely wood. Now Jack, about four months after his last exploit, walking\nnear this castle in his journey towards Wales, being weary, seated\nhimself near a pleasant fountain in the wood, \"o'ercanopied with\nluscious woodbine,\" and presently fell asleep. While he was enjoying his\nrepose, the giant, coming to the fountain for water, of course\ndiscovered him, and recognised the hated individual by the lines written\non the belt. He immediately took Jack on his shoulders, and carried him\ntowards his enchanted castle. Now, as they passed through a thicket, the\nrustling of the boughs awakened Jack, who was uncomfortably surprised to\nfind himself in the clutches of the giant. His terror was not diminished\nwhen, on entering the castle, he saw the court-yard strewed with human\nbones, the giant maliciously telling him his own would ere long increase\nthe hateful pile. After this assurance, the cannibal locked poor Jack in\nan upper chamber, leaving him there while he went to fetch another giant\nliving in the same wood to keep him company in the anticipated\ndestruction of their enemy. While he was gone, dreadful shrieks and\nlamentations affrighted Jack, especially a voice which continually\ncried,\u2014\n\n      Do what you can to get away,\n      Or you'll become the giant's prey;\n      He's gone to fetch his brother, who\n      Will kill, and likewise torture you.\n\nThis warning, and the hideous tone in which it was delivered, almost\ndistracted poor Jack, who going to the window, and opening a casement,\nbeheld afar off the two giants approaching towards the castle. \"Now,\"\nquoth Jack to himself, \"my death or my deliverance is at hand.\" The\nevent proved that his anticipations were well founded, for the giants of\nthose days, however powerful, were at best very stupid fellows, and\nreadily conquered by stratagem, were it of the humblest kind. There\nhappened to be strong cords in the room in which Jack was confined, two\nof which he took, and made a strong noose at the end of each; and while\nthe giant was unlocking the iron gate of the castle, he threw the ropes\nover each of their heads, and then, before the giants knew what he was\nabout, he drew the other ends across a beam, and, pulling with all his\nmight, throttled them till they were black in the face. Then, sliding\ndown the rope, he came to their heads, and as they could not defend\nthemselves, easily despatched them with his sword. This business so\nadroitly accomplished, Jack released the fair prisoners in the castle,\ndelivered the keys to them, and, like a true knight-errant, continued\nhis journey without condescending to improve the condition of his purse.\n\nThis plan, however honorable, was not without its disadvantages, and\nowing to his slender stock of money, he was obliged to make the best of\nhis way by travelling as hard as he could. At length, losing his road,\nhe was belated, and could not get to any place of entertainment until,\ncoming to a lonesome valley, he found a large house, and by reason of\nhis present necessity, took courage to knock at the gate. But what was\nhis astonishment, when there came forth a monstrous giant with two\nheads; yet he did not appear so fiery as the others were, for he was a\nWelsh giant, and what he did was by private and secret malice under the\nfalse show of friendship. Jack having unfolded his condition to the\ngiant, was shown into a bedroom, where, in the dead of night, he heard\nhis host in another apartment uttering these formidable words:\n\n      Though here you lodge with me this night,\n      You shall not see the morning light:\n      My club shall dash your brains out quite!\n\n\"Say'st thou so,\" quoth Jack; \"that is like one of your Welsh tricks,\nyet I hope to be cunning enough for you.\" He immediately got out of bed,\nand, feeling about in the dark, found a thick billet of wood, which he\nlaid in the bed in his stead, and hid himself in a dark corner of the\nroom. Shortly after he had done so, in came the Welsh giant, who\nthoroughly pummelled the billet with his club, thinking, naturally\nenough, he had broken every bone in Jack's skin. The next morning,\nhowever, to the inexpressible surprise of the giant, Jack came down\nstairs as if nothing had happened, and gave him thanks for his night's\nlodging. \"How have you rested,\" quoth the giant; \"did you not feel\nanything in the night?\" Jack provokingly replied, \"No, nothing but a rat\nwhich gave me two or three flaps with her tail.\" This reply was totally\nincomprehensible to the giant, who of course saw anything but a joke in\nit. However, concealing his amazement as well as he could, he took Jack\nin to breakfast, assigning to each a bowl containing four gallons of\nhasty pudding. One would have thought that the greater portion of so\nextravagant an allowance would have been declined by our hero, but he\nwas unwilling the giant should imagine his incapability to eat it, and\naccordingly placed a large leather bag under his loose coat, in such a\nposition that he could convey the pudding into it without the deception\nbeing perceived. Breakfast at length being finished, Jack excited the\ngiant's curiosity by offering to show him an extraordinary sleight of\nhand; so taking a knife, he ripped the leather bag, and out of course\ndescended on the ground all the hasty pudding. The giant had not the\nslightest suspicion of the trick, veritably believing the pudding came\nfrom its natural receptacle; and having the same antipathy to being\nbeaten, exclaimed in true Welsh, \"Odds splutters, hur can do that trick\nhurself.\" The sequel may be readily guessed. The monster took the knife,\nand thinking to follow Jack's example with impunity, killed himself on\nthe spot.[23]\n\n      [Footnote 23: The foregoing portion of this\n      wonderful history is that most generally known;\n      but the incidents now become more complicated,\n      and after the introduction of Arthur's son upon\n      the scene, we arrive at particulars which have\n      long been banished from the nursery library.]\n\nKing Arthur's only son requested his father to furnish him with a large\nsum of money, in order that he might go and seek his fortune in the\nprincipality of Wales, where lived a beautiful lady possessed with seven\nevil spirits. The king tried all he could do to persuade him to alter\nhis determination, but it was all in vain, so at last he granted his\nrequest, and the prince set out with two horses, one loaded with money,\nthe other for himself to ride upon. Now, after several days' travel, he\ncame to a market-town in Wales, where he beheld a vast concourse of\npeople gathered together. The prince demanded the reason of it, and was\ntold that they had arrested a corpse for several large sums of money\nwhich the deceased owed when he died. The prince replied that it was a\npity creditors should be so cruel, and said, \"Go bury the dead, and let\nhis creditors come to my lodging, and there their debts shall be\ndischarged.\" They accordingly came, but in such great numbers, that\nbefore night he had almost left himself penniless.\n\nNow Jack the Giant-killer happened to be in the town while these\ntransactions took place, and he was so pleased with the generosity\nexhibited by the prince, that he offered to become his servant, an offer\nwhich was immediately accepted. The next morning they set forward on\ntheir journey, when, as they were just leaving the town, an old woman\ncalled after the prince, saying, \"He has owed me twopence these seven\nyears; pray pay me as well as the rest.\" So reasonable and urgent a\ndemand could not be resisted, and the prince immediately discharged the\ndebt, but it took the last penny he had to accomplish it. This event,\nthough generally ridiculed by heroes, was one by no means overlooked by\nthe prince, who required all Jack's assuring eloquence to console him.\nJack himself, indeed, had a very poor exchequer, and after their day's\nrefreshment, they were entirely without money. When night drew on, the\nprince was anxious to secure a lodging, but as they had no means to hire\none, Jack said, \"Never mind, master, we shall do well enough, for I have\nan uncle lives within two miles of this place; he is a huge and\nmonstrous giant with three heads; he'll fight five hundred men in\narmour, and make them flee before him.\" \"Alas!\" quoth the prince, \"what\nshall we do there? He'll certainly chop us up at a mouthful. Nay, we are\nscarce enough to fill his hollow tooth!\" \"It is no matter for that,\"\nquoth Jack; \"I myself will go before, and prepare the way for you;\ntherefore tarry and wait till I return.\" Jack then rides off full speed,\nand coming to the gate of the castle, he knocked so loud that the\nneighbouring hills resounded like thunder. The giant, terribly vexed\nwith the liberty taken by Jack, roared out, \"Who's there?\" He was\nanswered, \"None but your poor cousin Jack.\" Quoth he, \"What news with my\npoor cousin Jack?\" He replied, \"Dear uncle, heavy news.\" \"God wot,\"\nquoth the giant, \"prithee what heavy news can come to me? I am a giant\nwith three heads, and besides thou knowest I can fight five hundred men\nin armour, and make them fly like chaff before the wind.\" \"Oh, but,\"\nquoth Jack, \"here's the prince a-coming with a thousand men in armour to\nkill you, and destroy all that you have!\" \"Oh, cousin Jack,\" said the\ngiant, \"this is heavy news indeed! I will immediately run and hide\nmyself, and thou shalt lock, bolt, and bar me in, and keep the keys till\nthe prince is gone.\" Jack joyfully complied with the giant's request,\nand fetching his master, they feasted and made themselves merry whilst\nthe poor giant laid trembling in a vault under ground.\n\nIn the morning, Jack furnished the prince with a fresh supply of gold\nand silver, and then sent him three miles forward on his journey,\nconcluding, according to the story-book, \"he was then pretty well out of\nthe smell of the giant.\" Jack afterwards returned, and liberated the\ngiant from the vault, who asked what he should give him for preserving\nthe castle from destruction. \"Why,\" quoth Jack, \"I desire nothing but\nthe old coat and cap, together with the old rusty sword and slippers\nwhich are at your bed's head.\" Quoth the giant, \"Thou shalt have them,\nand pray keep them for my sake, for they are things of excellent use;\nthe coat will keep you invisible, the cap will furnish you with\nknowledge, the sword cuts asunder whatever you strike, and the shoes are\nof extraordinary swiftness. These may be serviceable to you: therefore\ntake them with all my heart.\"\n\nJack was delighted with these useful presents, and having overtaken his\nmaster, they quickly arrived at the lady's house, who, finding the\nprince to be a suitor, prepared a splendid banquet for him. After the\nrepast was concluded, she wiped his mouth with a handkerchief, and then\nconcealed it in her dress, saying, \"You must show me that handkerchief\nto-morrow morning, or else you will lose your head.\" The prince went to\nbed in great sorrow at this hard condition, but fortunately Jack's cap\nof knowledge instructed him how it was to be fulfilled. In the middle of\nthe night she called upon her familiar[24] to carry her to the evil\nspirit. Jack immediately put on his coat of darkness, and his shoes of\nswiftness, and was there before her, his coat rendering him invisible.\nWhen she entered the lower regions, she gave the handkerchief to the\nspirit, who laid it upon a shelf, whence Jack took it, and brought it to\nhis master, who showed it to the lady the next day, and so saved his\nlife. The next evening at supper she saluted the prince, telling him he\nmust show her the lips tomorrow morning that she kissed last this night,\nor lose his head. He replied, \"If you kiss none but mine, I will.\" \"That\nis neither here nor there,\" said she, \"if you do not, death is your\nportion!\" At midnight she went below as before, and was angry with the\nspirit for letting the handkerchief go: \"But now,\" quoth she, \"I will be\ntoo hard for the prince, for I will kiss thee, and he is to show me thy\nlips.\" She did so, and Jack, who was standing by, cut off the spirit's\nhead, and brought it under his invisible coat to his master, who\nproduced it triumphantly the next morning before the lady. This feat\ndestroyed the enchantment, the evil spirits immediately forsook her, and\nshe appeared still more sweet and lovely, beautiful as she was before.\nThey were married the next morning, and shortly afterwards went to the\ncourt of King Arthur, where Jack, for his eminent services, was created\none of the knights of the Round Table.\n\n      [Footnote 24: An attendant spirit.]\n\nOur hero, having been successful in all his undertakings, and resolving\nnot to remain idle, but to perform what services he could for the honour\nof his country, humbly besought his majesty to fit him out with a horse\nand money to enable him to travel in search of new adventures; for, said\nhe, \"there are many giants yet living in the remote part of Wales, to\nthe unspeakable damage of your majesty's subjects; wherefore may it\nplease you to encourage me, I do not doubt but in a short time to cut\nthem off root and branch, and so rid all the realm of those giants and\nmonsters in human shape.\" We need scarcely say that Jack's generous\noffer was at once accepted. The king furnished him with the necessary\naccoutrements, and Jack set out with his magical cap, sword, and shoes,\nthe better to perform the dangerous enterprises which now lay before\nhim.\n\nAfter travelling over several hills and mountains, the country through\nwhich he passed offering many impediments to travellers, on the third\nday he arrived at a very large wood, which he had no sooner entered than\nhis ears were assailed with piercing shrieks. Advancing softly towards\nthe place where the cries appeared to proceed from, he was horror-struck\nat perceiving a huge giant dragging along a fair lady, and a knight her\nhusband, by the hair of their heads, \"with as much ease,\" says the\noriginal narrative, \"as if they had been a pair of gloves.\" Jack shed\ntears of pity on the fate of this hapless couple, but not suffering his\nfeelings to render him neglectful of action, he put on his invisible\ncoat, and taking with him his infallible sword, succeeded, after\nconsiderable trouble, and many cuts, to despatch the monster, whose\ndying groans were so terrible, that they made the whole wood ring again.\nThe courteous knight and his fair lady were overpowered with gratitude,\nand, after returning Jack their best thanks, they invited him to their\nresidence, there to recruit his strength after the frightful encounter,\nand receive more substantial demonstrations of their obligations to him.\nJack, however, declared that he would not rest until he had found out\nthe giant's habitation. The knight, on hearing this determination, was\nvery sorrowful, and replied, \"Noble stranger, it is too much to run a\nsecond hazard: this monster lived in a den under yonder mountain, with a\nbrother more fierce and cruel than himself. Therefore, if you should go\nthither, and perish in the attempt, it would be a heart-breaking to me\nand my lady: let me persuade you to go with us, and desist from any\nfurther pursuit.\" The knight's reasoning had the very opposite effect\nthat was intended, for Jack, hearing of another giant, eagerly embraced\nthe opportunity of displaying his skill, promising, however, to return\nto the knight when he had accomplished his second labour.\n\nHe had not ridden more than a mile and a half, when the cave mentioned\nby the knight appeared to view, near the entrance of which he beheld the\ngiant, sitting upon a block of timber, with a knotted iron club by his\nside, waiting, as he supposed, for his brother's return with his\nbarbarous prey. This giant is described as having \"goggle eyes like\nflames of fire, a countenance grim and ugly, cheeks like a couple of\nlarge flitches of bacon, the bristles of his beard resembling rods of\niron wire, and locks that hung down upon his brawny shoulders like\ncurled snakes or hissing adders.\" Jack alighted from his horse, and\nputting on the invisible coat, approached near the giant, and said\nsoftly, \"Oh! are you there? it will not be long ere I shall take you\nfast by the beard.\" The giant all this while could not see him, on\naccount of his invisible coat, so that Jack, coming up close to the\nmonster, struck a blow with his sword at his head, but unfortunately\nmissing his aim, he cut off the nose instead. The giant, as we may\nsuppose, \"roared like claps of thunder,\" and began to lay about him in\nall directions with his iron club so desperately, that even Jack was\nfrightened, but exercising his usual ingenuity, he soon despatched him.\nAfter this, Jack cut off the giant's head, and sent it, together with\nthat of his brother, to King Arthur, by a waggoner he hired for that\npurpose, who gave an account of all his wonderful proceedings.\n\nThe redoubtable Jack next proceeded to search the giant's cave in search\nof his treasure, and passing along through a great many winding\npassages, he came at length to a large room paved with freestone, at the\nupper end of which was a boiling caldron, and on the right hand a large\ntable, at which the giants usually dined. After passing this\ndining-room, he came to a large and well-secured den filled with human\ncaptives, who were fattened and taken at intervals for food, as we do\npoultry. Jack set the poor prisoners at liberty, and, to compensate them\nfor their sufferings and dreadful anticipations, shared the giant's\ntreasure equally amongst them, and sent them to their homes overjoyed at\ntheir unexpected deliverance.\n\nIt was about sunrise when Jack, after the conclusion of this adventure,\nhaving had a good night's rest, mounted his horse to proceed on his\njourney, and, by the help of directions, reached the knight's house\nabout noon. He was received with the most extraordinary demonstrations\nof joy, and his kind host, out of respect to Jack, prepared a feast\nwhich lasted many days, all the nobility and gentry in the neighbourhood\nbeing invited to it. The knight related the hero's adventures to his\nassembled guests, and presented him with a beautiful ring, on which was\nengraved a representation of the giant dragging the distressed knight\nand his lady, with this motto:\n\n      We were in sad distress you see,\n        Under the giant's fierce command,\n      But gain'd our lives and liberty\n        By valiant Jack's victorious hand.\n\nBut earthly happiness is not generally of long duration, and so in some\nrespects it proved on the present occasion, for in the midst of the\nfestivities arrived a messenger with the dismal intelligence that one\nThunderdell, a giant with two heads, having heard of the death of his\ntwo kinsmen, came from the north to be revenged on Jack, and was already\nwithin a mile of the knight's house, the country people flying before\nhim in all directions. The intelligence had no effect on the dauntless\nJack, who immediately said, \"Let him come! I have a tool to pick his\nteeth;\" and with this elegant assertion, he invited the guests to\nwitness his performance from a high terrace in the garden of the castle.\n\nIt is now necessary to inform the reader that the knight's house or\ncastle was situated in an island encompassed with a moat thirty feet\ndeep, and twenty feet wide, passable by a drawbridge. Now Jack,\nintending to accomplish his purpose by a clever stratagem, employed men\nto cut through this drawbridge on both sides nearly to the middle; and\nthen, dressing himself in his invisible coat, he marched against the\ngiant with his well-tried sword. As he approached his adversary,\nalthough invisible, the giant, being, as it appears, an epicure in such\nmatters, was aware of his approach, and exclaimed, in a fearful tone of\nvoice\u2014\n\n      Fi, fee, fo, fum![25]\n        I smell the blood of an English man!\n      Be he alive or be he dead,\n        I'll grind his bones to make me bread!\n\n      [Footnote 25: These lines are quoted by Edgar in\n      the tragedy of King Lear.]\n\n\"Say you so,\" said Jack; \"then you are a monstrous miller indeed.\" The\ngiant, deeply incensed, replied, \"Art thou that villain who killed my\nkinsman? then I will tear thee with my teeth, and grind thy bones to\npowder.\" \"But,\" says Jack, still provoking him, \"you must catch me\nfirst, if you please:\" so putting aside his invisible coat, so that the\ngiant might see him, and putting on his wonderful shoes, he enticed him\ninto a chase by just approaching near enough to give him an apparent\nchance of capture. The giant, we are told, \"followed like a walking\ncastle, so that the very foundations of the earth seemed to shake at\nevery step.\" Jack led him a good distance, in order that the wondering\nguests at the castle might see him to advantage, but at last, to end the\nmatter, he ran over the drawbridge, the giant pursuing him with his\nclub; but coming to the place where the bridge was cut, the giant's\ngreat weight burst it asunder, and he was precipitated into the moat,\nwhere he rolled about, says the author, \"like a vast whale.\" While the\nmonster was in this condition, Jack sadly bantered him about the boast\nhe had made of grinding his bones to powder, but at length, having\nteased him sufficiently, a cart-rope was cast over the two heads of the\ngiant, and he was drawn ashore by a team of horses, where Jack served\nhim as he had done his relatives, cut off his heads, and sent them to\nKing Arthur.\n\nIt would seem that the giant-killer rested a short time after this\nadventure, but he was soon tired of inactivity, and again went in search\nof another giant, the last whose head he was destined to chop off. After\npassing a long distance, he came at length to a large mountain, at the\nfoot of which was a very lonely house. Knocking at the door, it was\nopened by \"an ancient[26] man, with a head as white as snow,\" who\nreceived Jack very courteously, and at once consented to his request for\na lodging. Whilst they were at supper, the old man, who appears to have\nknown more than was suspected, thus addressed the hero: \"Son, I am\nsensible you are a conqueror of giants, and I therefore inform you that\non the top of this mountain is an enchanted castle, maintained by a\ngiant named Galligantus, who, by the help of a conjuror, gets many\nknights into his castle, where they are transformed into sundry shapes\nand forms: but, above all, I especially lament a duke's daughter, whom\nthey took from her father's garden, bringing her through the air in a\nchariot drawn by fiery dragons, and securing her within the castle\nwalls, transformed her into the shape of a hind. Now, though a great\nmany knights have endeavoured to break the enchantment, and work her\ndeliverance, yet no one has been able to accomplish it, on account of\ntwo fiery griffins which are placed at the gate, and which destroyed\nthem at their approach; but you, my son, being furnished with an\ninvisible coat, may pass by them undiscovered, and on the gates of the\ncastle you will find engraven in large characters by what means the\nenchantment may be broken.\" The undaunted Jack at once accepted the\ncommission, and pledged his faith to the old man to proceed early in the\nmorning on this new adventure.\n\n      [Footnote 26: An old man.]\n\nIn the morning, as soon as it was daylight, Jack put on his invisible\ncoat, and prepared himself for the enterprise. When he had reached the\ntop of the mountain, he discovered the two fiery griffins, but, being\ninvisible, he passed them without the slightest danger. When he had\nreached the gate of the castle, he noticed a golden trumpet attached to\nit, under which were written in large characters the following lines:\n\n      Whoever doth this trumpet blow,[27]\n      Shall soon the giant overthrow,\n      And break the black enchantment straight,\n      So all shall be in happy state.\n\n      [Footnote 27: Variations of this incident are\n      found in romances of all nations.]\n\nJack at once accepted the challenge, and putting the trumpet to his\nmouth, gave a blast that made the hills re-echo. The castle trembled to\nits foundations, and the giant and conjuror were overstricken with fear,\nknowing that the reign of their enchantments was at an end. The former\nwas speedily slain by Jack, but the conjuror, mounting up into the air,\nwas carried away in a whirlwind, and never heard of more. The\nenchantments were immediately broken, and all the lords and ladies, who\nhad so long been cruelly transformed, were standing on the native earth\nin their natural shapes, the castle having vanished with the conjuror.\n\nThe only relic of the giant which was left was the head, which Jack cut\noff in the first instance, and which we must suppose rolled away from\nthe influence of the enchanted castle, or it would have \"vanished into\nthin air\" with the body. It was fortunate that it did so, for it proved\nan inestimable trophy at the court of King Arthur, where Jack the\nGiant-killer was shortly afterwards united to the duke's daughter whom\nhe had freed from enchantment, \"not only to the joy of the court, but of\nall the kingdom.\" To complete his happiness, he was endowed with a noble\nhouse and estates, and his _penchant_ for giant-killing having subsided,\nor, what is more probable, no more monsters appearing to interrupt his\ntranquillity, he accomplished the usual conclusion to these romantic\nnarratives, by passing the remainder of his life in the enjoyment of\nevery domestic felicity.\n\n[I have alluded to the quotation from this primitive romance made by\nShakespeare in King Lear, but if the story of Rowland, published by Mr.\nJamieson, is to be trusted, it would seem that the great dramatist was\nindebted to a ballad of the time. This position would, however, compel\nus to adopt the belief that the words of the giant are also taken from\nthe ballad; a supposition to which I am most unwilling to assent. In\nfact, I believe that Edgar quotes from two different compositions, the\nfirst line from a ballad on Rowland, the second from Jack and the\nGiants. \"And Rowland into the castle came\" is a line in the second\nballad of Rosmer Hafmand, or the Merman Rosmer, in the Danish _Koempe\nViser_, p. 165. The story alluded to above may be briefly given as\nfollows.\n\nThe sons of King Arthur were playing at ball in the merry town of\nCarlisle, and their sister, \"Burd[28] Ellen\" was in the midst of them.\nNow it happened that Child Rowland gave the ball such a powerful kick\nwith his foot that \"o'er the kirk he gar'd it flee.\" Burd Ellen went\nround about in search of the ball, but what was the consternation of her\nbrothers when they found that she did not return, although \"they bade\nlang and ay langer,\"\u2014\n\n      [Footnote 28: It is almost unnecessary to observe\n      that _burd_ was an ancient term for _lady_.]\n\n      They sought her east, they sought her west,\n        They sought her up and down;\n      And wae were the hearts in merry Carlisle,\n        For she was nae gait found.\n\nAt last her eldest brother went to the Warlock or Wizard Merlin, and\nasked him if he knew where his sister, the fair Burd Ellen, was. \"The\nfair Burd Ellen,\" said the Warlock Merlin, \"is carried away by the\nfairies, and is now in the castle of the King of Elfland; and it were\ntoo bold an undertaking for the stoutest knight in Christendom to bring\nher back.\" The brother, however, insisted upon undertaking the\nenterprise, and after receiving proper instructions from Merlin, which\nhe failed in observing, he set out on his perilous expedition, and was\nnever more seen.\n\nThe other brothers took the same course, and shared a similar fate, till\nit came to the turn of Child Rowland, who with great difficulty obtained\nthe consent of his mother, for Queen Guinever began to be afraid of\nlosing all her children. Rowland, having received her blessing, girt on\nhis father's celebrated sword Excaliber, that never struck in vain, and\nrepaired to Merlin's cave. The wizard gave him all necessary\ninstructions for his journey and conduct, the most important of which\nwere that he should kill every person he met with after entering the\nland of Faerie, and should neither eat nor drink of what was offered him\nin that country, whatever his hunger or thirst might be; for if he\ntasted or touched in Elfland, he must remain in the power of the elves,\nand never see middle-earth again.\n\nChild Rowland faithfully promised to observe the instructions of Merlin,\nand he accordingly went to Elfland, where he found, as the wizard had\nforetold, the king's horseherd feeding his horses. \"Canst thou tell me,\"\nsaid Rowland, \"where the castle of the king of Elfland is?\" \"I cannot,\"\nreplied the horseherd, \"but go a little further, and thou wilt come to a\ncowherd, and perhaps he will know.\" When he had made this answer,\nRowland, remembering his instructions, took his good sword, and cut off\nthe head of the horseherd. He then went a little further, and met with a\ncowherd, to whom he repeated the same question, and obtained the same\nanswer. Child Rowland then cut off the cowherd's head, and having\npursued exactly the same course with a shepherd, goatherd, and a\nswineherd, he is referred by the last to a hen-wife, who, in reply to\nhis question, said, \"Go on yet a little farther till you come to a round\ngreen hill, surrounded with terraces from the bottom to the top: go\nround it three times widershins,[29] and every time say, \"Open door,\nopen door, and let me come in!' and the third time the door will open,\nand you may go in.\" Child Rowland immediately cut off the hen-wife's\nhead in return for her intelligence, and following her directions, a\ndoor in the hill opened, and he went in. As soon as he entered, the door\nclosed behind him, and he traversed a long passage, which was dimly but\npleasantly lighted by crystallized rock, till he came to two wide and\nlofty folding-doors, which stood ajar. He opened them, and entered an\nimmense hall, which seemed nearly as big as the hill itself. It was the\nmost magnificent apartment in all the land of Faerie, for the pillars\nwere of gold and silver, and the keystones ornamented with clusters of\ndiamonds. A gold chain hung from the middle of the roof, supporting an\nenormous lamp composed of one hollowed transparent pearl, in the midst\nof which was a large magical carbuncle that beautifully illumined the\nwhole of the hall.\n\n      [Footnote 29: The contrary way to the course of\n      the sun.]\n\nAt the upper end of the hall, seated on a splendid sofa, under a rich\ncanopy, was his sister the Burd Ellen, \"kembing her yellow hair wi' a\nsilver kemb,\" who immediately perceiving him, was sorrow-struck at the\nanticipation of his being destroyed by the king of Elfland,\u2014\n\n      And hear ye this, my youngest brither,\n        Why badena ye not at hame?\n      Had ye a hunder and thousand lives,\n        Ye canna brook ane o' them.\n\nAnd she informs him that he will certainly lose his life if the king\nfinds him in the hall. A long conversation then takes place, and Rowland\ntells her all his adventures, concluding his narrative with the\nobservation that, after his long journey, he is _very hungry_.\n\nOn this the Burd Ellen shook her head, and looked sorrowfully at him;\nbut, impelled by her enchantment, she rose up, and procured him a golden\nbowl full of bread and milk. It was then that the Child Rowland\nremembered the instructions of the Warlock Merlin, and he passionately\nexclaimed, \"Burd Ellen, I will neither eat nor drink till I set thee\nfree!\" Immediately this speech was uttered, the folding-doors of the\nhall burst open with tremendous violence, and in came the king of\nElfland,\u2014\n\n      With, Fe, fi, fo, fum,\n      I smell the blood of a Christian man!\n      Be he dead, be he living, wi' my brand\n      I'll clash his harns frae his harn-pan![30]\n\n      [Footnote 30: Literally, \"I will dash his brains\n      from his skull with my sword.\"]\n\n\"Strike, then, Bogle, if thou darest,\" exclaimed the undaunted Child\nRowland, and a furious combat ensued, but Rowland, by the help of his\ngood sword, conquered the elf-king, sparing his life on condition that\nhe would restore to him his two brothers and sister. The king joyfully\nconsented, and having disenchanted them by the anointment of a bright\nred liquor, they all four returned in triumph to merry Carlisle.]\n\n\nTOM HICKATHRIFT.\n\n[Tom Hickathrift belongs to the same series as Jack the Giant-killer,\none of the popular corruptions of old northern romances. It seems to\nallude to some of the insurrections in the Isle of Ely, such as that of\nHereward, described in Wright's Essays, ii. 91. Spelman, however,\ndescribes a tradition, which he says was credited by the inhabitants of\nTylney, in which Hickifric appears as the assertor of the rights of\ntheir ancestors, and the means he employed on the occasion correspond\nwith incidents in the following tale. The entire passage is worth\ntranscription. \"In Marslandia sit\u00e6 sunt Walsoka, Waltona, et Walpola. In\nviciniis jacent Terrington et St. Maries\u2014adjacet Tylney veteris utique\nTylneiorum famili\u00e6 radix. Hic se expandit insignis area qu\u00e6 a planicie\nnuncupatur _Tylney Smeeth_, pinguis adeo et luxurians ut Paduana pascua\nvideatur superasse. Tuentur eam indigen\u00e6 velut aras et focos,\nfabellamque recitant longa petitam vetustate de Hickifrico (nescio quo)\nHaii illius instar in Scotorum Chronicis qui civium suorum dedignatus\nfuga, aratrum quod agebat solvit; arreptoque temone furibundus insiliit\nin hostes victoriamque ademit exultantibus. Sic cum de agri istius\npossessione acriter olim dimicatum esset, inter fundi dominum et\nvillarum incolas, nec valerent hi adversus eum consistere, redeuntibus\noccurrit Hickifrickus, _axemque excutiens a curru quem agebat, eo vice\ngladii usus_; _rota, clypei_; invasores repulit ad ipsos quibus nunc\nfunguntur terminos. Ostendunt in coemeterio Tilniensi sepulchrum sui\npugilis, axem cum rota insculptum exhibens.\"\u2014Icenia, Descriptio\nNorfolci\u00e6, p. 138. Hearne mentions this gravestone, and perhaps some\nNorfolk topographer will tell us if it now exists.]\n\nThe author of the renowned History of Tom Hickathrift prefaces his\nnarrative with the following consolatory exordium:\u2014\n\n      And if thou dost buy this book,\n      Be sure that you do on it look,\n      And read it o'er, then thou wilt say\n      Thy money is not thrown away.\n\nIn the reign before William the Conqueror, I have read in ancient\nhistory that there dwelt a man in the parish of the Isle of Ely, in the\ncounty of Cambridge, named Thomas Hickathrift, a poor labouring man, but\nso strong that he was able to do in one day the ordinary work of two. He\nhad an only son, whom he christened Thomas, after his own name. The old\nman put his son \"to good learning,\" but he would take none, for he was,\nas we call them in this age, none of the wisest, but something soft, and\nhad no docility at all in him. God calling this good man, the father, to\nhis rest, his mother, being tender of him, maintained him by her hard\nlabour as well as she could; but this was no easy matter, for Tom would\nsit all day in the chimney-corner, instead of doing anything to assist\nher, and although at the period we are speaking of, he was only ten\nyears old, he would eat more than four or five ordinary men, and was\nfive feet and a half in height, and two feet and a half broad. His hand\nwas more like a shoulder of mutton than a boy's hand, and he was\naltogether like a little monster, \"but yet his great strength was not\nknown.\"\n\nTom's strength came to be known in this manner. His mother, it appears,\nas well as himself, for they lived in the primitive days of merry old\nEngland, slept upon straw. This was in character with the wretched mud\nhovels then occupied by the labouring population, not half so good as\nmany pigsties are now-a-days. Now being a tidy old creature, she must\nevery now and then replenish her homely couch, and one day, having been\npromised a \"bottle\" of straw by a neighbouring farmer, after\nconsiderable entreaty, she prevailed on her son to go to fetch it. Tom,\nhowever, made her borrow a cart-rope first, before he would budge a\nstep, without condescending to enter into any explanation respecting the\nuse he intended it for; and the poor woman, too glad to obtain his\nassistance on any terms, readily complied with his singular request.\nTom, swinging the rope round his shoulders, went to the farmer's, and\nfound him with two men, thrashing in a barn. Having mentioned the object\nof his visit, the farmer somewhat inconsiderately told him he might take\nas much straw as he could carry. Tom immediately took him at his word,\nand, placing the rope in a right position, rapidly made up a bundle\ncontaining at least a cartload, the men jeering him on the absurdity of\nraising a pile they imagined no man could carry, and maliciously asking\nhim if his rope was long enough. Their merriment, however, was not of\nlong duration, for Tom flung the enormous bundle over his shoulders, and\nwalked away with it without any apparent exertion, much to the\nastonishment and dismay of the master and his men.\n\nAfter this exploit, Tom was no longer suffered to enjoy his idle\nhumours. Every one was endeavouring to secure his services, and we are\ntold many remarkable tales of his extraordinary strength, still more\nwonderful than the one just related. On one occasion, having been\noffered as great a bundle of firewood as he could carry, he marched off\nwith one of the largest trees in the forest! Tom was also extremely fond\nof attending fairs; and in cudgelling, wrestling, or throwing the\nhammer, there was no one who could compete with him. He thought nothing\nof flinging a huge hammer into the middle of a river a mile off, and in\nfact performed such extraordinary feats, that it was currently reported\nthroughout the country he had dealings with the Evil One.\n\nTom Hickathrift, too, was a very care-for-nothing fellow, and there were\nvery few persons in all the Isle of Ely who dared to give him an ill\nword. Those who did paid very dearly for their impertinence, and Tom\nwas, in fact, paramount over his companions. His great strength,\nhowever, caused him to be much sought after by those who were in want of\nefficient labour, and at length a brewer at Lynn, who required a strong,\nlusty fellow to carry his beer to the Marsh and to Wisbech, after much\npersuasion, and promising him a new suit of clothes, and as much as he\nliked to eat and drink, secured Tom for this purpose. The distance he\ndaily travelled with the beer was upwards of twenty miles, for although\nthere was a shorter cut through the Marsh, no one durst go that way for\nfear of a monstrous giant, who was lord of a portion of the district,\nand who killed or made slaves of every one he could lay his hands upon.\n\nNow in the course of time, Tom was thoroughly tired of going such a\nroundabout way, and without communicating his purpose to any one, he was\nresolved to pass through the giant's domain, or lose his life in the\nattempt. This was a bold undertaking, but good living had so increased\nTom's strength and courage, that, venturesome as he was before, his\nhardiness was so much increased that he would have faced a still greater\ndanger. He accordingly drove his cart in the forbidden direction,\nflinging the gates wide open, as if for the purpose of making his daring\nmore conspicuous. At length he was espied by the giant, who was\nindignant at his boldness, but consoled himself with the reflection that\nTom and the beer would soon become his prey. \"Sirrah,\" said the monster,\n\"who gave you permission to come this way? Do you not know how I make\nall stand in fear of me? and you, like an impudent rogue, must come and\nfling my gates open at your pleasure! How dare you presume to do so? Are\nyou careless of your life? Do not you care what you do? But I will make\nyou an example for all rogues under the sun! Dost thou not see how many\nthousand heads hang upon yonder tree, heads of those who have offended\nagainst my laws; but thy head shall hang higher than all the rest for an\nexample!\" But Tom made him this impudent answer, \"A dishclout in your\nteeth for your news, for you shall not find me to be one of them!\" \"No!\"\nsaid the giant, in astonishment and indignation; \"and what a fool you\nmust be if you come to fight with such a one as I am, and bring never a\nweapon to defend yourself!\" Quoth Tom, \"I have a weapon here will make\nyou know you are a traitorly rogue.\" This impertinent speech highly\nincensed the giant, who immediately ran to his cave for his club,\nintending to dash out Tom's brains at one blow. Tom was now much\ndistressed for a weapon, that necessary accoutrement in his expedition\nhaving by some means escaped his memory, and he began to reflect how\nvery little his whip would avail him against a monster twelve feet in\nheight, and six feet round the waist, small dimensions certainly for a\ngiant, but sufficient to be formidable. But while the giant was gone for\nhis club, Tom bethought himself, and turning his cart upside down,\nadroitly takes out the axletree, which would serve him for a staff, and\nremoving a wheel, adapts it to his arm in lieu of a shield; very good\nweapons indeed in time of trouble, and worthy of Tom's ingenuity. When\nthe monster returned with his club, he was amazed to see the weapons\nwith which Tom had armed himself, but uttering a word of defiance, he\nbore down upon the poor fellow with such heavy strokes, that it was as\nmuch as Tom could do to defend himself with his wheel. Tom, however, at\nlength managed to give the giant[31] a heavy blow with the axletree on\nthe side of his head, that he nearly reeled over. \"What!\" said Tom, \"are\nyou tipsy with my strong beer already?\" This inquiry did not, as we may\nsuppose, mollify the giant, who laid on his blows so sharply and heavily\nthat Tom was obliged to act on the defensive. By and by, not making any\nimpression on the wheel, he got almost tired out, and was obliged to ask\nTom if he would let him drink a little, and then he would fight again.\n\"No,\" said Tom, \"my mother did not teach me that wit; who would be fool\nthen?\" The sequel may readily be imagined, and Tom having beaten the\ngiant, and, disregarding his supplications for mercy, cut off his head,\nentered the cave, which he found completely filled with gold and silver.\n\n      [Footnote 31: In the original it is _lent the\n      giant_, the term _lent_ being old English or\n      Saxon for _gave_. The expression sufficiently\n      proves the antiquity of the version.]\n\nThe news of this celebrated victory rapidly spread throughout the\ncountry, for the giant had been a common enemy to the inhabitants. They\nmade bonfires for joy, and testified their respect to Tom by every means\nin their power. A few days afterwards, Tom took possession of the cave\nand all the giant's treasure. He pulled down the former, and built a\nmagnificent house on the spot; but with respect to the land forcibly\nobtained by the giant, part of it he gave to the poor for their common,\nmerely reserving enough to maintain himself and his good old mother,\nJane Hickathrift. His treasure, we may suppose, notwithstanding this\ngreat liberality, enabled him to maintain a noble establishment, for he\nis represented as having numbers of servants, and a magnificent park of\ndeer. He also built a famous church, which was called St. James's,\nbecause it was on that saint's day that he had killed the giant. And\nwhat was as good and better than all this, he was no longer called Tom\nHickathrift by the people, but \"Mr. Hickathrift,\" a title then implying\na greater advancement in social position that can now scarcely be\nimagined.\n\nLike many other persons who have become suddenly possessed of great\nwealth, Tom was sadly at a loss to know what to do with his money; nor\ndoes this sage history condescend to inform us in what manner he\nexpended it. He seems, however, to have amused himself rarely, attending\nevery sport he could hear of for miles round, cracking skulls at\ncudgel-playing, bear-baiting, and all the gentlemanly recreations\ncurrent in those days. At football he could scarcely have been a welcome\naddition to the company, for one kick from his foot, if he caught it in\nthe middle, was sure to send the ball so great a distance over hedges\nand trees that it was never seen again. Tom was, also, one evening\nattacked by four robbers; but they sadly mistook the person they had to\ndeal with, for he quickly killed two of them, made the others sue for\nmercy, and carried off their booty, which amounted to the large sum of\ntwo hundred pounds. One would have thought the Hickathrifts were wealthy\nenough before, but this addition to their store was, somehow or other, a\nsource of great delight and merriment to Tom's aged mother.\n\nTom was a long time before he found any one that could match him; but,\none day, going through his woods, he met with a lusty tinker, who had a\ngreat staff on his shoulder, and a large dog to carry his bag and tools.\nTom was not particularly courteous; it may readily be supposed that his\nunvarying successes had made him rather overbearing; and he somewhat\nrudely asked the tinker what was his business there. But the tinker was\nno man to succumb, and as rudely answered, \"What's that to you? Fools\nmust needs be meddling!\" A quarrel was soon raised, and the two laid on\nin good earnest, blow for blow, till the wood re-echoed with their\nstrokes. The issue of the contest was long doubtful, but, the tinker was\nso persevering, that Tom confessed he was fairly vanquished; and they\nthen went home together, and were sworn brothers in arms ever\nafterwards. It happened, from the events that followed, to be a\nfortunate occurrence.\n\nIn and about the Isle of Ely, many disaffected persons, to the number of\nten thousand and upwards, drew themselves up in a body, presuming to\ncontend for their ancient rights and liberties, insomuch that the gentry\nand civil magistrates of the county were in great danger. The danger was\nso great, that the sheriff was obliged to come to Tom Hickathrift, under\ncover of the night, for shelter and protection, and gave him a full\naccount of the rebellion. The tinker and Tom immediately promised their\nassistance, and they went out as soon as it was day, armed with their\nclubs, the sheriff conducting them to the rendezvous of the rebels. When\nthey arrived there, Tom and the tinker marched up to the leaders of the\nmultitude, and asked them the reason of their disturbing the government.\nTo this they answered loudly, \"Our will is our law, and by that alone\nwill we be governed.\" \"Nay,\" quoth Tom, \"if it be so, these trusty clubs\nare our weapons, and by them alone you shall be chastised.\" These words\nwere no sooner uttered, than they madly rushed on the immense multitude,\nbearing all before them, laying twenty or thirty sprawling with every\nblow. It is also related, as something rather remarkable, that the\ntinker struck a tall man on the nape of the neck with such immense force\nthat his head flew off, and was carried forty feet from the body with\nsuch violence that it knocked down one of the chief ringleaders, killing\nhim on the spot. The feats of Tom were no less wonderful; for, after\nhaving slain hundreds, and at length broke his club, he seized upon \"a\nlusty rawboned miller\" as a substitute, and made use of him as a weapon,\ntill he had quite cleared the field.\n\nThe king of course received intelligence of these extraordinary\nexploits, and sent for the two heroes to his palace, where a royal\nbanquet was prepared for their honour and entertainment, most of the\nnobility being present. Now after the banquet was over, the king made a\nspeech, neither too short nor too long, but having the extraordinary\nmerit of being much to the purpose. We cannot omit so remarkable a\nspecimen of royal eloquence. \"These, my guests,\" said the king, \"are my\ntrusty and well-beloved subjects, men of approved courage and valour;\nthey are the men that overcame and conquered ten thousand rebels who\nwere combined for the purpose of disturbing the peace of my realm.\nAccording to the character I have received of Thomas Hickathrift and\nHenry Nonsuch, my two worthy guests here present, they cannot be matched\nin any other kingdom in the world. Were it possible to have an army of\ntwenty thousand such as these, I dare venture to assert I would act the\npart of Alexander the Great over again. In the meanwhile, as a proof of\nmy royal favour, kneel down, Thomas Hickathrift, and receive the ancient\norder of knighthood. And with respect to Henry Nonsuch, I will settle\nupon him, as a reward for his great services, the sum of forty shillings\na year for life.\" After the delivery of this excellent address, the king\nretired, and Tom and Henry shortly afterwards took their departure,\nattended for many miles by a portion of the court.\n\nWhen Sir Thomas Hickathrift returned home, he found, to his great\nsorrow, that his mother had died during his stay at the court. It can\nscarcely be said that he was inconsolable for her loss, but being \"left\nalone in a large and spacious house, he found himself strange and\nuncouth.\" He therefore began to consider whether it would not be\nadvisable to seek out for a wife, and hearing of a wealthy young widow\nnot far from Cambridge, he went and paid his addresses to her. At his\nfirst coming, she appeared to favour his suit, but, before he paid her a\nsecond visit, her fancy had been attracted by a more elegant wooer, and\nSir Thomas actually found him at her feet. The young spark, relying on\nthe lady's favour, was vehemently abusive to the knight, calling him a\ngreat lubberly whelp, a brewer's servant, and a person altogether\nunfitted to make love to a lady. Sir Thomas was not a likely man to\nallow such an affront to go unpunished, so going out in the courtyard\nwith the dandy to settle the matter, he gave him a kick which sent him\nover the tops of the houses into a pond some distance off, where he\nwould have been drowned, had not a poor shepherd, passing by, pulled him\nout with his crook.\n\nThe gallant studied every means of being revenged upon the knight, and\nfor this purpose engaged two troopers to lie in ambush for him. Tom,\nhowever, according to the story, \"crushed them like cucumbers.\"[32] Even\nwhen he was going to church with his bride to be married, he was set\nupon by one-and-twenty ruffians in armour; but, borrowing a back-sword\nfrom one of the company, he laid about him with such dexterity, that,\npurposely desiring not to kill any one, at every blow he chopped off a\nleg or an arm, the ground being strewed with the relics, \"as it is with\ntiles from the tops of the houses after a dreadful storm.\" His intended\nand friends were mightily amused at all this, and the fair one jokingly\nobserved, \"What a splendid lot of cripples he has made in the twinkling\nof an eye!\" Sir Thomas only received a slight scratch, and he consoled\nhimself for the trifling misfortune by the conviction he had only lost a\ndrop of blood for every limb he had chopped off.\n\n      [Footnote 32: The author is not very particular\n      in his similes, but this appears to be quite\n      peculiar to this history.]\n\nThe marriage ceremony took place without any further adventure, and Sir\nThomas gave a great feast on the occasion, to which all the poor widows\nfor miles round were invited in honour of his deceased mother, and it\nlasted for four days, in memory of the four last victories he had\nobtained. The only occurrence at this feast worth mentioning was the\ntheft of a silver cup, which was traced to the possession of an old\nwoman of the name of Stumbelup,[33] and the others were so disgusted at\nher ingratitude to their kind host, that she would have been hanged on\nthe spot, had not Sir Thomas interfered, and undertook the appointment\nof the punishment. Nor was it otherwise than comical, for she was\ncondemned to be drawn through all the streets and lanes of Cambridge on\na wheelbarrow, holding a placard in her hands, which informed the\npublic,\u2014\n\n      I am the naughty Stumbelup,\n      Who tried to steal the silver cup.\n\n      [Footnote 33: This incident has been slightly\n      altered, the original narrative being of a nature\n      that will not bear an exact transcription.]\n\nThe news of Tom's wedding soon reached the court, and the king,\nremembering his eminent services, immediately invited him and his lady,\nwho visited their sovereign immediately, and were received by him most\naffectionately. While they were on this visit, intelligence arrived that\nan extraordinary invasion had taken place in the county of Kent. A huge\ngiant riding on a dragon, and accompanied with a large number of bears\nand lions, had landed on the coast of that unfortunate county, and was\nravaging it in all directions. The king, says the history, was \"a little\nstartled,\" and well he might be, at such a visitation; but, taking\nadvantage of the opportune presence of Tom Hickathrift, he solved the\ndifficulty by creating him governor of the Isle of Thanet,[34] and thus\nmaking him responsible for the protection of the inhabitants from this\nterrible monster.\n\n      [Footnote 34: In the heading of the chapter in\n      the original it is _East Angles, now called the\n      Isle of Thanet_, an error which favours the\n      supposition of the story having been adapted from\n      a much older original.]\n\nThere was a castle in the island, from which the country was visible for\nmiles round, and this was the governor's abode. He had not been there\nlong before he caught a view of the giant, who is described as \"mounted\nupon a dreadful dragon, with an iron club upon his shoulders, having but\none eye, the which was placed in his forehead; this eye was larger in\ncompass than a barber's bason, and appeared like a flame of fire; his\nvisage was dreadful to behold, grim and tawny; the hair of his head hung\ndown his back and shoulders like snakes of an enormous length; and the\nbristles of his beard were like rusty wire!\" It is difficult to imagine\na being more terrible than this, but Tom was only surprised, not\nfrightened, when he saw one day the giant making his way to the castle\non his formidable dragon. After he had well viewed the edifice with his\nglaring eye, he tied the dragon up to a tree, and went up to the castle\nas if he had intended to thrust it down with his shoulder. But somehow\nor other he managed to slip down, so that he could not extricate\nhimself, and Tom, advancing with his two-handed sword, cut off the\ngiant's head at one blow, and the dragon's at four, and sent them up in\na \"waggon\" to the court of his sovereign.\n\nThe news of Tom's victories reached the ears of his old companion, the\ntinker, who became desirous of sharing in his glory, and accordingly\njoined him at his castle. After mutual congratulations, Tom informed\nhim of his wish to destroy, without delay, the beasts of prey that\ninfested the island. They started for this purpose in company, Tom armed\nwith his two-handed sword, and the tinker with his long pikestaff. After\nthey had travelled about four or five hours, it was their fortune to\nmeet with the whole knot of wild beasts together, being in number\nfourteen, six bears and eight lions. The two heroes waited for them with\ntheir backs against a tree, and whenever they came \"within cutting\ndistance\" they cut their heads off, and in this manner killed all but\none lion, who, unfortunately, by an inconsiderate movement on the part\nof Tom, crushed the poor tinker to death. The animal was, however,\nultimately slain by Sir Thomas.\n\nSir Thomas Hickathrift had killed the giants, dragon, and lions, and he\nhad conquered the rebels, but his happiness was by no means completed,\nfor he was inconsolate for the loss of his friend. He, however, returned\nhome to his lady, and made a grand feast in commemoration of his\nimportant victories. The history terminates with the following brilliant\nmetrical speech he made on this festive occasion:\n\n      My friends, while I have strength to stand,\n        Most manfully I will pursue\n      All dangers, till I clear this land\n        Of lions, bears, and tigers, too.\n\n      This you'll find true, or I'm to blame,\n        Let it remain upon record,\u2014\n      Tom Hickathrift's most glorious fame,\n        Who never yet has broke his word!\n\n\nTOM THUMB.\n\n[Thumb stories are common in German and Danish, and the English tale\ncomprises much that is found in the Northern versions. A writer in the\nQuarterly Review, xxi. 100, enters into some speculations respecting the\nmythological origin of Tom Thumb, and records his persuasion, in which\nwe agree, that several of our common nursery tales are remnants of\nancient \u03bc\u03c5\u03b8\u03bf\u03b9. Sir W. Scott mentions the Danish popular\nhistory of Svend Tomling, analysed by Nierup, \"a man no bigger than a\nthumb, who would be married to a woman three ells and three quarters\nlong.\" This personage is probably commemorated in the nursery rhyme,\n\n      I had a little husband\n        No bigger than my thumb:\n      I put him in a pint-pot,\n        And there I bid him drum.\n\nAccording to popular tradition, Tom Thumb died at Lincoln, and a little\nblue flagstone in the pavement of the cathedral used to be pointed out\nas his monument.\n\n\"It was my good fortune,\" says Dr. Wagstaffe, \"some time ago, to have\nthe library of a schoolboy committed to my charge, where, among other\nundiscovered valuable authors, I pitched upon Tom Thumb and Tom\nHickathrift, authors indeed more proper to adorn the shelves of Bodley\nor the Vatican, than to be confined to the retirement and obscurity of a\nprivate study. I have perused the first of these with an infinite\npleasure, and a more than ordinary application, and have made some\nobservations on it, which may not, I hope, prove unacceptable to the\npublic, and however it may have been ridiculed and looked upon as an\nentertainment only for children and those of younger years, may be found\nperhaps a performance not unworthy the perusal of the judicious, and the\nmodel superior to either of those incomparable poems of Chevy Chase or\nthe Children in the Wood. The design was undoubtedly to recommend\nvirtue, and to show that however any one may labour under the\ndisadvantages of stature and deformity, or the meanness of parentage,\nyet if his mind and actions are above the ordinary level, those very\ndisadvantages that seem to depress him add a lustre to his\ncharacter.\"\u2014_A Comment upon the History of Tom Thumb_, 1711, p. 4.]\n\nIn the merry days of good King Arthur, there lived in one of the\ncounties of England a ploughman and his wife. They were poor, but as the\nhusband was a strong workman, and his partner an able assistant in all\nmatters pertaining to the farmhouse, the dairy, and poultry, they\nmanaged to make a very good living, and would have been contented and\nhappy, had Nature blessed them with any offspring. But although they had\nbeen married several years, no olive branch had yet appeared, and the\nworthy couple sadly lamented their hard lot.\n\nThere lived at this period, at the court of Arthur, a celebrated\nconjuror and magician, whose name was Merlin, the astonishment of the\nwhole world, for he knew the past, present, and future, and nothing\nappeared impossible to him. Persons of all classes solicited his\nassistance and advice, and he was perfectly accessible to the humblest\napplicant. Aware of this, the ploughman, after a long consultation with\nhis \"better half,\" determined to consult him, and, for this purpose,\ntravelled to the court, and, with tears in his eyes, beseeched Merlin\nthat he might have a child, \"even though it should be no bigger than his\nthumb.\"\n\nNow Merlin had a strange knack of taking people exactly at their words,\nand without waiting for any more explicit declaration of the ploughman's\nwishes, at once granted his request. What was the poor countryman's\nastonishment to find, when he reached home, that his wife had given\nbirth to a gentleman so diminutive, that it required a strong exercise\nof the vision to see him. His growth was equally wonderful, for\u2014\n\n      In four minutes he grew so fast,\n        That he became as tall\n      As was the ploughman's thumb in length,\n        And so she did him call.\n\nThe christening of this little fellow was a matter of much ceremony, for\nthe fairy queen, attended by all her company of elves, was present at\nthe rite, and he formally received the name of Tom Thumb. Her majesty\nand attendants attired him with their choicest weeds, and his costume is\nworth a brief notice. His hat was made of a beautiful oak leaf; his\nshirt was composed of a fine spider's web, and his hose and doublet of\nthistle-down. His stockings were made with the rind of a delicate green\napple, and the garters were two of the finest little hairs one can\nimagine, plucked from his mother's eyebrows. Shoes made of the skin of a\nlittle mouse, \"and tanned most curiously,\" completed his fairy-like\naccoutrement.\n\nIt may easily be imagined that Tom was an object of astonishment and\nridicule amongst the other children of the village, but they soon\ndiscovered that, notwithstanding his diminutive size, he was more than a\nmatch for them. It was a matter of very little consequence to Tom\nwhether he lost or won, for if he found his stock of counters or\ncherrystones run low, he soon crept into the pockets of his companions,\nand replenished his store. It happened, on one occasion, that he was\ndetected, and the aggrieved party punished Tom by shutting him up in a\npin-box. The fairy boy was sadly annoyed at his imprisonment, but the\nnext day he amply revenged himself; for hanging a row of glasses on a\nsunbeam, his companions thought they would follow his example, and, not\npossessing Tom's fairy gifts, broke the glasses, and were severely\nwhipped, whilst the little imp was overjoyed at their misfortune,\nstanding by, and laughing till the tears run down his face.\n\nThe boys were so irritated with the trick that had been played upon\nthem, that Tom's mother was afraid to trust him any longer in their\ncompany. She accordingly kept him at home, and made him assist her in\nany light work suitable for so small a child. One day, while she was\nmaking a batter-pudding, Tom stood on the edge of the bowl, with a\nlighted candle in his hand, so that she might see it was properly made.\nUnfortunately, however, when her back was turned, Tom accidentally fell\nin the bowl, and his mother not missing him, stirred him up in the\npudding \"instead of minced fat,\" and put the pudding in the kettle with\nTom in it. The poor woman paid dearly for her mistake, for Tom had no\nsooner felt the warm water, than he danced about like mad, and the\npudding jumped about till she was nearly frightened out of her wits, and\nwas glad to give it to a tinker who happened to be passing that way. He\nwas thankful for a present so acceptable, and anticipated the pleasure\nof eating a better dinner than he had enjoyed for many a long day. But\nhis joy was of short duration, for as he was getting over a stile, he\nhappened to sneeze very hard, and Tom, who had hitherto remained silent,\ncried out, \"Hollo, Pickens!\" which so terrified the tinker, that he\nthrew the pudding into the field, and scampered away as fast as ever he\ncould go. The pudding tumbled to pieces with the fall, and Tom, creeping\nout, went home to his mother, who had been in great affliction on\naccount of his absence.\n\nA few days after this adventure, Tom accompanied his mother when she\nwent into the fields to milk the cows, and for fear he should be blown\naway by the wind, she tied him to a thistle with a small piece of\nthread. While in this position, a cow came by, and swallowed him up:\n\n      But, being missed, his mother went,\n        Calling him everywhere:\n      Where art thou, Tom? where art thou, Tom?\n        Quoth he, Here, mother, here!\n\n      Within the red cow's stomach, here\n        Your son is swallowed up;\n      All which within her fearful heart\n        Much woful dolour put.\n\nThe cow, however, was soon tired of her subject, for Tom kicked and\nscratched till the poor animal was nearly mad, and at length tumbled him\nout of her mouth, when he was caught by his mother, and carried safely\nhome.\n\nA succession of untoward accidents followed. One day, Tom's father took\nhim to the fields a-ploughing, and gave him \"a whip made of a barley\nstraw\" to drive the oxen with, but the dwarf was soon lost in a furrow.\nWhile he was there, a great raven came and carried him an immense\ndistance to the top of a giant's castle. The giant soon swallowed him\nup, but he made such a disturbance when he got inside, that the monster\nwas soon glad to get rid of him, and threw the mischievous little imp\nfull three miles into the sea. But he was not drowned, for he had\nscarcely reached the water before he was swallowed by a huge fish, which\nwas shortly after captured, and sent to King Arthur by the fisherman for\na new-year's gift. Tom was now discovered, and at once adopted by the\nking as his dwarf;\n\n      Long time he liv'd in jollity,\n        Belov'd of the court,\n      And none like Tom was so esteem'd\n        Amongst the better sort.\n\nThe queen was delighted with the little dwarf, and made him dance a\ngalliard on her left hand. His performance was so satisfactory, that\nKing Arthur gave him a ring which he wore about his middle like a\ngirdle; and he literally \"crept up the royal sleeve,\" requesting leave\nto visit his parents, and take them as much money as he could carry:\n\n      And so away goes lusty Tom\n        With threepence at his back,\n      A heavy burthen, which did make\n        His very bones to crack.\n\nTom remained three days with the old couple, and feasted upon a\nhazel-nut so extravagantly that he grew ill. His indisposition was not\nof long continuance, and Arthur was so anxious for the return of his\ndwarf, that his mother took a birding-trunk, and blew him to the court.\nHe was received by the king with every demonstration of affection and\ndelight, and tournaments were immediately proclaimed:\n\n      Thus he at tilt and tournament\n        Was entertained so,\n      That all the rest of Arthur's knights\n        Did him much pleasure show.\n\n      And good Sir Launcelot du Lake,\n        Sir Tristram and Sir Guy,\n      Yet none compar'd to brave Tom Thumb\n        In acts of chivalry.\n\nTom, however, paid dearly for his victories, for the exertions he made\nupon this celebrated occasion threw him into an illness which ultimately\noccasioned his death. But the hero was carried away by his godmother,\nthe fairy queen, into the land of Faerie, and after the lapse of two\ncenturies, he was suffered to return to earth, and again amuse men by\nhis comical adventures. On one occasion, after his return from\nfairy-land, he jumped down a miller's throat, and played all manner of\npranks on the poor fellow, telling him of all his misdeeds, for millers\nin former days were the greatest rogues, as everybody knows, that ever\nlived. A short time afterwards, Tom a second time is swallowed by a\nfish, which is caught, and set for sale at the town of Rye, where a\nsteward haggles for it,\u2014\n\n      Amongst the rest the steward came,\n        Who would the salmon buy,\n      And other fish that he did name,\n        But he would not comply.\n\n      The steward said, You are so stout,\n        If so, I'll not buy any.\n      So then bespoke Tom Thumb aloud,\n        \"Sir, give the other penny!\"\n\n      At this they began to stare,\n        To hear this sudden joke:\n      Nay, some were frighted to the heart,\n        And thought the dead fish spoke.\n\n      So the steward made no more ado,\n        But bid a penny more;\n      Because, he said, I never heard\n        A fish to speak before.\n\nThe remainder of the history, which details Tom's adventures with the\nqueen, his coach drawn by six beautiful white mice, his escaping on the\nback of a butterfly, and his death in a spider's web, is undoubtedly a\nlater addition to the original, and may therefore be omitted in this\nanalysis. It is, in fact, a very poor imitation of the first part of the\ntale.\n\n\n\n\nIII.\u2014GAME-RHYMES.\n\n\nThe most obvious method of arranging the rhymes employed in the\namusements of children is to commence with the simple lines used by the\nnurse in the infantine toe, finger, and face-games, then proceeding to\nbo-peep, and concluding with the more complicated games, many of the\nlatter possessing a dramatic character.\n\n\nTOE-GAMES\n\n      Harry Whistle, Tommy Thistle,\n      Harry Whible, Tommy Thible,\n      And little Oker-bell.\n\nA game with the five toes, each toe being touched in succession as these\nnames are cried. \"This song affords a proof of the connexion between the\nEnglish and Scandinavian rhymes. The last line, as it now stands,\nappears to mean nothing. The word _oker_, however, is the A.-S. \u00e6cer,\nIcel. akr, Dan. ager, and Swed. \u00e5ker, pronounced _oker_, a field, and\nthe flower is the field-bell.\"\u2014Mr. Stephens's MS. The following lines\nare also used in a play with the toes:\n\n      Shoe the colt, shoe!\n        Shoe the wild mare!\n      Put a sack on her back,\n        See if she'll bear.\n      If she'll bear,\n        We'll give her some grains;\n      If she won't bear,\n        We'll dash out her brains.\n\nThere are many various versions of this song in English, and it also\nexists in Danish (Thiele, iii. 133).\n\n      Skoe min best!\n      Hvem kan bedst?\n      Det kan vor Pr\u00e6st!\n      Nei m\u00e6n kan ban ej!\n      For det kan vor smed,\n      Som boer ved Leed.\n\n          Shoe my horse!\n          Who can best?\n          Why, our priest!\n          Not he, indeed!\n          But our smith can,\n          He lives at Leed.\n\nPerhaps, however, this will be considered more like the common rhyme,\n\"Robert Barnes, Fellow fine,\" printed in the 'Nursery Rhymes of\nEngland,' p. 166. An analogous verse is found in the nursery anthology\nof Berlin (Kuhn, Kinderlieder, 229), and in that of Sweden (Lilja, p.\n14),\u2014\n\n      Sko, sko min lille h\u00e4st,\n      I morgon frosten blir' v\u00e5r g\u00e4st,\n      D\u00e5 bli' h\u00e4stskorna dyra,\n      Tv\u00e5 styfver f\u00f6r fyra.\n\n          Shoe, shoe my little horse,\n          To-morrow it will be frosty:\n          Then will horse-shoes be dear,\n          Two will cost a stiver.\n\nEnglish nurses use the following lines, when a child's shoe is tight,\nand they pat the foot to induce him to allow it to be tried on:\n\n      Cobbler, cobbler, mend my shoe,\n      Give it a stitch and that will do.\n      Here's a nail, and there's a prod,\n      And now my shoe is well shod.\n\nOr, occasionally, these lines,\u2014\n\n      This pig went to market,\n        Squeak, mouse, mouse, mousey;\n      Shoe, shoe, shoe the wild colt,\n        And here's my own doll dowsy.\n\nThe following lines are said by the nurse when moving the child's foot\nup and down,\u2014\n\n      The dog of the kill,[35]\n      He went to the mill\n        To lick mill-dust:\n      The miller he came\n      With a stick on his back,\u2014\n        Home, dog, home!\n      The foot behind,\n        The foot before:\n      When he came to a style,\n        Thus he jumped o'er.\n\n      [Footnote 35: A north-country term for _kiln_.]\n\n\nTHE FIVE FINGERS.\n\nI do not recollect to have seen anywhere noticed the somewhat singular\nfact, that our ancestors had distinct names for each of the five\nfingers\u2014the thumb being generally called a finger in old works. Yet\nsuch was the case; and it may not displease the reader to have these\ncognominations duly set forth in order, viz. _thumb_, _toucher_,\n_longman_, _leche-man_, _little-man_. This information is derived from a\nvery curious MS. quoted in my Dictionary of Archaisms, p. 357; and the\nreasons for the names are thus set forth:\u2014The first finger was called\n_toucher_ because \"therewith men touch i-wis;\" the second finger\n_longman_, \"for longest finger it is,\" (this, I beg to say, is intended\nfor rhyme). The third finger was called _leche-man_, because a leche or\ndoctor tasted everything by means of it. This is very curious; though we\nfind elsewhere another reason for this appellation, on account of the\npulsation in it, which was at one time supposed to communicate directly\nwith the heart. The other finger was, of course, called _littleman_\nbecause it was the least of all. It is rather curious that some of these\nnames should have survived the wrecks of time, and be still preserved\nin a nursery-rhyme; yet such is the fact; for one thus commences, the\nfingers being kept in corresponding movements:\n\n      Dance, thumbkin, dance,\n      Dance, thumbkin, dance;\n      Dance, ye merry men all around:\n      But thumbkin he can dance alone;\n      But thumbkin he can dance alone.\n\n      Dance, foreman, dance,\n      Dance foreman, dance;\n      Dance, ye merry men all around:\n      But thumbkin he can dance alone;\n      But thumbkin he can dance alone.\n\nAnd so on, substituting in succession _middleone_, _longman_, or\n_middleman_, _ringman_, and _littleman_, and each verse terminating with\n\"thumbkin he can dance alone.\" In some instances the original name for\nthe third finger, _lecheman_, is preserved in the rhyme, but _ringman_\nis most generally adopted.\n\nIt is worthy of remark too, that there is, even at the present day,\namongst many of the old women of the Peak of Derbyshire, a strong belief\nin the superiority of _lecheman_ over _foreman_ in all matters of taste.\nThey say that the forefinger is _venomous_, and that the superiority of\nthe third is to be ascribed to its being possessed of a _nerve_; and as\nthey appear to pay a most superstitious reverence to a nerve, whether in\nthe finger, the tooth, or the ear, they do not fail to impress upon\ntheir daughters the importance of tasting anything of consequence with\nthe third finger.\n\nThe names given to the fingers vary considerably in the different\ncounties. In Essex they call them\n\n      Tom Thumbkin,\n      Bess Bumpkin,\n      Bill Wilkin,\n      Long Linkin,\n      And little Dick!\n\nAnd in some parts of Yorkshire,\n\n      Tom Thumbkins,\n      Bill Wilkins,\n      Long Daniel,\n      Bessy Bobtail,\n      And little Dick.\n\nSimilar appellations for the fingers are common in Denmark. Thus,\nThiele, iii. 136,\u2014\n\n      Tommeltot,\n      Slikkepot,\n      Langemand,\n      Guldbrand,\n      Lille Peer Spilleman.\n\n\"Little Peer Spilleman\" is \"little Peter the fiddler,\" not a bad name\nfor the little finger. A slight variation of this is current in\nSweden,\u2014\n\n      Tomme tott,\n      Slicke pott;\n      L\u00e5nge man,\n      Hjertlig hand;\n      Lille, lille, lille, gullvive!\n\nThe following song for the four fingers is obtained from Lancashire:\n\n      This broke the barn,\n      This stole the corn,\n      This got none:\n      This went pinky-winky\n      All the way home!\n\n\nFACE-SONGS.\n\n      Bo Peeper,\n      Nose dreeper,\n      Chin chopper,\n      White lopper,\n      Red rag,\n      And little gap.\n\nThese lines are said to a very young child, touching successively for\neach line the eye, nose, chin, tooth, tongue, and mouth. Sometimes the\nfollowing version is used:\n\n      Brow brinky,\n      Eye winky,\n      Chin choppy,\n      Nose noppy,\n      Cheek cherry,\n      Mouth merry.\n\nThe most pleasing amusement of this kind is the game of \"face-tapping,\"\nthe nurse tapping each feature as she sings these lines,\u2014\n\n      Here sits the lord mayor (_forehead_),\n        Here sit his two men (_eyes_);\n      Here sits the cock (_right cheek_),\n        Here sits the hen (_left cheek_).\n      Here sit the little chickens (_tip of nose_),\n        Here they run in (_mouth_);\n      Chinchopper, chinchopper,\n        Chinchopper, chin (_chucking the chin_)!\n\nSimilar songs are common in the North of Europe. A Danish one is given\nby Thiele, iii. 130:\n\n      Pandebeen,\n      Oisteen,\n      N\u00e6sebeen,\n      Mundelip,\n      Hagetip,\n      Dikke, dikke, dik.\n\n          Brow-bone,\n          Eye-stone,\n          Nose-bone,\n          Mouth-lip,\n          Chin-tip,\n          Dikke, dikke, dik!\n\nThe nurse, while repeating the last line, tickles the child under the\nchin. A German version, now common at Berlin, is printed by M. Kuhn, in\nhis article on Kinderlieder, p. 237:\n\n      Kinnewippchen,\n      Rothlippchen,\n      Nasendrippchen,\n      Augenthr\u00e4nechen,\n      Ziep ziep Mar\u00e4nechen.\n\nThe following lines are repeated by the nurse when sliding her hand down\nthe child's face:\n\n      My mother and your mother\n        Went over the way;\n      Said my mother to your mother,\n        It's chop-a-nose day!\n\n\nKNEE-SONGS.\n\n      This is the way the ladies ride;\n          Tri, tre, tre, tree,\n          Tri, tre, tre, tree!\n      This is the way the ladies ride,\n          Tri, tre, tre, tri-tre-tre-tree!\n\n      This is the way the gentlemen ride;\n          Gallop-a-trot,\n          Gallop-a-trot!\n      This is the way the gentlemen ride,\n          Gallop-a gallop-a-trot!\n\n      This is the way the farmers ride,\n          Hobbledy-hoy,\n          Hobbledy-hoy!\n      This is the way the farmers ride,\n          Hobbledy hobbledy-hoy!\n\nThis is a famous song for a young child, the nurse dancing it on her\nknee, and gradually increasing the ascent of the foot. Similar songs,\nbut differing considerably from the above, are given in the Swedish\nnursery ballads of Arwidsson, iii. 489-91; the Danish of Thiele, iii.\n130-2, iv. 176-7; and the German Wunderhorn, iii. 60-1. The following\npretty Swedish version is given from Mr. Stephens's MS. collections:\n\n      Hvem \u00e4r det som rider?\n      Det \u00e4r en fr\u00f6ken som rider:\n      Det g\u00e5r i sakta traf,\n              I sakta traf!\n\n      Hvem \u00e4r det som rider?\n      Det \u00e4r en Herre som rider:\n      Det g\u00e5r jo i galopp,\n              I galopp!\n\n      Hvem \u00e4r det som rider?\n      Det \u00e4r en Bonde som rider:\n      Det g\u00e5r s\u00e5 lunka p\u00e5,\n              Lunka p\u00e5!\n\n          And pray, who now is riding?\n          A lady it is that's riding:\n          And she goes with a gentle trot,\n                  A gentle trot!\n\n          And pray, who now is riding?\n          A gentleman it is that's riding:\n          And he goes with a gallop-away,\n                  A gallop-away!\n\n          And pray, who now is riding?\n          A farmer it is that's riding:\n          And he goes with a jog along,\n                  A jog along!\n\nThere are a great number of English variations of the above song,\ndiffering very materially from one another. A second version may be\nworth giving:\n\n           Here goes my lord,\n      A trot! a trot! a trot! a trot!\n\n           Here goes my lady,\n      A canter! a canter! a canter! a canter!\n\n           Here goes my young master,\n      Jockey-hitch! jockey-hitch! jockey-hitch! jockey-hitch!\n\n           Here goes my young miss,\n      An amble! an amble! an amble! an amble!\n\n      The footman lags behind to tipple ale and wine,\n      And goes gallop, a gallop, a gallop, to make up his time.\n\nHere are other knee-songs:\n\n      Little Shon a Morgan,\n        Shentleman of Wales,\n      Came riding on a nanny-goat,\n        Selling of pigs' tails.\n\n      Chicky, cuckoo, my little duck,\n        See-saw, sickna downy;\n      Gallop a trot, trot, trot,\n        And hey for Dublin towny!\n\n\nBO-PEEP.\n\nThe children's game of bo-peep is as old as the hills, hiding from each\nother, and saying,\u2014\n\n      Bo-Peep, Little Bo-Peep:\n      Now's the time for hide and seek.\n\nBut in ancient times the amusement appears to have been even of a\nsimpler character, and adopted by nurses before children are capable of\nseeking recreation for themselves. Sherwood describes bo-peep as a\nchild's game, in which the nurse conceals the head of the infant for an\ninstant, and then removes the covering quickly. The Italians say _far\nbau bau_, or _baco, baco_, which Douce thinks is sufficient to show a\nconnexion between the nurse's _boggle_ or _buggy-bo_, and the present\nexpression. Shakespeare has condescended to notice the game, unless,\nindeed, we suppose the term to have passed into a proverb. The reader\nwill recollect what Butler says of Sir Edward Kelly, the celebrated\nconjuror,\u2014\n\n      Kelly did all his feats upon\n      The devil's looking-glass, a stone:\n      Where, _playing with him at bo-peep_,\n      He solv'd all problems ne'er so deep.\n\nThe term bo-peep appears to have been connected at a very early period\nwith sheep. Thus in an old ballad of the time of Queen Elizabeth, in a\nMS. in the library of Corpus Christi College, Cambridge,\u2014\n\n      Halfe Englande ys nowght now but shepe,\n      In everye corner they playe boe-pepe;\n      Lorde, them confownde by twentye and ten,\n      And fyll their places with Cristen men.\n\nAnd every one is acquainted with the nursery rhyme which details the\nadventures of 'Little Bo-peep,'\u2014\n\n      Little Bo-peep has lost her sheep,\n        And can't tell where to find them:\n      Leave them alone, and they'll come home,\n        And bring their tails behind them.\n\n      Little Bo-peep fell fast asleep,\n        And dreamt she heard them bleating:\n      But when she awoke, she found it a joke,\n        For they were still all fleeting.\n\nMinsheu gives us a funny derivation of the word, which he says is no\nother than the noise which chickens make when they come out of the\nshell! I regret I have nothing better, certainly nothing so ingenious,\nto offer to my philological readers. Letting that pass, I take the\nopportunity of giving an anecdote respecting Ben Jonson and Randolph,\nwhich affords another illustration of the analogy above mentioned. It is\ntaken from a manuscript of the seventeenth century, in the possession of\nMr. Stephens of Stockholm, who considers the volume to have been\ntranscribed before the year 1650.\n\n\"Randolph havinge not soe much as ferry money, sought out Ben Johnson,\nand comminge to a place in London where he and three more were\ndrinkinge, peeps in att the chamber doore. Ben Johnson espyinge him,\nsaid, 'Come in, Jack Bo-peepe.' Randolph, beinge very thirsty, it beeing\nthen summer, and willinge to quench his thirst, willingly obeyed his\ncommand. The company dranke untill it came to five shillings: every man\ndrawinge his money, Randolph made this motion, viz. that he that made\nthe first coppy of verses upon the reckoninge should goe scot-free. Ben\nand all the rest, beeinge poetts, readily consented. Randolph,\nsurpassinge them in acutenesse, utter'd forthwith these followinge,\u2014\n\n        I, Jack Bo-peep,\n        And you foure sheep,\n      Lett every one yeeld his fleece:\n        Here's five shillinge,\n        If you are willinge,\n      That will be fifteene pence a-peece.\n        _Et sic impune evasit inops._\"\n\nWe conclude in the words of Shakespeare,\u2014\n\n      They then for sudden joy did weep,\n        And I for sorrow sung,\n      That such a king should play _bo-peep_,\n        And go the fools among.\n\n\nMISCELLANEOUS PUERILE AMUSEMENTS.\n\n      I went to the sea,\n      And saw twentee\n        Geese all in a row:\n      My glove I would give\n      Full of gold, if my wife\n        Was as white as those.\n\nThese lines are to be repeated rapidly and correctly, inserting the word\n_cother_ after _every_ word, under pain of a forfeit.\n\n      It's time, I believe,\n      For us to get leave:\n      The little dog says\n      It isn't, it is; it 'tisnt, it is, &c.\n\nSaid by a schoolboy, who places his book between his knees. His two\nforefingers are then placed together, and the breadth of each is\nmeasured alternately along the length of the book. The time to get leave\n(to be dismissed) is supposed to have arrived or not according as one\nfinger or the other fills up the last space.\n\n      A duck and a drake,\n      And a white penny cake.\n      It's time to go home,\n      It isn't, it is, &c.\n\nSo going on with the fingers one over the other along the edge of a book\nor desk, till the last finger determines the question.\n\n      Put your finger in foxy's hole,\n        Foxy is not at home:\n      Foxy is at the back door,\n        Picking of a bone.\n\nHolding the fist in such a way that if a child puts its finger in, you\ncan secure it, still leaving the hole at top open.\n\n      Jack's alive and in very good health,\n      If he dies in your hand you must look to yourself.\n\nPlayed with a stick, one end burnt red-hot: it is passed round a circle\nfrom one to the other, the one who passes it saying this, and the one\nwhose hand it goes out in paying a forfeit.\n\n\nSEE-SAW.\n\nA common game, children vacillating on either end of a plank supported\non its centre. While enjoying this recreation, they have a song of\nappropriate cadence, the burden of which is,\u2014\n\n      Titty cum tawtay,\n        The ducks in the water:\n      Titty cum tawtay,\n        The geese follow after.\n\n\nHITTY-TITTY.\n\n      Hitty-titty in-doors,\n        Hitty-titty out;\n      You touch Hitty-titty,\n        And Hitty-titty will bite you.\n\nThese lines are said by children when one of them has hid herself. They\nthen run away, and the one who is bitten (caught) becomes Hitty-titty,\nand hides in her turn. A variation of the above lines occurs in MS.\nHarl. 1962, as a riddle, the solution of which is _a nettle_.\n\n\nBEANS AND BUTTER.\n\nSo the game of _hide-and-seek_ is called in some parts of Oxfordshire.\nChildren hide from each other, and when it is time to commence the\nsearch, the cry is,\n\n      Hot boil'd beans and very good butter,\n      If you please to come to supper!\n\n\nDROP-CAP.\n\nIn the game where the following lines are used, one person goes round\ninside a ring of children, clapping a cap between his hands. When he\ndrops it at the foot of any one, that one leaves his position and gives\nchase, and is obliged to thread the very same course among the children\ntill the first is caught. The first then stands with his back towards\nthe centre of the ring, the one called out takes his place, and thus\nthey continue till nearly all are \"turned.\"\n\n      My hand burns hot, hot, hot,\n      And whoever I love best, I'll drop this at his foot!\n\n\nMY SOW HAS PIGGED.\n\nA game at cards, played now only by children. It is alluded to by Taylor\nthe Water-poet, in his Motto, 12mo. Lond. 1622, and it is also\nmentioned in Poor Robin's Almanac for 1734. The following distich is\nused in this game:\n\n      Higgory, diggory, digg'd,\n      My sow has pigg'd.\n\n\nNIDDY-NODDY.\n\nA simple but very amusing game at cards, at which any number can play.\nThe cards are dealt round, and one person commences the game by placing\ndown a card, and the persons next in succession who hold the same card\nin the various suits place them down upon it, the holder of the last\nwinning the trick. The four persons who hold the cards say, when they\nput them down,\u2014\n\n      1. There's a good card for thee.\n      2. There's a still better than he!\n      3. There's the best of all three.\n      4. And there is Niddy-noddee!\n\nThe person who is first _out_, receives a fish for each card unplayed.\n\n\nSLATE GAMES.\n\nEntertaining puzzles or exercises upon the slate are generally great\nfavorites with children. A great variety of them are current in the\nnursery, or rather were so some years ago. The story of the four rich\nmen, the four poor men, and the pond, was one of these; the difficulty\nmerely requiring a zig-zag inclosure to enable it to be satisfactorily\nsolved.\n\nOnce upon a time there was a pond lying upon common land, which was\nextremely commodious for fishing, bathing, and various other purposes.\nNot far from it lived four poor men, to whom it was of great service;\nand farther off, there lived four rich men. The latter envied the poor\nmen the use of the pond, and, as inclosure bills had not then come into\nfashion, they wished to invent an inclosure-wall which should shut out\nthe poor men from the pond, although they lived so near it, and still\ngive free access to the rich men, who resided at a greater distance. How\nwas this done?\n\n\nGAME OF THE CAT.\n\nThis is another slate game, in which, by means of a tale and appropriate\nindications on the slate, a rude figure of a cat is delineated. It\nrequires, however, some little ingenuity to accomplish it.\n\nTommy would once go to see his cousin Charles. [Here one draws T for\nTommy, and C for Charles, forming the forehead, nose, and mouth of the\ncat.] But before he went, he would make walls to his house. [Here he\ndraws lines from the arms of the T to its foot, forming the cheeks of\nthe cat.] But then it smoked, and he would put chimneys to it. [Here he\ninserts two narrow triangles on each arm of the T, forming the ears of\nthe cat.] But then it was so dark, he would put windows into it. [Here\nhe draws a small circle under each arm of the T, forming the eyes.] Then\nto make it pretty, he would spread grass at the door. [Here he scratches\nlines at the foot of the T, representing the cat's whiskers.] Then away\nhe went on his journey, but after a little while, down he fell. [Here he\ndraws down a line a little way from the foot of the T.] But he soon\nclimbed up again. [Here he draws a zig-zag horizontally from the foot of\nthe last line, and draws one up, forming with the last movement the\nfirst foot of the cat.] Then he walks along again, but soon falls down\nonce more. [Here he draws a short horizontal line, and one downwards.]\nHe soon, however, got up again, as before, &c. [The second leg is then\nformed, and by similar movements the four legs of the cat appear.]\nAfter thus falling down four times, Tommy determined to proceed more\nfirmly, and climbing up, he walks along [the back of the cat] another\nway round till he comes to C. His journey is now accomplished, and an\nanimal, called by courtesy a cat, appears on the slate, \"the admiration\nof all beholders.\"\n\n\nHANDY-DANDY.\n\nThis game is now played as follows:\u2014a child hides something in one\nhand, and then places both fists endways on each other, crying,\u2014\n\n      Handy-dandy riddledy ro,\n      Which will you have, high or low?\n\nOr, sometimes, the following distich,\u2014\n\n      Handy-dandy, Jack-a-dandy,\n      Which good hand will you have?\n\nThe party addressed either touches one hand, or guesses in which one the\narticle (whatever it may be) is placed. If he guesses rightly, he wins\nits contents; if wrongly, he loses an equivalent.\n\nSome versions read _handy-pandy_ in the first of these, with another\nvariation, that would not now be tolerated. This is one of the oldest\nEnglish games in existence, and appears to be alluded to in Piers\nPloughman, ed. Wright, p. 69:\n\n      Thanne wowede Wrong\n      Wisdom ful yerne,\n      To maken pees with his pens,\n      Handy-dandy played.\n\nFlorio, in his World of Worlds, ed. 1611, p. 57, translates\n_bazzici\u00fare_, \"to shake between two hands, to play handie-dandie.\"\nMiege, in his Great French Dictionary, 1688, says, \"Handy-dandy, a kind\nof play with the hands, _sorte de jeu de main_;\" and Douce, ii. 167,\nquotes an early MS., which thus curiously mentions the game: \"They hould\nsafe your children's patrymony, and play with your majestie, as men play\nwith little children at _handye-dandye, which hand will you have_, when\nthey are disposed to keep anythinge from them.\" Some of the commentators\non Shakespeare have mistaken the character of the game, from having\nadopted Coles's erroneous interpretation of _micare digitis_. Sometimes\nthe game is played by a sort of sleight of hand, changing the article\nrapidly from one hand into the other, so that the looker-on is often\ndeceived, and induced to name the hand into which it is apparently\nthrown. This is what Shakespeare alludes to by changing places.\n\nPope, in his Memoirs of Martinus Scriblerus, says that the game of\nhandy-dandy is mentioned by Plato; but if, as I suppose, he refers to a\nwell-known passage in the Lysis, the allusion appears somewhat too\nindistinct to warrant such an assertion,\u2014\u03b1\u03c3\u03c4\u03c1\u03b1 \u03b3\u03b1\u03bb\u03b9\u03b6\u03bf\u03bd\u03c4\u03b1\u03c2 \u03c4\u03b5 \u03b4\u03b7\n\u03ba\u03b1\u03b9 \u03ba\u03b5\u03ba\u03bf\u03c3\u03bc\u03b7\u03bc\u03b5\u03bd\u03bf\u03c5\u03c2 \u03b1\u03c0\u03b1\u03bd\u03c4\u03b1\u03c2. \u03bf\u03b9 \u03bc\u03b5\u03bd \u03bf\u03c5\u03bd \u03c0\u03bf\u03bb\u03bb\u03bf\u03b9 \u03b5\u03bd \u03c4\u03b7 \u03b1\u03c5\u03bb\u03b7 \u03b5\u03c0\u03b1\u03b9\u03b6\u03bf\u03bd \u03b5\u03be\u03c9.\n\u03bf\u03b9 \u03b4\u03b5 \u03c4\u03b9\u03bd\u03b5\u03c2 \u03c4\u03bf\u03c5 \u03b1\u03c0\u03bf\u03b4\u03c5\u03c4\u03b7\u03c1\u03b9\u03bf\u03c5 \u03b5\u03bd \u03b3\u03c9\u03bd\u03b9\u03b1 \u03b7\u03c1\u03c4\u03b9\u03b1\u03b6\u03bf\u03bd \u03b1\u03c3\u03c4\u03c1\u03b1\u03b3\u03b1\u03bb\u03bf\u03b9\u03c2 \u03c0\u03b1\u03bc\u03c0\u03bf\u03bb\u03bb\u03bf\u03b9\u03c2,\n\u03b5\u03ba \u03c6\u03bf\u03c1\u03bc\u03b9\u03c3\u03ba\u03c9\u03bd \u03c4\u03b9\u03bd\u03c9\u03bd \u03c0\u03c1\u03bf\u03b1\u03b9\u03c1\u03bf\u03c5\u03bc\u03b5\u03bd\u03bf\u03b9. A passage, however, in Julius\nPollux, ix. 101, referring to this, is rather more distinct, and may\nallude to one form of the game.\u2014\u039a\u03b1\u03b9 \u03bc\u03b7\u03bd \u03ba\u03b1\u03b9 \u03b1\u03c1\u03c4\u03b9\u03b1\u03b6\u03b5\u03b9\u03bd,\n\u03b1\u03c3\u03c4\u03c1\u03b1\u03b3\u03b1\u03bb\u03bf\u03c5\u03c2 \u03b5\u03ba \u03c6\u03bf\u03c1\u03bc\u03b9\u03c3\u03ba\u03c9\u03bd \u03ba\u03b1\u03b8\u03b1\u03b9\u03c1\u03bf\u03bc\u03b5\u03bd\u03bf\u03c5\u03c2 \u03b5\u03bd \u03c4\u03c9 \u03b1\u03c0\u03bf\u03b4\u03c5\u03c4\u03b7\u03c1\u03b9\u03c9 \u03c4\u03bf\u03c5\u03c2 \u03c0\u03b1\u03b9\u03b4\u03b1\u03c2,\n\u03bf\u03a0\u03bb\u03b1\u03c4\u03c9\u03bd \u03b5\u03c6\u03b7. \u03c4\u03bf \u03b4\u03b5 \u03b1\u03c1\u03c4\u03b9\u03b1\u03b6\u03b5\u03b9\u03bd \u03b5\u03bd \u03b1\u03c3\u03c4\u03c1\u03b1\u03b3\u03b1\u03bb\u03c9\u03bd \u03c0\u03bb\u03b7\u03b8\u03b5\u03b9 \u03ba\u03b5\u03ba\u03c1\u03c5\u03bc\u03bc\u03b5\u03bd\u03c9\u03bd \u03c5\u03c0\u03bf\n\u03c4\u03b1\u03b9\u03bd \u03c7\u03b5\u03c1\u03bf\u03b9\u03bd, \u03bc\u03b1\u03bd\u03c4\u03b5\u03b9\u03b1\u03bd \u03b5\u03b9\u03c7\u03b5 \u03c4\u03c9\u03bd \u03b1\u03c1\u03c4\u03b9\u03c9\u03bd \u03b7 \u03ba\u03b1\u03b9 \u03c0\u03b5\u03c1\u03b9\u03c4\u03c4\u03c9\u03bd. \u03c4\u03b1\u03c5\u03c4\u03bf \u03b4\u03b5 \u03c4\u03bf\u03c5\u03c4\u03bf\n\u03ba\u03b1\u03b9 \u03ba\u03c5\u03b1\u03bc\u03bf\u03b9\u03c2, \u03b7 \u03ba\u03b1\u03c1\u03c5\u03bf\u03b9\u03c2 \u03c4\u03b5 \u03ba\u03b1\u03b9 \u03b1\u03bc\u03c5\u03b3\u03b4\u03b1\u03bb\u03b1\u03b9\u03c2, \u03bf\u03b9 \u03b4\u03b5 \u03ba\u03b1\u03b9 \u03b1\u03c1\u03b3\u03c5\u03c1\u03b9\u03c9 \u03c0\u03c1\u03b1\u03c4\u03c4\u03b5\u03b9\u03bd\n\u03b7\u03be\u03b9\u03bf\u03c5\u03bd, a passage which Meursius, de Ludis Gr\u00e6corum, ed. 1625, p. 5,\nthus partially translates, \"nempe ludentes sumptis in manu talis, fabis,\nnucibus, amygdalis, interdum etiam nummis, interrogantes alterum\ndivinare jubebant.\" Here we have the exact game of handy-dandy, which\nis, after all, the simple form of the odd and even of children.\n\nBrowne has a curious allusion to this game in Britannia's Pastorals,\ni. 5,\u2014\n\n      Who so hath sene yong lads, to sport themselves,\n      Run in a low ebbe to the sandy shelves,\n      Where seriously they worke in digging wels,\n      Or building childish sorts of cockle-shels;\n      Or liquid water each to other bandy,\n      Or with the pibbles play at handy-dandy.\n\n\nBARLEY-BRIDGE.\n\nA string of boys and girls, each holding by his predecessor's skirts,\napproaches two others, who, with joined and elevated hands, form a\ndouble arch. After the dialogue is concluded, the line passes through\nthe arch, and the last is caught, if possible, by the sudden lowering of\nthe arms.\n\n              \"How many miles to Barley-bridge?\"\n                  \"Three score and ten.\"\n              \"Can I get there by candle-light?\"\n                  \"Yes, if your legs be long.\"\n      \"A courtesy to you, and a courtesy to you,\n      If you please will you let the king's horses through?\"\n              Through and through shall they go,\n                  For the king's sake;\n              But the one that is hindmost\n                  Will meet with a great mistake.\n\n\nTHE TOWN LOVERS.\n\nA game played by boys and girls. A girl is placed in the middle of a\nring, and says the following lines, the names being altered to suit the\nparty. She points to each one named, and at the last line, the party\nselected immediately runs away, and if the girl catches him, he pays a\nforfeit, or the game is commenced again, the boy being placed in the\nmiddle, and the lines, _mutatis mutandis_, serve for a reversed\namusement:\n\n      There is a girl of our town,\n      She often wears a flowered gown:\n      Tommy loves her night and day,\n      And Richard when he may,\n      And Johnny when he can:\n      I think Sam will be the man!\n\n\nMARY BROWN. FAIR GUNDELA.\n\nA slightly dramatic character may be observed in this game, which was\nobtained from Essex. Children form a ring, one girl kneeling in the\ncentre, and sorrowfully hiding her face with her hands. One in the ring\nthen says,\u2014\n\n      Here we all stand round the ring,\n      And now we shut poor Mary in;\n      Rise up, rise up, poor Mary Brown,\n      And see your poor mother go through the town.\n\nTo this she answers,\u2014\n\n      I will not stand up upon my feet,\n      To see my poor mother go through the street.\n\nThe children then cry,\u2014\n\n      Rise up, rise up, poor Mary Brown,\n      And see your poor father go through the town.\n\n                        _Mary._\n\n      I will not stand up upon my feet,\n      To see my poor father go through the street.\n\n                      _Children._\n\n      Rise up, rise up, poor Mary Brown,\n      To see your poor brother go through the town.\n\n                        _Mary._\n\n      I will not stand up upon my feet,\n      To see my poor brother go through the street.\n\n                      _Children._\n\n      Rise up, rise up, poor Mary Brown,\n      To see your poor sister go through the town.\n\n                        _Mary._\n\n      I will not stand up upon my feet,\n      To see my poor sister go through the street.\n\n                      _Children._\n\n      Rise up, rise up, poor Mary Brown,\n      To see the poor beggars go through the town.\n\n                        _Mary._\n\n      I will not stand up upon my feet,\n      To see the poor beggars go through the street.\n\nOne would have thought that this tiresome repetition had been continued\nquite long enough, but two other verses are sometimes added, introducing\n_gentlemen_ and _ladies_ with the same questions, to both of which it is\nunnecessary to say that the callous and hardhearted Mary Brown replies\nwith perfect indifference and want of curiosity. All versions, however,\nconclude with the girls saying,\u2014\n\n      Rise up, rise up, poor Mary Brown,\n      And see your poor sweetheart go through the town.\n\nThe chord is at last touched, and Mary, frantically replying,\u2014\n\n      I will get up upon my feet,\n      To see my sweetheart go through the street,\n\nrushes with impetuosity to break the ring, and generally succeeds in\nescaping the bonds that detain her from her imaginary love.\n\nThe Swedish ballad of the \"Maiden that was sold into Slavery,\" has a\nsimilar dramatic character. (See an article by Mr. Stephens, on the\nPopular Ballads and Songs of Sweden, in the Foreign Quarterly Review for\n1840.) Another Swedish ballad, or ring-dance song, entitled, \"Fair\nGundela,\" is, however, more analogous to the above. A girl sits on a\nstool or chair within a ring of dancers; and, with something in her\nhands, imitates the action of rowing. She should have a veil on her\nhead, and at the news of her sweetheart's death, let it fall over her\nface, and sink down, overwhelmed with sorrow. The ring of girls dance\nround her, singing and pausing, and she sings in reply. The dialogue is\nconducted in the following manner:\n\n                _The Ring._\n\n      Why row ye so, why row ye so?\n                              Fair Gundela!\n\n                _Gundela._\n\n      Sure I may row, ay sure may I row,\n      While groweth the grass,\n                              All summer through.\n\n                _The Ring._\n\n      But now I've speir'd that your father's dead,\n                              Fair Gundela!\n\n                _Gundela._\n\n      What matters my father? My mother lives still.\n                              Ah, thank heaven for that!\n\n                _The Ring._\n\n      But now I've speir'd that your mother's dead,\n                              Fair Gundela!\n\n                _Gundela._\n\n      What matters my mother? My brother lives still.\n                              Ah, thank heaven for that!\n\n                _The Ring._\n\n      But now I've speir'd that your brother's dead,\n                              Fair Gundela!\n\n                _Gundela._\n\n      What matters my brother? My sister lives still.\n                              Ah, thank heaven for that!\n\n                _The Ring._\n\n      But now I've speir'd that your sister's dead,\n                              Fair Gundela!\n\n                _Gundela._\n\n      What matters my sister? My sweetheart lives still.\n                              Ah, thank heaven for that!\n\n                _The Ring._\n\n      But now I've speir'd that your sweetheart's dead,\n                              Fair Gundela!\n\n      [_Here she sinks down overwhelmed with grief._]\n\n                _Gundela._\n\n          Say! can it be true,\n            Which ye tell now to me,\n          That my sweetheart's no more?\n            Ah, God pity me!\n\n                _The Ring._\n\n      But now I've speir'd that your father lives still,\n                              Fair Gundela!\n\n                _Gundela._\n\n      What matters my father? My sweetheart's no more!\n                              Ah, God pity me!\n\n                _The Ring._\n\n      But now I've speir'd that you mother lives still,\n                              Fair Gundela!\n\n                _Gundela._\n\n      What matters my mother? My sweetheart's no more!\n                              Ah, God pity me!\n\n                _The Ring._\n\n      But now I've speir'd that your brother lives still,\n                              Fair Gundela!\n\n                _Gundela._\n\n      What matters my brother? My sweetheart's no more!\n                              Ah, God pity me!\n\n                _The Ring._\n\n      But now I've speir'd that your sister lives still,\n                              Fair Gundela!\n\n                _Gundela._\n\n      What matters my sister? My sweetheart's no more!\n                              Ah, God pity me!\n\n                _The Ring._\n\n      But now I've speir'd that your sweetheart lives still,\n                              Fair Gundela!\n\n                _Gundela._\n\n          Say! can it be true\n            Which ye tell now to me,\n          That my sweetheart lives still?\n            Thank God, thank God for that!\n\nThe veil is thrown on one side, her face beams with joy, the circle is\nbroken, and the juvenile drama concludes with merriment and noise. It is\ndifficult to say whether this is the real prototype of the English game,\nor whether they are both indebted to a still more primitive original.\nThere is a poetical sweetness and absolute dramatic fervour in the\nSwedish ballad we vainly try to discover in the English version. In the\nlatter, all is vulgar, common-place, and phlegmatic. Cannot we trace in\nboth the national character? Do we not see in the last that poetic\nsimplicity which has made the works of Andersen so popular and\nirresistibly charming? It may be that the style pleases by contrast, and\nthat we appreciate its genuine chasteness the more, because we have\nnothing similar to it in our own vernacular literature.\n\n\nMY DAUGHTER JANE.\n\nEccleshall version, played as a game by the schoolgirls. See the Nursery\nRhymes of England, p. 114.\n\n      _Suitors._ Here come two dukes all out of Spain,\n                 A courting to your daughter Jane.\n\n      _Mother._  My daughter Jane, she is so young,\n                 She can't abide your flattering tongue.\n\n      _Suitor._  Let her be young or let her be old,\n                 It is the price, she must be sold\n                 Either for silver or for gold.\n                 So, fare you well, my lady gay,\n                 For I must turn another way.\n\n      _Mother._  Turn back, turn back, you Spanish knight,\n                 And rub your spurs till they be bright.\n\n      _Suitor._  My spurs they are of a costliest wrought,\n                 And in this town they were not bought;\n                 Nor in this town they won't be sold,\n                 Neither for silver nor for gold.\n                 So, fare you well, my lady gay,\n                 For I must turn another way.\n\n                 Through the kitchen, and through the hall,\n                 And take the fairest of them all;\n                 The fairest is, as I can see,\n                 Pretty Jane, come here to me.\n\n                 Now I've got my pretty fair maid,\n                 Now I've got my pretty fair maid\n                 To dance along with me\u2014\n                 To dance along with me!\n\nThere is a different version in Cambridgeshire, but the girl recollects\nit so imperfectly, and only two stanzas, that I cannot depend upon their\nbeing correct.\n\n      Here come three lords dressed all in green,\n      For the sake of your daughter Jane.\n      My daughter Jane she is so young,\n      She learns to talk with a flattering tongue.\n\n      Let her be young, or let her be old,\n      For her beauty she must be sold.\n      My mead's not made, my cake's not baked,\n      And you cannot have my daughter Jane.\n\n\nHEWLEY-PULEY.\n\nThe children are seated and the following questions put by one of the\nparty, holding a twisted handkerchief or something of the sort in the\nhand. The handkerchief was called hewley-puley, and the questions are\nasked by the child who holds it. If one answered wrongly, a box on the\near with the handkerchief was the consequence; but if they all replied\ncorrectly, then the one who broke silence first had that punishment.\n\n      Take this! What's this?\u2014Hewley-puley.\n      Where's my share?\u2014About the kite's neck.\n      Where's the kite?\u2014Flown to the wood.\n      Where's the wood?\u2014The fire has burned it.\n      Where's the fire?\u2014The water has quenched it.\n      Where's the water?\u2014The ox has drunk it.\n      Where's the ox?\u2014The butcher has killed it.\n      Where's the butcher?\u2014The rope has hanged him.\n      Where's the rope?\u2014The rat has gnawed it.\n      Where's the rat?\u2014The cat has killed it.\n      Where's the cat?\u2014Behind the church door, cracking\n      pebble-stones and marrow-bones for yours and my supper, and\n      the one who speaks first shall have a box on the ear.\n\n\nTHE DIAMOND RING.\n\nChildren sit in a ring or in a line, with their hands placed together\npalm to palm, and held straight, the little fingers downmost between the\nknees. One of them is then chosen to represent a servant, who takes a\nring, or some other small article as a substitute, between her two\npalms, which are pressed flat together like those of the rest, and goes\nround the circle or line, placing her hands into the hands of every\nplayer, so that she is enabled to let the ring fall wherever she\npleases without detection. After this, she returns to the first child\nshe touched, and with her hands behind her exclaims,\u2014\n\n      My lady's lost her diamond ring:\n      I pitch upon you to find it!\n\nThe child who is thus addressed must guess who has the ring, and the\nservant performs the same ceremony with each of the party. They who\nguess right, escape; but the rest forfeit. Should any one in the ring\nexclaim, \"I have it,\" she also forfeits; nor must the servant make known\nwho has the ring, until all have guessed, under the same penalty. The\nforfeits are afterwards cried as usual.\n\n\nTHE POOR SOLDIER.\n\nChildren form a half-circle, first choosing one of their number to\nrepresent the poor soldier. The chief regulation is that none of the\nplayers may use the words, _yes_, _no_, _black_, _white_, or _gray_. The\npoor soldier traverses the semicircle, thus addressing each player,\u2014\n\n      Here's a poor soldier come to town!\n      Have you aught to give him?\n\nThe answer must of course be evasive, else there is a fine. He\ncontinues, \"Have you a pair of trousers [or old coat, shoes, cap, &c.]\nto give me?\" The answer must again be evasive, or else another forfeit.\nThe old soldier then asks: \"Well, what colour is it?\" The reply must\navoid the forbidden colours, or another forfeit is the penalty. Great\ningenuity may be exhibited in the manner in which the questions and\nanswers are constructed, and, in the hands of some children, this is a\nmost amusing recreation. The forfeits are of course cried at the end of\nthe game.\n\n\nTHE BRAMBLE-BUSH.\n\nA ring-dance imitation-play, the metrical portion of which is not\nwithout a little melody. The bramble-bush is often imaginative, but\nsometimes represented by a child in the centre of the ring. All join\nhands, and dance round in a circle, singing,\u2014\n\n      Here we go round the bramble-bush,\n      \u2014The bramble-bush, the bramble-bush:\n      Here we go round the bramble-bush\n        On a cold frosty morning!\n\nAfter the chanting of this verse is ended, all the children commence an\nimitation of washing clothes, making appropriate movements with their\nhands, and saying,\u2014\n\n      This is the way we wash our clothes,\n      \u2014Wash our clothes, wash our clothes:\n      This is the way we wash our clothes\n        On a cold frosty morning!\n\nThey then dance round, repeating the first stanza, after which the\noperation of drying the clothes is commenced with a similar verse, \"This\nis the way we dry our clothes,\" &c. The game may be continued almost _ad\ninfinitum_ by increasing the number of duties to be performed. They are,\nhowever, generally satisfied with mangling, _smoothing_ or ironing, the\nclothes, and then putting them away. Sometimes they conclude with a\ngeneral cleaning, which may well be necessary after the large quantity\nof work that has been done:\n\n      This is the way we clean our rooms,\n      \u2014Clean our rooms, clean our rooms:\n      This is the way we clean our rooms\n        On a cold frosty morning!\n\nAnd like good merry washing-women, they are not exhausted with their\nlabours, but conclude with the song, \"Here we go round the\nbramble-bush,\" having had sufficient exercise to warm themselves on any\n\"cold frosty morning,\" which was doubtlessly the result, we may observe\n_en passant_, as a matter of domestic economy, aimed at by the author.\nIt is not so easy to give a similar explanation to the game of the\nmulberry-bush, conducted in the same manner:\n\n      Here we go round the mulberry-bush,\n      \u2014The mulberry-bush, the mulberry-bush:\n      Here we go round the mulberry-bush\n        On a sunshiny morning.\n\nIn this game, the motion-cries are usually \"This is the way we wash our\nclothes,\" \"This is the way we dry our clothes,\" \"This is the way we make\nour shoes,\" \"This is the way we mend our shoes,\" \"This is the way the\ngentlemen walk,\" \"This is the way the ladies walk,\" &c. As in other\ncases, the dance may be continued by the addition of cries and motions,\nwhich may be rendered pretty and characteristic in the hands of\njudicious actors. This game, however, requires too much exercise to\nrender it so appropriate to the season as the other.\n\n\nTHE GAME OF DUMP.\n\nA boy's amusement in Yorkshire, in vogue about half a century ago, but\nnow, I believe, nearly obsolete. It is played in this manner. The lads\ncrowd round, and place their fists endways the one on the other, till\nthey form a high pile of hands. Then a boy who has one hand free, knocks\nthe piled fists off one by one, saying to every boy, as he strikes his\nfist away, \"What's there, Dump?\" He continues this process till he comes\nto the last fist, when he exclaims:\n\n        What's there?\n      Cheese and bread, and a mouldy halfpenny!\n        Where's my share?\n      I put it on the shelf, and the cat got it.\n        Where's the cat?\n      She's run nine miles through the wood.\n        Where's the wood?\n      T' fire burnt it.\n        Where's the fire?\n      T' water sleckt (extinguished) it.\n        Where's the water?\n      T' oxen drunk it.\n        Where's the oxen?\n      T' butcher kill'd 'em.\n        Where's t' butcher?\n\n      Upon the church-top cracking nuts, and you may go and\n      eat the shells; and _them as_ speak first shall have nine nips,\n      nine scratches, and nine boxes over the lug!\n\nEvery one then endeavours to refrain from speaking, in spite of mutual\nnudges and grimaces, and he who first allows a word to escape is\npunished by the others in the various methods adopted by schoolboys. In\nsome places the game is played differently. The children pile their\nfists in the manner described above; then one, or sometimes all of them\nsing,\u2014\n\n      I've built my house, I've built my wall;\n      I don't care where my chimneys fall!\n\nThe merriment consists in the bustle and confusion occasioned by the\nrapid withdrawal of the hands.\n\n\nDANCING LOOBY.\n\n      Now we dance looby, looby, looby,\n      Now we dance looby, looby, light.\n      Shake your right hand a little\n      And turn you round about.\n\n      Now we dance looby, looby, looby,\n      Shake your right hand a little,\n      Shake your left hand a little,\n      And turn you round about.\n\n      Now we dance looby, looby, looby,\n      Shake your right hand a little,\n      Shake your left hand a little,\n      Shake your right foot a little,\n      And turn you round about.\n\n      Now we dance looby, looby, looby,\n      Shake your right hand a little,\n      Shake your left hand a little,\n      Shake your right foot a little,\n      Shake your left foot a little,\n      And turn you round about.\n\n      Now we dance looby, looby, looby,\n      Shake your right hand a little,\n      Shake your left hand a little,\n      Shake your right foot a little,\n      Shake your left foot a little,\n      Shake your head a little,\n      And turn you round about.\n\nChildren dance round first, then stop and shake the hand, &c., then turn\nslowly round, and then dance in a ring again.\n\n\nDROP-GLOVE.\n\nChildren stand round in a circle, leaving a space between each. One\nwalks round the outside, and carries a glove in her hand, saying,\n\n      I've a glove in my hand,\n                          Hittity Hot!\n      Another in my other hand,\n                          Hotter than that!\n      So I sow beans, and so they come up,\n      Some in a mug, and some in a cup.\n      I sent a letter to my love,\n      I lost it, I lost it!\n      I found it, I found it!\n      It burns, it scalds!\n\nRepeating the last words very rapidly, till she drops the glove behind\none of them, and whoever has the glove must overtake her, following her\nexactly in and out till she catches her. If the pursuer makes a mistake\nin the pursuit, she loses, and the game is over; otherwise she continues\nthe game with the glove.\n\n\nNETTLES GROW IN AN ANGRY BUSH.\n\n      Nettles grow in an angry bush,\n        An angry bush, an angry bush;\n      Nettles grow in an angry bush,\n        With my High, Ho, Ham!\n      This is the way the lady goes,\n        The lady goes, the lady goes;\n      This is the way the lady goes,\n        With my High, Ho, Ham!\n\nThe children dance round, singing the first three lines, turning round\nand clapping hands for the fourth line. They curtsey while saying \"this\nis the way the lady goes,\" and again turn round and clap hands for the\nlast line. The same process is followed in every verse, only varying\nwhat they act,\u2014thus, in the third verse, they _bow_ for the\ngentleman,\u2014\n\n      Nettles grow in an angry bush, &c.\n      This is the way the gentleman goes, &c.\n\n      Nettles grow in an angry bush, &c.\n      This is the way the tailor goes, &c.\n\nAnd so the amusement is protracted _ad libitum_, with shoemaking,\nwashing the clothes, ironing, churning, milking, making up butter, &c.\n\n\nGAME OF THE GIPSY.\n\nOne child is selected for Gipsy, one for Mother, and one for Daughter\nSue. The Mother says,\u2014\n\n      I charge my daughters every one\n      To keep good house while I am gone.\n      You and _you_ (_points_) but specially _you_,\n      [_Or sometimes_, but specially _Sue_.]\n      Or else I'll beat you black and blue.\n\nDuring the Mother's absence, the Gipsy comes in, entices a child away,\nand hides her. This process is repeated till all the children are\nhidden, when the Mother has to find them.\n\n\nGAME OF THE FOX.\n\nOne child is Fox. He has a knotted handkerchief, and a home to which he\nmay go whenever he is tired, but while out of home he must always hop on\none leg. The other children are geese, and have no home. When the Fox is\ncoming out he says,\u2014\n\n      The Fox gives warning\n      It's a cold frosty morning.\n\nAfter he has said these words he is at liberty to hop out, and use his\nknotted handkerchief. Whoever he can touch is Fox instead, but the geese\nrun on two legs, and if the Fox puts his other leg down, he is hunted\nback to his home.\n\n\nTHE OLD DAME.\n\nOne child, called the Old Dame, sits on the floor, and the rest, joining\nhands, form a circle round her, and dancing, sing the following lines:\n\n      _Children._ To Beccles! to Beccles!\n                To buy a bunch of nettles!\n                Pray, Old Dame, what's o'clock?\n\n      _Dame._ One, going for two.\n\n      _Children._ To Beccles! to Beccles!\n                To buy a bunch of nettles!\n                Pray, Old Dame, what's o'clock?\n\n      _Dame._ Two, going for three.\n\nAnd so on till she reaches, \"Eleven going for twelve.\" After this the\nfollowing questions are asked, with the replies.\u2014C. Where have you\nbeen? D. To the wood. C. What for? D. To pick up sticks. C. What for? D.\nTo light my fire. C. What for? D. To boil my kettle. C. What for? D. To\ncook some of your chickens. The children then all run away as fast as\nthey can, and the Old Dame tries to catch one of them. Whoever is caught\nis the next to personate the Dame.\n\n\nTHE POOR WOMAN OF BABYLON.\n\nOne child stands in the middle of a ring formed by the other children\njoining hands round her. They sing\u2014\n\n      Here comes a poor woman from Babylon,\n      With three small children all alone:\n      One can brew, and one can bake,\n      The other can make a pretty round cake.\n\n      One can sit in the arbour and spin,\n      Another can make a fine bed for the king.\n      Choose the one and leave the rest,\n      And take the one you love the best.\n\nThe child in the middle having chosen one in the ring of the opposite\nsex, the rest say,\u2014\n\n      Now you're married, we wish you joy;\n      Father and mother you must obey:\n      Love one another like sister and brother,\n      And now, good people, kiss each other!\n\nThey then kiss, and the process is repeated till all the children are in\nthe ring. Another game, played in the same way, begins with this verse:\n\n      Sally, Sally Waters, why are you so sad?\n      You shall have a husband either good or bad:\n      Then rise, Sally Waters, and sprinkle your pan,\n      For you're just the young woman to get a nice man.\n\nThe partner being chosen, the two kneel down, and the rest sing,\u2014\n\n      Now you're married we wish you joy,\n      Father and mother and little boy!\n      Love one another like sister and brother,\n      And now, good people, kiss each other.\n\n\nQUEEN ANNE.\n\n      Queen Anne, Queen Anne, who sits on her throne,\n      As fair as a lily, as white as a swan;\n      The king sends you three letters,\n      And begs you'll read one.\n\nThis is said by all the children but one, who represents the Queen, they\nhaving previously hid a ball upon one of their number. The Queen\nanswers,\n\n      I cannot read one unless I read all,\n      So pray, \u2014\u2014, deliver the ball.\n\nNaming any child she pleases. If she guesses rightly the child who has\nthe ball takes her place as Queen. If wrongly, the child who has the\nball says,\n\n      The ball is mine, and none of thine,\n      So you, proud Queen, may sit on your throne,\n      While we, your messengers, go and come.\n\nOr, sometimes, these lines,\u2014\n\n      The ball is mine, and none of thine,\n      You are the fair lady to sit on:\n      And we're the black gipsies to go and come.\n\n\nCOUNTING-OUT RHYMES.\n\nThe operation of counting-out is a very important mystery in many\npuerile games. The boys or girls stand in a row, and the operator begins\nwith the counting-out rhyme, appropriating a word to each, till he comes\nto the person who receives the last word, and who is accordingly \"out.\"\nThis operation is continued till there is only one left, who is the\nindividual chosen for the hero of the game, whatever it may be. The\nfollowing verses are selected from a host of rhymes employed for this\npurpose:\n\n      One-ery, two-ery,\n        Tick-ery, tee-vy;\n      Hollow-bone, crack-a-bone,\n        Pen and eevy.\n      Ink, pink,\n        Pen and ink;\n      A study, a stive,\n        A stove, and a sink!\n\n      One-ery, two-ery,\n        Tickery, teven;\n      Alabo, crackabo,\n        Ten and eleven:\n      Spin, spon,\n        Must be gone;\n      Alabo, crackabo,\n        Twenty-_one_!\n      O-U-T spells out.\n\n[Something similar to this is found in Swedish, Arwidsson, iii. 492:\n\n      Apala, mesala,\n      Mesinka, meso,\n      Sebedei, sebedo!\n      Extra, lara,\n      Kajsa, Sara!\n      Heck, veck,\n      V\u00e4llings\u00e4ck,\n      Gack du din l\u00e5nge man veck,\n      Ut!]\n\n      Igdum, digdum, didum, dest,\n      Cot-lo, we-lo, wi-lo, west;\n      Cot pan, must be done,\n      Twiddledum, twaddledum, twenty-one!\n\n      Hytum, skytum,\n      Perridi styxum,\n      Perriwerri wyxum,\n      A bomun D.\n\n\n\n\nIV.\u2014ALPHABET RHYMES.\n\n\nAmongst the various devices to establish a royal road to infantine\nlearning, none are more ancient or useful than the rhymes which serve to\nimpress the letters of the alphabet upon the attention and memory of\nchildren. As early as the fifteenth century, \"Mayster Benet,\" who was\nrector of Sandon, in Essex, in 1440, and afterwards a prebend of St.\nPaul's, composed or translated an alphabet-rhyme, which not only\nprofessed to recall the memory of the letters, but at a time when the\nbenefit of clergy was in vogue, held out the inducement of providing\nmeans for avoiding the punishment of death. The following copy is taken\nfrom two versions in MS. Harl. 541, compared with each other:\n\n\"Who so wyll be wyse and worshyp to wynne, leern he on lettur and loke\nupon another of the A. B. C. of Arystotle. Noon argument agaynst that,\nffor it is counselle for clerkes and knightes a thowsand; and also it\nmyght amend a meane man fulle oft the lernyng of a lettur, and his lyf\nsave. It shal not greve a good man, though gylt be amend. Rede on this\nragment, and rule the theraftur, and whoso be grevid yn his goost\ngoverne the bettur. Herkyn and here every man and child how that I\nbegynne:\n\n      A. to Amerous, to Aventurous, ne Angre the not to moche.\n      B. to Bold, to Besy, and Bourde not to large.\n      C. to Curtes, to Cruel, and Care not to sore.\n      D. to Dulle, to Dredefulle, and Drynk not to oft.\n      E. to Ellynge, to Excellent, ne to Ernstfulle neyther.\n      F. to Ferse, ne to Familier, but Frendely of chere.\n      G. to Glad, to Gloryous, and Gelowsy thow hate.\n      H. to Hasty, to Hardy, ne to Hevy yn thyne herte.\n      J. to Jettyng, to Janglyng, and Jape not to oft.\n      K. to Keping, to Kynd, and ware Knaves tatches among.\n      L. to Lothe, to Lovyng, to Lyberalle of goodes.\n      M. to Medlus, to Mery, but as Maner asketh.\n      N. to Noyous, to Nyce, nor yet to Newefangle.\n      O. to Orpyd, to Ovyrthwarte, and Othes thou hate.\n      P. to Preysyng, to Privy, with Prynces ne with dukes.\n      Q. to Queynt, to Querelous, to Quesytife of questions.\n      R. to Ryetous, to Revelyng, ne Rage not to meche.\n      S. to Straunge, ne to Steryng, nor Stare not to brode.\n      T. to Taylous, to Talewyse, for Temperaunce ys best.\n      V. to Venemous, to Vengeable, and Wast not to myche.\n      W. to Wyld, to Wrothfulle, and Wade not to depe,\n          A mesurabulle meane Way is best for us alle.\"\n\n\nA. APPLE-PIE.\n\nEachard, a learned clergyman of the Church of England, published a work\nin 1671,[36] in which he condescends to illustrate his argument by a\nreference to this celebrated history. Talking of the various modes of\npreaching adopted by different sects, he proceeds in this manner: \"And\nwhereas it has been observed that some of our clergie are sometimes over\nnice in taking notice of the meer words that they find in texts, so\nthese are so accurate as to go to the very _letters_. As suppose, sir,\nyou are to give an exhortation to repentance upon that of St. Matthew,\n'Repent ye, for the kingdom of Heaven is at hand:' you must observe that\n_Repent_ is a rich word, wherein every letter exhorts us to our\nduty,\u2014Repent, R. readily, E. earnestly, P. presently, E. effectually,\nN. nationally, T. thoroughly. Again, Repent Roaringly, Eagerly,\nPlentifully, Heavily (because of _h_), Notably, Terribly. And why not,\nRepent Rarely, Evenly, Prettily, Elegantly, Neatly, Tightly? And also,\nwhy not, A apple-pasty, B bak'd it, C cut it, D divided it, E eat it, F\nfought for it, G got it, &c. I had not time, sir, to look any further\ninto their way of preaching; but if I had, I am sure I should have found\nthat they have no reason to despise our church upon that account.\" The\nworthy divine would have censured the sermon on Malt attributed to the\nelder Dodd.\n\n      [Footnote 36: Observations, &c., 8vo. Lond. 1671, p. 160.]\n\nWe thus find this nursery romance descending in all its purity for\nnearly two centuries. It may be even older than the time of Charles II.,\nfor it does not appear as a novelty in the quotation we have just given.\nBe this as it may, the oldest edition I know of was printed some\nhalf-century since by Marshall, in Aldermary Churchyard, entitled \"The\nTragical Death of A. Apple-pye, who was cut in pieces and eat by\ntwenty-five gentlemen, with whom all little people ought to be very well\nacquainted,\" which runs as follows:\n\n      A. apple-pye, B. bit it,\n      C. cut it, D, dealt it,\n      E. eat it, F. fought for it,\n      G. got it, H. had it,[37]\n      J. join'd for it, K. kept it,\n      L. long'd for it, M. mourn'd for it,\n      N. nodded at it, O. open'd it,\n      P. peep'd in it, Q. quarter'd it,\n      R. ran for it, S. stole it,\n      T. took it, V. viewed it, W. wanted it;\n      X. Y. Z. and Ampersy-and,\n      They all wish'd for a piece in hand.\n\n      At last they every one agreed\n      Upon the apple-pye to feed;\n      But as there seem'd to be so many,\n      Those who were last might not have any.\n      Unless some method there was taken,\n      That every one might save their bacon.\n      They all agreed to stand in order\n      Around the apple-pye's fine border.\n      Take turn as they in hornbook stand,\n      From great A down to &,\n      In equal parts the pye divide,\n      As you may see on t'other side.\n\n      [Footnote 37: Some copies say \"H. halv'd it, I.\n      ey'd it,\" and afterwards, \"U. hew'd it, ... X.\n      crossed it, Y. yearn'd for it, and Z. put it in\n      his pocket, and said, Well done!\"]\n\nThen follows a woodcut of the pie, surrounded by a square of the\nletters, though it is not very easy to perceive how the conditions of\nthe problem are to be fulfilled. The remainder of the book, a small\n32mo., is occupied with \"A Curious Discourse that passed between the\ntwenty-five letters at dinner-time,\"\u2014\n\n      Says A, give me a good large slice.\n      Says B, a little bit, but nice.\n      Says C, cut me a piece of crust.\n      Take it, says D, it's dry as dust.\n      Says E, I'll eat now fast, who will.\n      Says F, I vow I'll have my fill.\n      Says G, give it me good and great.\n      Says H, a little bit I hate.\n      Says I, I love the juice the best,\n      And K the very same confest.\n      Says L, there's nothing more I love,\n      Says M, it makes your teeth to move.\n      N noticed what the others said;\n      O others' plates with grief survey'd.\n      P praised the cook up to the life.\n      Q quarrel'd 'cause he'd a bad knife.\n      Says R, it runs short, I'm afraid.\n      S silent sat, and nothing said.\n      T thought that talking might lose time;\n      U understood it at meals a crime.\n      W wish'd there had been a quince in;\n      Says X, those cooks there's no convincing.\n      Says Y, I'll eat, let others wish.\n      Z sat as mute as any fish,\n      While Ampersy-and he licked the dish.\n\nThe manner in which a practical moral good was to be inferred from this\ndoggerel is not very apparent, but Mr. Marshall had a way of his own in\nsettling the difficulty. The finale must not be omitted: \"Having\nconcluded their discourse and dinner together, I have nothing more to\nadd, but that, if my little readers are pleased with what they have\nfound in this book, they have nothing to do but to run to Mr. Marshall's\nat No. 4, in Aldermary Churchyard, where they may have several books,\nnot less entertaining than this, of the same size and price. But that\nyou may not think I leave you too abruptly, I here present you with the\npicture of the old woman who made the apple-pye you have been reading\nabout. She has several more in her basket, and she promises, if you are\ngood children, you shall never go supperless to bed while she has one\nleft. But as good people always ask a blessing of God before meals,\ntherefore, as a token that you are good, and deserve a pye, you must\nlearn the two following graces, the one to be said before the meals, the\nother after; and the Lord's Prayer every night and morning.\" Two graces\nand the Lord's Prayer conclude the tract.\n\nThe following alphabet or literal rhyme refers to Carr, Earl of\nSomerset, the favorite of James I:\n\n      J. C. U. R.\n      Good Mounseir Car\n        About to fall;\n      U. R. A. K.\n      As most men say,\n        Yet that's not all.\n      U. O. K. P.\n      With a nullytye,\n        That shamelesse packe!\n      S. X. his yf (_wife_),\n      Whos shamelesse lyfe\n        Hath broke your backe.\n                  _MS. Sloane 1489_, f. 9, vo.\n\n              A. B. C.\n              D. E. F. G.\n      H. I. J. K., if you look you'll see;\n              L. M. N. O. P. Q.\n              R. S. T. U. V. W.\n              X. Y. Z.\n        Heigh ho! my heart is low,\n          My mind is all on one;\n        It's W for I know who,\n          And T for my love, Tom!\n\n\n\n\nV.\u2014RIDDLE-RHYMES.\n\n\nA very favorite class of rhymes with children, though the solutions are\noften most difficult to guess. Nursery riddle-rhymes are extremely\nnumerous, and a volume might be filled with them without much\ndifficulty. Many of the most common ones are found in manuscript\ncollections of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries.\n\n      I'm in every one's way,\n        But no one I stop;\n      My four horns every day\n      In every way play,\n        And my head is nailed on at the top!\n\n\u2014A turnstile.\n\n      There was a king met a king\n        In a straight lane;\n      Says the king to the king,\n        Where have you been?\n      I've been in the wood,\n        Hunting the doe:\n      Pray lend me your dog,\n        That I may do so.\n      Call him, call him!\n        What must I call him?\n      Call him as you and I,\n        We've done both.\n\n\u2014The dog's name was _Been_, and the name of the persons who met each\nother was King. This riddle was obtained recently from oral tradition. I\nobserve, however, a version of it in MS. Harl. 1962, of the seventeenth\ncentury.\n\n      The cuckoo and the gowk,\n      The laverock and the lark,\n      The twire-snipe, the weather-bleak;\n      How many birds is that?\n\n\u2014Three, for the second name in each line is a synonyme. The cuckoo is\ncalled a _gowk_ in the North of England; the lark, a _laverock_; and the\ntwire-snipe and weather-bleak, or weather-bleater, are the same birds.\n\n      Hoddy-doddy,\n      With a round black body!\n      Three feet and a wooden hat;\n      What's that?\n\n\u2014An iron pot. In the country, an iron pot with three legs, and a wooden\ncover, the latter raised or put on by means of a peg at the top, is used\nfor suspending over a fire, or to place on the hearth with a wood fire.\n\n      Riddle me, riddle me, what is that\n      Over the head and under the hat?\n\n\u2014Hair. From Kent.\n\n      The fiddler and his wife,\n        The piper and his mother,\n      Ate three half-cakes, three whole cakes,\n        And three quarters of another.\n      How much did each get?\n\n\u2014The fiddler's wife was the piper's mother. Each one therefore got 1/2\n+ 1 + 1/4 or 1-3/4.\n\n      There was a little green house,\n      And in the little green house\n      There was a little brown house,\n      And in the little brown house\n      There was a little yellow house,\n      And in the little yellow house\n      There was a little white house,\n      And in the little white house\n      There was a little heart.\n\n\u2014A walnut.\n\n      A flock of white sheep\n        On a red hill;\n      Here they go, there they go,\n        Now they stand still!\n\n\u2014The teeth and gums.\n\n      Old Father Greybeard,\n        Without tooth or tongue,\n      If you'll give me your finger,\n        I'll give you my thumb.\n\n\u2014Greybeard, says Moor, Suffolk Words, p. 155, was the appropriate name\nfor a fine large handsome stone bottle, holding perhaps three or four,\nor more gallons, having its handle terminating in a venerable Druidic\nface. This riddle appears to be alluded to in MS. Harl. 7316, p. 61:\n\n      I'm a dull senseless blockhead, 'tis true, when I'm young,\n      And like old grandsire Greyberd without tooth or tongue,\n      But by the kind help and assistance of arts\n      I sometimes attain to politeness of parts:\n\n      What God never sees,\n      What the king seldom sees;\n      What we see every day:\n      Read my riddle,\u2014I pray.\n\n\u2014An equal. This riddle is well known in Sweden. The following version\nwas given me by Mr. Stephens:\n\n      Jag ser det dagligen;\n      Kungen ser det s\u00e4llan;\n      Gud ser det aldrig.\n\n      \"I see it daily;\n      The king sees it seldom;\n      God sees it never.\"\n\n      As white as milk,\n      And not milk;\n      As green as grass,\n      And not grass;\n      As red as blood,\n      And not blood;\n      As black as soot,\n      And not soot!\n\n\u2014A bramble-blossom.\n\n      The land was white,\n        The seed was black;\n      It'll take a good scholar\n        To riddle me that.\n\n\u2014Paper and writing.\n\n      As high as a castle,\n      As weak as a wastle;\n      And all the king's horses\n      Cannot pull it down.\n\n\u2014Smoke. A wastle is a North country term for a twig or withy, possibly\nconnected with A. S. w\u00e6dl.\n\n      I've seen you where you never was,\n        And where you ne'er will be;\n      And yet you in that very same place\n        May still be seen by me.\n\n\u2014The reflection of a face in a looking-glass.\n\n      Banks full, braes full,\n      Though ye gather all day,\n      Ye'll not gather your hands full.\n\n\u2014The mist. From Northumberland. Sometimes thus:\n\n      A hill full, a hole full,\n      Ye cannot catch a bowl full.\n\nA young man and a young woman quarrelled, and the former, in his anger,\nexclaimed,\u2014\n\n      Three words I know to be true,\n      All which begin with W.\n\nThe young woman immediately guessed the enigma, and replied in a similar\nstrain,\u2014\n\n      I too know them,\n      And eke three which begin with M.\n\n\u2014Woman wants wit. Man much more.\n\n      The calf, the goose, the bee,\n      The world is ruled by these three.\n\n\u2014Parchment, pens, and wax.\n\n      A house full, a yard full,\n      And ye can't catch a bowl full.\n\n\u2014Smoke.\n\n      As I was going o'er London bridge,\n        I heard something crack;\n      Not a man in all England\n        Can mend that!\n\n\u2014Ice.\n\n      I had a little sister,\n        They called her Pretty Peep;\n      She wades in the waters,\n        Deep, deep, deep!\n      She climbs up the mountains,\n        High, high, high;\n      My poor little sister,\n        She has but one eye.\n\n\u2014A star. This charming little riddle is always a great favorite with\nchildren.\n\n      As I was going o'er yon moor of moss,\n      I met a man on a gray horse;\n      He whipp'd and he wail'd,\n      I ask'd him what he ail'd;\n      He said he was going to his father's funeral,\n      Who died seven years before he was born!\n\n\u2014His father was a dyer.\n\n      As I look'd out o' my chamber window,\n        I heard something fall;\n      I sent my maid to pick it up.\n        But she couldn't pick it all.\n\n\u2014Snuff. From Yorkshire.\n\n      Black within, and red without,\n      Four corners round about.\n\n\u2014A chimney. From Yorkshire.\n\n      As I was going o'er London bridge,\n      I met a drove of guinea pigs;\n      They were nick'd and they were nack'd,\n      And they were all yellow back'd.\n\n\u2014A swarm of bees; not a very likely family to meet in that\nneighbourhood, at least nowadays, but some of the authors of these poems\nseem to have been continually traversing London bridge.\n\n      Higher than a house, higher than a tree;\n      Oh! whatever can that be?\n\n\u2014A star. From Yorkshire.\n\n      Which weighs heavier\u2014\n      A stone of lead\n      Or a stone of feather?\n\n\u2014They both weigh alike.\n\n      Lilly low, lilly low, set up on an end,\n      See little baby go out at town end.\n\n\u2014A candle. Lillylow is a North country term for the flame of a candle.\nLow, A.-S. lig, is universal.\n\n      At the end of my yard there is a vat,\n      Four-and-twenty ladies dancing in that:\n      Some in green gowns, and some with blue hat:\n      He is a wise man who can tell me that.\n\n\u2014A field of flax.\n\n      Jackatawad ran over the moor,\n      Never behind, but always before!\n\n\u2014The ignis fatuus, or Will o' the Wisp. _Jackatawad_ is a provincial\nterm for this phenomenon.\n\n      Black'm, saut'm, rough'm, glower'm, saw,\n      Click'm, gatt'm, flaug'm into girnigaw.\n\n\u2014Eating a sloe. A North country riddle, given by Brockett. Girnigaw is\nthe cavity of the mouth.\n\n      There was a man rode through our town,\n        Gray Grizzle was his name;\n      His saddle-bow was gilt with gold;\n        Three times I've named his name.\n\n\u2014Gaffer Was. From Yorkshire.\n\n      There was a man went over the Wash,\n      Grizzle grey was his horse;\n      Bent was his saddle-bow:\n      I've told you his name three times,\n      And yet you don't know!\n\n\u2014The same as the last. From Norfolk.\n\n      I am become of flesh and blood,\n        As other creatures be;\n      Yet there's neither flesh nor blood\n        Doth remain in me.\n      I make kings that they fall out,\n        I make them agree;\n      And yet there's neither flesh nor blood\n        Doth remain in me.\n\n\u2014A pen. Riddles similar to this are current in most languages. Mr.\nStephens has kindly furnished me with the following one obtained in\nSweden:\n\n      Af k\u00f6tt och blod \u00e4r jag upprunnen,\n      Men ingen blod \u00e4r i mig funnen;\n      M\u00e5nga herrar de mig b\u00e4ra,\n      Med hvassa knifvar de mig sk\u00e4ra.\n      M\u00e5ngen har jag gifvit \u00e4ra,\n      M\u00e5ngen har jag tagit af,\n      M\u00e5ngen har jag lagt i graf.\n\n          Of flesh and blood sprung am I ever;\n          But blood in me that find ye never.\n          Many great lords bear me proudly,\n          With sharp knives cutting me loudly.\n          Many I've graced right honorably:\n          Rich ones many I've humble made;\n          Many within their grave I've laid!\n\nThe pen has been a fertile subject for the modern riddle-writer. The\nbest production of the kind was printed a few months ago in the _Times_\nnewspaper, contributed by Miss Agnes Strickland.\n\n      Into my house came neighbour John,\n      With three legs and a wooden one;\n      If one be taken from the same,\n      Then just five there will remain.\n\n\u2014He had a IV legged stool with him, and taking away the left-hand\nnumeral, there remains V.\n\n      Link lank, on a bank,\n      Ten against four.\n\n\u2014A milkmaid.\n\n      Two legs sat upon three legs,\n      With four legs standing by;\n      Four then were drawn by ten:\n      Read my riddle ye can't,\n      However much ye try.\n\n\u2014An amplification of the above, the milkmaid of course sitting on a\nthree-legged stool.\n\n      Over the water,\n      And under the water,\n      And always with its head down!\n\n\u2014A nail in the bottom of a ship.\n\n      As straight as a maypole,\n        As little as a pin,\n      As bent as a bucker,\n        And as round as a ring.\n\nI do not know the solution of this riddle. A bucker is a bent piece of\nwood by which slaughtered sheep are hung up by their expanded hind legs,\nbefore being cut out.\n\n      Hitty Pitty within the wall,\n      Hitty Pitty without the wall:\n      If you touch Hitty Pitty,\n      Hitty Pitty will bite you.\n\n\u2014A nettle. MS. Harl. 1962, xvii. cent.\n\n      The first letter of our fore-fadyr,\n      A worker of wax,\n      An I and an N;\n      The colour of an ass:\n      And what have you then?\n\n\u2014Abindon, or Abingdon, in Berks. An ancient rebus given in Lelandi\nItin. ed. 1744, ii. 136.\n\n      I saw a fight the other day;\n      A damsel did begin the fray.\n      She with her daily friend did meet,\n      Then standing in the open street;\n      She gave such hard and sturdy blows,\n      He bled ten gallons at the nose;\n      Yet neither seem to faint nor fall,\n      Nor gave her any abuse at all.\n\n\u2014A pump. MS. Harl. 1962, xvij. cent.\n\n      A water there is I must pass,\n      A broader water never was;\n      And yet of all waters I ever did see,\n      To pass over with less jeopardy.\n\n\u2014The dew. From the same MS.\n\n      There is a bird of great renown,\n      Useful in city and in town;\n      None work like unto him can do;\n      He's yellow, black, red, and green,\n      A very pretty bird I mean;\n      Yet he's both fierce and fell:\n      I count him wise that can this tell.\n\n\u2014A bee. From the same MS.\n\n      As I went over Hottery Tottery,\n      I looked into Harbora Lilly;\n      I spied a cutterell\n      Playing with her cambril.\n      I cryed, Ho, neighbour, ho!\n      Lend me your cue and your goe,\n      To shoot at yonder cutterell\n      Playing with her cambril,\n      And you shall have the curle of her loe.\n\n\u2014A man calling to his neighbour for a gun to shoot a deer, and he\nshould have her humbles. MS. ibid.\n\n      As I went through my houter touter,\n        Houter touter, verly;\n      I see one Mr. Higamgige\n        Come over the hill of Parley.\n      But if I had my carly verly,\n        Carly verly verly;\n      I would have bine met with Mr. Higamgige\n        Come over the hill of Parley.\n\n\u2014A man going over a hill, and a fly lighting on his head. MS. ibid.\n\n\nTHE FOUR SISTERS.\n\n      I have four sisters beyond the sea,\n          Para-mara, dictum, domine.\n      And they did send four presents to me,\n          Partum, quartum, paradise, tempum,\n          Para-mara, dictum, domine!\n\n      The first it was a bird without e'er a bone;\n          Para-mara, dictum, &c.\n      The second was a cherry without e'er a stone;\n          Partum, quartum, &c.\n\n      The third it was a blanket without e'er a thread,\n          Para-mara, dictum, &c.\n      The fourth it was a book which no man could read,\n          Partum, quartum, &c.\n\n      How can there be a bird without e'er a bone?\n          Para-mara, dictum, &c.\n      How can there be a cherry without e'er a stone?\n          Partum, quartum, &c.\n\n      How can there be a blanket without e'er a thread?\n          Para-mara, dictum, &c.\n      How can there be a book which no man can read?\n          Partum, quartum, &c.\n\n      When the bird's in the shell, there is no bone;\n          Para-mara, dictum, &c.\n      When the cherry's in the bud, there is no stone;\n          Partum, quartum, &c.\n\n      When the blanket's in the fleece, there is no thread;\n          Para-mara, dictum, &c.\n      When the book's in the press, no man can read;\n          Partum, quartum, &c.\n\nSeveral versions of this metrical riddle are common in the North of\nEngland, and an ingenious antiquary has suggested that it is a parody on\nthe old monkish songs! It will remind the reader of the Scottish ballad\nof Captain Wedderburn's Courtship,\n\n      O hold away from me, kind sir,\n        I pray you let me be;\n      For I will not go to your bed,\n        Till you dress me dishes three:\n      Dishes three you must dress to me,\n        And I must have them a',\n      Before that I lie in your bed,\n        Either at stock or wa'.\n\n      O I must have to my supper\n        A cherry without a stone;\n      And I must have to my supper\n        A chicken without a bone:\n      And I must have to my supper\n        A bird without a ga',\n      Before I lie into your bed,\n        Either at stock or wa'.\n\n      When the cherry is in the bloom,\n        I'm sure it hath no stone;\n      And when the chicken is in its shell,\n        I'm sure it hath no bone:\n      The dove it is a gentle bird,\n        It flies without a ga',\n      And we shall both lie in ae bed,\n        And thou's lie next the wa'.\n\nThe belief that a pigeon or dove has no gall forms the subject of a\nchapter in Browne's Vulgar and Common Errors, iii. 3. The gall-bladder\ndoes not exist in the dove.\n\n\nTHE DEMANDS JOYOUS.\n\nIt is not generally known that many of our popular riddles are centuries\nold. Yet such is the fact, and those whose course of reading has made\nthem acquainted with ancient collections are not unfrequently startled\nby observing a quibble of the fifteenth or sixteenth century go the\nround of modern newspapers as a new invention, or perhaps as an\nimportation from America! A few months ago, an instance of this species\nof resuscitation took place in the publication of the question, \"Which\nwere made first, elbows or knees?\" This was an enigma current in England\nin the time of Queen Elizabeth, and is found in a manuscript in the\nBritish Museum written before the close of the sixteenth century.\n\nThe earliest collection of riddles printed in this country came from the\npress of Wynkyn de Worde in the year 1511, in black letter, under the\ntitle of the \"Demaundes Joyous.\" Only one copy of this tract, which was\n\"imprynted at London, in Flete Strete, at the sygne of the Sonne,\" is\nknown to exist, and it is now preserved in the public library at\nCambridge. It is chiefly a compilation from an early French tract under\na similar title, but which is far more remarkable for its grossness. The\nreader may be amused with the following specimens, and perhaps\nrecognise some of them as old favorites:\n\n\"_Demand._ Who bore the best burden that ever was borne?\u2014_R._ The ass\non which our Lady rode when she fled with our Lord into Egypt. _D._ What\nbecame of that ass?\u2014_R._ Adam's mother did eat her. _D._ Who is Adam's\nmother?\u2014_R._ The earth.\n\n_Demand._ What space is from the surface of the sea to its greatest\ndepth?\u2014_R._ A stone's cast.\n\n_Demand._ How many calves' tails behoveth to reach from the earth to the\nsky?\u2014_R._ No more but one, an' it be long enough.\n\n_Demand._ Which is the most profitable beast, and that which men eat\nleast of?\u2014_R._ Bees.\n\n_Demand._ Which is the broadest water, and the least jeopardy to pass\nover?\u2014_R._ The dew.\n\n_Demand._ What thing is that which never was nor never will be?\u2014_R._ A\nmouse making her nest in a cat's ear.\n\n_Demand._ Why doth a dog turn himself thrice round before he layeth\ndown?\u2014_R._ Because he knoweth not the bed's head from its foot.\n\n_Demand._ Why do men make an oven in the town?\u2014_R._ For because they\ncannot make the town in the oven.\n\n_Demand._ How may a man know or perceive a cow in a flock of\nsheep?\u2014_R._ By sight.\n\n_Demand._ What alms are worst bestowed that men give?\u2014_R._ Alms to a\nblind man, for he would willingly see him hanged by the neck that gave\nit him.\n\n_Demand._ What thing is that which hath no end?\u2014_R._ A bowl.\n\n_Demand._ What people be they that never go a-procession?\u2014_R._ Those\nthat ring the bells in the mean time.\n\n_Demand._ What is that that freezeth never?\u2014_R._ Hot water.\n\n_Demand._ What thing is that that is most likest unto a horse?\u2014_R._\nThat is a mare.\n\n_Demand._ What thing is that which is more frightful the smaller it\nis?\u2014_R._ A bridge.\n\n_Demand._ Why doth an ox lie down?\u2014_R._ Because he cannot sit.\n\n_Demand._ How many straws go to a goose's nest?\u2014_R._ None, for lack of\nfeet.\n\n_Demand._ Who slew the fourth part of the world?\u2014_R._ Cain, when he\nkilled his brother Abel.\n\n_Demand._ What man is he that getteth his living backwards?\u2014_R._ A\nropemaker.\n\nThe reader will please to recollect the antiquity of these, and their\ncuriosity, before he condemns their triviality. Let the worst be said of\nthem, they are certainly as good as some of Shakespeare's jokes, which\nno doubt elicited peals of laughter from an Elizabethan audience. This\nmay be said to be only a negative kind of recommendation, and, indeed,\nwhen we reflect on the apparent poverty of verbal humour in those days,\nthe wonder is that it could have been so well relished. The fact must be\nthat we often do not understand the greater part of the meaning intended\nto be conveyed.\n\nTo revert to the lengthened transmission of jokes, I may mention my\ndiscovery of the following in MS. Addit. 5008, in the British Museum, a\njournal of the time of Queen Elizabeth. The anecdote, by some means,\nwent the round of the provincial press in 1843, as of modern\ncomposition. \"On a very rainy day, a man, entering his house, was\naccosted by his wife in the following manner: 'Now, my dear, while you\nare wet, go and fetch me a bucket of water.' He obeyed, brought the\nwater and threw it all over her, saying at the same time, 'Now, my dear,\nwhile you are wet, go and fetch another!'\"\n\n\n\n\nVI.\u2014NATURE-SONGS.\n\n\nRhymes upon natural objects and rural sayings are perhaps more generally\ninteresting than any other relics of the popular anthology. They not\nunfrequently contain scientific truths, and have been considered worthy\nof examination by the philosopher; while the unlearned are often\ncontented to use them as substitutes for the barometer or Nautical\nAlmanac. We all recollect the story of Dr. Johnson, and the boy who\nprophesied a shower when not a speck was to be seen in the sky. The\ndoctor, drenched with rain, hastened back to the lad, and offered him a\nshilling if he would divulge the data of his prediction. \"Why, you zee,\nzur, when that black ram holds its tail up, it be sure to rain!\" The\nstory loses none of its force when we find it in the Hundred Merry\nTales, printed nearly two centuries before Dr. Johnson was born.\n\n\nTHE RAINBOW.\n\n      Rainbow i' th' morning\n      Shipper's warning;\n      Rainbow at night\n      Shipper's delight.\n\nThis, in one form or other, is a most common weather proverb. The\npresent version was heard in Essex.\n\n      If there be a rainbow in the eve,\n      It will rain and leave;\n      But if there be a rainbow in the morrow,\n      It will neither lend nor borrow.\n\n\nWEATHER-RHYMES.\n\n      The ev'ning red, and the morning gray,\n      Are the tokens of a bonny day.\n\n      Winter's thunder\n      Is the world's wonder.\n\nFrom Lancashire.\n\n      As the days grow longer,\n      The storms grow stronger;\n      As the days lengthen,\n      So the storms strengthen.\n\n      No weather is ill,\n      If the wind be still.\n\n      When clouds appear like rocks and towers,\n      The earth's refresh'd by frequent showers.\n\nThis proverb is sufficiently homely, yet the first line reminds us of\nthe description of the clouds in Anthony and Cleopatra, act iv. sc. 12;\nbut the commonest observer must have seen the \"tower'd citadel,\" and the\n\"pendant rock.\"\n\n      A northern har\n      Brings drought from far.\n\nA har is a mist or thick fog.\n\n      First comes David, next comes Chad,\n      Then comes Whinwall as if he was mad.\n\nAlluding to the storms about the day of St. Winwaloe, March 3d, called\nSt. Whinwall by the country people.\n\n      Rain, rain, go to Spain;\n      Come again another day:\n      When I brew and when I bake,\n      I'll give you a figgy cake.\n\nThis appears to be a child's address to rain, a kind of charm or\nentreaty for its disappearance. A plum-cake is always called a figgy\ncake in Devonshire, where raisins are denominated _figs_, and hence the\nterm. Other versions are given by Chambers, p. 155, who remarks that it\nwas the practice among the children of Greece, when the sun happened to\nbe obscured by a cloud, to exclaim, \u0395\u03be\u03b5\u03c7' \u03c9 \u03c6\u03b9\u03bb' \u03b7\u03bb\u03b9\u03b5\u2014Come forth, beloved\nsun! Howell, in his Proverbs, 1659, p. 20, has,\u2014\n\n      Rain, rain, go to Spain;\n      Fair weather, come again.\n\n\"Little children have a custome, when it raines, to sing or charme away\nthe raine; they all joine in a chorus, and sing thus, viz.:\n\n      Raine, raine, goe away,\n      Come againe a Saterday.\n\nI have a conceit that this childish custome is of great antiquity, and\nthat it is derived from the gentiles.\" (Aubrey, MS. Lansd. 231.)\n\n      If Candlemas day be fair and bright,\n      Winter will have another flight.\n\nIt is generally the case that fine weather continues if it is mild at\nCandlemas. A somewhat similar proverb is given by M. Kuhn, Gebr\u00e4uche und\nAberglauben, ii. 12.\n\n      It is time to cock your hay and corn,\n      When the old donkey blows his horn.\n\nThe braying of the ass is said to be an indication of rain or hail.\n\n\nSNOW.\n\nIn Yorkshire, when it begins to snow, the boys exclaim,\u2014\n\n      Snow, snow faster,\n      The cow's in the pasture.\n\nWhen the storm is concluding, or when they wish it to give over, they\nsing,\u2014\n\n      Snow, snow, give over,\n      The cow's in the clover!\n\n_White_ is the rural generic term for snow, and _black_ for rain. Thus,\nin the well-known proverb,\u2014\n\n      February fill the dyke,\n      Be it black or be it white;\n      But if it be white,\n      It's the better to like.\n\nThe Anglo-Saxon and Northern literatures are full of similar poetical\nsynonymes. A common nursery riddle conceals the term snow by the image\nof a white glove, and another in the same manner designates rain as a\nblack glove:\n\n      Round the house, and round the house,\n      And there lies a white glove in the window.[38]\n\n      Round the house, and round the house,\n      And there lies a black glove in the window.\n\n      [Footnote 38: A copy of this riddle occurs in MS.\n      Harl. 1962, of the seventeenth century.]\n\n\nTHE WIND.\n\n      When the wind is in the east,\n      Then the fishes do bite least;\n      When the wind is in the west,\n      Then the fishes bite the best;\n      When the wind is in the north,\n      Then the fishes do come forth;\n      When the wind is in the south,\n      It blows the bait in the fish's mouth.\n\nThis weather-wise advice to anglers was obtained from Oxfordshire. It is\nfound in a variety of versions throughout Great Britain.\n\nThe Lincolnshire shepherds say,\u2014\n\n      When the wind is in the east,\n      'Tis neither good for man nor beast:\n      When the wind is in the south,\n      It is in the rain's mouth.\n\nMarch winds are proverbial, and the following distich is not uncommon\nin Yorkshire:\n\n      March winds and April showers,\n      Bring forth May flowers.\n\nTo which we may add,\u2014\n\n      The south wind brings wet weather,\n      The north wind wet and cold together;\n      The west wind always brings us rain,\n      The east wind blows it back again.\n\nThe solution of the following pretty nursery-riddle is a hurricane of\nwind:\n\n      Arthur o' Bower has broken his band,\n      He comes roaring up the land:\n      The King of Scots, with all his power,\n      Cannot turn Arthur of the Bower.\n\n\nTHE MOON.\n\nThe inhabitants of most of our rural districts still retain the old\ndislike to a new moon on Friday, and perpetuate it by the saying,\u2014\n\n      Friday's moon,\n      Come when it wool,\n      It comes too soon.\n\nOr by the following,\u2014\n\n      Friday's moon,\n      Once in seven year comes too soon.\n\nSome persons, however, contend that Saturday is the unlucky day for the\nnew, and Sunday equally so for a full moon. So runs the distich,\u2014\n\n      Saturday's new, and Sunday's full,\n      Was never fine, nor never wool.\n\nThe moon anciently occupied an important place in love-divinations. The\nfollowing invocation to the planet is used by young women throughout the\ncountry:\n\n      New moon, new moon, declare to me\n      Shall I this night my true love see?\n      Not in his best, but in the array\n      As he walks in every day.\n\nOr, sometimes, the following:\n\n      New moon, new moon, I hail thee!\n      By all the virtue in thy body,\n      Grant this night that I may see\n      He who my true love is to be.\n\nAubrey, in his Miscellanies, ed. 1696, p. 105, gives the following\nlines, used in Yorkshire for charming the moon to cause a dream of a\nfuture husband:\n\n      All hail to the moon, all hail to thee!\n      I, prithee, good moon, reveal to me\n      This night who my husband must be!\n\n\nTHE CUCKOO.\n\nWe are usefully reminded of the season of the cuckoo by the following\nhomely proverbial lines:\n\n      In April,\n      The cuckoo shows his bill;\n      In May,\n      He sings all day;\n      In June,\n      He alters his tune;\n      In July,\n      Away he'll fly;\n      Come August,\n      Away he must!\n\nIn some dialects thus:\n\n      In April,\n      'A shake 'as bill;\n      In May,\n      'A pipe all day;\n      In June,\n      'A change 'as tune;\n      In July,\n      Away 'a fly;\n      Else in August,\n      Away 'a must.\n\nOf the \"change of tune\" alluded to in these verses, it has been remarked\n(Trans. Linn. Soc.) that in early season the cuckoo begins with the\ninterval of a minor third, proceeds to a major third, then to a fourth,\nthen to a fifth; after which his voice breaks, never attaining a minor\nsixth. This was observed by old John Heywood, Workes, 1576, vi. 95:\n\n      In April the koo-coo can sing her note by rote,\n      In June of tune she cannot sing a note;\n      At first, koo-koo, koo-coo, sing shrill can she do;\n      At last, kooke, kooke, kooke, six cookes to one koo.\n\nThe following proverbial verses relating to this bird are current in the\nNorth of England:\n\n      The cuckoo comes in April,\n        Stops all the month of May,\n      Sings a song at Midsummer,\n        And then he goes away.\n\n      When the cuckoo comes to the bare thorn,\n      Sell your cow and buy your corn;\n      But when she comes to the full bit,\n      Sell your corn and buy your sheep.\n\nThe following \"tokens of love and marriage by hearing the cuckow, or\nseeing other birds first in the morning,\" are extracted from an old\nchap-book entitled, the Golden Cabinet, or the Compleat Fortune-teller,\nn. d.: \"When you walk out in the spring, as soon as you hear the cuckow,\nsit down on a bank or other convenient place, and pull your stockings\noff, saying,\u2014\n\n      May this to me,\n      Now happy be.\n\nThen look between your great toe and the next, you'll find a hair that\nwill easily come off. Take and look at it, and of the same colour will\nthat of your lover be; wrap it in a piece of paper, and keep it ten days\ncarefully; then, if it has not changed, the person will be constant: but\nif it dies, you are flattered.\" Gay alludes to this method of divination\nin his Fourth Pastoral, ed. 1742, p. 32.\n\n\nTHE ROBIN AND THE WREN.\n\nThe superstitious reverence with which these birds are almost\nuniversally regarded takes its origin from a pretty belief that they\nundertake the delicate office of covering the dead bodies of any of the\nhuman race with moss or leaves, if by any means left exposed to the\nheavens. This opinion is alluded to by Shakespeare and many writers of\nhis time, as by Drayton, for example:\n\n      Cov'ring with moss the dead's unclosed eye,\n      The little red-breast teacheth charitie.\n\nWebster, in his tragedy of Vittoria Corombona, 1612, couples the wren\nwith the robin as coadjutors in this friendly office:\n\n      Call for the robin red-breast and the wren,\n      Since o'er shady groves they hover,\n      And with leaves and flowers do cover\n      The friendless bodies of unburied men.\n\nNotwithstanding the beautiful passage in Shakespeare to which we have\nalluded, it is nevertheless undeniable that, even to this day, the\nancient belief attached to these birds is perpetuated chiefly by the\nsimple ballad of the Babes in the Wood. Early in the last century,\nAddison was infatuated with that primitive song. \"Admitting,\" he says,\n\"there is even a despicable simplicity in the verse, yet because the\nsentiments appear genuine and unaffected, they are able to move the\nmind of the most polite reader with inward meltings of humanity and\ncompassion.\" Exactly so; but this result arises from the extraordinary\ninfluence of early association over the mind, not from the pathos of the\nballad itself, which is infinitely inferior to the following beautiful\nlittle nursery song I have the pleasure of transcribing into these\npages:\n\n      My dear, do you know\n      How a long time ago,\n        Two poor little children,\n      Whose names I don't know,\n      Were stolen away\n      On a fine summer's day,\n        And left in a wood,\n      As I've heard people say.\n\n      And when it was night,\n      So sad was their plight,\n        The sun it went down,\n      And the moon gave no light!\n      They sobb'd and they sigh'd,\n      And they bitterly cried,\n        And the poor little things,\n      They laid down and died.\n\n      And when they were dead,\n      The robins so red\n        Brought strawberry leaves,\n      And over them spread;\n      And all the day long,\n      They sang them this song,\u2014\n      Poor babes in the wood!\n      Poor babes in the wood!\n        And don't you remember\n      The babes in the wood?\n\nAdages respecting the robin and the wren, generally including the martin\nand swallow, are common in all parts of the country. In giving the\nfollowing, it should be premised it is a popular notion that the wren is\nthe wife of the robin; and Mr. Chambers mentions an extraordinary\naddition to this belief current in Scotland, that the wren is the\nparamour of the tom-tit!\n\n      The robin red-breast and the wren\n      Are God Almighty's cock and hen;[39]\n      The martin and the swallow\n      Are the two next birds that follow.\n\n      [Footnote 39: The wren was also called _our\n      Lady's hen_. See Cotgrave, in v. _Berchot_.]\n\nThe next was obtained from Essex:\n\n      A robin and a titter-wren\n      Are God Almighty's cock and hen;\n      A martin and a swallow\n      Are God Almighty's shirt and collar!\n\nAnd the following from Warwickshire:\n\n      The robin and the wren\n      Are God Almighty's cock and hen;\n      The martin and the swallow\n      Are God Almighty's bow and arrow![40]\n\n      [Footnote 40: In Cheshire the last line is, \"Are\n      God's mate and marrow,\" _marrow_ being a\n      provincial term for a companion. See Wilbraham's\n      Chesh. Gloss. p. 105.]\n\nThe latter part of this stanza is thus occasionally varied:\n\n      The martin and the swallow\n      Are God Almighty's birds to hollow;\n\nwhere the word _hollow_ is most probably a corruption of the verb\n_hallow_, to keep holy.[41] If this conjecture be correct, it exhibits\nthe antiquity of the rhyme.\n\n      [Footnote 41: Parker, in his poem of the\n      Nightingale, published in 1632, speaking\n      of swallows, says:\n\n      And if in any's hand she chance to dye,\n      'Tis counted ominous, I know not why.]\n\nNor let it be thought there is any impiety in giving these verses in the\nform in which they are cherished, for the humble recorders of them dream\nof no irreverence. On the contrary, the sanctification of these harmless\nbirds is no unpoetical or objectionable fragment of the old popular\nmythology; and when we reflect that not even a sparrow \"is forgotten\nbefore God,\" can we blame a persuasion which protects more innocent\nmembers of the feathered tribes from the intrusion of the wanton\ndestroyer?\n\nIt is exceedingly unlucky to molest the nests of any of these birds.\nThis belief is very prevalent, and it was acted upon in a case which\ncame under my observation, where, misfortune having twice followed the\ndestruction of a swallow's nest, the birds were afterwards freely\npermitted to enjoy the corner of a portico, where their works were\ncertainly not very ornamental. The following verses were obtained from\nEssex:\n\n      The robin and the red-breast,\n        The robin and the wren;\n      If ye take out o' their nest,\n        Ye'll never thrive agen!\n\n      The robin and the red-breast,\n        The martin and the swallow;\n      If ye touch one o' their eggs,\n        Bad luck will surely follow!\n\nThe Irish call the wren the king of birds; and they have a story that,\nwhen the birds wanted to choose a king, they determined that the one\nwhich could fly highest should have the crown. The wren, being small,\nvery cunningly hid itself under the wing of the eagle; and when that\nbird could fly no higher, the wren slipped from its hiding-place, and\neasily gained the victory. In Cotgrave's Dictionarie, 1632, we find the\nwren called _roitelet_, and in another dictionary, quoted by Mr. Wright,\nit is called _roi des oiseaux_, so it is probable a similar superstition\nprevailed in France. The ceremony of hunting of the wren on St.\nStephen's day has been so frequently described, that it is not necessary\nto do more than allude to it, and to mention that Mr. Crofton Croker\npossesses a proclamation lately issued by the mayor of Cork, forbidding\nthe custom, with the intent \"to prevent cruelty to animals,\" as the\ndocument is headed. This custom was also prevalent in France. An\nanalogous ceremony is still observed in Pembrokeshire on Twelfth-day,\nwhere it is customary to carry about a wren, termed _the king_, inclosed\nin a box with glass windows, surmounted by a wheel, from which are\nappended various coloured ribands. It is attended by men and boys, who\nvisit the farm-houses, and sing a song, the following fragments of which\nare all that have come under my observation:\n\n      For we are come here\n      To taste your good cheer,\n      And the king is well dressed\n      In silks of the best.\n\n      He is from a cottager's stall,\n      To a fine gilded hall.\n\nThe poor bird often dies under the ceremony, which tradition connects\nwith the death of an ancient British king at the time of the Saxon\ninvasion. The rhyme used in Ireland runs thus:\n\n      The wren, the wren, the king of all birds,\n      Was caught St. Stephen's day in the furze;\n      Although he's little his family's great,\n      Then pray, gentlefolks, give him a treat.\n\n\nTHE OWL.\n\n      To-whoo\u2014to-whoo!\n      Cold toe\u2014toe!\n\nexpresses the hooting of the owl. This bird, according to old ballads\nand legends, was of exalted parentage. A rural ballad, cited in\nWaterton's Essays on Natural History, 1838, p. 8, says:\n\n      Once I was a monarch's daughter,\n        And sat on a lady's knee;\n      But am now a nightly rover,\n        Banished to the ivy tree.\n\n      Crying hoo, hoo, hoo, hoo, hoo, hoo,\n        Hoo, hoo, hoo, my feet are cold.\n      Pity me, for here you see me\n        Persecuted, poor, and old.\n\nAn anonymous writer, in the Gentleman's Magazine, vol. lxxiv. p. 1003,\nmentions an old fairy tale respecting the owl, which, he says, is well\nknown to the nurses of Herefordshire. A certain fairy, disguised as an\nold distressed woman, went to a baker's shop, and begged some dough of\nhis daughter, of whom she obtained a very small piece. This she farther\nrequested leave to bake in the oven, where it swelling to the size of a\nlarge loaf, the baker's daughter refused to let her have it. She,\nhowever, gave the pretended beggar another piece of dough, but still\nsmaller than the first; this swelled in the oven even more than the\nother, and was in like manner retained. A third and still smaller piece\nof dough came out of the oven the largest of all, and shared the same\nfate. The disguised fairy, convinced of the woman's covetousness by\nthese repeated experiments, no longer restrained her indignation. She\nresumed her proper form, and struck the culprit with her wand, who\nimmediately flew out of the window in the shape of an owl. This story\nmay be a version of the legend alluded to by Ophelia in Hamlet, iv. 5:\n\"They say the owl was a baker's daughter. Lord, we know what we are, but\nknow not what we may be.\"\n\n\nMAGPIES.\n\nWide-spread is the superstition that it is unlucky to see magpies under\ncertain conditions, but these vary considerably in different localities.\nThus, in some counties, two bring sorrow, in others joy; while, in some\nplaces, we are instructed that one magpie is a signal of misfortune,\nwhich can, however, be obviated by pulling off your hat, and making a\nvery polite bow to the knowing bird. This operation I have more than\nonce seen quite seriously performed. In Lancashire they say:\n\n      One for anger,\n      Two for mirth,\n      Three for a wedding,\n      Four for a birth,\n      Five for rich,\n      Six for poor,\n      Seven for a witch,\n      I can tell you no more.\n\nBut in Tim Bobbin it is expressly said that two are indicative of ill\nfortune: \"I saigh two rott'n pynots, hongum, that wur a sign o' bad\nfashin; for I heard my gronny say hoode os leef o seen two owd harries\nos two pynots.\" The same belief obtains in Scotland. In the North they\nthus address the bird:\n\n      Magpie, magpie, chatter and flee,\n      Turn up thy tail, and good luck fall me.\n\nThe half-nest of the magpie is accounted for by a rural ornithological\nlegend. Once on a time, when the world was very young, the magpie, by\nsome accident or another, although she was quite as cunning as she is at\npresent, was the only bird that was unable to build a nest. In this\nperplexity, she applied to the other members of the feathered race, who\nkindly undertook to instruct her. So, on a day appointed, they assembled\nfor that purpose, and, the materials having been collected, the\nblackbird said, \"Place that stick there,\" suiting the action to the\nword, as she commenced the work. \"Ah!\" said the magpie, \"I knew that\nafore.\" The other birds followed with their suggestions, but to every\npiece of advice, the magpie kept saying, \"Ah! I knew that afore.\" At\nlength, when the birdal habitation was half-finished, the patience of\nthe company was fairly exhausted by the pertinacious conceit of the pye,\nso they all left her with the united exclamation, \"Well, Mistress Mag,\nas you seem to know all about it, you may e'en finish the nest\nyourself.\" Their resolution was obdurate and final, and to this day the\nmagpie exhibits the effects of partial instruction by her miserably\nincomplete abode.\n\nThe magpie is always called Madge, and the Christian names given to\nbirds deserve a notice. Thus we have Jack Snipe, Jenny Wren, Jack Daw,\nTom Tit, Robin Redbreast, Poll Parrot, Jill Hooter, Jack Curlew, Jack\nNicker, and King Harry for the goldfinch, and the list might be widely\nextended. A starling is always Jacob, a sparrow is Philip, a raven is\nRalph, and the consort of the Tom Tit rejoices in the euphonic name of\nBetty! Children give the name of Dick to all small birds, which, in\nnursery parlance, are universally Dickybirds.\n\n\nWHO KILL'D COCK ROBIN.\n\n      Who kill'd Cock Robin?\n        I, said the sparrow,\n        With my bow and arrow,\n      I kill'd Cock Robin.\n\n      Who see him die?\n        I, said the fly,\n        With my little eye,\n      And I see him die.\n\n      Who catch'd his blood?\n        I, said the fish,\n        With my little dish,\n      And I catch'd his blood.\n\n      Who made his shroud?\n        I, said the beadle,\n        With my little needle,\n      And I made his shroud.\n\n      Who shall dig his grave?\n        I, said the owl,\n        With my spade and showl,[42]\n      And I'll dig his grave.\n\n      [Footnote 42: Shovel. An archaism.]\n\n      Who'll be the parson?\n        I, said the rook,\n        With my little book,\n      And I'll be the parson.\n\n      Who'll be the clerk?\n        I, said the lark,\n        If 'tis not in the dark,\n      And I'll be the clerk.\n\n      Who'll carry him to the grave?\n        I, said the kite,\n        If 'tis not in the night,\n      And I'll carry him to his grave.\n\n      Who'll carry the link?\n        I, said the linnet,\n        I'll fetch it in a minute,\n      And I'll carry the link.\n\n      Who'll be chief mourner?\n        I, said the dove,\n        I mourn for my love,\n      And I'll be chief mourner.\n\n      Who'll bear the pall?\n        We, said the wren,\n        Both the cock and the hen,\n      And we'll bear the pall.\n\n      Who'll sing a psalm?\n        I, said the thrush,\n        As she sat in a bush,\n      And I'll sing a psalm.\n\n      And who'll toll the bell?\n        I, said the bull,\n        Because I can pull;\n      And so, Cock Robin, farewell!\n\n      All the birds in the air\n        Fell to sighing and sobbing,\n      When they heard the bell toll\n        For poor Cock Robin!\n\nThe above version of this widely-extended poem is taken from a copy\nprinted many years ago in Aldermary Churchyard, entitled, \"Cock Robin, a\npretty gilded _toy_ for either girl or _boy_, suited to children of all\nages,\" 18mo. It is reprinted even at the present day with a few\nimmaterial variations.\n\nIn Eccardi _Historia Studii Etymologici_, 8vo. Han. 1711, p. 269, is an\nold Wendic nursery ballad of a somewhat similar character. Perhaps the\nfirst verse will be sufficient to give the reader an idea of its\ncomposition.\n\n      Katy m\u00eas Ninka beyt?\n      Teelka m\u00eas Ninka beyt:\n      Teelka r\u00eetzi\n      Wapakka neimo ka dwemo:\n      Gos giss wiltge gr\u00eesna Sena,\n      Nemik Ninka beyt;\n      Gos nemik Ninka beyt.\n\n          Who, who, the bride will be?\n          The owl she the bride shall be.\n            The owl quoth,\n            Again to them both,\n          I am sure a grim ladye;\n          Not I the bride can be,\n          I not the bride can be!\n\n\nCROWS.\n\nIn Essex they have a rhyme respecting crows very similar to that above\nquoted regarding magpies. The following lines are said to be true, if\ncrows fly _towards_ you:\n\n      One's unlucky,\n      Two's lucky;\n      Three is health,\n      Four is wealth;\n      Five is sickness,\n      And six is death!\n\n\nPIGEONS.\n\n      Pigeons never do know woe,\n      Till they do a benting go.\n\nThis means that pigeons are never short of food except when they are\nobliged to live on the seeds of the grass, which ripen before the crops\nof grain. The seed-stalk of grass is called the _bent_, and hence the\nterm _benting_.\n\n\nLAPWING AND RINGDOVE.\n\nThe common people in the North Riding of Yorkshire, says Brockett, ii.\n71, believe that at one period the cushat, or ringdove, laid its eggs\nupon the ground, and that the peewit, or lapwing, made its nest on high;\nbut that some time or other, an amicable arrangement took place between\nthese birds, exchanging their localities for building. The peewit\naccordingly expresses its disappointment at the bargain as follows:\n\n      Pee-wit, pee-wit,\n      I coup'd my nest and I rue it.\n\nWhile the cushat rejoices that she is out of the reach of mischievous\nboys,\u2014\n\n      Coo, coo, come now,\n      Little lad\n      With thy gad,\n      Come not thou!\n\n\nTHE WOOD-PIGEON.\n\nAn Isle of Wight legend respecting this bird tells us that, soon after\nthe creation of the world, all the birds were assembled for the purpose\nof learning to build their nests, and the magpie, being very sagacious\nand cunning, was chosen to teach them. Those birds that were most\nindustrious, such as the wren and the long-tailed-capon, or pie-finch,\nhe instructed to make whole nests in the shape of a cocoa-nut, with a\nsmall hole on one side; others, not so diligent, he taught to make\nhalf-nests, shaped something like a teacup. Having thus instructed a\ngreat variety of birds according to their capacity, it came to the turn\nof the wood-pigeon, who, being a careless and lazy bird, was very\nindifferent about the matter, and while the magpie was directing him how\nto place the little twigs, &c., he kept exclaiming, \"What, athurt and\nacross! what zoo! what zoo!\u2014athurt and across! what zoo! what zoo!\" At\nlength the magpie was so irritated with his stupidity and indolence,\nthat he flew away, and the wood-pigeon, having had no more instruction,\nto this day builds the worst nest of any of the feathered tribe,\nconsisting merely of layers of cross-twigs.\n\nMontagu gives a Suffolk version of the tale, which differs considerably\nfrom the above. \"The magpie, it is said, once undertook to teach the\npigeon how to build a more substantial and commodious dwelling; but,\ninstead of being a docile pupil, the pigeon kept on her old cry of 'Take\ntwo, Taffy! take two!' The magpie insisted that this was a very\nunworkmanlike manner of proceeding, one stick at a time being as much as\ncould be managed to advantage; but the pigeon reiterated her 'two, take\ntwo,' till Mag, in a violent passion, gave up the task, exclaiming, 'I\nsay that one at a time's enough; and, if you think otherwise, you may\nset about the work yourself, for I will have no more to do with it!'\nSince that time, the wood-pigeon has built her slight platform of\nsticks, which certainly suffers much in comparison with the strong\nsubstantial structure of the magpie.\" The cooing of the wood-pigeon\nproduces, it is said\u2014\n\n      Take two-o coo, Taffy!\n      Take two-o coo, Taffy!\n\nAlluding, says Mr. Chambers, to a story of a Welshman, who thus\ninterpreted the note, and acted upon the recommendation by stealing two\nof his neighbour's cows.\n\n\nDOMESTIC POULTRY.\n\nThe clucking conversation of poultry, the cackling of the hen, and the\nreplying chuckle of the cock, is represented by the following dialogue:\n\n      _Hen._ Cock, cock, I have la-a-a-yed!\n      _Cock._ Hen, hen, that's well sa-a-a-yed!\n      _Hen._ Although I have to go barefooted every da-a-y!\n      _Cock_ (_con spirito_). Sell your eggs, and buy shoes,\n          Sell your eggs, and buy shoes!\n\nMr. Chambers, p. 167, has given a very different version of this current\nin Scotland. In Galloway, the hen's song is:\n\n      The cock gaed to Rome, seeking shoon, seeking shoon,\n      The cock gaed to Rome, seeking shoon,\n        And yet I aye gang barefit, barefit!\n\nThe following proverb is current in the North of England:\n\n      If the cock moult before the hen,\n      We shall have weather thick and thin;\n      But if the hen moult before the cock,\n      We shall have weather hard as a block.\n\n\nDRAGON-FLIES.\n\nIn some parts of the Isle of Wight, these insects are found of a\npeculiarly large size, and their colours are extremely beautiful. There\nis an old legend respecting them which is still current. It is supposed\nby the country people that their sting or bite is venomous, as bad as\nthat of a snake or adder, and perhaps from this belief their provincial\nname of snake-stanger or snake-stang is derived. It is said that these\ninsects can distinguish the good children from the bad when they go\nfishing: if the latter go too near the water, they are almost sure to be\nbitten; but when the good boys go, the dragon-flies point out the places\nwhere the fish are, by settling on the banks, or flags, in the proper\ndirection. This curious myth is commemorated by the following song:\n\n      Snakestanger! snakestanger! vlee aal about the brooks;\n      Sting aal the bad bwoys that vor the vish looks,\n      But lat the good bwoys ketch aal the vish they can,\n      And car'm awaay whooam[43] to vry'em in a pan;\n      Bred and butter they shall yeat at zupper wi' their vish,\n      While aal the littul bad bwoys shall only lick the dish.\n\n      [Footnote 43: Carry them away home.]\n\nThis has of late years been introduced into the nursery, but in\ndifferent suit of clothes:\n\n      Dragon fly! dragon fly! fly about the brook;\n      Sting all the bad boys who for the fish look;\n      But let the good boys catch all that they can,\n      And then take them home to be fried in a pan;\n      With nice bread and butter they shall sup upon their fish,\n      While all the little naughty boys shall only lick the dish.\n\n\nTHE SNAIL.\n\nIn Yorkshire, in evenings when the dew falls heavily, the boys hunt the\nlarge black snails, and sing:\n\n      Snail, snail! put out your horn,\n      Or I'll kill your father and mother i' th' morn.\n\n\nAnother version runs thus:\n\n      Snail, snail, put out your horns,\n      I'll give you bread and barleycorns.\n\nAnd sometimes the following song is shouted on this occasion:\n\n      Sneel, snaul,\n      Robbers are coming to pull down your wall.\n      Sneel, snaul,\n      Put out your horn,\n      Robbers are coming to steal your corn,\n      Coming at four o'clock in the morn.\n\nThe version generally heard in the southern counties differs very\nconsiderably from the above, and the original use and meaning are very\nseldom practised or understood:\n\n      Snail, snail, come out of your hole,\n      Or else I'll beat you as black as a coal.\n\nMr. Chambers, p. 171, gives some very interesting observations on these\nlines. \"In England,\" he says, \"the snail scoops out hollows, little\nrotund chambers, in limestone, for its residence. This habit of the\nanimal is so important in its effects, as to have attracted the\nattention of geologists; one of the most distinguished of whom (Dr.\nBuckland) alluded to it at the meeting of the British Association at\nPlymouth, in 1841.\" The above rhyme is a boy's invocation to the snail\nto come out of such holes or any other places of retreat resorted to by\nit. Mr. Chambers also informs us that, in some districts of Scotland, it\nis supposed that it is an indication of good weather if the snail obeys\nthe injunction of putting out its horn:\n\n      Snailie, snailie, shoot out your horn,\n      And tell us if it will be a bonnie day the morn.\n\nIt appears from Gay's Shepherd's Week, ed. 1742, p. 34, that snails were\nformerly used in rural love-divinations. It was the custom[44] to place\nthe little animal on the soft ashes, and to form an opinion respecting\nthe initial of the name of a future lover by the fancied letter made by\nthe crawling of the snail on the ashes:\n\n      Last May-day fair I search'd to find a snail,\n      That might my secret lover's name reveal;\n      Upon a gooseberry bush a snail I found,\n      For always snails near sweetest fruit abound.\n      I seiz'd the vermin, home I quickly sped,\n      And on the hearth the milk-white embers spread.\n      Slow crawl'd the snail, and if I right can spell,\n      In the soft ashes mark'd a curious L;\n      Oh, may this wondrous omen lucky prove,\n      For L is found in Lubberkin and Love!\n\n      [Footnote 44: A similar practice is common in\n      Ireland. See Croker's Fairy Legends, i. 215.]\n\nVerses on the snail, similar to those given above, are current over many\nparts of Europe. In Denmark, the children say (Thiele, iii. 138)\u2014\n\n      Snegl! snegl! kom herud!\n      Her er en Mand, som vil kj\u00f6be dit Huus,\n      For en Skj\u00e6ppe Penge!\n\n          Snail! snail! come out here!\n          Here is a man thy house will buy,\n          For a measure of white money.\n\nA similar idea is preserved in Germany, the children saying (Des Knaben\nWunderhorn, iii. 81)\u2014\n\n      Klosterfrau im Schneckenh\u00e4ussle,\n      Sie meint, sie sey verborgen.\n      Kommt der Pater Guardian,\n      W\u00fcnscht ihr guten Morgen!\n\n          Cloister-dame, in house of shell,\n          Ye think ye are hidden well.\n          Father Guardian will come,\n          And wish you good morning.\n\nThe following lines are given by M. Kuhn, Gebr\u00e4uche und Aberglauben,\n398, as current in Stendal:\n\n      Schneckh\u00fbs, peckh\u00fbs,\n      St\u00e4k du d\u00een v\u00ear h\u00f6rner r\u00fbt,\n      S\u00fcst schm\u00eet ick d\u00ee in'n gr\u00e5ven,\n      D\u00e5 fr\u00eaten d\u00ee de r\u00e5ven.\n\n\nAPPLES.\n\nChildren in the North of England, when they eat apples, or similar\nfruit, delight in throwing away the pippin, exclaiming\u2014\n\n      Pippin, pippin, fly away,\n      Get me one another day!\n\n\nTHE WALNUT-TREE.\n\nThere is a common persuasion amongst country people that whipping a\nwalnut-tree tends to increase the produce, and improve the flavour of\nthe fruit. This belief is embodied in the following distich:\n\n      A woman, a spaniel, and a walnut-tree,\n      The more you whip them the better they be.\n\nAnd also in this quatrain:\n\n      Three things by beating better prove,\n        A nut, an ass, a woman;\n      The cudgel from their back remove,\n        And they'll be good for no man.\n\n\nTHE ASH.\n\n      Burn ash-wood green,\n      'Tis a fire for a queen:\n      Burn ash-wood sear,\n      'Twill make a man swear.\n\nAsh, when green, makes good fire-wood, and, contrary perhaps to all\nother sorts of wood, is bad for that purpose when _sear_, or dry,\nwithered. The old Anglo-Saxon term _sear_ is well illustrated by this\nhomely proverb. The reader will remember Macbeth:\n\n                                I have lived long enough:\n      My way of life is fallen into the _sear_ and yellow leaf.\n\n\nPEAS.\n\nChildren get the pods of a pea, and flinging them at each other, cry\n\n      Pea-pod hucks,\n        Twenty for a pin;\n      If you don't like them,\n        I'll take them agin.\n\nThe _hucks_ are the shells or pods, and _agin_ the provincial\npronunciation of _again_.\n\n\nPIMPERNELL.\n\n      No heart can think, no tongue can tell,\n      The virtues of the pimpernell.\n\nGerard enumerates several complaints for which this plant was considered\nuseful, and he adds, that country people prognosticated fine or bad\nweather by observing in the morning whether its flowers were spread out\nor shut up.\u2014Herbal, first ed. p. 494. According to a MS. on magic,\npreserved in the Chetham Library at Manchester, \"the herb pimpernell is\ngood to prevent witchcraft, as Mother Bumby doth affirme;\" and the\nfollowing lines must be used when it is gathered:\n\n      Herbe pimpernell, I have thee found\n      Growing upon Christ Jesus' ground:\n      The same guift the Lord Jesus gave unto thee,\n      When he shed his blood on the tree.\n      Arise up, pimpernell, and goe with me,\n      And God blesse me,\n      And all that shall were thee.   Amen.\n\n\"Say this fifteen dayes together, twice a day, morning earlye fasting,\nand in the evening full.\" MS. ibid.\n\n\nMARUM.\n\n      If you set it,\n      The cats will eat it;\n      If you sow it,\n      The cats will know it.\n\n\nBIRD-SHOOER'S SONG.\n\n      Awa', birds, awa',\n      Take a peck\n      And leave a seck,\n      And come no more to day!\n\nThis is the universal _bird-shooer's_ song in the midland counties.\n\n\nTHE GNAT.\n\nIn the eastern counties of England, and perhaps in other parts of the\ncountry, children chant the following lines when they are pursuing this\ninsect:\n\n      Gnat, gnat, fly into my hat,\n      And I'll give you a slice of bacon!\n\n\nTHE TROUT.\n\nIn Herefordshire the alder is called the _aul_, and the country people\nuse the following proverbial lines:\n\n      When the bud of the _aul_ is as big as the trout's eye,\n      Then that fish is in season in the river Wye.\n\n\nTOBACCO.\n\n      Tobacco hic,\n      Will make you well\n      If you be sick.\n\nTobacco was formerly held in great esteem as a medicine. Sickness was\nthe old term for illness of any kind, and is no doubt the more correct\nexpression.\n\nIt may just be worth a passing notice to observe, that Shakespeare never\nmentions _tobacco_, nor alludes to it even indirectly. What a brilliant\nsubject for a critic! A treatise might be written to prove from this\ncircumstance that the great poet was not in the habit of smoking; or, on\nthe contrary, that he was so great an admirer of the pernicious weed,\nthat, being unable to allude to it without a panegyric, he very wisely\neschewed the subject for fear of giving offence to his royal master, the\nauthor of the 'Counterblast.' The discussion, at all events, would be\nproductive of as much utility as the disputes which have occasioned so\nmany learned letters respecting the orthography of the poet's name.\n\n\nJACK-A-DANDY.\n\nBoys have a very curious saying respecting the reflection of the sun's\nbeams from the surface of water upon a ceiling, which they call\n\"Jack-a-dandy beating his wife with a stick of silver.\" If a mischievous\nboy with a bit of looking-glass, or similar material, threw the\nreflection into the eye of a neighbour, the latter would complain, \"He's\nthrowing Jack-a-dandy in my eyes.\"\n\n\n\n\nVII.\u2014PROVERB-RHYMES.\n\n\nMetrical proverbs are so numerous, that a large volume might be filled\nwith them without much difficulty; and it is, therefore, unnecessary to\nsay that nothing beyond a very small selection is here attempted. We may\nrefer the curious reader to the collections of Howell, Ray, and Denham,\nthe last of which chiefly relates to natural objects and the weather,\nfor other examples; but the subject is so diffuse, that these writers\nhave gone a very short way towards the compilation of a complete series.\n\n      Give a thing and take again,\n      And you shall ride in hell's wain!\n\nSaid by children when one wishes a gift to be returned, a system\nnaturally much disliked. So says Plato, \u03c4\u03c9\u03bd \u03bf\u03c1\u03b8\u03c9\u03c2 \u03b4\u03bf\u03b8\u03b5\u03bd\u03c4\u03c9\u03bd\n\u03b1\u03c6\u03b1\u03b9\u03c1\u03b5\u03c3\u03b9\u03c2 \u03bf\u03c5\u03ba \u03b5\u03c3\u03c4\u03b9. Ray, p. 113, ed. 1768. Ben Jonson appears to allude\nto this proverb in the Sad Shepherd, where Maudlin says\u2014\"Do you give a\nthing and take a thing, madam?\" Cotgrave, Dictionarie of the French and\nEnglish Tongues, 1632, in v. _Retirer_, mentions \"a triviall proverb:\"\n\n      Give a thing,\n      And take a thing,\n      To weare the divell's gold-ring.\n\nAnd it is alluded to in a little work entitled Homer \u00e0 la Mode, a mock\npoem upon the First and Second Books of Homer's Iliads, 12mo. Oxford,\n1665, p. 34:\n\n      Prethee for my sake let him have her,\n      Because to him the Gr\u00e6cians gave her;\n      To give a thing, and take a thing,\n      You know is the devil's gold-ring!\n\nThe proverb sometimes runs thus:\n\n      Give a thing, take a thing,\n      That's an old man's play-thing.\n\n\"A lee with a hatchet,\" as they say in the North, is a circumstantial\nself-evident falsehood, and so runs the proverb:\n\n      That's a lie with a latchet,\n      All the dogs in the town cannot match it.\n\nChildren say the following when one has been detected in any\nmisrepresentation of a mischievous character\u2014\n\n      Liar, liar, lick spit,\n      Your tongue shall be slit,\n      And all the dogs in the town\n      Shall have a little bit.\n\nThe following versions of the former rhyme are current in the North of\nEngland:\n\n      That's a lee wi' a latchet,\n      You may shut the door and catch it.\n\n      That's a lee wi' a lid on,\n      And a brass handle to tak houd on.\n\nIn Yorkshire a tell-tale is termed a _pleen-pie_, and there is a\nproverb current which is very similar to that given above:\n\n      A pleen-pie tit,\n      Thy tongue sal be slit,\n      An iv'ry dog i' th' town\n      Sal hev a bit.\n\n      Left and right\n      Brings good at night.\n\nWhen your right eye itches, it is a sign of good luck; when the left, a\nsign of bad luck. When both itch, the above distich expresses the\npopular belief.\n\n      He got out of the muxy,\n      And fell into the pucksy.\n\nA muxy is a dunghill, and the pucksy a quagmire. This is a variation of\nthe old saying of falling out of the dripping-pan into the fire:\n\n      Incidit in Scyllam cupiens vitare Charybdini.\n\n      Those that made me were uncivil,\n      For they made me harder than the devil!\n      Knives won't cut me, fire won't sweat me,\n      Dogs bark at me, but can't eat me!\n\nThese proverbial lines are supposed to be spoken by Suffolk cheese,\nwhich is so hard that a myth tells us gate-pegs in that county are made\nwith it. The proverb has been long true, and Pepys, writing in 1661,\nsays: \"I found my wife vexed at her people for grumbling to eate Suffolk\ncheese, which I also am vexed at.\"\n\n      Speak of a person and he will appear,\n      Then talk of the dule, and he'll draw near.\n\nSaid of a person who makes his appearance unexpectedly, when he is\nspoken of.\n\n      When Easter falls in our Lady's-lap,\n      Then let England beware a rap.\n\nThat is, when Easter falls on Lady-day, March 25, which happens when the\nSunday Letter is G, and the Golden Number 5, 13, or 16. See Aubrey's\nMiscellanies, ed. 1696, p. 21.\n\n      In July\n      Some reap rye.\n      In August,\n      If one won't, the other must.\n\nFrom Hertfordshire and Bedfordshire, given in Hone's Year-Book, col.\n1595.\n\n      In March\n      The birds begin to search;\n      In April\n      The corn begins to fill;\n      In May\n      The birds begin to lay.\n\nFrom Lancashire. This resembles in its character the cuckoo song we have\ngiven at p. 160.\n\n        Friday night's dream\n          On the Saturday told,\n        Is sure to come true,\n          Be it never so old.\n\n      When it gangs up i' sops,\n      It'll fall down i' drops.\n\nA North country proverb, the _sops_ being the small detached clouds\nhanging on the sides of a mountain. Carr, ii. 147.\n\n      To-morrow come never,\n      When two Sundays come together.\n\nThis is sometimes addressed to one who promises something \"to-morrow,\"\nbut who is often in the habit of making similar engagements, and not\nremembering them.\n\n\nTIT FOR TAT.\n\nThe proverb of _tit for tat_ may perhaps be said to be going out of\nfashion, but it is still a universal favorite with children. When any\none is ill-natured, and the sufferer wishes to hint his intention of\nretaliating at the first convenient opportunity, he cries out\u2014\n\n      Tit for tat,\n      If you kill my dog,\n      I'll kill your cat.\n\n\nLAZY LAWRENCE.\n\n      Lazy Lawrence, let me go,\n      Don't me hold summer and winter too.\n\nThis distich is said by a boy who feels very lazy, yet wishes to exert\nhimself. Lazy Lawrence is a proverbial expression for an idle person,\nand I possess an old chapbook, entitled \"the History of Lawrence Lazy,\ncontaining his birth and slothful breeding; how he served the\nschoolmaster, his wife, the squire's cook, and the farmer, which, by the\nlaws of Lubberland, was accounted high treason.\" A West country proverb,\nrelating to a disciple of this hero, runs thus:\n\n      Sluggardy guise,\n      Loth to go to bed,\n      And loth to rise.\n\n      March will search, April will try,\n      May will tell ye if ye'll live or die.\n\n      Sow in the sop,\n      'Twill be heavy a-top.\n\nThat is, land in a soppy or wet state is in a favorable condition for\nreceiving seed; a statement, however, somewhat questionable.\n\n      A cat may look at a king,\n      And surely I may look at an ugly thing.\n\nSaid in derision by one child to another, who complains of being stared\nat.\n\n      He that hath it and will not keep it,\n      He that wanteth it and will not seek it;\n      He that drinketh and is not dry,\n      Shall want money as well as I.\n\nFrom Howell's English Proverbs, 1659, p. 21.\n\n      Gray's Inn for walks,\n        Lincoln's Inn for a wall;\n      The Inner-Temple for a garden,\n        And the Middle for a hall.\n\nA proverb, no doubt, true in former times, but now only partially\ncorrect.\n\n      In time of prosperity friends will be plenty,\n      In time of adversity not one amongst twenty.\n\nFrom Howell's English Proverbs, p. 20. The expression _not one amongst\ntwenty_ is a generic one for not one out of a large number. It occurs in\nShakespeare's Much Ado About Nothing, v. 2.\n\n      Trim tram,\n      Like master like man.\n\nFrom an old manuscript political treatise, dated 1652, entitled a Cat\nmay look at a King.\n\n      Beer a bumble,\n      'Twill kill you\n      Afore 'twill make ye tumble.\n\nA proverbial phrase applied to very small beer, implying that no\nquantity of it will cause intoxication.\n\n      Lancashire law,\n      No stakes, no draw!\n\nA saying by which a person, who has lost a verbal wager, avoids payment\non the plea of no stakes having been deposited.\n\n      As foolish as monkeys till twenty and more,\n      As bold as a lion till forty-and-four;\n      As cunning as foxes till three score and ten,\n      We then become asses, and are no more men.\n\nThese proverbial lines were obtained from Lancashire. An early version\noccurs in Tusser, p. 199.\n\n      They that wash on Monday\n        Have a whole week to dry;\n      They that wash on Tuesday\n        Are not so much agye;\n      They that wash on Wednesday\n        May get their clothes clean;\n      They that wash on Thursday\n        Are not so much to mean;\n      They that wash on Friday\n        Wash for their need;\n      But they that wash on Saturday\n        Are clarty-paps indeed!\n\nA North country version of these common proverbial lines, given by Mr.\nDenham, p. 16. _Clarty-paps_ are dirty sluts.\n\n      The children of Holland\n        Take pleasure in making\n      What the children of England\n        Take pleasure in breaking.\n\nAlluding to toys, a great number of which are imported into this country\nfrom Holland.\n\n\n\n\nVIII.\u2014PLACES AND FAMILIES.\n\n\nThis division, like the last, might be greatly extended by references to\nRay and Grose.\n\n\nELTON.\n\nThe following lines are still remembered by the members of the Elton\nfamily:\n\n      _Upon Sir Abraham Elt being knighted, and taking\n      the name of Elton._\n\n      In days of yore old Abraham Elt,\n      When living, had nor sword nor belt;\n      But now his son, Sir Abraham Elton,\n      Being knighted, has both sword and belt on.\n\n                     MS. Harl. Brit. Mus. 7318, p. 206.\n\n\nNOEL.\n\n      N. for a word of deniance,\n      E. with a figure of L. fiftie,\n      Spelleth his name that never\n      Will be thriftie.\n\n             MS. Sloane 2497, of the sixteenth century.\n\n\nCOLLINGWOOD.\n\n      The Collingwoods have borne the name,\n      Since in the bush the buck was ta'en;\n      But when the bush shall hold the buck,\n      Then welcome faith, and farewell luck.\n\nAlluding to the Collingwood crest of a stag beneath an oak tree.\n\n\nTHE CAULD LAD OF HILTON.\n\nThis fairy or goblin was seldom seen, but his gambols were heard nightly\nin the hall of the great house. He overturned everything in the kitchen\nafter the servants had gone to bed, and was, in short, one of the most\nmischievous sprites you could imagine. One night, however, the kitchen\nhappened to be left in great confusion, and the goblin, who did\neverything by contraries, set it completely to rights; and the next\nmorning it was in perfect apple-pie order. We may be quite sure that,\nafter this occurrence, the kitchen was not again made orderly by the\nservants.\n\nNotwithstanding, however, the service thus nightly rendered by the Cauld\nLad, the servants did not like it. They preferred to do their own work\nwithout preternatural agency, and accordingly resolved to do their best\nto drive him from their haunts. The goblin soon understood what was\ngoing on, and he was heard in the dead of night to warble the following\nlines in a melancholy strain:\n\n      Wae's me! wae's me!\n      The acorn is not yet\n      Fallen from the tree,\n      That's to grow the wood,\n      That's to make the cradle,\n      That's to rock the bairn,\n      That's to grow to a man,\n      That's to lay me.\n\nHe was, however, deceived in this prediction; for one night, being\ncolder than usual, he complained in moving verse of his condition.\nAccordingly, on the following evening, a cloak and hood were placed for\nhim near the fire. The servants had unconsciously accomplished their\ndeliverance, for present gifts to fairies, and they for ever disappear.\nOn the next morning the following lines were found inscribed on the\nwall:\n\n      I've taken your cloak, I've taken your hood;\n      The Cauld Lad of Hilton will do no more good!\n\nA great variety of stories in which fairies are frightened away by\npresents, are still to be heard in the rural districts of England.\nAnother narrative, by Mr. Longstaffe, relates that on one occasion a\nwoman found her washing and ironing regularly performed for her every\nnight by the fairies. In gratitude to the \"good people,\" she placed\ngreen mantles for their acceptance, and the next night the fairies\ndeparted, exclaiming\u2014\n\n      Now the pixies' work is done!\n      We take our clothes, and off we run.\n\nMrs. Bray tells a similar story of a Devonshire pixy, who helped an old\nwoman to spin. One evening she spied the fairy jumping out of her door,\nand observed that it was very raggedly dressed; so the next day she\nthought to win the services of the elf further by placing some smart new\nclothes, as big as those made for a doll, by the side of her wheel. The\npixy came, put on the clothes, and clapping its hands with delight,\nvanished, saying these lines:\n\n      Pixy fine, pixy gay,\n      Pixy now will run away.\n\nFairies always talk in rhyme. Mr. Allies mentions a Worcestershire fairy\nlegend which says that, upon one occasion, a pixy came to a ploughman in\na field, and exclaimed:\n\n      Oh, lend a hammer and a nail,\n      Which we want to mend our pail.\n\n\nFELTON.\n\n      The little priest of Felton,\n      The little priest of Felton,\n      He kill'd a mouse within his house,\n      And ne'er a one to help him.\n\n\nSIR RALPH ASHTON.\n\n      Sweet Jesu, for thy mercy's sake,\n        And for thy bitter passion,\n      Save us from the axe of the Tower,\n        And from Sir Ralph of Ashton.\n\nThis rhyme is traditionally known in the North of England, and refers,\nit is said, to Sir Ralph Ashton, who, in the latter part of the\nfifteenth century, exercised great severity as vice-constable. The\nancient custom of _riding the black lad_ at Ashton-under-Lyne on Easter\nMonday, which consists of carrying an effigy on horseback through the\ntown, shooting at it, and finally burning it, is alleged to have taken\nits origin from this individual, who, according to tradition, was shot\nas he was riding down the principal street. According to another story,\nthe custom commemorates the valiant actions of Thomas Ashton at the\nbattle of Neville's Cross.\n\n\nPRESTON.\n\n      Proud Preston, poor people,\n      Fine church, and no steeple.\n\n\nLANCASHIRE.\n\n      Little lad, little lad, where wast thou born?\n      Far off in Lancashire, under a thorn,\n      Where they sup sour milk in a ram's horn.\n\n\nLEYLAND.\n\nA village in Lancashire, not far from Chorley. There is, or was sixty\nyears since, a tradition current here, to the effect that the church, on\nthe night following the day in which the building was completed, was\nremoved some distance by supernatural agency, and the astonished\ninhabitants, on entering the sacred edifice the following morning, found\nthe following metrical command written on a marble tablet on the wall:\n\n      Here thou shalt be,\n        And here thou shalt stand,\n      And thou shalt be called\n        The church of Ley-land.\n\nLeyland church stands on an eminence at the east side of the village.\nThe ancient tower is still standing, but the body of the church is\nmodern.\n\n\nHUGH OF LINCOLN.\n\n      He tossed the ball so high, so high,\n        He tossed the ball so low;\n      He tossed the ball in the Jew's garden,\n        And the Jews were all below.\n\n      Oh, then out came the Jew's daughter,\n        She was dressed all in green;\n      Come hither, come hither, my sweet pretty fellow,\n        And fetch your ball again.\n\nThese lines refer to the well-known story of the murder of a child at\nLincoln by a Jewess. The child was playing at ball, and threw it into\nthe Jew's garden. She enticed him into the house to recover it, killed\nhim, and, to conceal her guilt, threw the body into a deep well.\nAccording to the ballads on the subject, the spirit of the boy answers\nhis mother's inquiry from the bottom of the well, the bells ring without\nhuman aid, and several miracles are accomplished. The above fragment of\nsome old ballad on the subject was given me by Miss Agnes Strickland as\ncurrent in the country nursery.\n\n\nCUCKSTONE.\n\n      If you would go to a church miswent,\n      You must go to Cuckstone in Kent.\n\nSo said because the church is \"very unusual in proportion.\" Lelandi\nItin. ed. 1744, ii. 137.\n\n\nSAINT LEVAN.\n\n      When with panniers astride\n      A pack-horse can ride\n      Through St. Levan's stone,\n      The world will be done.\n\nSt. Levan's stone is a great rock in the churchyard of St. Levan, co.\nCornwall.\n\n\nROLLRIGHT.\n\nThe \"Druidical\" stones at Rollright, Oxfordshire, are said to have been\noriginally a general and his army who were transformed into stones by a\nmagician. The tradition runs that there was a prophecy or oracle which\ntold the general,\u2014\n\n      If Long Compton thou canst see,\n      King of England thou shalt be.\n\nHe was within a few yards of the spot whence that town could be\nobserved, when his progress was stopped by the magician's\ntransformation,\u2014\n\n      Sink down man, and rise up stone!\n      King of England thou shalt be none.\n\nThe general was transformed into a large stone which stands on a spot\nfrom which Long Compton is not visible, but on ascending a slight rise\nclose to it, the town is revealed to view. Roger Gale, writing in 1719,\nsays that whoever dared to contradict this story was regarded \"as a most\naudacious freethinker.\" It is said that no man could ever count these\nstones, and that a baker once attempted it by placing a penny loaf on\neach of them, but somehow or other he failed in counting his own bread.\nA similar tale is related of Stonehenge.\n\n\nHAMPDEN.\n\nThe following relation is given in the additions to Camden's Britannia,\nco. Bucks, p. 318. Tradition says the Black Prince, who held Hartwell,\nhad large possessions at Prince's Risborough, where they show part of a\nwall of his palace, and a field where his horses were turned called\nPrince's Field, and repeat these lines on a supposed quarrel between him\nand one of the family of Hampden:\n\n      Hamden of Hamden did foregoe\n      The manors of Tring, Wing, and Ivinghoe,\n      For striking the Black Prince a blow.\n\n\nRIBCHESTER.\n\n      It is written upon a wall in Rome\n      Ribchester was as rich as any town in Christendom.\n\nCamden says that Ribchester was famous for its remains of ancient art.\n\n\nHAWLEY.\n\n      Blow the wind high, blow the wind low,\n      It bloweth good to Hawley's hoe.\n\nThese lines are said to relate to one John Hawley, a wealthy merchant of\nDevon some centuries ago, who was fortunate in his shipping. According\nto Prince, p. 477, \"so was the gentleman's habitation in that town\n(Dartmouth) call'd the Hoe or Haw.\"\n\n\nGOTHAM.\n\n      Three wise men of Gotham\n      Went to sea in a bowl;\n      And if the bowl had been stronger,\n      My song would have been longer.\n\nHonour to whom honour is due! Mr. Lower will have it that Sussex is the\ncounty of the Gothamites. Gotham is near Pevensey, and many traditionary\nanecdotes are still current respecting the stupidity of the people of\nthat town. On one occasion, the mayor, having received a letter, was\nreading it upside down, the messenger very respectfully suggested that\nhe would sooner arrive at the meaning of its contents by reversing its\nposition. \"Hold your tongue, sir,\" replied the chief magistrate; \"for\nwhile I am mayor of Pemsey, I'll hold the letter which eend uppards I\nlike!\"\n\n\nBUCKLAND.\n\n      Buckland and Laverton,\n      Stanway and Staunton,\n      Childswickham, Wickamford,\n      Badsey and Aston.\n\nThese are places in Gloucestershire, Worcestershire, and Somersetshire.\nStaunton is pronounced _Stawn_, and Aston is commonly called _Awn_.\n\n\nCOLEBROOK.\n\n      There were three cooks of Colebrook,\n      And they fell out with our cook;\n      And all was for a pudding he took\n      From the three cooks of Colebrook.\n\n\nGILLING.\n\nTradition informs us, but leaves us in ignorance as to the nature of the\noffence offered, that once upon a time, a long time ago, his satanic\nmajesty took dire displeasure at the good folks of Hartforth, for some\nnaughty trick, no doubt played upon him, during one of his visits to\nthat locality; so finding a stone of enormous bulk and weight to the\nsouth of Gilling, his majesty, in his rage, raised the ponderous mass in\none hand, and uttering this exclamatory couplet,\u2014\n\n      Have at thee, Black Hartforth,\n      But have a care o' Bonny Gilling!\n\ncast it from him with all his strength. It would appear that the devil's\nvision is rather of a telescopic character; for, as luck would have it,\nhe missed his aim, and the stone, which flew whizzing through the air,\nat last fell harmless far beyond the former place; and now lies, bearing\nthe impression of his unholy fingers, on the rising ground to the north\nside of Gatherly Moor.[45]\n\n      [Footnote 45: Communicated by Mr. M. A. Denham.]\n\n\nSHREWSBURY.\n\nThe inhabitants of Shropshire, and, it is said, especially Shrewsbury,\nhave an unfortunate habit of misplacing the letter _h_. It is scarcely\nnecessary to say that the failing is by no means peculiar to that\ncounty. I am unable to vouch for the antiquity of the following lines on\nthe subject, but they have become proverbial, and are therefore worth\ngiving:\n\nThe petition of the letter _H_ to the inhabitants of Shrewsbury,\ngreeting,\u2014\n\n      Whereas I have by you been driven,\n      From house, from home, from hope, from heaven,\n      And plac'd by your most learn'd society\n      In exile, anguish, and anxiety,\n      And used, without one just pretence,\n      With arrogance and insolence;\n      I here demand full restitution,\n      And beg you'll mend your elocution.\n\nTo this was returned the following answer from the Shrewsburians:\n\n      Whereas we've rescued you, Ingrate,\n      From handcuff, horror, and from hate,\n      From hell, from horse-pond, and from halter,\n      And consecrated you in altar;\n      And placed you, where you ne'er should be,\n      In honour and in honesty;\n      We deem your pray'r a rude intrusion,\n      And will not mend our elocution.\n\n\nJACK ROBINSON.\n\nThere are few proverbial expressions more common than the saying, \"As\nsoon as you can say Jack Robinson,\" implying excessive rapidity. I have\nseen the phrase with the name of _Dick Robinson_, but failed to take a\nmemorandum of it. It has since occurred to me that it may have\noriginated in some way or other with the actor of that name mentioned by\nBen Jonson. If, however, the following quotation from an \"old play,\"\ngiven by Carr, be genuine, this conjecture must fall to the ground:\n\n      A warke it ys as easie to be doone,\n      As 'tys to saye, Jack! robys on.\n\n\nWRANGHAM.\n\n      Swing'em, swang'em, bells at Wrangham,\n      Three dogs in a string, hang'em, hang'em.\n\nA hit at the Cheshire provincial pronunciation of the _ng_.\n\n\nLEICESTERSHIRE.\n\n      Higham on the hill,\n        Stoke in the vale;\n      Wykin for buttermilk,\n        Hinckley for ale.\n\n\nBROCKLEY-HILL.\n\n      No heart can think, nor tongue can tell,\n      What lies between Brockley-hill and Penny-well.\n\nBrockley-hill lies near Elstree, in Hertfordshire, and Penny-well is the\nname of a parcel of closes in the neighbourhood. See Stukeley's Itin.\nCur. 1776, i. 118. This distich alludes to the quantity of old coins\nfound near those places.\n\n\nSTANTON DREW.\n\n      Stanton Drew,\n      A mile from Pensford,\n      Another from Chue.\n\nA Somersetshire proverb, mentioned by Stukeley, in the work above\nquoted, ii. 169.\n\n\nSEVERN.\n\n      Blessed is the eye,\n      That's between Severn and Wye.\n\nRay gives this proverb, but appears to misunderstand it, the first line\nnot alluding to the prospect, but to an islet or ait in the river,\nthough I have not met with the word _eye_ used in this sense. There can,\nhowever, be no doubt as to its meaning; probably from A.-S. e\u00e1.\n\n\nSHERSTON MAGNA.\n\nThe following very curious observations on this town are extracted from\nan anonymous MS. in my possession, written forty or fifty years ago. I\nhave never seen the lines in print. Aubrey, in his Natural History of\nWiltshire, mentions the plant called _Danes-blood_, and derives the\nname from a similar circumstance. Some observations on Sherston may be\nseen in Camden, ed. Gough, i. 96. It is Sceor-st\u00e1n, where the celebrated\nbattle between the Anglo-Saxons and the Danes was fought in the year\n1016, and prodigies of valour exhibited by the combatants.\n\n\"When a schoolboy, I have often traced the intrenchments at Sherston\nMagna, which are still visible on the north side of the town, and\nparticularly in a field near the brow of a hill which overlooks a branch\nof the river Avon, which rises a little below Didmarton; and with other\nboys have gone in quest of a certain plant in the field where the battle\nwas said to have been fought, which the inhabitants pretended dropt\nblood when gathered, and called Danesblood, corruptly no doubt for\n_Danewort_, which was supposed to have sprung from the blood of the\nDanes slain in that battle. Among other memorials, the statue of a brave\nwarrior, vulgarly called Rattlebone, but whose real name I could never\nlearn, is still standing upon a pedestal on the east side of the\nchurch-porch, as I've been lately informed, where I saw it above fifty\nyears ago: of whose bravery, almost equal to that of Withrington, many\nfabulous stories are told. One, in particular, like some of the Grecian\nfables of old, built upon the resemblance his shield bears to the shape\nof a tile-stone, which he is said to have placed over his stomach after\nit had been ripped up in battle, and by that means maintained the field;\nwhilst the following rude verses are said to have been repeated by the\nking by way of encouragement:\n\n      Fight on, Rattlebone,\n      And thou shalt have Sherstone;\n      If Sherstone will not do,\n      Then Easton Grey and Pinkney too.\"\n\n\nNORTH ACRE.\n\n      The Lord Dacre\n      Was slain in North Acre.\n\nNorth Acre is or was the name of the spot where Lord Dacre perished at\nthe battle of Towton in 1461. He is said to have been shot by a boy out\nof an elder tree.\n\n\nBELLASIS.\n\n[Communicated by Mr. Longstaffe.]\n\n      Johnny tuth' Bellas daft was thy poll,\n      When thou changed Bellas for Henknoll.\n\nThis saying, as given by Surtees, is still remembered near Bellasis, and\nis preferable to Hutchinson's version of it from the east window of the\nnorth transept of St. Andrew's Auckland church, where he says, \"are\nremains of an inscription painted on the glass; the date appears 1386;\nbeneath the inscription are the arms of Bellasys, and in a belt round\nthem the following words:\n\n      Bellysys Belysys dafe was thy sowel,\n      When exchanged Belysys for Henknowell.\"\n\nCollins (followed by Hutchinson), who gives the proverb as\u2014\n\n      Belasise, Belassis, daft was thy nowle,\n      When thou gave Bellassis for Henknowle,\n\nconnects it with a grant dated 1380, from John de Belasye to the convent\nof Durham, of his lands in Wolveston, in exchange for the Manor of\nHenknoll. But Bellasyse is not even within the Manor of Wolveston, and,\nin fact, the Manor of Bellasye was held by the Prior in 1361; and we can\nonly account for the proverb by supposing that, at a former period,\nBellasyse had been exchanged for lands, but not the manor of Henknoll.\nThe legend dates the matter in crusading times, and is chivalric in the\nextreme. John of Bellasis, minded to take up the cross, and fight in\nHoly Land, found his piety sorely let and hindered by his attachment to\nthe green pastures and deep meadows of his ancestors. With resolution\nstrong, he exchanged them with the Church of Durham, for Henknoll, near\nAuckland. He went to fight, but lived it seems to return and repent his\nrash bargain. I descend by one step, from the sublime to the ridiculous,\nto mention how oddly more recent characters are wound round those of\nolden time, for a popular notion is that the Red-Cross Knight had\nenormous teeth, and was passionately addicted to \"race-horses!\"\nChildren, moreover, have a dark saying when they leap off anything:\n\n      Bellasay, Bellasay, what time of day?\n      One o'clock, two o'clock, three and away!\n\nMiss Bellasyse, the heiress of Brancepeth, died for love of Robert\nShafto, of Whitworth, whose portrait at Whitworth represents him as very\nyoung and handsome, with _yellow_ hair. He was the favorite candidate in\nthe election of 1791, when he was popularly called Bonny Bobby Shafto;\nand the old song of the older Bobby, who, it seems, was also \"bright and\nfair, combing down his _yellow_ hair,\" was revived with the addition\nof\u2014\n\n      Bobby Shafto's looking out,\n      All his ribbons flew about,\n      All the ladies gave a shout\u2014\n      Hey, for Bobby Shafto!\n\nThe most ancient verses of the old song seem to be\u2014\n\n      Bobby Shafto's gone to sea,\n      Silver buckles at his knee;\n      He'll come back and marry me,\n      Bonny Bobby Shafto.\n\n      Bobby Shafto's bright and fair,\n      Combing down his yellow hair;\n      He's my ain for evermair,\n      Bonny Bobby Shafto.\n\nAn apocryphal verse says,\u2014\n\n      Bobby Shafto's getten a bairn,\n      For to dangle on his arm\u2014\n      On his arm and on his knee;\n      Bobby Shafto loves me.\n\n\nKELLOE.\n\n      John Lively, Vicar of Kelloe,\n      Had seven daughters and never a fellow.\n\nAn equivocal rhyme of the bishopric, which may either mean that the\nparson of the sixteenth century had no son, or that he had no equal in\nlearning, &c. He certainly, however, mentions no son in his will, in\nwhich he leaves to his daughter Elizabeth, his best gold ring _with a\ndeath's head in it_ (Compare Love's Labour Lost, v. 2), and seventeen\nyards of white cloth for curtains of a bed, and to his daughter Mary his\nsilver seal of arms, his gimald ring, and black gold ring. Another\nversion of the proverb reads \"_six_ daughters,\" and indeed _seven_ is\noften merely a conventional number.\n\n\nROSEBERRY-TOPPING.\n\n\"Not far from Gisborough is Ounsberry-hill, or Roseberry-topping, which\nmounts aloft and makes a great shew at a distance, serving unto sailors\nfor a mark of direction, and to the neighbour inhabitants for a\nprognostication; for as often as the head of it hath its cloudy cap on,\nthere commonly follows rain, whereupon they have a proverbial rhyme,\n\n      When Roseberry-topping wears a cap,\n      Let Cleveland then beware a clap.\n\nNear to the top of it, out of a huge rock, there flows a spring of\nwater, medicinable for diseased eyes; and from thence there is a most\ndelightful prospect upon the valleys below to the hills above.\"\u2014Brome's\nTravels, 8vo. Lond. 1700.\n\n\nLINCOLN.\n\n\"As for the town, though it flourished mightily for some years together\nafter the Norman Conquest, by reason of a staple for wooll and other\ncommodities, setled here by King Edward the Third; yet it met still with\nsome calamities or other, which hindred its growth and eclipsed its\ngrandeur, for it had its share of sufferings, both by fire and water, in\nKing Stephen's days, about which time, it seems, though the king had at\nfirst been conquered and taken prisoner, yet he afterward entred into\nthe city in triumph, with his crown upon his head, to break the citizens\nof a superstitious opinion they held, that no king could possibly enter\ninto that city after such a manner, but some great disaster or other\nwould befal him; but neither did it then, or by the barons' wars\nafterwards, sustain half the damages which of late years it hath\nreceived from the devouring hands of time, who hath wrought its downfal,\nand from a rich and populous city hath reduced it almost to the lowest\nebb of fortune; and of fifty churches, which were all standing within\none or two centuries, hath scarce left fifteen; so that the old\nproverbial rhymes (which go current amongst them) seem so far to have\nsomething of verity in them:\n\n      Lincoln was, and London is,\n      And York shall be\n      The fairest city of the three.\"\u2014Ibid.\n\n\nSKIDDAW.\n\n\"After we had passed these borders we arrived again safe in our own\nnative soil, within the precincts of Cumberland, which, like the rest of\nthe northern counties, hath a sharp piercing air; the soil is fertile\nfor the most part both with corn and cattle, and in some parts hereof\nwith fish and fowl; here are likewise several minerals, which of late\nhave been discovered; not only mines of copper, but some veins of gold\nand silver, as we were informed, have been found; and of all the shires\nwe have, it is accounted the best furnished with the Roman antiquities.\nNor is it less renowned for its exceeding high mountains; for, beside\nthe mountain called Wrye-nose, on the top of which, near the highway\nside, are to be seen three shire-stones within a foot of each other, one\nin this county, another in Westmoreland, and a third in Lancashire.\nThere are three other hills, Skiddaw, Lanvalin, and Casticand, very\nremarkable. Skiddaw riseth up with two mighty high heads, like\nParnassus, and beholds Scruffel Hill, which is in Annandale, in\nScotland; and accordingly as mists arise or fall upon these heads, the\npeople thereby prognosticate of the change of weather, singing this\nrhime:\n\n      If Skiddaw have a cap,\n      Scruffel wotts full of that.\n\nAnd there goes also this usual by-word concerning the height, as well of\nthis hill as of the other two:\n\n      Skiddaw, Lanvellin, and Casticand,\n      Are the highest hills in all England.\"\u2014Ibid.\n\n\nINGLEBOROUGH.\n\n\"Here are three great hills, not far distant asunder, seeming to be as\nhigh as the clouds, which are Ingleborow, Penigent, and Pendle, on the\ntop of which grows a peculiar plant called cloudsberry, as though it\ncame out of the clouds. This hill formerly did the country much harm, by\nreason of an extraordinary deal of water gushing out of it, and is now\nfamous for an infallible sign of rain whensoever the top of it is\ncovered with a mist; and by reason of the excessive height for which\nthey are all three celebrated, there is this proverbial rhime goes\ncurrent amongst them:\n\n      Ingleborow, Pendle, and Penigent,\n      Are the highest hills betwixt Scotland and Trent.\"\u2014Ibid.\n\n\nTHE KIRBY FEIGHT.\n\n      Eighty-eight wor Kirby feight,\n        When nivver a man was slain;\n      They yatt ther meaat, an drank ther drink,\n        An sae com merrily heaam agayn.\n\nAfter the abdication of James the Second, in the year 1688, a rumour was\nspread in the North of England that he was lying off the Yorkshire\ncoast, ready to make a descent with a numerous army from France, in\nhopes of regaining his lost throne. This report gave the Lord Lieutenant\nof Westmoreland an opportunity of showing his own and the people's\nattachment to the new order of things; he accordingly called out the\n_posse comitatus_, comprising all able-bodied men from sixteen to sixty.\nThe order was obeyed with alacrity; and the inhabitants met armed in a\nfield called Miller's-close, near Kendal, from whence they marched to\nKirby Lonsdale. This historical fact explains the above popular rhyme,\nthe meaning of which is, at this day, perhaps not generally\nunderstood.\u2014West. and Cumb. Dial. 89.\n\n\nTHORNTON.\n\n      At the Westgate came Thornton in\n      With a hap, a halfpenny, and a lambskin.\n\nA Newcastle distich relating to Roger Thornton, a wealthy merchant, and\na great benefactor to that town. A _hap_ is a coarse coverlet of any\nkind.\n\n\nISLE OF MAN.\n\n      All the bairns unborn will rue the day\n      That the Isle of Man was sold away;\n      And there's ne'er a wife that loves a dram,\n      But what will lament for the Isle of Man.\n\n\nEARSDON.\n\n      Hartley and Hallowell, a' ya' bonnie lassie,\n      Fair Seaton-Delaval, a' ya';\n      Earsdon stands on a hill, a' ya',\n      Near to the Billy-mill, a' ya'.\n\n\n\n\nIX.\u2014SUPERSTITION-RHYMES.\n\n\nAlthough the spread of education has doubtlessly weakened in an\nextraordinary degree the hold which superstition formerly maintained on\nthe mind of the public, yet vestiges of the more innocent portions of\nsuperstitious belief are still in considerable repute amongst the lower\norders, and may be found in all their force in many of the rural\ndistricts. It may be a question how far a complete eradication of these\nwould benefit the cause of religion and morality, treason though it be\nin these times to doubt the efficacy of argumentative education. But all\nof us cannot be philosophers; and need we reprove a pretty village\nmaiden for plucking the even-ash or four-leaved clover? The selfish\ntendencies of the age, in their opposition to every action which\npartakes of poetry or romantic belief, will effect their mission without\nthe aid of the cynic.\n\n\nCHARM-RHYMES.\n\nThe subject of rural charms, many of which are lineal descendants from\nthose used by our Anglo-Saxon ancestors, is one of great interest and\ncuriosity; and it were much to be wished that a complete collection of\nthem were formed. The following one is taken from a manuscript of the\ntime of Queen Elizabeth; the others are for the most part still in use.\n\n      _This charme shall be said at night, or against\n      night, about the place or feild, or about beasts\n      without feild, and whosoever cometh in, he goeth\n      not out for certaine._\n\n      On three crosses of a tree,\n      Three dead bodyes did hang;\n      Two were theeves,\n      The third was Christ,\n      On whom our beleife is.\n      Dismas and Gesmas;\n      Christ amidst them was;\n      Dismas to heaven went,\n      Gesmas to heaven was sent.\n      Christ that died on the roode,\n      For Marie's love that by him stood,\n      And through the vertue of his blood,\n      Jesus save us and our good,\n      Within and without,\n      And all this place about!\n      And through the vertue of his might,\n      Lett noe theefe enter in this night\n      Noe foote further in this place\n      That I upon goe,\n      But at my bidding there be bound\n      To do all things that I bid them do!\n      Starke be their sinewes therewith,\n      And their lives mightles,\n      And their eyes sightles!\n      Dread and doubt\n      Them enclose about,\n      As a wall wrought of stone;\n      So be the crampe in the ton (_toes_):\n      Crampe and crookeing,\n      And tault in their tooting,\n      The might of the Trinity\n      Save these goods and me,\n      In the name of Jesus, holy benedicit\u00e9,\n      All about our goods bee,\n      Within and without,\n      And all place about!\n\n_Warts._\u2014Whoever will charm away a wart must take a pin and go to an\nash-tree. He then _crosses_ the wart with the pin three times, and,\nafter each crossing, repeats:\n\n      Ash-tree, ashen-tree,\n      Pray buy this wart of me!\n\nAfter which he sticks the pin in the tree, and the wart soon disappears,\nand grows on the tree instead. This must be done secretly. I need\nscarcely observe that the ash is sacred amongst all the Teutonic and\nScandinavian nations.\n\n_Another._\u2014Take a bean-shell, and rub the wart with it; then bring the\nbean-shell under an ash-tree, and repeat:\n\n      As this bean-shell rots away,\n      So my wart shall soon decay!\n\nThis also must be done secretly.\n\n      _The Hiccup._\n\n      Hickup, hickup, go away,\n      Come again another day:\n      Hickup, hickup, when I bake,\n      I'll give to you a butter-cake.\n\n_The Ague._\u2014Said on St. Agnes's eve, sometimes up the chimney, by the\noldest female in the family:\n\n          Tremble and go!\n      First day shiver and burn:\n          Tremble and quake!\n      Second day shiver and learn:\n          Tremble and die!\n      Third day never return.\n\n_Cattle._\u2014Reginald Scot relates that an old woman who cured the\ndiseases of cattle, and who always required a penny and a loaf for her\nservices, used these lines for the purpose:\n\n      My loaf in my lap,\n        My penny in my purse;\n      Thou art never the better,\n        And I am never the worse.\n\nThe same writer gives a curious anecdote of a priest who, on one\noccasion, went out a-nights with his companions, and stole all the eels\nfrom a miller's weir. The poor miller made his complaint to the same\npriest, who desired him to be quiet, for he would so denounce the thief\nand his confederates by bell, book, and candle, they should have small\njoy of their fish. Accordingly, on the following Sunday, during the\nservice, he pronounced the following sentences to the congregation:\n\n      All you that have stol'n the miller's eels,\n        Laudate Dominum de c\u00e6lis;\n      And all they that have consented thereto,\n        Benedicamus Domino.\n\n\"So,\" says he, \"there is sauce for your eels, my masters!\"\n\n\"An old woman came into an house at a time whenas the maid was churning\nof butter, and having laboured long, and could not make her butter come,\nthe old woman told the maid what was wont to be done when she was a\nmaid, and also in her mother's young time, that if it happened their\nbutter would not come readily, they used a charm to be said over it\nwhilst yet it was in beating, and it would come straightways, and that\nwas this:\n\n      Come, butter, come,\n      Come, butter, come;\n      Peter stands at the gate,\n      Waiting for a buttered cake;\n      Come, butter, come!\n\nThis, said the old woman, being said three times, will make your butter\ncome, for it was taught my mother by a learned churchman in Queen\nMarie's days; whenas churchmen had more cunning, and could teach people\nmany a trick that our ministers now-a-days know not.\"\u2014Ady's Candle in\nthe Dark, 1656, p. 59.\n\n\"There be twenty several ways,\" says Scot, 1584, \"to make your butter\ncome, which for brevity I omit, as to bind your churn with a rope, to\nthrust therein a red-hot spit, &c.; but your best remedy and surest way\nis to look well to your dairy-maid or wife, that she neither eat up the\ncream, nor sell away your butter.\"\n\n      _Effusion of Blood._\u2014From Worcestershire.\n\n      Jesus was born in Bethlehem,\n      Baptized in the river Jordan;\n      The water was wild and wood,\n      But he was just and good;\n      God spake, and the water stood,\n      And so shall now thy blood.\n\nCharms were formerly always used when wounds were attempted to be cured.\nSo in the old ballad of Tommy Potts:\n\n      Tom Potts was but a serving-man,\n        But yet he was a doctor good;\n      He bound his handkerchief on the wound,\n        And with some words he staunched the blood.\n\n_Bed-charm._\u2014The following is one of the most common rural charms that\nare in vogue. Boys are taught to repeat it instead of a prayer:\n\n      Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John,\n      Bless the bed that I lay on;\n      Four corners to my bed,\n      Four angels round my head,\n      One at head and one at feet,\n      And two to keep my soul asleep!\n\nThere are many variations of it. Ady, in his Candle in the Dark, 1656,\np. 58, gives the first two lines as having been used by an old woman in\nthe time of Queen Mary.\n\n      Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John,\n      Bless the bed that I lie on!\n      All the four corners round about,\n      When I get in, when I get out!\n\nThe two following distiches were obtained from Lancashire, but I cannot\nprofess to explain them, unless indeed they were written by the Puritans\nto ridicule the above:\n\n      Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John,\n      Hold the horse that I leap on!\n\n      Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John,\n      Take a stick and lay upon!\n\n_Burn._\u2014The following charm, repeated three times, was used by an old\nwoman in Sussex, within the last forty years:\n\n      Two angels from the North,\n      One brought fire, the other brought frost:\n              Out fire!\n              In frost!\n      In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.\n\nPepys has recorded this, with a slight variation, in his Diary, vol. ii.\np. 416.\n\n_Thorn._\u2014This rural charm for a thorn was obtained from Yorkshire:\n\n      Unto the Virgin Mary our Saviour was born,\n      And on his head he wore a crown of thorn;\n      If you believe this true and mind it well,\n      This hurt will never fester nor swell!\n\nThe following one is given by Lord Northampton in his Defensative\nagainst the Poyson of supposed Prophecies, 1583, as having been used by\nMother Joane of Stowe:\n\n      Our Lord was the fyrst man\n      That ever thorne prickt upon;\n      It never blysted, nor it never belted,\n      And I pray God nor this not may.\n\nAnd Pepys, ii. 415, gives another:\n\n      Christ was of a virgin born,\n      And he was pricked with a thorn;\n      And it did neither bell nor swell,\n      And I trust in Jesus this never will.\n\n_Toothache._\u2014A very common one in the North of England, but I do not\nremember to have seen it in print.\n\n      Peter was sitting on a marble-stone,\n        And Jesus passed by;\n      Peter said, \"my Lord, my God,\n        How my tooth doth ache!\"\n        Jesus said, \"Peter art whole!\n      And whoever keeps these words for my sake\n      Shall never have the tooth-ache!\"[46]\n\n      [Footnote 46: It is a fact that within the last\n      few years the following ignorant copy of this\n      charm was used by a native of Craven, recorded by\n      Carr, ii. 264, and I have been informed on\n      credible authority that the trade of selling\n      efficacies of this kind is far from obsolete in\n      the remote rural districts:\n\n      \"Ass Sant Petter Sat at the Geats of Jerusalem\n      our blesed Lord and Sevour Jesus Crist Pased\n      by and Sead, What Eleth thee hee Sead Lord My\n      Teeth Ecketh he Sead arise and folow Mee and\n      Thy Teeth shall Never Eake Eney Moor. fiat\n      + fiat + fiat +.\"]\n\nAubrey gives another charm for this complaint, copied out of one of\nAshmole's manuscripts:\n\n      Mars, hurs, abursa, aburse;\n      Jesu Christ, for Mary's sake,\n      Take away this tooth-ache!\n\n_Against an evil tongue._ From Aubrey, 1696, p. 111.\u2014\"Take _unguentum\npopuleum_ and vervain, and hypericon, and put a red-hot iron into it.\nYou must anoint the backbone, or wear it on your breast. This is printed\nin Mr. W. Lilly's Astrology. Mr. H. C. hath try'd this receipt with good\nsuccess.\n\n      \"Vervain and dill\n      Hinders witches from their will.\"\n\n_Cramp._\u2014From Pepys' Diary, ii. 415:\n\n      Cramp, be thou faintless,\n      As our Lady was sinless,\n      When she bare Jesus.\n\n_Sciatica._\u2014The patient must lie on his back on the bank of a river or\nbrook of water, with a straight staff by his side between him and the\nwater, and must have the following words repeated over him\u2014\n\n      Bone-shave right,\n      Bone-shave straight;\n      As the water runs by the stave,\n      Good for bone-shave.\n\nThe _bone-shave_ is a Devonshire term for the sciatica. See the Exmoor\nScolding, ed. 1839, p. 2.\n\n_Night-mare._\u2014The following charm is taken from Scot's Discoverie of\nWitchcraft, 1584, p. 87:\n\n      S. George, S. George, our ladies knight,\n      He walkt by daie, so did he by night.\n      Untill such time as he her found,\n      He hir beat and he hir bound,\n      Untill hir troth she to him plight,\n      She would not come to hir that night.\n\n_Sore eyes._\u2014From the same work, p. 246:\n\n      The diuell pull out both thine eies,\n      And etish in the holes likewise.\n\n_For rest._\u2014From the same work, p. 260:\n\n      In nomine Patris, up and downe,\n      Et Filii et Spiritus Sancti upon my crowne,\n      Crux Christi upon my brest;\n      Sweete ladie, send me eternall rest.\n\n_Stopping of Blood._\u2014From the same work, p. 273:\n\n      In the bloud of Adam death was taken +\n      In the bloud of Christ it was all to-shaken +\n      And by the same bloud I doo thee charge\n      That thou doo runne no longer at large.\n\nThis charm continued in use long after the publication of Scot's work. A\nversion of it, slightly altered, is given in the Athenian Oracle, 1728,\ni. 158, as having been used by a country empyryc.\n\n_Evil Spirits._\u2014\"When I was a boy,\" says Aubrey, MS. Lansd. 231, \"a\ncharme was used for (I thinke) keeping away evill spirits, which was to\nsay thrice in a breath\u2014\n\n      \"Three blew beanes in a blew bladder,\n      Rattle, bladder, rattle.\"\n\nThese lines are quoted by Zantippa in Peele's Old Wives Tale, 1595.\n\n\nBUCKEE BENE.\n\n      Buckee, Buckee, biddy Bene,\n      Is the way now fair and clean?\n      Is the goose ygone to nest,\n      And the fox ygone to rest?\n      Shall I come away?\n\nThese curious lines are said by Devonshire children when they go through\nany passages in the dark, and are said to be addressed to Puck or Robin\nGoodfellow as a method of asking permission to trace them. Biddy bene,\nA.-S. _biddan_, to ask or pray, _b\u00e9n_, a supplication or entreaty.\nBuckee, possibly a corruption of Puck.\n\n\nTHE OX.\n\nIn Herefordshire, on the eve of Twelfth-day, the best ox, white or\nspotted, has a cake placed on his left horn; the men and girls of the\nfarm-house being present, drink out of a silver tankard to him,\nrepeating this verse\u2014\n\n      We drink to thee and thy white horn,\n      Pray God send master a good crop of corn,\n      Wheat, rye, and barley, and all sorts of grain:\n      If alive at the next time, I'll hail thee again!\n\nThe animal is then sprinkled with the libation. This makes him toss his\nhead up and down, and if, in so doing, the cake be thrown forwards, it\nis a good omen; if backwards, the contrary. Sir S. Meyrick, Trans.\nBrit. Arch. Assoc. Glouc. 1848, p. 128, appears to consider this custom\na relic of the ancient Pagan religion.\n\n\nLOVE DIVINATIONS.\n\n_Butter-dock._\u2014The seeds of butterdock must be sowed by a young\nunmarried woman half an hour before sunrise on a Friday morning, in a\nlonesome place. She must strew the seeds gradually on the grass, saying\nthese words\u2014\n\n        I sow, I sow!\n      Then, my own dear,\n      Come here, come here,\n        And mow and mow!\n\nThe seed being scattered, she will see her future husband mowing with a\nscythe at a short distance from her. She must not be frightened, for, if\nshe says \"Have mercy on me,\" he will immediately vanish. This method is\nsaid to be infallible, but it is looked upon as a bold, desperate, and\npresumptuous undertaking.\n\n_True-love._\u2014Two young unmarried girls must sit together in a room by\nthemselves, from twelve o'clock at night till one o'clock the next\nmorning, without speaking a word. During this time each of them must\ntake as many hairs from her head as she is years old, and, having put\nthem into a linen cloth with some of the herb true-love, as soon as the\nclock strikes one, she must burn every hair separately, saying\u2014\n\n      I offer this my sacrifice\n      To him most precious in my eyes;\n      I charge thee now come forth to me,\n      That I this minute may thee see.\n\nUpon which her first husband will appear, and walk round the room, and\nthen vanish. The same event happens to both the girls, but neither see\nthe other's lover.\n\nGerard says of the herb true-love or moonwort, p. 328, that \"witches do\nwonders withall, who say that it will loose locks, and make them to fall\nfrom the feete of horses that grase where it doth growe.\"\n\nA charm-divination on the 6th of October, St. Faith's day, is still in\nuse in the North of England. A cake of flour, spring water, salt and\nsugar, is made by three girls, each having an equal hand in the\ncomposition. It is then baked in a Dutch oven, silence being strictly\npreserved, and turned thrice by each person. When it is well baked, it\nmust be divided into three equal parts, and each girl must cut her share\ninto nine pieces, drawing every piece through a wedding-ring which had\nbeen borrowed from a woman who has been married seven years. Each girl\nmust eat her pieces of cake while she is undressing, and repeat the\nfollowing verses:\n\n      O good St. Faith, be kind to-night,\n      And bring to me my heart's delight;\n      Let me my future husband view,\n      And be my visions chaste and true.\n\nAll three must then get into one bed, with the ring suspended by a\nstring to the head of the couch. They will then dream of their future\nhusbands, or if perchance one of them is destined to lead apes, she will\ndream of wandering by herself over crags and mountains.\n\nOn the 28th of the same month, another divination is practised by the\nparing of an apple, which is taken by a girl in the right hand, who\nrecites the following lines, standing in the middle of a room\u2014\n\n      St. Simon and Jude, on you I intrude,\n        By this paring I hold to discover,\n      Without any delay, to tell me this day\n        The first letter of my own true lover.\n\nShe must then turn round three times, casting the paring over her left\nshoulder, and it will form the first letter of her husband's name; but\nif the paring breaks into many pieces so that no letter is discernible,\nshe will never marry. The pips of the apple must then be placed in cold\nspring water, and eaten by the girl; but for what further object my\ndeponent sayeth not.\n\nA very singular divination practised at the period of the harvest-moon\nis thus described in an old chap-book. When you go to bed, place under\nyour pillow a prayer-book open at the part of the matrimonial service,\n\"With this ring I thee wed;\" place on it a key, a ring, a flower, and a\nsprig of willow, a small heart-cake, a crust of bread, and the following\ncards:\u2014the ten of clubs, nine of hearts, ace of spades, and the ace of\ndiamonds. Wrap all these in a thin handkerchief of gauze or muslin, and\non getting into bed, cross your hands, and say\u2014\n\n      Luna, every woman's friend,\n      To me thy goodness condescend;\n      Let me this night in visions see\n      Emblems of my destiny.\n\nIf you dream of storms, trouble will betide you; if the storm ends in a\nfine calm, so will your fate; if of a ring or the ace of diamonds,\nmarriage; bread, an industrious life; cake, a prosperous life; flowers,\njoy; willow, treachery in love; spades, death; diamonds, money; clubs, a\nforeign land; hearts, illegitimate children; keys, that you will rise to\ngreat trust and power, and never know want; birds, that you will have\nmany children; and geese, that you will marry more than once.\n\nIn Dorsetshire, the girls have a method of divination with their shoes\nfor obtaining dreams of their future husbands. At night, on going to\nbed, a girl places her shoes at right angles to one another, in the form\nof a T, saying\u2014\n\n      Hoping this night my true love to see,\n      I place my shoes in the form of a T.\n\nOn St. Luke's day, says Mother Bunch, take marigold flowers, a sprig of\nmarjoram, thyme, and a little wormwood; dry them before a fire, rub them\nto powder; then sift it through a fine piece of lawn, and simmer it over\na slow fire, adding a small quantity of virgin honey, and vinegar.\nAnoint yourself with this when you go to bed, saying the following lines\nthree times, and you will dream of your partner \"that is to be:\"\n\n      St. Luke, St. Luke, be kind to me,\n      In dreams let me my true love see.\n\nIf a girl desires to obtain this information, let her seek for a green\npeascod in which there are full nine peas, and write on a piece of\npaper\u2014\n\n      Come in, my dear,\n      And do not fear;\n\nwhich paper she must inclose in the peascod, and lay it under the door.\nThe first person who comes into the room will be her husband. Does\nShakespeare allude to some notion of this kind by the wooing of a\npeascod in As You Like It, ii. 4?\n\n\nST. AGNES' NIGHT.\n\n\"The women have several magical secrets handed down to them by\ntradition, as on St. Agnes' night, 21st January. Take a row of pins, and\npull out every one, one after another, saying a Pater Noster, sticking a\npin in your sleeve, and you will dream of him or her you shall marry.\nYou must lie in another county, and knit the left garter about the\nright-legg'd stockin (let the other garter and stockin alone), and as\nyou rehearse these following verses, at every comma knit a knot:\n\n      This knot I knit\n      To know the thing I know not yet:\n      That I may see\n      The man that shall my husband be,\n      How he goes and what he wears,\n      And what he does all the days.\n\nAccordingly in your dream you will see him, if a musician with a lute or\nother instrument, if a scholar, with a book, &c. A gentlewoman that I\nknew confessed in my hearing, that she used this method, and dreamt of\nher husband whom she had never seen. About two or three years after, as\nshe was on Sunday at church, up pops a young Oxonian in the pulpit. She\ncries out presently to her sister, 'This is the very face of the man\nthat I saw in my dream.'\"\u2014Aubrey's Miscellanies, ed. 1696, p. 105.\n\nOn St. Agnes' day, take a sprig of rosemary, and another of thyme, and\nsprinkle them thrice with water. In the evening put one in each shoe,\nplacing a shoe on each side of the bed, and when you retire to rest, say\nthe following lines, and your future husband will appear \"visible to\nsight:\"\n\n      St. Agnes, that's to lovers kind,\n      Come ease the trouble of my mind.\n\n\nKALE.\n\nThe young women of some districts in the North of England have a method\nof divination by _kale_ or broth, which is used for the purpose of\nlearning who are to be their future husbands. The plan followed is this.\nThe maiden at bedtime stands _on something on which she never stood\nbefore_, holding a pot of cold kale in her hand, and repeating the\nfollowing lines. She then drinks nine times, goes to bed backwards, and\nof course dreams of her partner:\n\n      Hot kale or cold kale, I drink thee;\n      If ever I marry a man, or a man marry me,\n      I wish this night I may him see,\n          To-morrow may him ken\n      In church, fair, or market,\n          Above all other men.\n\nOn Valentine's day take two bay leaves, sprinkle them with rose-water,\nand lay them across your pillow in the evening. When you go to bed, put\non a clean nightgown turned wrong side outwards, and, lying down, say\nthese words softly to yourself:\n\n      Good Valentine, be kind to me,\n      In dreams let me my true love see.\n\nAfter this go to sleep as soon as you can, and you will see in a dream\nyour future husband.\n\nSchoolboys have several kinds of divination-verses on going to bed, now\nrepeated \"more in mock than mark,\" but no doubt originating in serious\nbelief\u2014\n\n      Go to bed first,\n      A golden purse;\n      Go to bed second,\n      A golden pheasant;\n      Go to bed third,\n      A golden bird.\n\nThe positions they occupy in the bed are suggestive of the following\nfortunes:\n\n      He that lies at the stock,\n      Shall have the gold rock;\n      He that lies at the wall,\n      Shall have the gold ball;\n      He that lies in the middle,\n      Shall have the gold fiddle.\n\n\nBALL-DIVINATION.\n\n      Cook a ball, cherry-tree;\n      Good ball, tell me\n      How many years I shall be\n      Before my true love I do see?\n      One and two, and that makes three;\n      Thank'ee, good ball for telling of me.\n\n_Cook_ is to toss, or throw, a provincialism common in the Midland\ncounties. The ball is thrown against a wall, and the divination is\ntaken from the number of rebounds it makes. Another version is\u2014\n\n      Cuckoo, cherry-tree,[47]\n      Good ball, tell me\n      How many years I shall be\n      Before I get married?\n\n      [Footnote 47: The following lines reached me\n      without an explanation. They seem to be analogous\n      to the above:\n\n      Cuckoo, cherry-tree,\n      Lay an egg, give it me;\n      Lay another,\n      Give it my brother!]\n\nAnd this is probably correct, for we appear to have formed this method\nof divination in some indirect manner from a custom still prevalent in\nGermany of addressing the cuckoo, when he is first heard, with a view of\nascertaining the duration of life, by counting the number of times it\nrepeats its note. The lines used on this occasion are given by Grimm:\n\n      Kukuk, Beckerknecht!\n        Sag mir recht,\n      Wie viel jahr Ich leben soll?\n\nAn old story is told of a man who was on his road towards a monastery,\nwhich he was desirous of entering as a monk for the salvation of his\nsoul, and hearing the cuckoo, stopped to count the number of notes. They\nwere twenty-two. \"Oh!\" said he, \"since I shall be sure to live\ntwenty-two years, what is the use of mortifying myself in a monastery\nall that time? I'll e'en go and live merrily for twenty years, and it\nwill be all in good time to betake me to a monastery for the other two.\"\nSee Wright's Essays, i. 257; and Latin Stories, p. 42, de cuculo; p. 74,\nde muliere in extremis qu\u00e6 dixit _kuckuc_. Both these tales curiously\nillustrate the extent to which faith in the divination extended.\n\nIf a maid desires to attach the affections of her lover unalterably to\nher, she must wait till she finds him asleep with his clothes on. She\nmust then take away one of his garters without his perceiving it, and\ntie it to her own in a true-love knot, saying\u2014\n\n      Three times this knot\n        I tie secure;\n      Firm is the knot,\n        Firm his love endure.\n\nIn many parts of the country, it is considered extremely unlucky to give\na person anything that is sharp, as a knife, razor, &c., but the bad\nfortune may be averted if the receiver gives something, however\ntrifling, in return, and exclaims\u2014\n\n      If you love me as I love you,\n      No knife shall cut our love in two!\n\nIn counting the buttons of the waistcoat upwards, the last found\ncorresponding to one of the following names indicates the destiny of the\nwearer:\n\n                  My belief,\u2014\n      A captain, a colonel, a cow-boy, a thief.\n\n\nTHE EVEN-ASH.\n\nA girl must pluck a leaf from the even-ash, and, holding it in her hand,\nsay\u2014\n\n      This even-ash I hold in my hand,\n      The first I meet is my true man.\n\nShe carries it in her hand a short distance, and if she meets a young\nman, he will be her future husband. If not, she must put the leaf in her\nglove, and say\u2014\n\n      This even-ash I hold in my glove,\n      The first I meet is my true love.\n\nShe carries it in her glove a short time, with the same intention as\nbefore, but if she meets no one, she places the leaf in her bosom,\nsaying\u2014\n\n      This even-ash I hold in my bosom,\n      The first I meet is my husband.\n\nAnd the first young man she meets after this will infallibly be her\nfuture partner. There are a great variety of rhymes relating to the\neven-ash. Another is\u2014\n\n      If you find even-ash or four-leaved clover,\n      You will see your love afore the day's over.\n\n\nDOCK.\n\n      Nettle in, dock out,\n      Dock rub nettle out!\n\nIf a person is stung with a nettle, a certain cure will be effected by\nrubbing dock leaves over the part, repeating the above charm very\nslowly. Mr. Akerman gives us another version of it as current in\nWiltshire:\n\n      Out 'ettle, in dock,\n      Dock zhall ha' a new smock;\n      'Ettle zhant ha' narrun!\n\n\nTHE YARROW.\n\nThis plant, in the eastern counties, is termed _yarroway_, and there is\na curious mode of divination with its serrated leaf, with which you must\ntickle the inside of your nose, repeating the following lines. If the\noperation causes the nose to bleed, it is a certain omen of success:\n\n      Yarroway, yarroway, bear a white blow,\n      If my love love me, my nose will bleed now.\n\nAnother mode of divination with this plant caused a dream of a future\nhusband. An ounce of yarrow, sewed up in flannel, must be placed under\nyour pillow when you go to bed, and having repeated the following words,\nthe required dream will be realized:\n\n      Thou pretty herb of Venus' tree,\n        Thy true name it is yarrow;\n      Now who my bosom friend must be,\n        Pray tell thou me to-morrow.\n\nBoys have a variety of divinations with the kernels of pips of fruit.\nThey will shoot one with their thumb and forefinger, exclaiming\u2014\n\n      Kernel come kernel, hop over my thumb,\n      And tell me which way my true love will come;\n      East, West, North, or South,\n      Kernel, jump into my true love's mouth.\n\nThis is taken from Mr. Barnes's Dorset Gl., p. 320, but the author does\nnot inform us in what way the divination was effected. I remember\nthrowing apple-pips into the fire, saying\u2014\n\n      If you love me, pop and fly,\n      If you hate me, lay and die!\n\naddressing an imaginary love, or naming some individual whose affection\nwas desired to be tested.\n\nGirls used to have a method of divination with a \"St. Thomas's\nonion,\"[48] for the purpose of ascertaining their future partners. They\npeeled the onion, wrapped it up in a clean handkerchief, and then\nplacing it under their heads, said the following lines:\n\n      [Footnote 48: One of the old cries of London was,\n      \"Buy my rope of onions\u2014white St. Thomas's\n      onions.\" They are also mentioned in the \"Hog hath\n      lost his Pearl,\" i. 1.]\n\n      Good St. Thomas, do me right,\n      And let my true love come to-night,\n      That I may see him in the face,\n      And him in my kind arms embrace;\n\nwhich were considered infallible for procuring a dream of the beloved\none.\n\nTo know if your present sweetheart will marry you, let an unmarried\nwoman take the bladebone of a shoulder of lamb, and borrowing a\npenknife, without on any account mentioning the purpose for which it is\nrequired, stick it through the bone when she goes to bed for nine nights\nin different places, repeating the following lines each time:\n\n      'Tis not this bone I mean to stick,\n      But my love's heart I mean to prick,\n      Wishing him neither rest nor sleep,\n      Until he comes to me to speak.\n\nAccordingly at the end of the nine days, or shortly afterwards, he will\nask for something to put to a wound he will have met with during the\ntime he was thus charmed. Another method is also employed for the same\nobject. On a Friday morning, fasting, write on four pieces of paper the\nnames of three persons you like best, and also the name of Death, fold\nthem up, wear them in your bosom all day, and at night shake them up in\nyour left shoe, going to bed backwards; take out one with your left\nhand, and the other with your right, throw three of them out of the\nshoe, and in the morning whichever name remains in the shoe is that of\nyour future husband. If Death is left, you will not marry any of them.\n\n\nVERVAIN.\n\nThe herb vervain was formerly held of great efficacy against witchcraft,\nand in various diseases. Sir W. Scott mentions a popular rhyme, supposed\nto be addressed to a young woman by the devil, who attempted to seduce\nher in the shape of a handsome young man:\n\n      Gin you wish to be leman mine,\n      Leave off the St. John's wort and the vervine.\n\nBy his repugnance to these sacred plants, his mistress discovered the\ncloven foot. Many ceremonies were used in gathering it. \"You must\nobserve,\" says Gerard, \"Mother Bumbies rules to take just so many knots\nor sprigs, and no more, least it fall out so that it do you no good, if\nyou catch no harme by it; many odde olde wives' fables are written of\nvervaine, tending to witchcraft and sorcerie, which you may reade\nelsewhere, for I am not willing to trouble your eares with reporting\nsuch trifles as honest eares abhorre to heare.\" An old English poem on\nthe virtue of herbs, of the fourteenth century, says:\n\n      As we redyn, gaderyd most hym be\n      With iij. pater-noster and iij. ave,\n      Fastand, thow the wedir be grylle,\n      Be-twen mydde March and mydde Aprille,\n      And [gh]et awysyd moste the be,\n      That the sonne be in ariete.\n\nA magical MS. in the Chetham Library at Manchester, of the time of Queen\nElizabeth, furnishes us with a poetical prayer used in gathering this\nherb:\n\n      All hele, thou holy herb vervin,\n      Growing on the ground;\n      In the mount of Calvary\n      There was thou found;\n      Thou helpest many a greife,\n      And stenchest many a wound.\n      In the name of sweet Jesus,\n      I take thee from the ground.\n      O Lord, effect the same\n      That I doe now goe about.\n\nThe following lines, according to this authority, were to be said when\npulling it:\n\n      In the name of God, on Mount Olivet\n      First I thee found;\n      In the name of Jesus\n      I pull thee from the ground.\n\nTwo hogsheads full of money were concealed in a subterraneous vault at\nPenyard Castle, in Herefordshire. A farmer undertook to drag them from\ntheir hiding-place, a matter of no small difficulty, for they were\nprotected by preternatural power. To accomplish his object, he took\ntwenty steers to draw down the iron doors of the vault in which the\nhogsheads were deposited. The door was partially opened, and a jackdaw\nwas seen perched on one of the casks. The farmer was overjoyed at the\nprospect of success, and as soon as he saw the casks, he exclaimed, \"I\nbelieve I shall have it.\" The door immediately closed with a loud clang,\nand a voice in the air exclaimed\u2014\n\n      Had it not been\n        For your quicken-tree goad,\n      And your yew-tree pin,\n        You and your cattle\n      Had all been drawn in!\n\nThe belief that the quicken-tree is of great efficacy against the power\nof witches is still in force in the North of England. The yew-tree was\nformerly employed in witchcraft, a practice alluded to in Macbeth:\n\n      Liver of blaspheming Jew,\n      Gall of goats, and slips of yew,\n      Sliver'd in the moon's eclipse.\n\n\nFINGER-NAILS.\n\nThere is a superstition, says Forby, ii. 411, respecting cutting the\nnails, and some days are considered more lucky for this operation than\nothers. To cut them on a Tuesday is thought particularly auspicious.\nIndeed if we are to believe an old rhyming saw on this subject, every\nday of the week is endowed with its several and peculiar virtue, if the\nnails are invariably cut on that day and no other. The lines are as\nfollow:\n\n      Cut them on Monday, you cut them for health;\n      Cut them on Tuesday, you cut them for wealth;\n      Cut them on Wednesday, you cut them for news;\n      Cut them on Thursday, a new pair of shoes;\n      Cut them on Friday, you cut them for sorrow;\n      Cut them on Saturday, see your true love to-morrow;\n      Cut them on Sunday, the devil will be with you all the week.\n\nThe following divination-rhymes refer to the _gifts_, or white spots on\nthe nails, beginning with the thumb, and going on regularly to the\nlittle finger. The last gift will show the destiny of the operator _pro\ntempore_,\u2014\n\n      A gift\u2014a friend\u2014a foe\u2014\n      A journey\u2014to go.\n\n\nDAYS OF BIRTH.\n\n      Monday's child is fair in face,\n      Tuesday's child is full of grace,\n      Wednesday's child is full of woe,\n      Thursday's child has far to go,\n      Friday's child is loving and giving,\n      Saturday's child works hard for its living;\n      And a child that's born on Christmas day\n      Is fair and wise, good and gay.\n\n\nCOLOURS.\n\nColour-superstitions, though rapidly disappearing, still obtain in the\nremote rural districts. The following lines were obtained from the East\nof England:\n\n      Blue is true,\n      Yellow's jealous,\n      Green's forsaken,\n      Red's brazen,\n      White is love,\n      And black is death!\n\n\nTHE MAN IN THE MOON.\n\n      The Man in the Moon\n      Sups his sowins with a cutty-spoon.\n\nA Northumberland dish called _sowins_, is composed of the coarse parts\nof oatmeal, which are put into a tub, and covered with water, and then\nallowed to stand till it turns sour. A portion of it is then taken out,\nand sapped with milk. It may easily be imagined that this is a substance\nnot very accessible to the movements of a cutty or very small spoon.\n\nGrimm, Deutsche Mythologie, p. 412, informs us that there are three\nlegends connected with the Man in the Moon; the first, that this\npersonage was Isaac carrying a bundle of sticks for his own sacrifice;\nthe second, that he was Cain; and the other, which is taken from the\nhistory of the Sabbath-breaker, as related in the Book of Numbers. The\nlast is still generally current in this country, and is alluded to by\nChaucer, and many early writers. The second is mentioned by Dante,\nInferno, xx., Cain sacrificing to the Lord _thorns_, the most wretched\nproduction of the ground,\u2014\n\n          \u2014\u2014ch\u00e8 gi\u00e0 tiene 'l confine\n      D'amenduo gli emisperi, e tocca l'onda\n      Sotto Sibilia, Caino e le spine.\n\nIt appears that sowins were not the only food of the lunary inhabitant,\nfor it is related by children he once favoured middle-earth with his\npresence, and took a fancy to some pease-porridge, which he was in such\na hurry to devour that he scalded his mouth:\n\n        The Man in the Moon\n        Came tumbling down,\n      And asked his way to Norwich;\n        He went by the south,\n        And burnt his mouth\n      With supping hot pease-porridge.\n\nHis chief beverage, as everybody knows, was claret:\n\n      The Man in the Moon drinks claret,\n        But he is a dull Jack-a-Dandy;\n      Would he know a sheep's head from a carrot,\n        He should learn to drink cyder and brandy.\n\nAnother old ballad commences,\u2014\n\n      The Man in the Moon drinks claret,\n      With powder-beef, turnip, and carrot.\n\n\n\n\nX.\u2014CUSTOM-RHYMES.\n\n\nIt is greatly to be feared that, notwithstanding the efforts made within\nthe last few years by individuals who have desired to see the\nresuscitation of the merry sports and customs of old England, the spirit\nwhich formerly characterised them is not to be recovered. The mechanical\nspirit of the age has thrown a degree of ridicule over observances which\nhave not been without use in their day; and might even now be rendered\nbeneficial to the public, were it possible to exclude the influence\nwhich tells the humbler subject such matters are below his regard. Yet\nit must be confessed that most of our ancient customs are only suited to\nthe thinly-populated rural districts, where charity, goodwill, and\nfriendship may be delicately cultivated under the plea of their\nobservance.\n\n\nCHRISTMAS.\n\n      Ha wish ye a merry Chresamas,\n        An a happy new year,\n      A pantry full a' good rost beef,\n        An a barril full a' beer.\n\nTo these lines we may add the following north-country nursery song:\n\n      Now Christmas is come, and now Pappy's come home,\n        Wi' a pegtop for Tammie, a hussif for Sue;\n      A new bag o' marbles for Dick; and for Joan,\n        A workbox; for Phoebe a bow for her shoe:\n      For Cecily singing a humming-top comes,\n        For dull drowsie Marie a sleeping-top meet;\n      For Ben, Ned, and Harry, a fife and two drums,\n        For Jennie a box of nice sugar-plums sweet.\n\n\nCHRISTMAS MUMMERS' PLAY.\n\nA rude drama is performed at Christmas by the guisers or mummers in most\nparts of England and Scotland, but the versions are extremely numerous,\nand no less than six copies have reached me differing materially from\neach other. In the following copy, which is the most perfect one I have\nbeen able to procure, the _dramatis person\u00e6_ consist of a Fool, St.\nGeorge, Slasher, a Doctor, Prince of Paradine, King of Egypt, Hector,\nBeelzebub, and little Devil Doubt. I am informed that this drama is\noccasionally acted at Easter as well as at Christmas.\n\n      _Enter_ Actors.\n\n      _Fool._ Room, room, brave gallants, give us room to sport,\n          For in this room we wish for to resort,\n          Resort, and to repeat to you our merry rhyme,\n          For remember, good sirs, this is Christmas time!\n          The time to cut up goose-pies now doth appear,\n          So we are come to act our merry Christmas here;\n          At the sound of the trumpet and beat of the drum,\n          Make room, brave gentlemen, and let our actors come!\n          We are the merry actors that traverse the street,\n          We are the merry actors that fight for our meat;\n          We are the merry actors that show pleasant play.\n          Step in, St. George, thou champion, and clear the way.\n\n      _Enter_ ST. GEORGE.\n\n      _St. George._ I am St. George, who from old England sprung,\n          My famous name throughout the world hath rung;\n          Many bloody deeds and wonders have I made known,\n          And made the tyrants tremble on their throne.\n          I followed a fair lady to a giant's gate,\n          Confined in dungeon deep to meet her fate;\n          Then I resolved, with true knight-errantry.\n          To burst the door, and set the prisoner free;\n          When a giant almost struck me dead,\n          But by my valour I cut off his head.\n          I've searched the world all round and round,\n          But a man to equal me I never found.\n\n      _Enter_ SLASHER.\n\n      _Slasher._ I am a valiant soldier, and Slasher is my name,\n          With sword and buckler by my side I hope to win the game;\n          And for to fight with me I see thou art not able,\n          So with my trusty broad-sword I soon will thee disable!\n\n      _St. George._ Disable! disable! it lies not in thy power,\n          For with my glittering sword and spear I soon will thee\n              devour.\n          Stand off, Slasher! let no more be said,\n          For if I draw my sword, I'm sure to break thy head!\n\n      _Slasher._ How can'st thou break my head?\n          Since it is made of iron,\n          And my body's made of steel;\n          My hands and feet of knuckle-bone:\n          I challenge thee to field.\n\n               [_They fight, and_ Slasher _is wounded. Exit_ St. George.\n\n      _Enter_ FOOL.\n\n      _Fool._ Alas! alas! my chiefest son is slain!\n          What must I do to raise him up again?\n          Here he lies in the presence of you all,\n          I'll lovingly for a doctor call!\n          (_Aloud._) A doctor! a doctor! ten pounds for a doctor!\n          I'll go and fetch a doctor.                          [_Going._\n\n      _Enter_ DOCTOR.\n\n      _Doctor._ Here am I.\n\n      _Fool._ Are you the doctor?\n\n      _Doctor._ Yes, that you may plainly see,\n          By my art and activity.\n\n      _Fool._ Well, what's your fee to cure this man?\n\n      _Doctor._ Ten pounds is my fee; but Jack, if thou be an\n          honest man, I'll only take five of thee.\n\n      _Fool._ You'll be wondrous cunning if you get any (_aside_).\n          Well how far have you travelled in doctrineship?\n\n      _Doctor._ From Italy, Titaly, High Germany, France, and Spain,\n          And now am returned to cure the diseases in old England again.\n\n      _Fool._ So far, and no further?\n\n      _Doctor._ O yes! a great deal further.\n\n      _Fool._ How far?\n\n      _Doctor._ From the fireside cupboard, upstairs and into bed.\n\n      _Fool._ What diseases can you cure?\n\n      _Doctor._ All sorts.\n\n      _Fool._ What's all sorts?\n\n      _Doctor._ The itch, the pitch, the palsy, and the gout.\n                If a man gets nineteen devils in his skull,\n                I'll cast twenty of them out.\n          I have in my pockets crutches for lame ducks, spectacles for\n          blind humble-bees, pack-saddles and panniers for grasshoppers,\n          and plaisters for broken-backed mice. I cured Sir Harry of a\n          hang-nail, almost fifty-five yards long; surely I can cure\n          this poor man.\n                Here, Jack, take a little out of my bottle,\n                And let it run down thy throttle;\n                If thou be not quite slain,\n                Rise, Jack, and fight again.           [Slasher _rises_.\n\n      _Slasher._ Oh, my back!\n\n      _Fool._ What's amiss with thy back?\n\n      _Slasher._ My back it is wounded,\n          And my heart is confounded,\n          To be struck out of seven senses into four score;\n          The like was never seen in Old England before.\n\n      _Enter_ ST. GEORGE.\n\n          Oh, hark! St. George, I hear the silver trumpet sound,\n          That summons us from off this bloody ground;\n          Down yonder is the way (_pointing_).\n          Farewell, St. George, we can no longer stay.\n\n                                  [_Exeunt_ Slasher, Doctor, _and_ Fool.\n\n      _St. George._ I am St. George, that noble champion bold,\n          And with my trusty sword I won ten thousand pounds in gold;\n          'Twas I that fought the fiery dragon, and brought him to the\n              slaughter,\n          And by those means I won the King of Egypt's daughter.\n\n      _Enter_ PRINCE OF PARADINE.\n\n      _Prince._ I am Black Prince of Paradine, born of high renown;\n          Soon I will fetch St. George's lofty courage down.\n          Before St. George shall be received by me,\n          St. George shall die to all eternity!\n\n      _St. George._ Stand off, thou black Morocco dog,\n          Or by my sword, thou'lt die;\n          I'll pierce thy body full of holes,\n          And make thy buttons fly.\n\n      _Prince._ Draw out thy sword and slay,\n          Pull out thy purse and pay;\n          For I will have a recompense\n          Before I go away.\n\n      _St. George._ Now, Prince of Paradine, where have you been?\n          And what fine sights, pray, have you seen?\n          Dost think that no man of thy age\n          Dares such a black as thee engage?\n          Lay down thy sword; take up to me a spear,\n          And then I'll fight thee without dread or fear.\n\n                       [_They fight, and_ Prince of Paradine _is slain._\n\n      _St. George._ Now Prince of Paradine is dead,\n          And all his joys entirely fled;\n          Take him, and give him to the flies,\n          And never more come near mine eyes.\n\n      _Enter_ KING OF EGYPT.\n\n      _King._ I am the King of Egypt, as plainly doth appear;\n          I'm come to seek my son, my son, and only heir.\n\n      _St. George._ He is slain.\n\n      _King._ Who did him slay, who did him kill,\n          And on the ground his precious blood did spill?\n\n      _St. George._ I did him slay, I did him kill,\n          And on the ground his precious blood did spill!\n          Please you, my liege, my honour to maintain,\n          Had you been there, you might have fared the same.\n\n      _King._ Cursed Christian! what is this thou'st done?\n          Thou hast ruined me, and slain my only son.\n\n      _St. George._ He gave me a challenge, why should I it deny?\n          How high he was, but see how low he lies!\n\n      _King._ O Hector! Hector! help me with speed,\n          For in my life I never stood more need!\n\n      _Enter_ HECTOR.\n\n          And stand not there with sword in hand,\n          But rise and fight at my command!\n\n      _Hector._ Yes, yes, my liege, I will obey,\n          And by my sword I hope to win the day;\n          If that be he who doth stand there,\n          That slew my master's son and heir;\n          If he be sprung from royal blood,\n          I'll make it run like Noah's flood!\n\n      _St. George._ Hold, Hector! do not be so hot,\n          For here thou knowest not who thou'st got,\n          For I can tame thee of thy pride,\n          And lay thine anger, too, aside;\n          Inch thee, and cut thee as small as flies,\n          And send thee over the sea to make mince-pies;\n          Mince-pies hot, and mince-pies cold,\n          I'll send thee to Black Sam before thou'rt three days old.\n\n      _Hector._ How canst thou tame me of my pride,\n          And lay mine anger, too, aside?\n          Inch me, and cut me as small as flies,\n          Send me over the sea to make mince-pies?\n          Mince-pies hot, mince-pies cold;\n          How canst thou send me to Black Sam before I'm three days old?\n          Since my head is made of iron,\n            My body's made of steel,\n          My hands and feet of knuckle-bone,\n            I challenge thee to field.\n\n                                 [_They fight, and_ Hector _is wounded._\n\n          I am a valiant knight, and Hector is my name,\n          Many bloody battles have I fought, and always won the same;\n          But from St. George I received this bloody wound.\n                                                (_A trumpet sounds._)\n          Hark, hark! I hear the silver trumpet sound,\n          Down yonder is the way (_pointing_).\n          Farewell, St. George, I can no longer stay.           [_Exit._\n\n      _Enter_ FOOL.\n\n      _St. George._ He comes from post, old Bold Ben.\n\n      _Fool._ Why, master, did ever I take you to be my friend?\n\n      _St. George._ Why, Jack, did ever I do thee any harm?\n\n      _Fool._ Thou proud saucy coxcomb, begone!\n\n      _St. George._ A coxcomb! I defy that name!\n          With a sword thou ought to be stabbed for the same.\n\n      _Fool._ To be stabbed is the least I fear!\n          Appoint your time and place, I'll meet you there.\n\n      _St. George._ I'll cross the water at the hour of five,\n          And meet you there, sir, if I be alive.               [_Exit._\n\n      _Enter_ BEELZEBUB.\n          Here come I, Beelzebub,\n          And over my shoulders I carry my club;\n          And in my hand a dripping-pan,\n          And I think myself a jolly old man;\n          And if you don't believe what I say,\n          Enter in, Devil Doubt, and clear the way.\n\n     _Enter_ DEVIL DOUBT.\n          Here come I, little Devil Doubt,\n          If you do not give me money, I'll sweep you all out:\n          Money I want, and money I crave;\n          If you do not give me money I'll sweep you all to the grave.\n\n\nNEW YEAR'S DAY.\n\n      God bless the master of this house,\n        The mistress also,\n      And all the little children\n        That round the table go;\n      And all your kin and kinsmen,\n        That dwell both far and near;\n      I wish you a merry Christmas,\n        And a happy new year.\n\n_Wassel or Wassal._\u2014A remnant of this part of our Saxon manners still\nexists at Yarmouth, and strange to say, in no other part of the Isle of\nWight. On the first day of the new year the children collect together\nand sing wassel or wassal through the streets; the following is their\nsong (see p. 249):\n\n      Wassal, wassal, to our town!\n      The cup is white and the ale is brown;\n      The cup is made of the ashen tree,\n      And so is the ale of the good barley;\n      Little maid, little maid, turn the pin,\n      Open the door and let us come in;\n      God be here, God be there.\n      I wish you all a happy new year!\n\n\nTWELFTH-NIGHT.\n\nThe following verses are said to be in some way or other connected with\nthe amusements of this festival. They refer probably to the choosing the\nking and the queen on Twelfth-night:\n\n      Lavender's blue, dilly dilly, lavender's green,\n      When I am king, dilly dilly, you shall be queen:\n      Who told you so, dilly dilly, who told you so?\n      'Twas mine own heart, dilly dilly, that told me so.\n\n      Call up your men, dilly dilly, set them to work,\n      Some with a rake, dilly dilly, some with a fork;\n      Some to make hay, dilly dilly, some to thresh corn,\n      Whilst you and I, dilly dilly, keep ourselves warm.\n\n      If you should die, dilly dilly, as it may hap,\n      You shall be buried, dilly dilly, under the tap;\n      Who told you so, dilly dilly, pray tell me why?\n      That you might drink, dilly dilly, when you are dry.\n\nAnother version may be given for the sake of adding the traditional tune\nto which it was sung:\n\n      [Illustration: Song with musical symbols, shown\n      here as an Abc-notation; see Transcriber's Note.]\n\n      Title: Lavender blue.\n      Time signature: 6/8.\n      Default note length: 1/16.\n      Key: C.\n\n      c2 c2 d2       c2        _B A   G  F\n      Lavender       blue,     fiddle faddle,\n\n      f2 e2 d2       c3\n      Lavender       green.\n\n      c2   c2   d2   c2        _B A   G  F\n      When I    am   king,     fiddle faddle,\n\n      G2  G2    A2   G3\n      You shall be   queen.\n\n      c2   e2  d2    c2        A  A   A  A\n      Call up  your  men,      fiddle faddle;\n\n      c2  e2    d2   c3\n      Set them  to   work\u2014\n\n      c2   =B2   A2  G2        C  C   C  C\n      Some with a    rake,     fiddle faddle\u2014\n\n      c2   d2   =B2  c3\n      Some with a    fork\u2014\n\n      c2   c2  c2    c2        _B A   G  F\n      Some to  make  hay,      fiddle faddle\u2014\n\n      f2   e2  d2    c3\n      Some to  the   farm,\n\n      c2     c2  d2  c2        _B A   G  F\n      Whilst you and I,        fiddle faddle\n\n      f2   A2 G2     F3\n      Keep ourselves warm.\n\n\nCATHERNING.\n\n      Catharine and Clement, be here, be here,\n      Some of your apples, and some of your beer:\n      Some for Peter, and some for Paul,\n      And some for Him that made us all:\n      Clement was a good man,\n      For his sake give us some,\n      Not of the worst, but some of the best,\n      And God will send your soul to rest.\n\nThese lines are sung by the children of Worcestershire on St.\nCatharine's day, when they go round to the farmhouses collecting apples\nand beer for a festival. This is no doubt the relic of a Popish custom;\nand the Dean of Worcester informs me that the Chapter have a practice of\npreparing a rich bowl of wine and spices, called the \"Cathern bowl,\" for\nthe inhabitants of the college precincts upon that day.\n\n\nVALENTINE'S DAY.\n\nIn the western counties, the children, decked with the wreaths and\ntrue-lover's knots presented to them, gaily adorn one of their number\nas their chief, and march from house to house, singing\u2014\n\n      Good morrow to you, Valentine!\n      Curl your locks as I do mine;\n      Two before and three behind;\n      Good morrow to you, Valentine!\n\nThey commence in many places as early as six o'clock in the morning, and\nintermingle the cry, \"To-morrow is come!\" Afterwards they make merry\nwith their collections. At Islip, co. Oxon, I have heard the children\nsing the following when collecting pence on this day:\n\n      Good morrow, Valentine!\n      I be thine and thou be'st mine,\n      So please give me a Valentine!\n\nAnd likewise the following:\n\n      Good morrow, Valentine,\n        God bless you ever!\n      If you'll be true to me,\n      I'll be the like to thee;\n        Old England for ever!\n\nSchoolboys have a very uncomplimentary way of presenting each other with\nthese poetical memorials:\n\n      Peep, fool, peep,\n        What do you think to see?\n      Every one has a valentine,\n        And here's one for thee!\n\nFar different from this is a stanza which is a great favorite with young\ngirls on this day, offered indiscriminately, and of course quite\ninnocently, to most of their acquaintances:\n\n      The rose is red,\n        The violet's blue;\n      Pinks are sweet,\n        And so are you!\n\nThe mission of valentines is one of the very few old customs not on the\nwane; and the streets of our metropolis practically bear evidence of\nthis fact in the distribution of love-messages on our stalls and\nshop-windows, varying in price from a sovereign to one halfpenny. Our\nreaders, no doubt, will ask for its origin, and there we are at fault to\nbegin with. The events of St. Valentine's life furnish no clue whatever\nto the mystery, although Wheatley, in his Illustration of the Common\nPrayer, absurdly disposes of the question in this way: \"St. Valentine\nwas a man of most admirable parts, and so famous for his love and\ncharity, that the custom of choosing valentines upon his festival, which\nis still practised, took its rise from thence.\" We see no explanation\nhere in any way satisfactory, and must be contented with the hope that\nsome of our antiquaries may hit on something more to the purpose.\n\nValentine's day has long been popularly believed to be the day on which\nbirds pair. Shakespeare alludes to this belief:\n\n      Good morrow, friends: St. Valentine is past;\n      Begin these wood-birds but to couple now?\n\nIt was anciently the custom to draw lots on this day. The names of an\nequal number of each sex were put into a box, in separate partitions,\nout of which every one present drew a name, called the valentine, which\nwas regarded as a good omen of their future marriage. It would appear\nfrom a curious passage quoted in my Dictionary of Archaisms, that any\nlover was hence termed a valentine; not necessarily an affianced lover,\nas suggested in Hampson's Calendarium, vol. i. p. 163. Lydgate, the poet\nof Bury, in the fifteenth century, thus mentions this practice:\n\n      Saint Valentine, of custom year by year\n        Men have an usance in this region\n      To look and search Cupid's calendere,\n        And choose their choice by great affection:\n        Such as be prick'd with Cupid's motion,\n      Taking their choice as their lot doth fall:\n      But I love one which excelleth all.\n\nGay alludes to another popular notion referring to the same day:\n\n      Last Valentine, the day when birds of kind\n      Their paramours with mutual chirpings find,\n      I early rose, just at the break of day,\n      Before the sun had chas'd the stars away;\n      Afield I went, amid the burning dew,\n      To milk my kine, for so should housewives do.\n      Thee first I spied; and the first swain we see,\n      In spite of fortune shall our true love be.\n\nThe divinations practised on Valentine's day is a curious subject.\nHerrick mentions one by rose-buds:\n\n      She must no more a-maying;\n      Or by rose-buds divine\n      Who'll be her valentine.\n\nPerhaps the poet may here allude to a practice similar to the following,\nquoted by Brand: \"Last Friday was Valentine day; and the night before I\ngot five bay-leaves, and pinned four of them to the four corners of my\npillow, and the fifth to the middle; and then, if I dreamt of my\nsweetheart, Betty said we should be married before the year was out.\n_But to make it more sure_ I boiled an egg hard, and took out the yolk,\nand filled it with salt; and when I went to bed, eat it shell and all,\nwithout speaking or drinking after it. We also wrote our lovers' names\nupon bits of paper, and rolled them up in clay, and put them into water;\nand the first that rose up was to be our valentine. Would you think it?\nMr. Blossom was my man. I lay abed, and shut my eyes all the morning,\ntill he came to our house, for I would not have seen another man before\nhim for all the world.\" According to Mother Bunch, the following lines\nshould be said by the girl on retiring to rest the previous night:\n\n      Sweet guardian angels, let me have\n        What I most earnestly do crave,\n      A valentine endow'd with love,\n        That will both kind and constant prove.\n\nWe believe the old custom of drawing lots on this eventful day is\nobsolete, and has given place to the favorite practice of sending\npictures, with poetical legends, to objects of love or ridicule. The\nlower classes, however, seldom treat the matter with levity, and many\nare the offers of marriage thus made. The clerks at the post-offices are\nto be pitied, the immense increase of letters beyond the usual average\nadding very inconveniently to their labours.\n\n\"This iz Volantine day, mind, an be wot ah can see theal be a good deal\na hanksiaty a mind sturrin amang't owd maids an't batchillors; luv\nsickness al be war than ivver wor nawn, espeshly amang them ats gettin\nraither owdish like; but all al end weel, so doant be daan abaght it. Ah\nrecaleckt, when ah wor a yung man, ah went tut poast-office an bowt hauf\na peck a volantines for tuppance, an when ah look't em ovver, thear wor\nwun dereckted for mesen, an this wor wot thear wor it inside:\n\n      Paper's scarce, and luv iz dear,\n      So av sent ye a bit a my pig-ear;\n      And if t'same bit case we yo, my dear,\n      Pray send me a bit a yor pig-ear.\n\nHa, ah wor mad, yo mind, ah nivver look't at a yung womman for two days\nat after for't; but it wor becos ah hedant a chonce.\"\u2014Yorkshire Dial.\n\n\nYOULING.\n\nIn Rogation week there is or was an odd custom in the country about\nKeston and Wickham, in Kent. A number of young men meet together for the\npurpose, and, with a most hideous noise, run into the orchards, and,\nencircling each tree, pronounce these words:\n\n      Stand fast, root; bear well, top;\n      God send us a youling sop!\n      E'ry twig, apple big;\n      E'ry bough, apple enow.\n      Hats full, caps full,\n      Full quarter sacks full.\n\nFor this incantation the confused rabble expect a gratuity in money, or\ndrink, which is no less welcome; but if they are disappointed in both,\nthey, with great solemnity, anathematize the owners and trees with\naltogether as insignificant a curse.\n\n\"It seems highly probable,\" says Hasted, in his History of Kent, \"that\nthis custom has arisen from the ancient one of perambulation among the\nheathens, when they made their prayers to the gods, for the use and\nblessing of the fruits coming up, with thanksgiving for those of the\npreceding year; and as the heathens supplicated Eolus, the god of the\nwinds, for his favorable blasts, so in this custom they still retain his\nname, with a very small variation, the ceremony being called _yeuling_;\nand the word is often used in their invocations.\"\n\n\nBOY'S BAILIFF.\n\nAn old custom, formerly in vogue at Wenlock, in Shropshire, thus\ndescribed by Mr. Collins: \"I am old enough to remember an old custom,\nand the last time it took place was about sixty years ago; it was called\nthe 'boy's bailiff,' and was held in the Easter week, Holy Thursday, or\nin Whitsun week, and I have no doubt was for the purpose of going a\nbannering the extensive boundaries of this franchise, which consists of\neighteen parishes. It consisted of a man, who wore a hair-cloth gown,\nand was called the bailiff, a recorder, justices, town-clerk, sheriff,\ntreasurer, crier, and other municipal officers. They were a large\nretinue of men and boys mounted on horseback, begirt with wooden swords,\nwhich they carried on their right sides, so that they must draw the\nswords out of the scabbards with their left hands. They, when I knew\nthem, did not go the boundary, but used to call at all the gentlemen's\nhouses in the franchise, where they were regaled with meat, drink, and\nmoney; and before the conclusion they assembled at the pillory, at the\nguildhall, where the town-clerk read some sort of rigmarole which they\ncalled their charter, and I remember one part was\u2014\n\n      We go from Bickbury and Badger to Stoke on the Clee,\n      To Monkhopton, Round Acton, and so return we.\n\nBickbury, Badger, and Stoke on the Clee, were and are the two extreme\npoints of the franchise, north and south; Monkhopton and Round Acton are\ntwo other parishes on the return from Stoke St. Millborough, otherwise\nStoke on the Clee (or perhaps Milburga, the tutelar saint of the Abbey\nof Wenlock), to Much Wenlock. This custom I conceive to have originated\nin going a bannering, unless it should have been got up as a mockery to\nthe magistracy of the franchise; but I rather think the former.\"\n\n\nPACE-EGGING.\n\nIt is a custom in some parts of England for boys to go round the village\non Easter eve begging for eggs or money, and a sort of dramatic song is\nsometimes used on the occasion. The following copy was taken down from\nrecitation some years ago in the neighbourhood of York; but in another\nversion we find Lords Nelson and Collingwood introduced, by a practice\nof adaptation to passing events, which is fortunately not extensively\nfollowed in such matters. A boy, representing a captain, enters and\nsings\u2014\n\n      Here's two or three jolly boys all o' one mind,\n      We've come a pace-egging, and hope you'll be kind;\n      I hope you'll be kind with your eggs and your beer,\n      And we'll come no more pace-egging until the next year.\n\nThen old Toss-pot enters, and the captain, pointing him out, says\u2014\n\n      The first that comes in is old Toss-pot you see,\n      A valiant old blade for his age and degree;\n      He is a brave fellow on hill or in dale,\n      And all he delights in is a-drinking of ale.\n\nToss-pot then pretends to take a long draught from a huge quart-pot,\nand, reeling about, tries to create laughter by tumbling over as many\nboys as he can. A miser next enters, who is generally a boy dressed up\nas an old woman in tattered rags, with his face blackened. He is thus\nintroduced by the captain:\n\n      An old miser's the next that comes in with her bags,\n      And to save up her money, wears nothing but rags.\n\n      _Chorus._ Whatever you give us we claim for our right,\n                Then bow with our heads, and wish you good night.\n\nThis is repeated twice, and the performance concludes by the whole\ncompany shouting to the top of their voice\u2014\n\n      Now, ye ladies and gentlemen, who sit by the fire,\n      Put your hands in your pockets, 'tis all we desire;\n      Put your hands in your pockets, and lug out your purse,\n      We shall be the better, you'll be none the worse!\n\n\"Pase-day, Easter-day. Pase-eggs, Easter-eggs. Corrupt. from Pasch. They\nhave a proverbial rhyme in those parts for the Sundaies in Lent:\n\n      Tid, Mid, Misera,\n      Carl, Paum, good Pase-day.\"\n                              Kennett, MS. Lansd. 1033.\n\n\nCOLLOP-MONDAY.\n\n      Collop Monday,\n      Pancake Tuesday,\n      Ash Wednesday,\n      Bludee Thursday,\n      Friday's lang, but will be dune,\n      And hey for Saturday afternune!\n\nVerses for Shrove-tide, Collop-Monday being a North-country name for\nShrove-Monday, because eggs and collops compose a standard dish for that\nday. At Islip, in Oxfordshire, the children, on Shrove-Tuesday, go\nround to the various houses to collect pence, saying:\n\n      Pit-a-pat, the pan is hot,\n      We are come a-shroving;\n      A little bit of bread and cheese\n      Is better than nothing.\n      The pan is hot, the pan is cold;\n      Is the fat in the pan nine days old?\n\n\"_Collap Munday._\u2014This time reminds me on a bit ov a consarn at happand\nabaght two year sin, to a chap at thay call Jeremiah Fudgemutton. This\nJerry, yo mun naw, went ta see a yung womman, a sweetheart a hiz, an\nwhen he put hiz arms raand her neck ta gie her a cus, it happand shood\nbeen hevin sum fried bacon to her dinner, an fagettan ta wipe t' grease\noff on her magth at after. Thear hiz faice slip't off on her chin-end,\nan slap went hiz head reight throot winda, an cut tip ov hiz noaze\noff.\"\u2014Yorkshire Dial.\n\n\nISLE OF WIGHT SHROVERS.\n\nUntil within about the last thirty years, it had been the custom in the\nIsle of Wight from time immemorial at all the farms and some other\ncharitable houses to distribute cakes on Shrove-Tuesday, called\nShrove-cakes, to the poor children of the parish or neighbourhood, who\nassembled early in the morning at the different villages, hamlets, and\ncottages, in parties of from two to thirty or more, for the purpose of\nwhat was denominated \"Going Shroving,\" and the children bore the name of\n_Shrovers_. At every house they visited they had a nice Shrove-cake each\ngiven them. In those days the winters were much more inclement and of\nlonger duration than at the present time, and it often happened that, in\naddition to a severe frost, the ground was covered several inches high\nwith snow, yet however cold or intense the weather, it did not prevent\nthese little ones from what they called in the provincial dialect\n_Gwine a Shrovun_, and they jogged merrily along hand in hand from one\nhouse to another to obtain their cakes; but, before receiving them, it\nwas expected and deemed necessary that they should all sing together a\nsong suitable to the occasion; those who _sang the loudest_ were\nconsidered the _best Shrovers_, and sometimes had an extra cake bestowed\non them; consequently, there was no want of noise (whatever there might\nhave been of harmony) to endeavour to get another Shroving gift. There\nwere many different versions of the song according to the parishes they\nlived in. The one generally sang by the children of the East Medina was\nas follows:\n\n      A Shrovun, a Shrovun,\n      I be cum a Shrovun,\n      A piece a bread, a piece a cheese,\n      A bit a your fat beyacun,\n      Or a dish of doughnuts,\n      Aal of your own meyacun!\n\n      A Shrovun, a Shrovun,\n      I be cum a Shrovun,\n      Nice meeat in a pie,\n      My mouth is verrey dry!\n      I wish a wuz zoo well a-wet,\n      I'd zing the louder for a nut![49]\n\n      _Chorus._ A Shrovun, a Shrovun,\n                We be cum a Shrovun!\n\n      [Footnote 49: Composed of flour and lard, with\n      plums in the middle, and made into round\n      substances about the size of a cricket-ball. They\n      were called _nuts_ or _dough-nuts_, and quite\n      peculiar to the Isle of Wight.]\n\nThe song of the children of the West Medina was different:\n\n      A Shrovun, a Shrovun,\n      I be cum a Shrovun,\n      Linen stuff es good enuff,\n      Vor we that cums a Shrovun.\n      Vine veathers in a pie,\n      My mouth is verrey dry.\n      I wish a wuz zoo well a-wet,\n      Then I'd zing louder vor a nut!\n\n      Dame,[50] dame, a igg, a igg,[51]\n      Or a piece a beyacun.\n      Dro awaay[52] the porridge pot,\n      Or crock to bwile the peeazun.\n      Vine veathers in a pie,\n      My mouth is verrey dry.\n      I wish a wuz zoo well a-wet,\n      Then I'd zing louder vor a nut!\n\n      _Chorus._ A Shrovun, a Shrovun,\n                We be cum a Shrovun!\n\n      [Footnote 50: Dame. The mistress of the house, if\n      past the middle age, was called Dame, i. e.\n      Madame.]\n\n      [Footnote 51: An egg, an egg.]\n\n      [Footnote 52: Throw away.]\n\nIf the song was not given sufficiently loud, they were desired to sing\nit again. In that case it very rarely required a second repetition. When\nthe Shrovers were more numerous than was anticipated, it not\nunfrequently happened that, before the time of the arrival of the latter\nparties, the Shrove-cakes had been expended; then dough-nuts, pancakes,\nbread and cheese, or bread and bacon, were given, or halfpence were\nsubstituted; but in _no instance_ whatever were they sent from the door\nempty-handed. It is much to be regretted that this charitable custom\nshould have become almost extinct; there being very few houses at the\npresent time where they distribute Shrove-cakes.\n\n\"There was another very ancient custom somewhat similar to the Shroving,\nwhich has also nearly, if not quite, disappeared; probably it began to\ndecay within the last half-century: this was a gift of cakes and ale to\nchildren on _New Year's Day_, who, like the Shrovers, went from house to\nhouse singing for them; but, if we may judge from the song, those\nchildren were for the most part from the towns and larger villages, as\nthe song begins, \"_A sale, a sale in our town_;\" there is no doubt but\nit was written for the occasion some centuries since, when \"a sale\" was\nnot a thing of such a common occurrence as now, and when there was one,\nit was often held in an open field in or near the town.\" So writes my\nkind and valued correspondent, Captain Henry Smith, but _town_ is, I\nthink, merely a provincialism for _village_. It is so, at least, in the\nNorth of England. As for the phrase _a seyal_, it seems to be a\ncorruption of _wassail_, the original sense having been lost. The\nfollowing was the song:\n\n      A seyal, a seyal in our town,\n      The cup es white and the eal es brown;\n      The cup es meyad from the ashen tree,\n      And the eal es brew'd vrom the good barlie.\n\n      _Chorus._ Cake and eal, cake and eal,\n                A piece of cake and a cup of eal;\n                We zing merrily one and aal\n                For a piece of cake and a cup of eal.\n\n      Little maid, little maid, troll the pin,[53]\n      Lift up the latch and we'll aal vall in;[54]\n      Ghee us a cake and zum eal that es brown,\n      And we dont keer a vig vor the seyal in the town.\n\n      _Chorus._ W'ill zing merrily one and aal\n                Vor a cake and a cup of eal;\n                God be there and God be here,\n                We wish you aal a happy New Year.\n\n      [Footnote 53: That is, turn the pin inside the\n      door in order to raise the latch. In the old\n      method of latching doors, there was a pin inside\n      which was turned round to raise the latch. An old\n      Isle of Wight song says,\u2014\n\n        Then John he arose,\n        And to the door goes,\n      And he trolled, and he trolled at the pin.\n        The lass she took the hint,\n        And to the door she went,\n      And she let her true love in.]\n\n      [Footnote 54: \"Aal vall in,\" stand in rank to\n      receive in turn the cake and ale.]\n\nThe above was the original song, but within the last fifty or sixty\nyears, as the custom began to fall off, the chorus or some other part\nwas often omitted.\n\n\nEASTER-GLOVES.\n\n      Love, to thee I send these gloves,\n            If you love me,\n            Leave out the G,\n      And make a pair of loves!\n\nIt appears from Hall's Satires, 1598, that it was customary to make\npresents of gloves at Easter. In Much Ado About Nothing, the Count sends\nHero a pair of perfumed gloves, and they seem to have been a common\npresent between lovers. In Devonshire, the young women thus address the\nfirst young man they happen to meet on St. Valentine's day\u2014\n\n      Good morrow, Valentine, I go to-day,\n      To wear for you what you must pay,\n      A pair of gloves next Easter-day.\n\nIn Oxfordshire I have heard the following lines intended, I believe, for\nthe same festival:\n\n      The rose is red, the violet's blue,\n      The gilly-flower sweet, and so are you;\n      These are the words you bade me say\n      For a pair of new gloves on Easter-day.\n\n\nLENT-CROCKING.\n\nParties of young people, during Lent, go to the most noted farmhouses,\nand sing, in order to obtain a _crock_ of cake, an old song beginning\u2014\n\n      I see by the latch\n      There is something to catch;\n      I see by the string\n      The good dame's within;\n      Give a cake, for I've none;\n      At the door goes a stone.\n      Come give, and I'm gone.\n\n\"If invited in,\" says Mrs. Bray, \"a cake, a cup of cider, and a health\nfollowed. If not invited in, the sport consisted in battering the house\ndoor with stones, because not open to hospitality. Then the assailant\nwould run away, be followed and caught, and brought back again as\nprisoner, and had to undergo the punishment of roasting the shoe. This\nconsisted in an old shoe being hung up before the fire, which the\nculprit was obliged to keep in a constant whirl, roasting himself as\nwell as the shoe, till some damsel took compassion on him, and let him\ngo; in this case he was to treat her with a little present at the next\nfair.\"\n\n\nCARE-SUNDAY.\n\n      Care Sunday, care away,\n      Palm Sunday and Easter-day.\n\nCare-Sunday is the Sabbath next before Palm Sunday, and the second\nbefore Easter. Etymologists differ respecting the origin of the term. It\nis also called Carling-Sunday, and hence the Nottinghamshire couplet:\n\n      Tid, Mid, Misera,\n      Carling, Palm, Paste-egg day.\n\n\nAPRIL-FOOL-DAY.\n\nThe custom of making fools on the 1st of April is one of the few old\nEnglish merriments still in general vogue. We used to say on the\noccasion of having entrapped any one\u2014\n\n      Fool, fool, April fool,\n      You learn nought by going to school!\n\nThe legitimate period only extends to noon, and if any one makes an\nApril-fool after that hour, the boy on whom the attempt is made, retorts\nwith the distich\u2014\n\n      April-fool time's past and gone,\n      You're the fool, and I'm none!\n\n\nMAY-DAY.\n\n      Rise up, fair maidens, fie, for shame,\n      For I've been four lang miles from hame;\n      I've been gathering my garlands gay;\n      Rise up, fair maids, and take in your May.\n\nThis old Newcastle May-day song is given by Brockett, ii. 32. At Islip,\nnear Oxford, the children go round the village on this day with garlands\nof flowers, singing\u2014\n\n      Good morning, missus and measter,\n        I wish you a happy day;\n      Please to smell my garland,\n        'Cause it is the first of May.\n\n\nHARVEST-HOME.\n\n      Here's a health unto our maister,\n        The founder of the feast,\n      And I hope to God wi' all my heart,\n        His soul in heaven mid rest.\n\n      That everything mid prosper\n        That ever he tiak in hand,\n      Vor we be all his sarvants,\n        And all at his command.\n\nThese verses were sometimes said in proposing the health of the farmer\nat a harvest-home supper. Another version of them is given in Hone's\nTable Book, ii. 334. When they have had a fortunate harvest, and the\nproduce has been carried home without an accident, the following lines\nare sang at the harvest-home:\n\n      Harvest home, harvest home,\n      Ne'er a load's been overthrown.\n\n\nTHE BARLEY MOW.\n\n      Here's a health to the barley mow,\n        Here's a health to the man,\n        Who very well can\n      Both harrow, and plough, and sow.\n        When it is well sown,\n        See it is well mown,\n      Both raked and gravell'd clean,\n      And a barn to lay it in:\n        Here's a health to the man,\n        Who very well can\n      Both thrash and fan it clean.\n\n\nALL-SOULS' DAY.\n\n\"November 2nd is All Souls, a day instituted by the Church of Rome in\ncommemoration of all the faithful departed this life, that by the\nprayers and suffrages of the living they may be discharged of their\npurging pain, and at last obtain life everlasting. To this purpose the\nday is kept holy till noon. Hence proceeds the custom of Soul-mass\ncakes, which are a kind of oat-cakes that some of the richer sort of\npersons in Lancashire and Herefordshire (among the Papists there) use\nstill to give the poor on this day; and they, in retribution of their\ncharity, hold themselves obliged to say this old couplet:\n\n      \"God have your saul,\n      Beens and all.\"\n\n\u2014_Festa Anglo-Romana_, 1678, p. 109.\n\n\nFIFTH OF NOVEMBER.\n\n      The fifth of November,\n      Since I can remember,\n        Gunpowder treason and plot:\n      This was the day the plot was contriv'd,\n      To blow up the King and Parliament alive;\n      But God's mercy did prevent\n      To save our King and his Parliament.\n        A stick and a stake\n        For King James's sake!\n      If you won't give me one,\n        I'll take two,\n      The better for me,\n        And the worse for you!\n\nThis is the Oxfordshire song chanted by the boys when collecting sticks\nfor the bonfire, and it is considered quite lawful to appropriate any\nold wood they can lay their hands on after the recitation of these\nlines. If it happen that a crusty chuff prevents them, the threatening\nfinale is too often fulfilled. The operation is called _going a\nprogging_, but whether this is a mere corruption of _prigging_, or\nwhether _progging_ means collecting sticks (_brog_, Scot. Bor.), I am\nunable to decide. In some places they shout, previously to the burning\nof the effigy of Guy Fawkes\u2014\n\n      A penn'orth of bread to feed the Pope,\n        A penn'orth of cheese to choke him;\n      A pint of beer to wash it down,\n        And a good old faggot to burn him.\n\nThe metropolis and its neighbourhood are still annually visited by\nsubdued vestiges of the old customs of the bonfire-day. Numerous parties\nof boys parade the streets with effigies of Guy Fawkes, but pence, not\nantipopery, is the object of the exhibition, and the evening fires have\ngenerally been exchanged for the mischievous practice of annoying\npassengers with squibs and crackers. The spirit and necessity of the\ndisplay have expired, and the lover of old customs had better be\ncontented to hear of it in history; even although the special service\nfor the day, still retained in our Prayer-book, may tend to recognise\nthe propriety of external rejoicings.\n\n\nBARBERS' FORFEITS.\n\n                          \u2014\u2014 laws for all faults,\n      But faults so countenanc'd, that the strong statutes\n      Stand like _the forfeits in a barber's shop_,\n      As much in mock as mark.\n\nSteevens and Henley, in their notes on Shakespeare, bear testimony to\nthe fact that barbers were accustomed to expose in their shops a list of\nforfeits for misbehaviour, which were \"as much in mock as mark,\"\nbecause the barber had no authority of himself to enforce them, and they\nwere in some respects of a ludicrous nature. \"Barbers' forfeits,\" says\nForby, in his Vocabulary of East Anglia, p. 119, \"exist to this day in\nsome, perhaps in many, village shops. They are penalties for handling\nthe razors, &c., offences very likely to be committed by lounging\nclowns, waiting for their turn to be scraped on a Saturday night or\nSunday morning. They are still, as of old, 'more in mock than mark.'\nCertainly more mischief might be done two hundred years ago, when the\nbarber was also a surgeon.\"\n\nDr. Kenrick[55] was the first to publish a copy of _barbers' forfeits_,\nand, as I do not observe it in any recent edition of Shakespeare, I here\npresent the reader with the following homely verses obtained by the\nDoctor in Yorkshire:\n\n      [Footnote 55: Review of Johnson's Shakespeare,\n      1765, p. 42.]\n\n      _Rules for seemly Behaviour._\n\n      First come, first serve\u2014then come not late;\n      And when arrived, keep your state;\n      For he who from these rules shall swerve,\n      Must pay the _forfeits_\u2014so observe.\n\n      Who enters here with boots and spurs,\n      Must keep his nook, for if he stirs,\n      And give with armed heel a kick,\n      A pint he pays for ev'ry prick.\n\n      Who rudely takes another's turn,\n      A forfeit mug may manners learn.\n\n      Who reverentless shall swear or curse,\n      Must lug seven farthings from his purse.\n\n      Who checks the barber in his tale,\n      Must pay for each a pot of ale.\n\n      Who will or cannot miss his hat\n      While trimming, pays a pint for that.\n\n      And he who can or will not pay,\n      Shall hence be sent half-trimm'd away,\n      For will he nill he, if in fault\n      He forfeit must in meal or malt.\n      But mark, who is alreads in drink,\n      The cannikin must never clink!\n\nIt is not improbable that these lines had been partly modernized from an\nolder original before they reached Dr. Kenrick, but Steevens was\ncertainly too precipitate in pronouncing them to be forgeries. Their\nauthenticity is placed beyond a doubt by the testimony of my late\nfriend, Major Moor, who, in his Suffolk Words, p. 133, informs us that\nhe had seen a version of these rules at the tonsor's, of Alderton, near\nthe sea.\n\n\nCOCKLE-BREAD.\n\n      My granny is sick, and now is dead,[56]\n      And we'll go mould some cockle-bread;\n      Up with my heels and down with my head,\n      And this is the way to mould cockle-bread.\n\n      [Footnote 56: Another version says, \"and I wish\n      she was dead, that I may go mould,\" &c., which,\n      if correct, may be supposed to mean, \"My granny\n      is ill, and I wish she was dead, that I may use\n      a charm for obtaining a husband.\"]\n\nA very old practice of young women, moving as if they were kneading\ndough, and repeating the above lines, which are sometimes varied thus:\n\n      Cockeldy bread, mistley cake,\n      When you do that for our sake.\n\nThe entire explanation of this, which is not worth giving here, may be\nseen in Thoms's Anecdotes and Traditions, p. 95. An allusion to\ncockle-bread occurs as early as 1595, in Peele's singular play of the\nOld Wives Tale.\n\n\nA DRINKING CUSTOM.\n\n      A pie sat on a pear tree,\n      A pie sat on a pear tree,\n      A pie sat on a pear tree,\n      Heigh ho! heigh ho! heigh ho!\n\nThese lines are sung by a person at the table after dinner. His next\nneighbour then sings \"Once so merrily hopped she,\" during which the\nfirst singer is obliged to drink a bumper; and should he be unable to\nempty his glass before the last line is sung, he must begin again till\nhe succeeds. The next line is \"Twice so merrily hopped she,\" sung by the\nnext person under a similar arrangement, and so on; beginning again\nafter \"Thrice so merrily hopped she, heigh ho! heigh ho! heigh ho!\" till\nthe ceremony has been repeated around the table. It is to be hoped so\nabsurd a practice is not now in fashion.\n\nWhen a boy finds anything, and another sees him stoop for it, if the\nlatter cries _halves_ before he has picked it up, he is, by schoolboy\nlaw, entitled to half of it. This right may, however, be negatived, if\nthe finder cries out first\u2014\n\n      Ricket, racket, find it, tack it,\n      And niver give it to the aunder.\n\nOr, sometimes the following:\n\n      No halfers,\n      Findee, keepee;\n      Lossee, seekee.\n\nBoys leaving the schoolroom are accustomed to shout\u2014\n\n      Those that go my way, butter and eggs,\n      Those that go your way, chop off their legs.\n\nA sort of persuasive inducement, I suppose, for them to follow the\nspeaker for the sake of forming a party for a game.\n\n\n\n\nXI.\u2014NURSERY-SONGS.\n\n\nThe earliest and simplest form in which the nursery song appears is the\nlullaby, which may be defined a gentle song used for the purpose of\ninducing sleep. The term was generally, though not exclusively, confined\nto nurses:\n\n      Philomel, with melody\n      Sing in our sweet lullaby;\n      Lulla, lulla, lullaby;\n      Lulla, lulla, lullaby.\n\nThe etymology is to be sought for in the verb _lull_, to sing gently,\nwhich Douce thinks is connected with \u03bb\u03b1\u03bb\u03b5\u03c9 or \u03bb\u03ac\u03bb\u03bb\u03b7.\nOne of the earliest nursery lullabies that have descended to our day\noccurs in the play of Philotimus, 1583:\n\n      Trylle the ball againe my Jacke,\n        And be contente to make some play,\n      And I will lull thee on my lappe,\n        With hey be bird now say not nay.\n\nAnother is introduced into the comedy of Patient Grissel, printed in the\nyear 1603:\n\n      Hush, hush, hush, hush!\n        And I dance mine own child,\n        And I dance mine own child,\n      Hush, hush, hush, hush!\n\n\nBILLY, MY SON.\n\nThe following lines are very common in the English nursery, and resemble\nthe popular German ditty of Grandmother Addercook, inserted in the\nKnaben Wunderhorn, and translated by Dr. Jamieson in the Illustrations\nof Northern Antiquities. The ballad of the Crowden Doo, Chambers, p.\n205, bears, however, a far greater similarity to the German song.\nCompare, also, the ballad of Willie Doo, in Buchan's Ancient Songs, ii.\n179.\n\n      Where have you been to-day, Billy, my son?\n      Where have you been to-day, my only man?\n      I've been a wooing, mother, make my bed soon,\n      For I'm sick at heart, and fain would lay down.\n\n      What have you ate to-day, Billy, my son?\n      What have you ate to-day, my only man?\n      I've ate eel-pie, mother, make my bed soon,\n      For I'm sick at heart, and shall die before noon.\n\nIt is said there is some kind of a fairy legend connected with these\nlines, Billy having probably been visited by his mermaid mother. Nothing\nat all satisfactory has, however, yet been produced. It appears to bear\na slight analogy to the old ballad, \"Where have you been all the day, my\nboy Willie,\" printed from a version obtained from Suffolk, in the\nNursery Rhymes of England, p. 146;[57] and on this account we may here\ninsert a copy of the pretty Scottish ballad, Tammy's Courtship:\n\n      Oh, where ha' ye been a' day,\n                                    My boy Tammy?\n      Where ha' ye been a' day,\n                                    My boy Tammy?\n      I've been by burn and flow'ry brae,\n      Meadow green and mountain gray,\n      Courting o' this young thing,\n                        Just come frae her mammy.\n\n      And where gat ye that young thing,\n                                    My boy Tammy?\n      And where gat ye that young thing,\n                                    My boy Tammy?\n      I gat her down in yonder how,\n      Smiling on a broomy knowe,\n      Herding ae wee lamb and ewe\n                              For her poor mammy.\n\n      What said you to the bonny bairn,\n                                    My boy Tammy?\n      What said you to the bonny bairn,\n                                    My boy Tammy?\n      I praised her een sae lovely blue,\n      Her dimpled cheek and cherry mou';\n      I preed it aft, as ye may trow\u2014\n                   She said she'd tell her mammy.\n\n      I held her to my beating breast,\n                      My young, my smiling lammy;\n      I held her to my beating breast,\n                      My young, my smiling lammy:\n      I hae a house, it cost me dear,\n      I've wealth o' plenishing and gear,\n      Ye'se get it a', war't ten times mair,\n                    Gin ye will leave your mammy.\n\n      The smile gaed aff her bonny face,\n                         I maunna leave my mammy;\n      The smile gaed aff her bonny face,\n                         I maunna leave my mammy:\n      She's gi'en me meat, she's gi'en me claise,\n      She's been my comfort a' my days;\n      My father's death brought mony waes\u2014\n                          I canna leave my mammy.\n\n      We'll tak' her hame, and mak' her fain,\n                       My ain kind-hearted lammy;\n      We'll tak' her hame, and mak' her fain,\n                       My ain kind-hearted lammy:\n      We'll gie her meat, we'll gie her claise,\n      We'll be her comfort a' her days;\n      The wee thing gi'es her han', and says\u2014\n                    There! gang and ask my mammy.\n\n      Has she been to the kirk wi' thee,\n                                    My boy Tammy?\n      Has she been to the kirk wi' thee,\n                                    My boy Tammy?\n      She's been to kirk wi' me,\n      And the tear was in her e'e;\n      But, oh! she's but a young thing,\n                        Just come frae her mammy!\n\n      [Footnote 57: Another version was obtained from\n      Yorkshire:\n\n      Where have you been all the day,\n                         My boy Billy?\n      Where have you been all the day,\n                         My boy Billy?\n\n      I have been all the day\n      Courting of a lady gay;\n      Although she is a young thing,\n      And just come from her mammy!\n\n      Is she fit to be thy love,\n                         My boy Billy?\n      She is as fit to be my love,\n      As my hand is for my glove,\n      Although she is, &c.\n\n      Is she fit to be thy wife,\n                         My boy Billy?\n      She is as fit to be my wife,\n      As my blade is for my knife;\n      Although she is, &c.\n\n      How old may she be,\n                         My boy Billy?\n      Twice six, twice seven,\n      Twice twenty and eleven;\n      Although she is, &c.]\n\nThe ballad of Lord Randal, printed by Sir Walter Scott, may, after all,\nfurnish the true solution to the meaning of our nursery rhyme, and I am\ntherefore induced to insert a version of it still popular in Scotland,\nin which the hero of the song is styled Laird Rowland:\n\n      Ah! where have you been, Lairde Rowlande, my son?\n      Ah! where have you been, &c.\n             I've been in the wild-woods,\n               Mither, mak my bed soon,\n             For I'm weary wi' hunting,\n               And faine would lie down.\n\n      Oh! you've been at your true love's, Lairde Rowlande, my son!\n      Oh! you've been at your true love's, &c.\n             I've been at my true love's,\n               Mither, mak my bed soon,\n             For I'm weary wi' hunting,\n               And faine would lie down.\n\n      What got you to dinner, Lairde Rowlande, my son?\n      What got you to dinner, &c.\n             I got eels boil'd in brue,\n               Mither, mak my bed soon,\n             For I'm weary wi' hunting,\n               And faine would lie down.\n\n      What's become of your Warden, Lairde Rowlande, my son?\n      What's become of your Warden, &c.\n              He died in the muirlands,\n                Mither, mak my bed soon,\n              For I'm weary wi' hunting,\n                And faine would lie down.\n\n      What's become of your stag-hounds, Lairde Rowlande, my son?\n      What's become of your stag-hounds, &c.\n              They swelled and they died!\n                Mither, mak my bed soon,\n              For I'm weary wi' hunting,\n                And faine would lie down.\n\nThe fable or plot of this seems to be, that Lord Rowlande, upon a visit\nat the castle of his mistress, has been poisoned by the drugged viands\nat the table of her father, who was averse to her marriage with the\nlord. Finding himself weary, and conscious that he is poisoned, he\nreturns to his home, and wishes to retire to his chamber without raising\nin his mother any suspicions of the state of his body and mind. This may\nbe gathered from his short and evasive answers, and the importunate\nentreaties with which he requests his mother to prepare his chamber.\n\nIn Swedish there are two distinct versions: one, the Child's Last\nWishes, in Geijer and Afzelius, iii. 13, beginning\u2014\n\n      Hvar har du varit s\u00e5 l\u00e4nge,\n        Dotter, liten kind?\n      Jag har varit hos min Amma,\n        K\u00e4r styf-moder min!\n      F\u00f6r aj aj! ondt hafver jag\u2014jag!\n\n          Where hast thou been so long now,\n            My sweet wee little child?\n          Sure with my nurse I've tarried,\n            My own step-mother mild!\n          For oh! oh! sore pains have I\u2014I!\n\nThe second is in Afzelius, ii. 90, under the same title, and\nbeginning\u2014\n\n      Hvar har du va't s\u00e5 l\u00e4nge,\n        Lilla dotter kind?\n      Jag har va't i B\u00e4nne,\n        Hos broderen min!\n      Aj, aj, ondt hafver jag, jag!\n\n          Where hast thou been so long now,\n            Wee little daughter fine?\n          In B\u00e4nne have I tarried,\n            With brother mine!\n          Oh! oh! sore pains have I\u2014I!\n\nBoth are sung to exquisitely melancholy melodies.\n\nDr. Jamieson makes some very just observations on this ballad, and the\nimportance of tracing this class of tales. \"That any of the Scotch,\nEnglish, and German copies of the same tale have been borrowed or\ntranslated from another, seems very improbable; and it would now be in\nvain to attempt to ascertain what it originally was, or in what age it\nwas produced. It has had the good fortune in every country to get\npossession of the nursery, a circumstance which, from the enthusiasm and\ncuriosity of young imaginations, and the communicative volubility of\nlittle tongues, has insured its preservation. Indeed, many curious\nrelics of past times are preserved in the games and rhymes found amongst\nchildren, which are on that account by no means beneath the notice of\nthe curious traveller, who will be surprised to find, after the lapse of\nso many ages, and so many changes of place, language, and manners, how\nlittle these differ among different nations of the same original stock,\nwho have been so long divided and estranged from each other.\"\n\n\nMY COCK LILY-COCK.\n\nAn inferior version of the following, which was obtained from Essex, is\nprinted in Mr. Chambers's Popular Rhymes of Scotland, ed. 1847, p. 190.\nA Swedish version, or rather a variation, in Lilja, p. 17, commences as\nfollows: \"I served a farmer for four years, and he paid me with a hen.\n'Skrock, skrock!' said my hen. I served a farmer for four years, and he\npaid me with a cock. 'Kucklilo!' said my cock. 'Skrock, skrock!' said my\nhen, &c.\"\n\n      I had a cock, and a cock lov'd me,\n      And I fed my cock under a hollow tree;\n          My cock cried\u2014cock-cock-coo\u2014\n      Every body loves their cock, and I love my cock too!\n\n      I had a hen, and a hen lov'd me,\n      And I fed my hen under a hollow tree;\n        My hen went\u2014chickle-chackle, chickle-chackle\u2014\n          My cock cried\u2014cock-cock-coo\u2014\n      Every body loves their cock, and I love my cock too!\n\n      I had a goose, and a goose lov'd me,\n      And I fed my goose under a hollow tree;\n        My goose went\u2014qua'k, qua'k\u2014\n        My hen went\u2014chickle-chackle, chickle-chackle\u2014\n          My cock cried\u2014cock-cock-coo\u2014\n      Every body loves their cock, and I love my cock too!\n\n      I had a duck, and a duck lov'd me,\n      And I fed my duck under a hollow tree;\n        My duck went\u2014quack, quack, quack\u2014\n        My goose went\u2014qua'k, qua'k\u2014\n        My hen went\u2014chickle-chackle, chickle-chackle\u2014\n          My cock cried\u2014cock-cock-coo\u2014\n      Every body loves their cock, and I love my cock too!\n\n      I had a drake, and a drake lov'd me,\n      And I fed my drake under a hollow tree;\n        My drake went\u2014ca-qua, ca-qua, ca-qua\u2014\n        My duck went\u2014quack, quack, quack\u2014\n        My goose went\u2014qua'k, qua'k, qua'k\u2014\n        My hen went\u2014chickle-chackle, chickle-chackle\u2014\n          My cock cried\u2014cock-cock-coo\u2014\n      Every body loves their cock, and I love my cock too!\n\n      I had a cat, and a cat lov'd me,\n      And I fed my cat under a hollow tree;\n        My cat went\u2014miow, miow, miow\u2014\n        My drake went\u2014ca-qua, ca-qua, ca-qua\u2014\n        My duck went\u2014quack, quack, quack\u2014\n        My goose went\u2014qua'k, qua'k, qua'k\u2014\n        My hen went\u2014chickle-chackle, chickle-chackle\u2014\n          My cock cried\u2014cock-cock-coo\u2014\n      Every body loves their cock, and I love my cock too!\n\n      I had a dog, &c. My dog went\u2014bow, wow, wow\u2014\n      I had a cow, &c. My cow went\u2014moo, moo, moo\u2014\n      I had a sheep, &c. My sheep went\u2014baa, baa, baa\u2014\n      I had a donkey, &c. My donkey went\u2014hi-haugh, hi-haugh\u2014\n      I had a horse, &c.; My horse went\u2014whin-neigh-h-h-h-h\u2014\n\n      I had a pig, and a pig lov'd me,\n      And I fed my pig under a hollow tree;\n        And my pig went\u2014hoogh, hoogh, hoogh\u2014\n        My horse went\u2014whin-neigh-h-h-h-h\u2014\n        My donkey went\u2014hi-haugh, hi-haugh\u2014\n        My sheep went\u2014baa, baa, baa\u2014\n        My cow went\u2014moo, moo, moo\u2014\n        My dog went\u2014bow, wow, wow\u2014\n        My cat went\u2014miow, miow, miow\u2014\n        My drake went\u2014ca-qua, ca-qua, ca-qua\u2014\n        My duck went\u2014quack, quack, quack\u2014\n        My goose went\u2014qua'k, qua'k, qua'k\u2014\n        My hen went\u2014chickle-chackle, chickle-chackle\u2014\n          My cock cried\u2014cock-cock-coo\u2014\n      Every body loves their cock, and I love my cock too!\n\n          And so the pig\u2014grunted,\n          The horse\u2014neigh'd,\n          The donkey\u2014bray'd,\n          The sheep\u2014bleated,\n          The cow\u2014low'd,\n          The dog\u2014bark'd,\n          The cat\u2014mew'd,\n          The drake\u2014quackled,\n          The duck\u2014cackled,\n          The goose\u2014gobbled,\n          The hen\u2014chuckled,\n          The cock\u2014crow'd\u2014\n          And my cock cried\u2014cock-cock-coo!\u2014\n      Every body loves their cock, and I love my cock too!\n\n\nJACK SPRAT.\n\nFragments of this tale are common in the nursery, but I have only met\nwith one copy of the following poem, which appears to be of some\nantiquity, although it is here printed from a modern chap-book:\n\n      Jack Sprat could eat no fat,\n        His wife could eat no lean,\n      And so between them both,\n        They licked the platter clean.\n      Jack eat all the lean,\n        Joan eat all the fat,\n      The bone they picked clean,\n        Then gave it to the cat.\n\n      When Jack Sprat was young,\n        He dressed very smart,\n      He courted Joan Cole,\n        And he gained her heart.\n      In his fine leather doublet,\n        And old greasy hat,\n      Oh, what a smart fellow\n        Was little Jack Sprat!\n\n      Joan Cole had a hole\n        In her petticoat,\n      Jack Sprat, to get a patch,\n        Gave her a groat;\n      The groat bought a patch,\n        Which stopped the hole,\n      \"I thank you, Jack Sprat,\"\n        Says little Joan Cole.\n\n      Jack Sprat was the bridegroom,\n        Joan Cole was the bride,\n      Jack said, from the church,\n        His Joan home should ride.\n      But no coach could take her,\n        The lane was so narrow,\n      Said Jack, then I'll take her\n        Home in a wheelbarrow.\n\n      Jack Sprat was wheeling\n        His wife by the ditch,\n      The barrow turned over,\n        And in she did pitch;\n      Says Jack, she'll be drown'd,\n        But Joan did reply,\n      I don't think I shall,\n        For the ditch is quite dry.\n\n      Jack brought home his Joan,\n        And she sat in a chair,\n      When in came his cat,\n        That had got but one ear.\n      Says Joan, I'm come home, Puss,\n        Pray, how do you do?\n      The cat wagg'd her tail,\n        And said nothing but \"mew.\"\n\n      Jack Sprat took his gun,\n        And went to the brook,\n      He shot at the drake,\n        But he killed the duck.\n      He brought it to Joan,\n        Who a fire did make\n      To roast the fat duck,\n        While Jack went for the drake.\n\n      The drake was swimming\n        With his curly tail,\n      Jack Sprat came to shoot him,\n        But happened to fail;\n      He let off his gun,\n        But missing his mark,\n      The drake flew away,\n        Crying, \"Quack, quack, quack.\"\n\n      Jack Sprat to live pretty,\n        Now bought him a pig,\n      It was not very little,\n        It was not very big;\n      It was not very lean,\n        It was not very fat,\n      It will serve for a grunter\n        For little Jack Sprat.\n\n      Then Joan went to market\n        To buy her some fowls,\n      She bought a jackdaw\n        And a couple of owls.\n      The owls they were white,\n        The jackdaw was black,\n      They'll make a rare breed,\n        Says little Joan Sprat.\n\n      Jack Sprat bought a cow,\n        His Joan for to please,\n      For Joan she could make\n        Both butter and cheese;\n      Or pancakes or puddings,\n        Without any fat:\n      A notable housewife\n        Was little Joan Sprat.\n\n      Joan Sprat went to brewing\n        A barrel of ale,\n      She put in some hops\n        That it might not turn stale;\n      But as for the malt,\n        She forgot to put that,\n      This is brave sober liquor,\n        Said little Jack Sprat.\n\n      Jack Sprat went to market,\n        And bought him a mare,\n      She was lame of three legs,\n        And as blind as she could stare;\n      Her ribs they were bare,\n        For the mare had no fat,\n      She looks like a racer,\n        Says little Jack Sprat.\n\n      Jack and Joan went abroad,\n        Puss took care of the house,\n      She caught a large rat\n        And a very small mouse:\n      She caught a small mouse,\n        And a very large rat;\n      You're an excellent hunter,\n        Says little Jack Sprat.\n\n      Now I have told you the story\n        Of little Jack Sprat,\n      And little Joan Cole,\n        And the poor one-ear'd cat.\n      Now Jack loved Joan,\n        And good things he taught her,\n      Then she gave him a son,\n        Then after a daughter.\n\n      Now Jack has got rich\n        And has plenty of pelf;\n      If you know any more,\n        You may tell it yourself.\n\n\nDABBLING IN THE DEW.\n\nThe following pretty ballad appears to be a humorous imitation of an\nElizabethan eclogue-song. Its style guarantees its antiquity:\n\n      Oh, where are you going,\n        My pretty maiden fair,\n      With your red rosy cheeks,\n        And your coal-black hair?\n\n      I'm going a-milking,\n        Kind sir, says she;\n      And it's dabbling in the dew,\n        Where you'll find me.\n\n      May I go with you,\n        My pretty maiden fair, &c.\n      Oh, you may go with me,\n        Kind sir, says she, &c.\n\n      If I should chance to kiss you,\n        My pretty maiden fair, &c.\n      The wind may take it off again,\n        Kind sir, says she, &c.\n\n      If I should chance to lay you down,\n        My pretty maiden fair, &c.\n      Then you must pick me up again,\n        Kind sir, says she, &c.\n\n      If I should chance to run away,\n        My pretty maiden fair, &c.\n      The De'el may then run away wi' you,\n        Kind sir, says she, &c.\n\n      And what is your father,\n        My pretty maiden fair, &c.\n      My father is a farmer,\n        Kind sir, says she, &c.\n\n      And what is your mother,\n        My pretty maiden fair, &c.\n      My mother is a dairy-maid,\n        Kind sir, says she, &c.\n\n      And what is your sweetheart,\n        My pretty maiden fair, &c.\n      William the carpenter,\n        Kind sir, says she, &c.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n      There was an old couple, and they were poor,\n                                   Fa la, fa la la lee!\n      They lived in a house that had but one door;\n        Oh! what a poor couple were they.\n\n      The old man once he went far from his home,\n                                   Fa la, fa la la lee!\n      The old woman afraid was to stay alone,\n        Oh! what a weak woman was she.\n\n      The old man he came home at last,\n                                   Fa la, fa la la lee!\n      And found the windows and door all fast.\n        Oh! what is the matter? quoth he.\n\n      Oh! I have been sick since you have been gone;\n                                   Fa la, fa la la lee!\n      If you'd been in the garden you'd heard me groan;\n        Oh! I'm sorry for that, quoth he.\n\n      I have a request to make unto thee;\n                                   Fa la, fa la la lee!\n      To pluck me an apple from yonder tree.\n        Ay, that will I, marry, quoth he.\n\n      The old man tried to get up in the tree,\n                                   Fa la, fa la la lee!\n      But the ladder it fell, and down tumbled he.\n        That's cleverly done! said she.\n\n\nHEY DIDDLE DIDDLE![58]\n\n        Hey diddle diddle,\n        The cat scraped the fiddle,\n      The cow jump'd over the moon;\n        The little dog bayed\n        To see such sports played,\n      And the dish ran away with the spoon.\n\n\t    \u0391\u03b4' \u03b1\u03b4\u03b7\u03bb\u03b1, \u03b4\u03b7\u03bb\u03b1 \u03b4' \u03b1\u03b4\u03b5,\n\t    \u03a0\u03c9\u03c2 \u03b3\u03b1\u03bb\u03b7 \u03bb\u03c5\u03c1\u03b1\u03bd \u03b5\u03c4\u03c1\u03b9\u03b2\u03b5,\n\t    \u0392\u03bf\u03c5\u03c2 \u03b4\u03b5 \u03bc\u03b7\u03bd\u03b7\u03bd \u03c5\u03c0\u03b5\u03c1\u03b5\u03c0\u03b7\u03b4\u03b1;\n\t    \u039a\u03c5\u03bd\u03b9\u03b4\u03b9\u03bf\u03bd \u03b4' \u03b5\u03ba\u03bb\u03b1\u03b3\u03be\u03b5\u03bd, \u03b1\u03c5, \u03b1\u03c5,\n\t    \u03a0\u03b1\u03b9\u03b4\u03b9\u03b1\u03bd \u03b3' \u03bf\u03c1\u03c9\u03bd \u03c4\u03bf\u03b9\u03b1\u03bd\u03b4\u03b5,\n\t    \u039a\u03b1\u03b9 \u03c4\u03bf\u03c1\u03c5\u03bd\u03b7\u03bd\n\t    \u0395\u03c6\u03c5\u03b3\u03b5 \u03ba\u03b1\u03c1\u03b4\u03bf\u03c0\u03bf\u03c2 \u03bb\u03b1\u03b2\u03c9\u03bd.\n\nThe unmeaning \"Hey diddle diddle\" is a corruption of the very\nintelligible \u0391\u03b4' \u03b1\u03b4\u03b7\u03bb\u03b1, \u03b4\u03b7\u03bb\u03b1 \u03b4' \u03b1\u03b4\u03b5, which is literally \"Sing\nwords not clear, and Sing words clear;\" with which may be compared a\nSibylline verse in Greek, \u0394\u03b7\u03bb\u03bf\u03c2 \u03b1\u03c1' \u03bf\u03c5\u03ba \u03b5\u03c4\u03b9 \u03b4\u03b7\u03bb\u03bf\u03c2; \u03b1\u03b4\u03b7\u03bb\u03b1 \u03b4\u03b5\n\u03c0\u03b1\u03bd\u03c4\u03b1 \u03c4\u03b1 \u0394\u03b7\u03bb\u03bf\u03c5.\n\n        [Footnote 58: The above ingenious translation\n        and remarks were communicated by Mr. George\n        Burges.]\n\n\n\nTOMMY LINN.\n\n      Tommy Linn is a Scotchman born,\n      His head is bald and his beard is shorn;\n      He has a cap made of a hare skin,\n      An alderman is Tommy Linn.\n\n      Tommy Linn has no boots to put on,\n      But two calves' skins, and the hair it was on.\n      They are open at the side and the water goes in:\n      Unwholesome boots, says Tommy Linn.\n\n      Tommy Linn no bridle had to put on,\n      But two mouse's tails that he put on;\n      Tommy Linn had no saddle to put on,\n      But two urchin skins, and them he put on.\n\n      Tommy Linn's daughter sat on the stair,\n      Oh, dear father, gin I be not fair?\n      The stairs they broke, and she fell in,\n      You're fair enough now, says Tommy Linn.\n\n      Tommy Linn had no watch to put on,\n      So he scooped out a turnip to make himself one;\n      He caught a cricket, and put it within;\n      It's my own ticker, says Tommy Linn.\n\n      Tommy Linn, his wife, and wife's mother,\n      They all fell into the fire together;\n      Oh, said the topmost, I've got a hot skin:\n      It's hotter below, says Tommy Linn.\n\nAn immense variety of songs and catches relating to Tommy Linn are known\nthroughout the country. The air of Thom of Lyn is one of those mentioned\nin the Complaynt of Scotland, 1549. See Chambers, p. 192, who gives a\nScotch version of the above song. The song itself is quoted in Wager's\nplay, 'The longer thou livest the more foole thou art,' written about\nthe year 1560. Dr. Leyden conjectures that the hero is the same with\nTamlene, who is introduced into a well-known fairy ballad published by\nSir W. Scott.\n\n\nTHE BEGGARS OF RATCLIFFE FAIR.\n\n      As I went to Ratcliffe Fair, there I met with a jolly begg\u00e1re,\n      Jolly begg\u00e1re, and his name was John, and his wife's name was\n          Jumping Joan;\n                So there was John and Jumping Joan,\n                Merry companions every one.\n\n      As I went to Ratcliffe Fair, there I met with a jolly begg\u00e1re,\n      Jolly begg\u00e1re, and his name was Richard, and his wife's name was\n          Mrs. Ap Richard;\n                So there was Richard, and Mrs. Ap Richard,\n                And there was John and Jumping Joan,\n                Merry companions every one.\n\n      As I went to Ratcliffe Fair, there I met with a jolly begg\u00e1re,\n      Jolly begg\u00e1re, and his name was Robert, and his wife's name was\n          Mrs. Ap Robert;\n                So there was Robert and Mrs. Ap Robert,\n                And there was Richard and Mrs. Ap Richard,\n                And there was John and Jumping Joan,\n                Merry companions every one.\n\n      As I went to Ratcliffe Fair, there I met with a jolly begg\u00e1re,\n      Jolly begg\u00e1re, and his name was Rice, and his wife's name was\n          Mrs. Ap Rice;\n                So there was Rice and Mrs. Ap Rice,\n                And there was Richard and Mrs. Ap Richard,\n                And there was Robert and Mrs. Ap Robert,\n                And there was John and Jumping Joan,\n                Merry companions every one.\n\n      As I went to Ratcliffe Fair, there I met with a jolly begg\u00e1re,\n      Jolly begg\u00e1re, and his name was Jones, and his wife's name\n          was Mrs. Ap Jones;\n                So there was Jones and Mrs. Ap Jones,\n                And there was Rice and Mrs. Ap Rice,\n                And there was Robert and Mrs. Ap Robert,\n                And there was Richard and Mrs. Ap Richard,\n                And there was John and Jumping Joan,\n                Merry companions every one.\n\n      As I went to Ratcliffe Fair, there I met with a jolly begg\u00e1re,\n      Jolly begg\u00e1re, and his name was Lloyd, and his wife's name was\n          Mrs. Ap Lloyd;\n                So there was Lloyd and Mrs. Ap Lloyd,\n                And there was Jones and Mrs. Ap Jones,\n                And there was Rice and Mrs. Ap Rice,\n                And there was Robert and Mrs. Ap Robert,\n                And there was Richard and Mrs. Ap Richard,\n                And there was John and Jumping Joan,\n                Merry companions every one.\n\n      As I went to Ratcliffe Fair, there I met with a jolly begg\u00e1re,\n      Jolly begg\u00e1re, and his name was Owen, and his wife's name was\n          Mrs. Ap Owen;\n                So there was Owen and Mrs. Ap Owen,\n                And there was Lloyd and Mrs. Ap Lloyd,\n                And there was Jones and Mrs. Ap Jones,\n                And there was Rice and Mrs. Ap Rice,\n                And there was Robert and Mrs. Ap Robert,\n                And there was Richard and Mrs. Ap Richard,\n                And there was John and Jumping Joan,\n                Merry companions every one.\n\n      As I went to Ratcliffe Fair, there I met with a jolly begg\u00e1re,\n      Jolly begg\u00e1re, and his name was Lewin, and his wife's name was\n          Mrs. Ap Lewin;\n                So there was Lewin and Mrs. Ap Lewin,\n                And there was Owen and Mrs. Ap Owen,\n                And there was Lloyd and Mrs. Ap Lloyd,\n                And there was Jones and Mrs. Ap Jones,\n                And there was Rice and Mrs. Ap Rice,\n                And there was Robert and Mrs. Ap Robert,\n                And there was Richard and Mrs. Ap Richard,\n                And there was John and Jumping Joan,\n                Merry companions every one.\n\n      As I went to Ratcliffe Fair, there I met with a jolly begg\u00e1re,\n      Jolly begg\u00e1re, and his name was Shenkyn, and his wife's name was\n          Mrs. Ap Shenkyn;\n                So there was Shenkyn and Mrs. Ap Shenkyn,\n                And there was Lewin and Mrs. Ap Lewin,\n                And there was Owen and Mrs. Ap Owen,\n                And there was Lloyd and Mrs. Ap Lloyd,\n                And there was Jones and Mrs. Ap Jones,\n                And there was Rice and Mrs. Ap Rice,\n                And there was Robert and Mrs. Ap Robert,\n                And there was Richard and Mrs. Ap Richard,\n                And there was John and Jumping Joan,\n                Merry companions every one.\n\n      As I went to Ratcliffe Fair, there I met with a jolly begg\u00e1re,\n      Jolly begg\u00e1re, and his name was Howell, and his wife's name was\n          Mrs. Ap Howell;\n                So there was Howell and Mrs. Ap Howell,\n                And there was Shenkyn and Mrs. Ap Shenkyn,\n                And there was Lewin and Mrs. Ap Lewin,\n                And there was Owen and Mrs. Ap Owen,\n                And there was Lloyd and Mrs. Ap Lloyd,\n                And there was Jones and Mrs. Ap Jones,\n                And there was Rice and Mrs. Ap Rice,\n                And there was Robert and Mrs. Ap Robert,\n                And there was Richard and Mrs. Ap Richard,\n                And there was John and Jumping Joan,\n                Merry companions every one.\n\nThis singular accumulative tale produces great amusement amongst\nchildren when rapidly repeated. Mr. Chambers, p. 197, has given a Scotch\nversion, very different from the above, commencing\u2014\n\n      The first time that I gaed to Coudingham fair,\n      I fell in with a jolly beggar;\n      The beggar's name O it was Harry,\n      And he had a wife, and they ca'd her Mary:\n          O Mary and Harry, and Harry and Mary,\n          And Janet and John,\n          That's the beggars one by one;\n          But now I will gie you them pair by pair,\n          All the brave beggars of Coudingham fair.\n\n\n\n\nCONCLUSION.\n\n\nOur collection of vernacular scraps, which, like the \"brave beggars of\nCoudingham fair,\" have been gathered from the lanes and by-ways, is now\nbrought to a conclusion. They are, it must be confessed, but literary\nvagrants at the best; but they breathe of country freshness, and may\nimpart some of their spirit to our languishing home-life. The cottage\nwithout its traditional literature is but a poor feature in the\nlandscape that is loved by the poet. The legend or antique rhyme\nemanating from its door expresses a characteristic he would not\nwillingly see perish. It may be that little of this now remains in\nEngland, but the minutest indications should be carefully chronicled ere\nthey disappear.\n\nMany of the fragments in the preceding pages are, in fact, rather\nindications of what formerly existed than complete specimens of their\nclass. It is beyond a doubt that, two centuries ago, our rural districts\nwere rich in all kinds of popular and traditional literature, in legends\nand ancient rhymes. Unfortunately, the antiquaries of the old school\nconsidered such matters beneath their notice; and instead of conferring\na very important benefit on literature by preserving them, occupied a\ngreat portion of their time in essays of very questionable utility. It\nthus happened that allusions in our old poets, intelligible enough in\nthose days, became enigmas when the memory of these trifles disappeared.\nWe should fall into a similar error did we neglect those which still\nremain, merely because their value is not always immediately apparent,\nor be alarmed at a suggestion that we are \"suckling fools, and\nchronicling small beer.\"\n\nLet us hope the reader may view these trifles with more indulgence, and\nenlist his sympathies with our own; for if literary value is insisted\nupon as the sole use of their publication, the critic may require an\nabler apologist. He may refuse to admit the importance of preserving a\nlarge collection for the sake of the few which may illustrate the works\nof our ancient authors. But we trust this opinion will not be general;\nthat their natural simplicity will compensate in some respects for\ndeficiency of literary elegance; and that the universal and absorbing\nprevalence of one pursuit has not put to flight all kindly memory of the\nrecreations of a happier age:\n\n      The sports of childhood's roseate dawn\n      Have passed from our hearts like the dew-gems from morn:\n      We have parted with marbles\u2014we own not a ball,\n      And are deaf to the hail of a \"whoop and a call.\"\n      But there's an old game that we all keep up,\n      When we've drank much deeper from life's mixed cup;\n      Youth may have vanished, and manhood come round,\n      Yet how busy we are on \"Tom Tidler's ground\n            Looking for gold and silver!\"\n\n\n\n\nFINIS.\n\n\n\n\nC. AND J. ADLARD, PRINTERS, BARTHOLOMEW CLOSE.\n\n\n\n\n[Transcriber's note: Spelling varieties have been maintained.\nUnderscores were used to indicate _italic_ fonts.\n\nERRATUM\u2014P. 181, l. 25, for \u03b5\u03c3\u03b9 read \u03b5\u03c3\u03c4\u03b9\u2014has been corrected\u2014&gt;\nSo says Plato, \u03c4\u03c9\u03bd \u03bf\u03c1\u03b8\u03c9\u03c2 \u03b4\u03bf\u03b8\u03b5\u03bd\u03c4\u03c9\u03bd \u03b1\u03c6\u03b1\u03b9\u03c1\u03b5\u03c3\u03b9\u03c2 \u03bf\u03c5\u03ba \u03b5\u03c3\u03c4\u03b9.\nMusical symbols are represented by an Abc-notation. Title:\nLavender blue. Time signature: 6/8. Default note length: 1/16.\nKey: C. The lower notes of a song are shown by UPPERCASE, the\nhigher notes by lowercase letters. Examples: The UPPERCASE\nletter C is used to describe a sixteenth note of the Middle C\n(C4 or c'); a lowercase c2 depicts an eighth note of the next\nhigher C (C5 or c\"); c3 or G3 each represent a note length of\nthree-sixteenth. Bb is used for a b'flat or Bb note; B marks\nb'natural.]\n\n\n<pre id=\"pg-footer\">","title":"Popular Rhymes and Nursery Tales: A Sequel to the Nursery Rhymes of England","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":76981}